Quickly did the fire of the English ships, joined to that of the batteries, work destruction upon the outer walls of the grim fortress. In the lower town the buildings were soon reduced to ruins, and even in the upper town many dangerous fires broke out. Indeed, before the siege was brought to a close, more than 500 buildings fell a prey to the flames, including public and private structures, the Cathedral and other churches. Yet while the summer wore away, in spite of Wolfe's terrible bombardment, Montcalm played a waiting game. Wolfe was in despair. By the end of July half of Quebec was shattered away by his cannon-balls, and still the French commander could not be drawn out to a battle; so the Englishman decided to attack the enemy at close quarters, just on the other side of the river Montmorency. But a fierce repulse awaited him; 12,000 French soldiers poured a storm of bullets against the brave grenadiers, who tried to get a footing on the river slopes. They were beaten back, 500 of Wolfe's best troops having fallen in the fatal charge. Wolfe fretted with impatience; he knew the time was precious. If he could only draw Montcalm out to battle! But Montcalm was wise; he refused to be drawn. {216} "You may destroy the town," came the French message under the flag of truce, "but you will never get inside it." "I will take Quebec," replied Wolfe, "if I stay here until November." One plan only now remained: it was to creep up in the night and scale the heights. It was a desperate move, but the only one that remained that offered a chance of success. In the midst of his plans the young English commander fell ill. He had always been of a delicate constitution, ever struggling with sickness. Days elapsed, but his heroic spirit conquered, and on the 11th of September the English troops were directed to be ready to land and attack the enemy. While a portion of the troops made a feint to the eastward to disguise Wolfe's intentions from the enemy, Wolfe and his troops drifted up stream with the tide. When the tide began to ebb, boats full of soldiers were cast off, reaching in safety a little cove three miles above Quebec. In the first boat to land was the young general himself, who, as the oarsmen plied their muffled oars, murmured softly to his officers, the famous lines in Gray's _Elegy_:-- 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. "Gentlemen," said Wolfe, "I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec." As the boat's prow touched the shore, the sentinel's {217} challenge rang out in the darkness, "Qui vive." To hesitate was to be lost. Instantly a Scotch captain, who spoke French perfectly, answered, "La France!" "A quel régiment?" "De la Heine," replied the Highlander boldly.