which the cool Highlander completely deceived
the French sentries, the British were allowed to slip past in the
darkness. The tiny cove was safely reached, the boats stole silently up
without a blunder, twenty-four volunteers from the Light Infantry leaped
from their boat and led the way in single file up the path, that ran like
a thread along the face of the cliff. Wolfe sat eagerly listening in his
boat below. Suddenly from the summit he saw the flash of the muskets and
heard the stern shout which told him his men were up. A clear, firm
order, and the troops sitting silent in the boats leaped ashore, and the
long file of soldiers, like a chain of ants, went up the face of the
cliff, Wolfe amongst the foremost, and formed in order on the plateau,
the boats meanwhile rowing back at speed to bring up the remainder of the
troops. Wolfe was at last within Montcalm's guard!

When the morning of the 13th dawned, the British army, in line of battle,
stood looking down on Quebec. Montcalm quickly heard the news, and came
riding furiously across the St. Charles and past the city to the scene of
danger. He rode, as those who saw him tell, with a fixed look, and
uttering not a word. The vigilance of months was rendered worthless by
that amazing night escalade. When he reached the slopes Montcalm saw
before him the silent red wall of British infantry, the Highlanders with
waving tartans and wind-blown plumes--all in battle array. It was not a
detachment, but an army!

The fight lasted fifteen minutes, and might be told in almost as many
words. Montcalm brought on his men in three powerful columns, in number
double that of Wolfe's force. The British troops stood grimly silent,
though they were tormented by the fire of Indians and Canadians lying in
the grass. The French advanced eagerly, with a tumult of shouts and a
confused fire; the British moved forward a few rods, halted, dressed
their lines, and when the French were within forty paces threw in one
fierce volley, so sharply timed that the explosion of 4000 muskets
sounded like the sudden blast of a cannon. Again, again, and yet again,
the flame ran from end to end of the steadfast hue. When the smoke
lifted, the French column were wrecked. The British instantly charged.
The spirit of the clan awoke in Fraser's Highlanders: they flung aside
their muskets, drew their broadswords, and with a fierce Celtic slogan
rushed on the enemy. Never was a charge pressed mo