He was therefore all eagerness for the cannon to be brought up from the lake.

“The artillery will make short work of it, General,” he said, in his bluff, abrupt fashion.  “It will come rattling about their heads, and they must take to the walls behind, and these will soon give way before a steady cannonade.  Or if we take the cannon up to yonder heights of Rattlesnake Hill, we can fling our round shot within their breastwork from end to end, and drive the men back like rabbits to their burrow; or we can plant a battery at the narrow mouth of Lake Champlain, and cut off their supplies.  With the big guns we can beat them in half a dozen ways; but let our first act be to bring them up, for muskets and rifles are of little use against such a rampart as they have made, bristling with spikes and living twigs and branches, which baffle assault as you might scarce believe without a trial.”

Rogers spoke with the assurance and freedom of a man used to command and certain of his subject.  He and Lord Howe had been on terms of most friendly intimacy, and the young Brigadier had learned much from the veteran Ranger, whose services had been of so much value to the English.  He would never have taken umbrage at advice given by a subordinate.  But General Abercromby was of a different order, and he little liked Rogers’ assured manner and brusque, independent tone.  He heard him to the end, but gave an evasive reply, and sent out an engineer on his own account to survey the French position, and bring him word what was his opinion.

This worthy made his survey, and came back full of confidence.

“The rampart is but a hastily-constructed breastwork of felled trees; it should be easily carried by assault,” he reported, full of careless confidence.  “A good bayonet charge, resolutely conducted, is all that is needed, and we shall be in the fort before night.”

The soldiers cheered aloud when they heard the news.  They were filled with valour and eagerness, in spite of the death of their beloved leader.  It seemed as though his spirit inspired them with ardent desire to show what they could do; although generalship, alas! had perished with the young Brigadier, who had fallen at such an untimely moment.

The Rangers looked at one another with grim faces.  They would not speak a word to dishearten the troops; but they knew, far better than the raw levies or the English regulars could do, the nature of the obstruction to be encountered.

“A bayonet charge by soldiers full of valour is no light thing,” said Pringle to the Ranger, as they stood in the evening light talking together.  “Resolute men have done wonders before now in such a charge, and why not we tomorrow?”

“Have you seen the abattis?” asked Rogers, in his grim and brusque fashion.

“No,” answered Pringle; “I have only heard it described by those who have.”

“Come, then, and look at it before it be dark,” was Rogers’ reply; and he, together with Stark, led Fritz and Pringle and Roche along a narrow forest pathway which the Rangers were engaged in widening and improving, ready for the morrow’s march, until he was able to show them, from a knoll of rising ground, the nature of the fortification they were to attack upon the morrow.