The energy of the French did not diminish.  Stronger and stronger grew abattis and breastwork, the whole becoming a formidable field over which men might charge to death.  But Robert only smiled to himself.  Abercrombie’s mighty array of cannon would smash everything and then the brave infantry, charging through the gaps, would destroy the French army.  The French, he knew, were brave and skillful, but their doom was sure.  Once St. Luc spoke to him.  The chevalier had thrown off his coat also, and he had swung an ax with the best.

“I am sorry, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “that we have not had time to send you away, but as you can see, our operations are somewhat hurried.  Chance put you here, and here you will have to stay until all is over.”

“I see that you are expecting an army,” said Robert, “and I infer from all these preparations that it will soon be upon you.”

“It is betraying no military secret to admit that it is even so.  Abercrombie will soon be at hand.”

“And I am surprised that you should await him.  I judge that he has sufficient force to overwhelm you.”

“We are never beaten before battle.  The Marquis de Montcalm would not stay, unless he had a fair chance of success.”

Robert was silent and St. Luc quickly went back to his work.  All day the men toiled, and when the sun went down, they were still at their task.  The ring of axes and the crash of falling trees resounded through the dark.  Part of the soldiers put their kettles and pots on the fires, but the others labored on.  In the night came the valiant De Levis with his men, and Montcalm gave him a heartfelt welcome.  De Levis was a host in himself, and Montcalm felt that he was just in time.  He expected the battle on the morrow.  His scouts told him that Abercrombie would be at hand, but without his artillery.  The Marquis looked at the formidable abattis, the rows and rows of trees, presenting their myriad of spiked ends, and hope was alive in his heart.  He regretted once more the absence of the Indians who had been led away by the sulky Tandakora, but victory, won with their help, demanded a fearful price, as he had learned at William Henry.

Montcalm, St. Luc, De Levis, Bourlamaque, Lotbiniere and other trusted officers held a consultation far in the night.  An important event had occurred already.  A scouting force of French and Canadians under Trepezec and Langy had been trapped by rangers under Rogers and troops under Fitch and Lyman.  The French and Canadians were cut to pieces, but in the battle the gallant young Lord Howe, the real leader of the Anglo-American army, had been killed.  He had gone forward with the vanguard, exposing himself rashly, perhaps, and his life was the forfeit.  Immediate confusion in the Anglo-American councils followed, and Montcalm and his lieutenants had noticed the lack of precision and directness.

Robert did not see the French officers going to the council, but he knew that the French army meant to stay.  Even while the men were cutting down the trees he could not persuade himself wholly that Montcalm would fight there at Ticonderoga, but as the night advanced his last faint doubt disappeared.  He would certainly witness a great battle on the morrow.