The struggle still went on along the foot of the hill, where the Canadians manfully held their ground; but, to our dismay, we saw that some fresh disaster had happened at the bridge.
“O mon Dieu! They are cutting it! The whole army will be lost!” But there was more efficient aid at hand than our useless cries. Even as we despaired we saw Hugh with other officers struggle through the mob, and, sword in hand, beat back the terror-stricken crowd until they gained the head of the bridge, when the Royal Roussillon moved into position, and soon the straggling columns took form and passed rapidly over beyond the shelter of the hornwork.
The pursuit was checked, as far as we could see, by the unaided efforts of the Canadians; the English halted, reformed, and slowly withdrew; the last of our troops recrossed the St. Charles; and in the twilight we saw our colours still flying on the ramparts of Quebec.
There was nothing more for us to see, perhaps nothing more to hope, and broken in body and in spirit we wearily descended the stairways, and traversed the long corridors in silence until we reached the main hall on the ground-floor.
The room was barely lighted by a few candles at one end, and was filled to overflowing by the nuns of the three orders, mingled with those who had shared their generous hospitality—old and feeble gentlemen whose fighting days had long passed; grey-haired gentlewomen, patient and resigned, others in the full bloom of youth, and young girls and children, pale and anxious-eyed; while in the circle of light beneath the great black crucifix on the white wall stood the commanding figure of la mère de Ste. Claude, and with her la mère de Ste. Hélène of the Hôtel-Dieu, and la mère de la Nativité of the Ursulines.
All were listening with breathless attention to the words that fell from the venerable Bishop of Quebec, Monseignieur de Pontbriand, whose quiet bearing and measured tones carried assurance to many a fainting heart.
“My children,” he was saying, as we entered, “do not forget, in our day of disaster, that we are not left helpless. Let us for our comfort say together those words, which we learned to lisp as children, but perhaps only to understand to-night.” And, as he raised his hand, the people knelt, and with voices that gained confidence as the familiar words fell from his lips, they repeated the “Qui habitat” in unison: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”
The common danger, the common worship, drew us together. Each succeeding verse, with its divine assurance of safety and protection, brought to us a quiet and a confidence which renewed our strength.
But even as all hearts were lifted there came a commanding knock at the outer door opposite the chapel, which was immediately repeated, and la mère Ste. Claude signed it should be opened.