All honor to vanquished heroism! Honor to the English dead, whose bodies were buried in confusion with those of their enemies on the twenty-eighth day of April, 1760! Honor to the soldiers of France, over whose bodies grows green, with every succeeding spring, the turf of the Plains of Abraham! When the last trump shall sound, and these foes shall rise from their last sleep side by side, will they have forgotten their ancient hate, or will they spring once more at each other's throats?
Honor to the vanquished brave! Among the soldiers whose names are bright on the pages of history there is but one who, on the morrow of a glorious triumph, uncovered his head before his captives and cried, "All honor to the vanquished brave!" He knew that his words would last forever, graven on the heart of France. Great soldiers there are many; but niggard Nature takes centuries to frame a hero.
The field of battle after the victory presented a ghastly sight. Men and horses, the wounded and the dead, were frozen into the mire of blood and water, and could be extricated only with pain and difficulty. The wounded of both nations were treated by the Chevalier de Lévis with the same tender care. Most of them were carried to the Convent of the Hospital Nuns. The convent and all its outbuildings were crowded. All the linen, all the clothing of the inmates was torn up for bandages, and the good nuns had nothing left for themselves but the clothes they were wearing upon the day of battle.
Taking refuge after his defeat behind the ramparts of Quebec, General Murray made a vigorous resistance. As they had but twenty guns with which to arm their siege-batteries, the French could do little more than blockade the city and wait for the re-enforcements which never came. The English general requested permission to send an officer three times a week to visit his wounded in the hospital. This request was readily granted by the humane De Lévis. Lochiel knew that his friend must be lying in the hospital, but he could get no news of him. Although consumed with anxiety, he dreaded to put himself in a false position by inquiries too minute. It might have been considered natural that he would wish to visit his wounded countrymen, but with true Scotch caution he let none of his anxiety appear. It was not till the tenth day after the battle, when his regular turn came, that he found himself approaching the hospital under the escort of a French officer.
"I wonder," said Lochiel, "if you would consider it an indiscretion on my part were I to ask for a private interview with the lady superior?"
"I see no indiscretion in it," answered the Frenchman," but I fear I would be exceeding my orders were I to permit it. I am ordered to lead you to your countrymen and nothing more."
"I am sorry," said the Scotchman indifferently. "It is a little disappointing to me; but let us speak no more of it."
The French officer was silent some minutes; he thought to himself that the Scotchman, speaking French like a Parisian, had probably made the acquaintance of some Canadian families shut up in Quebec; that he was perhaps charged with some message from the relations or friends of the superior, and that it would be cruel to refuse his request. Presently he said:
"As I am persuaded that neither you nor the lady superior can be forming any designs against our batteries, I think that perhaps, after all, I might grant your request without exceeding my duty."
Lochiel, who had been staking all his hopes of a reconciliation with the D'Habervilles upon this interview, could scarcely conceal his joy; but he answered quietly: