[782] The
British advanced a few rods; then halted and stood still. When the
French were within forty paces the word of command rang out, and a crash
of musketry answered all along the line. The volley was delivered with
remarkable precision. In the battalions of the centre, which had
suffered least from the enemy's bullets, the simultaneous explosion was
afterwards said by French officers to have sounded like a cannon-shot.
Another volley followed, and then a furious clattering fire that lasted
but a minute or two. When the smoke rose, a miserable sight was
revealed: the ground cumbered with dead and wounded, the advancing
masses stopped short and turned into a frantic mob, shouting, cursing,
gesticulating. The order was given to charge. Then over the field rose
the British cheer, mixed with the fierce yell of the Highland slogan.
Some of the corps pushed forward with the bayonet; some advanced
firing. The clansmen drew their broadswords and dashed on, keen and
swift as bloodhounds. At the English right, though the attacking column
was broken to pieces, a fire was still kept up, chiefly, it seems, by
sharpshooters from the bushes and cornfields, where they had lain for an
hour or more. Here Wolfe himself led the charge, at the head of the
Louisbourg grenadiers. A shot shattered his wrist. He wrapped his
handkerchief about it and kept on. Another shot struck him, and he still
advanced, when a third lodged in his breast.
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