for landing, which, amidst surrounding darkness, might be easily mistaken. Besides this, the shore was shelving, and the bank so steep and lofty, as scarcely to be ascended even without opposition from an enemy. Indeed, the attempt was in the greatest danger of being defeated by an occurrence peculiarly interesting, as marking the very great delicacy of the transaction.

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One of the French sentinels, posted along the shore, as the English boats were descending, challenged them in the customary military language of the French. Qui vit?" "who goes there?" to which a captain in Frazier's regi ment, who had served in Holland, and was familiar with the French language and customs, promptly replied, "la France." The next question was still more embarrassing, for the sentinel demanded, a quel regiment?" "to what regiment." The captain, who happened to know the name of a regiment which was up the river, with Bougainville, promptly rejoined, "de la Reine," "the Queen's." The soldier immediately replied, "passe," for he concluded at once, that this was a French convoy of provision, which, as the English had learned from some deserters, was expected to pass down the river to Quebec. The other sentinels were deceived in a similar manner; but one, less credulous than the rest, running down to the water's edge, called out, "Pourquoi est ce que vous ne parlez plus haut?" "Why don't you speak louder?" The same captain, with perfect self-command, replied, Tais toi, nous serons entendues!" "Hush, we shall be overheard and discovered!" The sentry, satisfied with this caution, retired, and the boats passed in safety.*

About an hour before day, the army began to ascend the precipice, the distance of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet, almost perpendicular ascent, above which spread the plains of Abraham. By day-light, Sept. 13th, this almost incredible enterprise had beeen effected-the desired station was attained, the army was formed, and ready to meet the enemy.

To Montcalm, the intelligence that the English were occupying the heights of Abraham, was most surprising. The impossibility of ascending the precipice he considered certain, and therefore had taken no measures to fortify its line. But no sooner was he informed of the position of the Eng. lish army, than perceiving a battle no longer to be avoided,

* Silliman's Tour, from Smollet.

he prepared to fight. Between nine and ten o'clock, the two armies, about equal in numbers, met face to face.

The battle now commenced. Inattentive to the fire of a body of Canadians and Indians, one thousand five hundred of whom Montcalm had stationed in the cornfields and bushes, Wolfe directed his troops to reserve their fire for the main body of the French, now rapidly advancing. On their approach within forty yards, the English opened their fire, and the destruction became immense.

The French fought bravely, but their ranks became disordered, and, notwithstanding the repeated efforts of their officers to form them, and to renew the attack, they were so successfully pushed by the British bayonet, and hewn down by the Highland broadsword, that their discomfiture was complete.

During the action, Montcalm was on the French left, and Wolfe on the English right, and here they both fell in the critical moment that decided the victory. Early in the battle, Wolfe received a ball in his wrist, but binding his handkerchief around it, he continued to encourage his men. Shortly after, another ball penetrated his groin; but this wound, although much more severe, he concealed, and continued to urge on the contest, till a third bullet pierced his breast. He was now obliged, though reluctantly, to be carIried to the rear of the line.

Gen. Monckton succeeded to the command, but was immediately wounded, and conveyed away. In this critical state of the action, the command devolved on Gen. Townshend. Gen. Montcalm, fighting in front of his battalion, received a mortal wound about the same time, and Gen. Jennezergus, his second in command, fell near his side.

Wolfe died in the field, before the battle was ended; but he lived long enough to know that the victory was his. While leaning on the shoulder of a lieutenant, who kneeled to support him, he was seized with the agonies of death: at this moment was heard the distant sound, “They fly— they fly." The hero raised his drooping head, and eagerly asked, "Who fly ?" Being told that it was the French"Then," he replied, "I die happy." and expired.

This death," says Professor Silliman, "has furnished a grand and pathetic subject for the painter, the poet, and the historian, and, undoubtedly, considered as a specimen of mere military glory, it is one of the most sublime that the annals of war afford."

