They swung themselves up by branches of trees, gripping projecting
stones and roots with hand and knee. It was hot, breathless work,
but soon they were near the top. But they had been heard. Once more
the challenge rang out, "Who goes there?"
"France," panted a voice from below. But this time the sentry was
not deceived. He could see nothing, but he fired at a venture down
into the darkness.
It was too late. The first men had reached the top, and the guard
was overpowered. So hour by hour up the steep cliff the red coats
swarmed unhindered. When morning dawned four thousand British stood
upon the plains of Abraham.
"This is a very serious business," said Montcalm when he heard of
it, "but it can only be a small party."
Soon, however, more news was brought to him. It was no small party.
"Then we must crush them," he said, and with pale set face he rode
forth to battle.
It was ten o'clock when the fight began. The French attacked first.
The British awaited them calmly as they dashed on over the plain.
On they came nearer and nearer. Then suddenly the order was given,
and , cheering wildly, the British charged.
A shot struck Wolfe in the wrist. Without pausing he tied a
handkerchief about it. Again he was hit. Still he went on. Then a
third shot struck his breast, and he fell. Hastily he was carried
to the rear, and laid upon the ground.
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