A few shots came from the forest now and then, but the great army had vanished, save for its fallen.  Montcalm, still cautious, relaxing no vigilance, fearing that the enemy would yet come back with his cannon, walked among his troops and gave them thanks in person.  Beer and wine in abundance, and food were served to them.  Fires were lighted and the field that they had defended was to be their camp.  Many scouts were sent into the forest to see what had become of the opposing army.  Most of the soldiers, after eating and drinking, threw themselves upon the ground and slept, but it was long before the leader and any of his lieutenants closed their eyes.  Although he felt a mighty joy over his great victory of the day, Montcalm was still a prey to anxieties.  His own force, triumphant though it might be, was small.  The enemy might come again on the morrow with nearly four to one, and, if he brought his cannon with him, he could take Ticonderoga, despite the great losses he had suffered already.  Once more he talked with St. Luc, whom he trusted implicitly.

The Chevalier did not believe a second attack would be made, and his belief was so strong it amounted to a conviction.

“The same mind,” he said, “that sent their army against us without artillery, will now go to the other extreme.  Having deemed us negligible it will think us invincible.”

St. Luc’s logic was correct.  The French passed the night in peace, and the next morning, when De Levis went out with a strong party to look for the enemy he found that he was gone, and that in his haste he had left behind vast quantities of food and other supplies which the French eagerly seized.  Montcalm that day, full of pride, caused a great cross to be erected on his victorious field of battle and upon it he wrote in Latin: 

  “Quid dux? quid miles? quid strata ingentia ligna? 
  En Signum! en victor!  Deus hic, Deus ipse triumphat.”

Which a great American writer has translated into: 

  “Soldier and chief and ramparts’ strength are nought;
  Behold the conquering cross!  ’Tis God the triumph wrought.”

But for Robert the night that closed down was the blackest he had ever known.  It had never occurred to him that Abercrombie’s army could be defeated.  Confident in its overwhelming numbers, he had believed that it would easily sweep away the French and take Ticonderoga.  The skill and valor of Montcalm, St. Luc, De Levis and the others, no matter how skillful and valiant they might be, could avail nothing, and, after Ticonderoga, it would be a mere question of time until Crown Point fell too.  And after that would come Quebec and the conquest of Canada.

Now, when his spirits had soared so high, the fall was correspondingly low.  His sensitive mind, upon which events always painted themselves with such vividness, reflected only the darkest pictures.  He saw the triumphant advance of the French, the Indians laying waste the whole of New York Province, and the enemy at the gates of New York itself.