They fired low, they fired high, The women scream, the children cry; And all their firing and their racket Shot off the topmast of a packet. From the moment, almost, of the fight at Lexington, the conquest of Canada had been dreamed of, and in September, 1775, a force of two thousand men, under General Richard Montgomery, started for Quebec. He was joined by another force under Benedict Arnold, and an attempt was made to carry the citadel by storm. But Montgomery fell as he led the way over the walls, Arnold was wounded, and the Americans were beaten back. MONTGOMERY AT QUEBEC [December 31, 1775] Round Quebec's embattled walls Moodily the patriots lay; Dread disease within its thralls Drew them closer day by day; Till from suffering man to man, Mutinous, a murmur ran. