De Galissonniere glanced at the strong works, and his smile was confident, but he merely said: 

“It is for the future to tell.”

Then he went on, and Robert hoped that whatever happened the battle would spare the young Frenchman.

Up went the sun toward the zenith.  A light wind rustled the foliage.  Noon was near, and he began to wonder anew what had become of the advancing army.  Suddenly, the echo of a crash came out of the forest in front.  He stood erect, listening intently, and the sound rose again, but it was not an echo now.  It was real, and he knew that the battle was at hand.

The crashes became continuous.  Mingled with them were shouts, and a cloud of smoke began to float above the trees.  The French fired a cannon as a signal, and, before the echoes of its report rolled away, every man dropped ax or spade, and was in his place, weapon in hand.  The noise of the firing in front grew fast.  Montcalm’s scouts and pickets were driven in, and the soldiers of the advancing army began to show among the trees.  The French batteries opened.  The roar in Robert’s ear was terrific, but he stood at his utmost height in order that he might see the assault.  His eyes caught the gleam of uniforms and the flash of sunlight on bayonet and rifle.  He knew now that his own people, dauntless and tenacious, were coming.  He did not know that they had left their artillery behind, and that they expected to destroy the French army with bayonet and rifle and musket.

The fire from the French barrier increased in volume.  Its crash beat heavily and continuously on the drums of Robert’s ears.  A deadly sleet was beating upon the advancing English and Americans.  Already their dead were heaping up in rows.  Montcalm’s men showed their heads only above their works, their bodies were sheltered by the logs and they fired and fired into the charging masses until the barrels of rifles and muskets grew too hot for them to hold.  Meanwhile they shouted with all their might:  “Vive la France!  Vive notre General!  Vive le Roi!” and St. Luc, who stood always with Montcalm, hummed softly and under his breath:  “Hier, sur le pont d’Avignon, j’ai oui chanter la belle.”

“It goes well,” he said to Montcalm.

“Aye, a fair beginning,” replied the Marquis.

Fire ran through French veins.  No cannon balls were coming from the enemy to sweep down their defenses.  Bullets from rifle and musket were beating in vain on their wooden wall, and before them came the foe, a vast, converging mass, a target that no one could miss.  They were far from their own land, deep in the great North American wilderness, but as they saw it, they fought for the honor and glory of France, and to keep what was hers.  They redoubled their shouts and fired faster and faster.  A great cloud of smoke rose over the clearing and the forest, but through it the attacking army always advanced, a hedge of bayonets leading.