landing-place. The remaining troops disembarked, and with the dawn of
day, the whole were brought in safety to the shore.

The sun rose, and from the ramparts of Quebec the astonished people saw
the Plains of Abraham glittering with arms, and the dark-red lines of
the English forming in array of battle. Breathless messengers had borne
the evil tidings to Montcalm, and far and near his wide-extended camp
resounded with the rolling of alarm-drums and the din of startled
preparation. He, too, had had his struggles and his sorrows. The civil
power had thwarted him; famine, discontent, and disaffection were rife
among his soldiers; and no small portion of the Canadian militia had
dispersed from sheer starvation. In spite of all, he had trusted to hold
out till the winter frosts should drive the invaders from before the
town, when on that disastrous morning the news of their successful
temerity fell like a cannon-shot upon his ear. Still he assumed a tone
of confidence. "They have got to the weak side of us at last," he is
reported to have said, "and we must crush them with our numbers." With
headlong haste his troops were pouring over the bridge of St. Charles,
and gathering in heavy masses under the western ramparts of the town.
Could numbers give assurance of success, their triumph would have been
secure, for five French battalions and the armed colonial peasantry
amounted in all to more than seven thousand five hundred men. Full in
sight before stretched the long, thin lines of the British forces--the
Highlanders, the steady soldiery of England, and the hardy levies of the
provinces--less than five thousand in number, but all inured to battle,
and strong in the full assurance of success.

It was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, each
gazing on the other. The clouds hung low, and at intervals warm light
showers descended besprinkling both alike. The coppice and corn-fields