Wolfe was acting as adjutant and helping the major. His
regiment had neither colonel nor lieutenant-colonel with
it that day; so he had plenty to do, riding up and down
to see that all ranks understood the order that they were
not to fire till they were close to the French and were
given the word for a volley. He cast a glance at his
brother, standing straight and proudly with the regimental
colours that he himself had carried past the king at
Blackheath the year before. He was not anxious about
'Ned'; he knew how all the Wolfes could fight. He was
not anxious about himself; he was only too eager for the
fray. A first battle tries every man, and few have not
dry lips, tense nerves, and beating hearts at its approach.
But the great anxiety of an officer going into action
for the first time with untried men is for them and not
for himself. The agony of wondering whether they will do
well or not is worse, a thousand times, than what he
fears for his own safety.

Presently the French gunners, in the centre of their
position across the Main, lit their matches and, at a
given signal, fired a salvo into the British rear. Most
of the baggage wagons were there; and, as the shot and
shell began to knock them over, the drivers were seized
with a panic. Cutting the traces, these men galloped off
up the hills and into the woods as hard as they could
go. Now battery after battery began to thunder, and the
fire grew hot all round. The king had been in the rear,
as he did not wish to change the command on the eve of
the battle. But, seeing the panic, he galloped through