the line and by the 35th on the right rear. The few French
and British skirmishers in the centre now ran back to
their own lines; and before ten the field was quite clear
between the two opposing fronts.

Wolfe had been wounded twice when going along his line;
first in the wrist and then in the groin. Yet he stood
up so straight and looked so cool that when he came back
to take post on the right the men there did not know he
had been hit at all. His spirit already soared in triumph
over the weakness of the flesh. Here he was, a sick and
doubly wounded man; but a soldier, a hero, and a conqueror,
with the key to half a continent almost within his eager
grasp.

At a signal from Montcalm in the centre the French line
advanced about a hundred yards in perfect formation. Then
the Canadian regulars suddenly began firing without
orders, and threw themselves flat on the ground to reload.
By the time they had got up the French regulars had halted
some distance in front of them, fired a volley, and begun
advancing again. This was too much for the Canadians.
Though they were regulars they were not used to fighting
in the open, not trained for it, and not armed for it
with bayonets. In a couple of minutes they had all slunk
off to the flanks and joined the Indians and militia,
who were attacking the British from under cover.

This left the French regulars face to face with Wolfe's
front: five French battalions against the British six.