But when at length, after many contradictory rumors and much false information which would have bewildered any commander, Cramahé learned from the intercepted letters of Arnold, and from the volunteer reconnoitering of such faithful men as Donald, that the Continental army was really approaching Quebec, it is due to the memory of a worthy officer, even in these pages of romance, to say that he acted with judgment and activity in making all the preliminary preparations necessary to protect Quebec, until the arrival of Governor Carleton, and reinforcements of regular troops.
After leaving the banquet hall, he put on his uniform, and wrapping himself closely in his military cloak, he resolved upon making a personal inspection of all the defensive posts of the city. He first repaired to the barracks in Cathedral-square, where he had a brief conference with the principal officers. He next visited every gate and the approaches to the citadel, where he was pleased to find that the sentries were unusually alert, and quite alive to the exigencies of the situation, without precisely knowing what they were. The Lieutenant-Governor then walked down into the darkness of Lower Town and wandered a long time in silence along the dusky bank of the St. Lawrence.
About three o'clock in the morning a sleigh drew up at the door of a large square house in a retired street. Two men issued from it, one middle-aged, erect and dressed in rather costly furs; the other old, thin and arrayed like an Indian hunter, with a large fox-skin cap on his head. As they stepped across the footpath from the sleigh to the front steps of the mansion, a tall muffled figure stalked slowly on the other side of the street.
"It is the Governor," whispered the younger man to his companion. "I know his stature and carriage! Let us enter."
"I wonder what Belmont is doing out at this unseasonable hour," muttered the tall man in the folds of his cloak. And he walked on, while the door of the mansion closed with a thud upon the two sleighmen.
It was five o'clock on the morning of the 10th November, 1775. The first faint light of the morning was touching the tops of the far mountains. The air was frosty, with indications of snow.
Two men stood at an angle of the ramparts, on the highest point of the citadel of Quebec. They were looking eastward.
"See, Lieutenant," said one pointing his gloved hand across the river.
"Ay, there they are, Your Excellency, issuing from the woods and ascending the hill," replied the other.