The horror and dismay depicted in his friend’s countenance were speedily reflected on his own, when he saw that the unfortunate Gerald, whose blood had completely saturated the earth on which he lay, was indeed no more.  Language at such a moment would not only have been superfluous, but an insult.  De Courcy caught and pressed the hand of his friend in silence.  The unfortunate young man pointed to the dead body of his brother, and burst into tears.  While these were yet flowing in a fulness that promised to give relief to his oppressed heart, a loud shout from the British ranks arrested the attention of both.  The sound seemed to have an electric effect on the actions of Henry Grantham.  For the first time he appeared conscious there was such a thing as a battle being fought.

“De Courcy!” he said starting up, and with sudden animation, “why do we linger here—­the dead,” and he pointed first to the body of the General in the distance—­and then to his brother “the wretched dead claim no service from us now.”

“You are right, Henry, our interest in those beloved objects has caused us to be mindless of our duty to ourselves.—­See, too, how the flankers have cleared the brow of the hill for the advance of the main body.  Victory is our own—­but alas! how dearly purchased!”

“How dearly purchased, indeed!” responded Henry, in a tone of such heart-rending agony as caused his friend to repent the allusion.  “De Courcy keep this packet, and should I fall, let it be sent to my uncle, Colonel D’Egville.”

De Courcy accepted the trust, and the young men mounted their horses, which a Canadian peasant had held for them in the mean time, and dashing up the ascent, soon found themselves where the action was hottest.

Burning with revenge, the flank companies had already succeeded, despite of a hot and incessant fire, in gaining the heights, and here for a considerable time they maintained the struggle unsupported against the whole force of the enemy.  Already their bayonets had cleared for themselves a passage to the more even ground, and the Americans, dismayed at the intrepidity of this handful of assailants, were evidently beginning to waver in their ranks.  A shout of victory, which was answered by the main body of the English troops, just then gaining the summit of the hill, completed their disorder.  They stood the charge but for a moment, then broke and fled, pursued by their excited enemies in every direction.  The chief object of the Americans was to gain the cover of a wood that lay at a short distance in their rear, but a body of militia with some Indians having been sent round to occupy it the moment the landing of the Americans was made known, they were driven back from this their last refuge upon the open ground, and with considerable loss.