The fate of a
continent has just been decided. The genius of William Pitt has
triumphed, though victory was bought at a dear price.
"Here comes from St. Louis gate [27] on his way to the Chateau, pale,
but dauntless - on a black charger - supported by two grenadiers, one on
each side of his horse, a General officer wearing the uniform which
won at Fontenoy, won at Laufeldt, as well as at the Monongahela [28]
and at Carillon. [29] A bloody trail crimsons the Grande Allee,
St. Louis street, on that gloomy September day. My friends, 'tis the
life-blood of a hero. Drop in reverential silence, on the moistened
earth, a sympathetic tear; France's chivalrous leader, the victor of
many battle-fields, has returned from his last campaign.
"Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Le Marquis est tue," is repeated by female
voices as the death-stricken but intrepid general glides past, to
which he courteously replies, trying to quiet their fears, 'that he
was not seriously hurt, and not to distress themselves on his
account.' 'Ce n'est rien! ce n'est rien! ne vous affligez pas pour
moi, mes bonnes amies.'
"You have all heard the account of the death-bed scene - of his tender
solicitude for the good name of France - of his dying injunctions to de
Ramesay, the King's lieutenant in charge of the Quebec Garrison, and
to the Colonel of the Roussillon Regiment.
