The hearts of the soldiers beat high with pride and joy; but the face of Wolfe was inscrutable as he stood surveying the plain which formed a sort of tableland on the western side of the city of Quebec.

The town itself he could not see, though he knew where it lay, and how beyond it extended the camp of Beauport, from which Montcalm could march battalion after battalion to meet him in battle.  He knew, too, that behind him lay Bougainville and his thousands, who, by joining in a concentrated action with Montcalm, could hem him in between two fires, and cut his gallant little army to pieces.  He realized all this right well, if others did not, and knew that victory or death—­even annihilation—­lay before them.  And knowing this, he made his survey of the place with a concentrated attention, and issued his orders without hesitation or delay.

The grassy plain was pretty level.  Quebec bounded it on the east, the precipices on the St. Lawrence on the south, the declivities to the basin of the St. Charles on the north.  In one place the plain—­called the Plains of Abraham, from the old settler who once made a home there—­was little more than a mile wide.  When Wolfe reached it, he halted, and after a careful survey said: 

“This will be the place to make our stand.  Here we will meet our foe in battle.  Fight they must now; and if heaven will grant us the victory, let the praise and glory of the day be to God above.  If He think well to withhold His countenance from us, let us sell our lives as dearly as may be, and die sword in hand, with our face to the foe!”

Then the orders were issued.  The brigades and battalions were marshalled into position.  The Brigadiers received their orders from their young General, and took up the positions allotted to them.  Each of them grasped him by the hand before quitting his side.  To each one he spoke a word of praise for his gallantry during the tedious campaign, and of thanks for the personal friendship shown to one who felt so unworthy of it, having been so often a care and a trouble instead of a source of strength to those about him.

Julian stood near, a strange mistiness before his eyes; and as Fritz turned away to take up his position at the head of his men, he said in a husky voice to his friend: 

“You will stay beside him and guard him from ill.  I know not why, but my heart is full of misgiving.  Quebec will be dearly won if it lose us the gallant Wolfe!”

“He will not think so,” said Julian.  “And his life has been so full of trouble and pain.  I think few know how he has suffered.  Perhaps there is some truth in the old heathen saying, ’Those whom the gods love die young.’  Perhaps it has a better fulfilment and significance now that the Light has come into the world, and that there is no sting now in death.”

They pressed each other by the hand, and Fritz swung away.  It was a moment of deep though suppressed emotion.  Both men knew that they might have looked their last upon the face of the other, and after many years of close and brother-like companionship such partings cannot be without their thrill of pain and wonder.