_Vae victis!_ After the fatal battle of the 13th the city of Quebec was little more than a heap of ruins. Not even the fortifications furnished shelter, for a portion of the ramparts had been shattered to fragments. The magazines were empty of ammunition, and the gunners, rather to conceal their distress than with any hope of injuring the enemy, answered the English batteries only with an occasional cannon-shot. There were no provisions left. Yet they bring the charge of cowardice against the brave garrison which endured so much and defended itself so valiantly. If the governor, a new Nostradamus, had known that the Chevalier de Lévis was bringing succor to the city, and, instead of capitulating, had awaited the arrival of the French troops, it is certain that the garrison would have been lavishly applauded for its courage. To be sure the garrison showed itself most pusillanimous in giving up a city which it was no longer able to defend! To be sure it should rather have put its trust in the humanity of an enemy who had already carried fire and sword through all the peaceful villages, and should have refused to consider the lives of the citizens, the honor of their wives and daughters, exposed to all the horrors of a capture by assault! Assuredly this unhappy garrison was very pusillanimous! Woe to the vanquished! After the capitulation the English left nothing undone to secure themselves in the possession of a place so important. The walls were rebuilt, new fortifications added, and the batteries immensely strengthened. It was conceivable that the besiegers might become the besieged. This foresight was justified, for in the following spring General Lévis took the offensive with an army of eight thousand men, made up of regulars and militia in about equal numbers. At eight o'clock in the morning, April 28, 1760, the English army was drawn up in order of battle on the same field where it had moved to victory seven months before. General Murray, with this army of six thousand men and twenty guns, held a very strong position, while the French army, a little more numerous, but supported by only two guns, occupied the heights of St. Foy. The French were wearied with their painful march over the marshes of La Suède, but they burned to wipe out the memory of their defeat. The hate of centuries stirred the bosoms of both armies. The courage of both was beyond question, and fifteen thousand of the best troops in the world only awaited the word of their commanders to spring at each other's throats.