And as if in answer, one by one, our watch-fires were kindled, until they twinkled in a long unbroken line from the St. Charles to Montmorenci.
The long siege had begun. Such an array of ships was never before seen from the walls of Quebec. There were the flag-ships of Admirals Saunders, Holmes, and Durell; twenty-three ships of the line, besides frigates, transports, and a flock of smaller craft nestled under shelter of the Island; all these crowded with ten or twelve thousand troops under General Wolfe and his brigadiers, Monckton, Townshend, and Murray, fresh from triumph, and determined on a desperate effort for new conquest.
Face to face with them stretched our long line of defenders, as resolute and as confident—regulars, militia, Indians, and volunteers, and in the ranks of the latter the grandfather stood by the grandson; had the wives and daughters been permitted, many of them, I doubt not, would have held a musket beside those dearest to them.
On land and on water, there was constant change and movement; the stately vessels moved slowly up and down, small boats plied backward and forward, troops were landed where unopposed; on our side of the river every eye was vigilant, guessing what each new move might portend. No one could look upon it without a swifter-beating heart. Before us swept all “the pomp and circumstance of war” without any of its horror—as yet—and the panorama in which it was displayed added to its dignity and importance.
We became accustomed to the distant boom of heavy guns, and watched the constant movement of the combatants with much excited comment and foolish security.
It was Gabriel who first brought us face to face with the reality. We were surprised by his appearance at the house about the middle of July; he looked twenty years older; all his former jauntiness of manner had disappeared, and so dejected was his bearing I could scarce believe it was the same man I had known.
“Mesdames,” he said, “my respects to you all, though I come as a bearer of bad tidings.”
“No one expects compliments in time of war, Gabriel. Tell me it is not my son, and you may speak freely,” said the brave old lady, with a blanched face.
“Thank God, it is not! He came into camp only yesterday, with a hundred good men behind him, so worn out that they are fitter for the hospital than the field, but good food and rest will set them right again in a week. Ah, madame,” he cried, with a sparkle of his old air, “but he has tickled them rarely! Bedame! his name will not smell sweet in their nostrils for many a long day!”
“Then tell us your news, Gabriel; anything else is easily borne.”