were fortifying themselves, which was no less an error.  He has been blamed not only for fighting too soon, but for fighting at all.  In this he could not choose.  Fight he must, for Wolfe was now in a position to cut off all his supplies.  His men were full of ardor, and he resolved to attack before their ardor cooled.  He spoke a few words to them in his keen, vehement way.  “I remember very well how he looked,” one of the Canadians, then a boy of eighteen, used to say in his old age; “he rode a black or dark bay horse along the front of our lines, brandishing his sword, as if to excite us to do our duty.  He wore a coat with wide sleeves, which fell back as he raised his arm, and showed the white linen of the wristband."[780]

[Footnote 780:  Recollections of Joseph Trahan, in Revue Canadienne, IV.]

The English waited the result with a composure which, if not quite real, was at least well feigned.  The three field-pieces sent by Ramesay plied them with canister-shot, and fifteen hundred Canadians and Indians fusilladed them in front and flank.  Over all the plain, from behind bushes and knolls and the edge of cornfields, puffs of smoke sprang incessantly from the guns of these hidden marksmen.  Skirmishers were thrown out before the lines to hold them in check, and the soldiers were ordered to lie on the grass to avoid the shot.  The firing was liveliest on the English left, where bands of sharpshooters got under the edge of the declivity, among thickets, and behind scattered houses, whence they killed and wounded a considerable number of Townshend’s men.  The light infantry were called up from the rear.  The houses were taken and retaken, and one or more of them was burned.

Wolfe was everywhere.  How cool he was, and why his followers loved him, is shown by an incident that happened in the course of the morning.  One of his captains was shot through the lungs; and on recovering consciousness he saw the General standing at his side.  Wolfe pressed his hand, told him not to despair, praised his services, promised him early promotion, and sent an aide-de-camp to Monckton to beg that officer to keep the promise if he himself should fall.[781]

[Footnote 781:  Sir Denis Le Marchant, cited by Wright, 579.  Le Marchant knew the captain in his old age.  Monckton kept Wolfe’s promise.]

It was towards ten o’clock when, from the high ground on the right of the line, Wolfe saw that the crisis was near.  The French on the ridge had formed themselves into three bodies, regulars in the centre, regulars and Canadians on right and left.  Two field-pieces, which had been dragged up the heights at Anse du Foulon, fired on them with grapeshot, and the troops, rising from the ground, prepared to receive them.  In a few moments more they were in motion.  They came on rapidly, uttering loud shouts, and firing as soon as they were within range.  Their ranks, ill ordered at the best, were further confused by a