answer to his own thought. "A thousand regulars, as many more
provincials, guns, and every equipage,--yes, it is large enough and
strong enough, unless"--

"Unless?" I questioned, as he paused.

"Unless we walk headlong to our own destruction," he said. "But no, I
won't believe it. The general has been bred in the Coldstreams and
knows nothing of frontier fighting. But he is a brave man, an honest
man, and he will learn. Small wonder he believes in discipline after
serving half a century in such a regiment. Have you ever heard the
story of their fight at Fontenoy, ten years since, when they lost two
hundred and forty men? I heard it three nights ago at the general's
table, and 't was enough to make a man weep for very pity that such
valor should count for naught."

"Tell it me," I cried, for if there is one thing I love above all
others,--yea, even yet, when I must sit useless by,--it is the tale of
brave deeds nobly done.

"'T was on the eleventh day of May, seventeen forty-five," he said, "that
the English and the Dutch met the French, who were under Marshal Saxe.
Louis the Fifteenth himself was on the field, with the Grand Dauphin by
his side and a throng of courtiers about him, for he knew how much
depended on the issue of this battle. A redoubt, held by the famous
Guards, bristling with cannon, covered the French position. The Dutch,
appalled at the task before them, refused to advance, but his Grace of
Cumberland, who commanded the English, rose equal to the moment. He
formed his troops in column, the Coldstreams at its head, and gave the
word for the assault. The batteries thundered, the redoubt was crowned