Up they went in the close darkness of the autumn night, the four-and-twenty selected men leading the way, closely followed by a larger band of comrades.  No word was spoken, no cry was raised.  The tense excitement of the moment seemed to preclude any such demonstration.  It was believed that at this point there would be little resistance.  There was no sentry on the shore, and no appearance of any camp along the top.  It was believed that the French officer Vergor, with a small detachment of troops, was somewhere in the vicinity; but the renown of that worthy was not such as to check the ardour of the English troops.

Wolfe remained below, silent and motionless.  His hands were locked together, and his pale face upturned towards the towering heights above.  The gurgle and plash of the river was in his ears, mingled with those other sounds—­the sounds of scrambling as his soldiers made their way up the rugged heights in the uncertain light of the waning stars.  It was a moment never to be forgotten in his life.  The presentiment of coming death was forgotten—­everything was forgotten but the wild, strong hope of victory; and when from the top of the gorge there came at last the ring of a British cheer, the sound of brisk musket firing, and then another ringing shout as of triumph, the blood rushed into his white face, and he sprang from the boat on to the strand, exclaiming: 

“They have won the foothold.  Form up, men, and follow.  We have England’s honour in our keeping this day.  Never let her say we failed her at the moment of greatest need.”

It was a precipitous gorge up the sides of which the men had to climb.  Julian looked anxiously up it and then at Wolfe, and said: 

“It is too steep; do not try it.  Let me find an easier path for you if I can.”

He smiled as he scanned the sides of the gorge.

“I doubt if I shall get up,” he answered; “but I mean to try.”

And so strong was the resolution which inspired him that he found strength to drag himself up the steep declivity, with only a little assistance from Julian; and found himself, with the first breaking of the dawn, breathless, giddy, exhausted, upon the summit of those Heights of Abraham which today he was to make famous.

Instantly he took the command of the situation.  Cannon were heard opening fire close on the left.  It was the battery of Samos firing upon the English boats in the rear, now just visible in the broadening daylight.

“Silence that battery!” said Wolfe to an officer whose men were just forming up.

Their response was a cheer, as they moved away in orderly array; and when the distant battery of Sillary opened its mouth and uttered its menacing roar, there was another battalion ready to start off to capture and silence it.  Soon the great guns uttered their voices no more.  The English were masters of the coveted heights, and still their troops continued to land and clamber up to join their comrades upon the top.