Montcalm was every way worthy of being the competitor

of Wolfe. In talents, in military skill, in personal courage, he was not his inferior. Nor was his death much less sublime. He lived to be carried to the city, where his last moments were employed in writing, with his own hand, a letter to the English general, recommending the French prisoners to his care and humanity. When informed that his wound was mortal, he replied, "I shall not then live to see the surrender of Quebec."

The following interesting particulars relating to the dangers and sufferings of two officers of the English army, during the battle, we shall be excused for inserting, notwithstanding their length.

"Captain Ochterlony and Ensign Peyton, belonged to the regiment of Brigadier-General Monckton. They were nearly of an age, which did not exceed thirty; the first was a North-Briton, the other a native of Ireland. Both were agreeable in person, and were connected together by the ties of mutual friendship and esteem. On the day that preceded the battle, Captain Ochterlony had fought a duel with a German officer, in which, though he wounded and disarmed his antagonist, yet he himself received a dangerous hurt under the right arm, in consequence of which his friends insisted on his remaining in camp during the action of next day; but his spirit was too great to comply with this remonstrance. He declared that it should never be said that a scratch, received in a private rencounter, had prevented him from doing his duty, when his country required his service; and he took the field with a fusil in his hand, though he was hardly able to carry his arms. In leading up his men to the enemy's entrenchment, he was shot through the lungs with a musket ball, an accident which obliged him to part with his fusil, but he still continued advancing, until, by loss of blood, he became too weak to proceed farther. About the same time, Mr. Peyton was lamed by a shot, which shattered the small bone of his left leg. The soldiers, in their retreat, earnestly begged, with tears in their eyes, that Captain Ochterlony would allow them to carry him and the ensign off the field. But he was so bigotted to a severe point of honor, that he would not quit the ground, though he desired they would take care of his ensign. Mr. Peyton, with a generous disdain, rejected their good offices, declaring that he would not leave his captain in such a situation; and, in a little time, they remained sole survivors on that part of the field.

"Captain Ochterlony sat down by his friend, and as they

expected nothing but immediate death, they took leave of each other; yet they were not altogether abandoned by the hope of being protected as prisoners; for the captain, seeing a French soldier, with two Indians, approach, started up, and accosting them in the French language, which he spoke perfectly well, expressed his expectation that they would treat him and his companion as officers, prisoners, and gentlemen. The two Indians seemed to be entirely under the conduct of the Frenchman, who, coming up to Mr. Peyton, as he sat on the ground, snatched his laced hat from his head, and robbed the captain of his watch and money. This outrage was a signal to the Indians for murder and pillage. One of them, clubbing his firelock, struck at him behind, with a view to knock him down, but the blow missing his head, took place upon his shoulder. At the same instant, the other Indian poured his shot into the breast of this unfortunate young gentleman, who cried out, O Peyton! the villain has shot me.' Not yet satiated with cruelty, the barbarian sprung upon him, and stabbed him in the belly with his scalping knife. The captain having parted with his fusil, had no weapon for his defence, as none of the officers wore swords in the action. The three ruffians, finding him still alive, endeavored to strangle him with his own sash; and he was now upon his knees, struggling against them with surprising exertion. Mr. Peyton, at this juncture, having a double-barrelled musket in his hand, and seeing the distress of his friend, fired at one of the Indians, who dropped dead on the spot. The other, thinking the ensign would be an easy prey, advanced towards him, and Mr. Peyton, having taken good aim, at the distance of four yards, discharged his piece the second time, but it seemed to take no effect. The savage fired in his turn, and wounded the ensign in the shoulder; then rushing upon him, thrust his bayonet through his body; he repeated the blow, which Mr. Peyton, attempting to parry, received another wound in his left hand; nevertheless, he seized the Indian's musket with the same hand, pulled him forwards, and with his right, drawing a dagger which hung by his side, plunged it in the barbarian's side. A violent struggle ensued; but at length Mr. Peyton was uppermost, and, with repeated strokes of his dagger, killed his antagonist outright. Here he was seized with an unaccountable emotion of curiosity, to know whether or not his shot had taken effect on the body of the Indian; he accordingly turned him up, and stripping off his blanket, perceived that the ball had penetrated quite