“We can’t put out this fire!”

“We must jump for our lives!”

Such were the exclamations which burst simultaneously from the lips of Henry and the sharpshooter, as the flames shot skyward from the fire-boat.

Both leaped to the stern of the craft, where there was a plank extending over the water a distance of a few feet.

“Let us haul the board overboard,” cried Silvers. “That will give us something to rest on.”

This advice was followed with difficulty. But at last the plank went down with a splash and the two escaping prisoners went with it.

They were none too soon. The fire-boat now blazed up with increasing fury, and Henry’s coat was in a flame in two places. But the souse in the river saved the young soldier from more than a scorching.

“Whi—which way now?” he sputtered as he came up and caught hold of one end of the plank, while Silvers grasped the other end.

“Let us see if we can’t make the opposite shore. It’s our only chance.”

“The night won’t help us much, now the fire-boat is ablaze,” said Henry. For the conflagration cast a ruddy glare all around them.

The fire-boat had been located a short distance below Sillery Cove, where the St. Lawrence was a little over a mile wide. The tide, which had been high in the afternoon, was running out rapidly, and this carried both the fire-boat and the plank along with it. Thus the Indians who had shot the flaming arrows and the French soldiers who had given the alarm were soon left far behind.

Both Henry and Silvers tried to guide the plank towards the south bank of the river, but in this they were only partly successful. Yet it was a great satisfaction to both to see that they were getting further and further away from the shore of the enemy.

“If we are not careful we will be washed right out to sea,” said Henry, after a long spell of silence, in which they gazed back in the semi-darkness, to see if they were being pursued.

“We are still a long distance from the ocean, lad,” responded Silvers.

“Are we close to Quebec?”

“A mile or two above it, I think.”

Another spell of silence followed, and then Henry let out a faint shout.

“A ship! We are drifting directly upon a ship!”

His words proved true. But a short distance away was a broad-sterned brig, standing slowly down the stream.

“If it’s a French craft we are lost,” whispered Silvers.

In a minute more the plank bumped up against the side of the brig, and they could see half a dozen sailors at the rail.

“Hullo there!” cried a rough English voice. “Keelhaul me, if there are not two soldiers on a board!”

“Frenchmen! spies!” put in another voice.

“No! no! we are not spies!” called back Silvers joyfully. “We are prisoners escaped from the French.”

“Harken to that, mate. Escaped prisoners! In that case we must help ’em aboard.”

It was not long before a rope was thrown overboard, and with great difficulty Henry and Silvers climbed to the main deck of the ship, where they were immediately surrounded by the captain and several other officers.

“Who are you?” demanded the captain sharply.

“Royal Americans, sir,” responded Silvers, touching his forelock, while Henry did the same. “We were captured by the French and Indians about a week ago and made our escape last night.”

“If you are Royal Americans where do you belong? Certainly not in General Wolfe’s camp.”

“We belong to the army that was under General Prideaux. But he is dead, and Sir William Johnson took command.”

“Prideaux—at Fort Niagara? That is a long distance from here.”

“We were on our way to Oswego when we were taken. The French brought us across the lake, and then marched us down the river road to a prison near Sillery Cove.”

The captain of the brig listened to their tale with much interest.

“If you have been among the French you ought to be able to tell General Wolfe something worth listening to,” he said, when they had finished. “Some of the men on board are bound for his camp, and you may go along if you wish.”

“Where is his camp?” asked Henry.

“On the upper bank of this river, just below the Falls of Montmorenci. The general has been sick, but I heard this morning that he is now somewhat better.”

“May I ask if you have been in a fight with the French?” came from the young soldier curiously.

“Hardly a fight. We have been ordered to stand up and down the river with the tide. This has kept the enemy on the move, watching not only this brig, but also a number of other ships, and is gradually wearing the French soldiers out. Did you hear anything of their colonists deserting?”

“I did,” cried Henry. “Two men who were on guard said that a hundred men had left in one day, so he had heard. I didn’t get any particulars.”

“Montcalm will find that this campaign is not yet over,” responded the captain of the brig grimly. “He thinks Quebec cannot be taken, but Wolfe will teach him a trick or two ere we hoist anchor for England.”

