up to annihilate those French jumping-jacks on the banks of the St.
Lawrence. "La, Captain, I hope you won't get hurt!" says pretty Miss
Betty, with her white wig and her beauty spots; and that heroic young
gentleman lifts her hand to his lips, and swears deeply that, for a glance
from her bright eyes, he would go forth and capture Quebec single-handed.

While these dalliances were in progress, the French jumping-jacks were
putting things in order to receive their expected guests in a becoming
manner. They held a great pow-wow of representatives of Indian tribes from
all parts of the seat of the projected war, and bound them by compacts to
their assistance. Everybody, even the women, worked on the fortifications,
or on anything that might aid in the common defense. Before the end of
August, at which time the outlookers reported signs of a fleet of near a
hundred sail, flying the British flag, all was ready for them in the
French strongholds. So now let the mighty combat begin.

But it was not to come this time: the era of William Pitt and General
Wolfe was nearly half a century distant. The latter would not be born for
sixteen years, and the former was a pap-eating babe of three. Meanwhile
the redoubtable Hovenden was snoring in bed, while his fleet was
struggling in a dense fog at night, being driven on the shoals of the Egg
Islands near the mouth of the St. Lawrence. "For the Lord's sake, come on
deck!" roars Captain Goddard, thrusting his head into the cabin for the
second time, "or we shall all be lost!" Thus adjured, the old imbecile
huddles on his dressing gown and slippers, and finds himself, sure enough,
close on a lee shore. He made shift to get his own vessel out of harm's
way, but eight others went down, and near nine hundred men were drowned.
"Impossible to go on," was the vote of the council of war the next
morning; and "It's all for the best," added this remarkable admiral; "for
had we got to Quebec, ten or twelve thousand of us must have perished of