We can imagine the strain upon Wolfe's feelings during the two hours in which the boats floated downstream. Perhaps it was to relieve this strain that he repeated in a quiet voice Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." He seemed to dwell with peculiar feeling upon the last line in the following stanza: The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. On coming to the end of the poem, he said, "Gentlemen, I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec." When they had almost reached their landing-place they heard a sudden call from a French sentry, "_Qui vive!_" "_France_," replied one of Wolfe's officers, who spoke French. "_A quel regiment?_" "_De la Reine_," was the reply, and thinking the boats were under the control of Frenchmen carrying provisions to Montcalm, the sentry let them pass. Later when challenged by another sentry, the same English officer said in French: "Provision-boats. Don't make a noise--the English will hear us." At length they came to the spot since called Wolfe's Cove, and there landed. The twenty-four volunteers clambered up the path in the darkness and, reaching the top, surprised the small number of Frenchmen stationed there, and quickly overpowered them. It was with much difficulty that Wolfe's army succeeded, by seizing hold of trees and bushes, in getting to the top with muskets, cannons, and supplies. At daybreak, Wolfe chose as the field of battle the Plains of Abraham, a high stretch of land extending along the river just above the town. The brave Montcalm, in doubt and perplexity, had spent a sleepless night pacing to and fro. When told of the landing of the English troops he rode up from his camp to see what was going on. Amazed at the "silent wall of red" presented by the English army drawn up in battle array, he said, "This is a serious business." Wolfe, anxious but calm, rode to and fro, inspiring his soldiers with confidence. "Victory or death" was their watchword, for in case of failure retreat was impossible. By ten o'clock the French were in line of battle, ready for the onset. With loud shouts, they rushed upon the English. But the latter, waiting quietly until the enemy was only forty paces away, met them with a withering fire that strewed the ground with dead and dying men. While the French were wavering, the English fired another deadly volley, and then with victorious shouts rushed headlong upon the confused ranks.