“The first barrier was at Sault au Matelot, and here we found ourselves in a narrow way, swept by a battery, with soldiers firing upon us from the houses on each side of the passage. But Arnold was not daunted. He called out, ‘Come on, boys!’ and we rushed on. ’Twas always that. He never said, ‘Go, boys!’ like some of the officers. ’Twas always ‘Come on, boys!’ and there he’d be at our head. I tell you a braver man never lived. “Well, as he rushed on cheering us to the assault, he was struck by a musket ball just at the moment of the capture of the barrier. His leg was broken, and he fell upon the snow. Then, can you believe it, he got up somehow, though he could only use one leg, and endeavored to press forward. Two of us dropped our muskets, and ran to him, but he refused to leave the field until the main body of the troops came up. He stood there leaning on us for support, and calling to the troops in a cheering voice as they passed, urging them onward. When at last he consented to be taken from the field his steps could be traced by the blood which flowed from the wound.” “Was it the same one that was hurt at Saratoga?” queried Peggy. “The very same. And no sooner was he recovered than he was in action again. Although the attack on the city was a failure he would not give up the idea of its capture. I believe that had not General Montgomery fallen it would have succeeded.” “’Twas at Quebec that William McPherson fell,” mused Peggy. “He was the first one of our soldiers to fall. Philadelphia is proud of his renown. But oh, he was so young, and so full of patriotic zeal and devotion to the cause of liberty!” “Every one was full of it then,” observed Drayton sadly. “When we were on the Plains of Abraham before the battlements of the lofty town, think you that no thought came to us of how Wolfe, the victorious Wolfe, scaled those rocks and forced the barred gates of the city? I tell you that there was not one of us whose heart did not feel kinship with that hero. His memory inspired us. His very presence seemed to pervade the field, and we knew that our leaders were animated by the memory of his victory.” “Thou hast felt like that, and yet thou hast deserted?” exclaimed the girl involuntarily. A deep flush dyed the young fellow’s face. He sat very still for a moment and then answered with passion: “Have I not given all that is necessary? And I have suffered, Mistress Peggy. I have suffered that which is worse than death. Why, death upon the battle-field is glorious! I do not fear it. But ’tis the long winters; the cold, sleepless nights, huddling in scanty wisps of straw, or over a low fire for warmth; the going without food, or having but enough to merely keep life within one. This it is that takes the heart out of a man. I’ll bear it no more.”