It was an hour later when the brig dropped anchor in the stream, midway between the Island of Orleans and the northwest shore of the St. Lawrence. Not a battery from Quebec had fired on the ship, and the English batteries on the southeast shore were also silent.

“It is my duty to send you over to General Wolfe’s camp under guard,” said the captain of the brig. “I do not doubt but that you are to be trusted, but duty is duty, you know.”

“We’ll not complain,” answered Silvers.

A boat was soon lowered and the sharpshooter and Henry entered this, followed by a coxswain and his crew, and two army officers, who had been on the trip of the brig. This boat was followed by a second and a third, and then all three headed for the shore below the Falls of Montmorenci.

It did not take long to reach the mud flats below the rocks fronting the river bank. Here the party was challenged by the grenadier guards, but quickly passed, and Henry and Silvers were marched up the bank by a rough trail.

Both the young soldier and the sharpshooter were thoroughly worn out by the trials they had endured, and having received some food on the brig, and dried their clothing, they did not remain awake long after having been assigned quarters.

It was Henry who was the first to stir in the morning. The roll call of the long drums aroused him, and gazing out on something of a parade ground he saw the grenadiers forming to answer to their names.

“This looks natural,” he observed to his companion, who arose lazily and stretched himself. “I must say these soldiers of General Wolfe look as if they meant business.”

It was not long after this that a guard came in and told them to prepare for an interview with General Wolfe. They at once brushed up as best they could, and the guard supplied them with caps, to replace those which had been lost.

General Wolfe’s headquarters were in a house some distance back from the Falls of Montmorenci. The general had been taken seriously ill about the middle of August and was now slowly recovering.

At the time of this campaign, which was to make him famous in the world’s history, General James Wolfe was but thirty-two years of age. He was tall and slender, with sloping shoulders and with a face that showed more of quietness than determination. But his eyes were bright and under certain circumstances could flash forth a hidden fire that meant much. His hair was red, and worn in a cue, as was the fashion at that time.

James Wolfe came of fighting stock, his father, Major-General Edward Wolfe, being a distinguished officer before him. The son entered the King’s army at the age of fifteen, and one year later served in Flanders as the adjutant of a regiment. From Flanders he went to Scotland, to fight gallantly at Culloden, and then at Stirling, Perth, and Glasgow. At twenty-three he was a lieutenant-colonel, holding that rank for five years, when he obtained leave of absence and spent a long vacation in Paris.

With the breaking out of the war with France Wolfe was again in his element. He sailed on the expedition against Louisburg, where he served with great honor to himself. Because of this service he was chosen by Pitt to command the expedition against Quebec. He sailed on the 17th of February, his fleet consisting of twenty-two ships of the line, and also numerous frigates, transports, and other craft. We have already seen how he landed on the Island of Orleans and at other points, and how he tried to break in upon the almost impregnable French position at the Falls of Montmorenci.

Henry had heard much about General Wolfe and of what a sturdy and well-trained army officer he was, and the young soldier was rather surprised to find himself ushered into the presence of one who looked so young and mild. Wolfe’s sickness had left him pale and weak, yet he soon showed that he had all his old-time determination to win still in him.

“You may tell me your story, but be brief,” he said, to Henry, who had been brought in first, and then settled back in his chair to listen. He did not interrupt the recital, but when the young soldier had finished he asked a number of questions, all of which Henry answered as clearly as he could.

“You have certainly had your share of adventures,” said General Wolfe. “I imagine you did not expect to find yourself here when you started out for Oswego.”

“That is true, sir,” answered Henry.

“And you wish to get back at once? That will be rather difficult, I am afraid.”

“I do not care so much about getting back, sir. But I should like to know what has become of my cousin, David Morris, and the others.”

“You had better rest for a few days, and then I will have one of my aids see what can be done for you.”

“Thank you, general,” said Henry, and with a salute he withdrew.

The interview accorded to Silvers was similar to the foregoing, excepting that the sharpshooter was questioned in regard to such French defenses as he had seen along the river front. Then both were told that they were no longer under guard, and could come and go, within the limits of the camp, as they pleased.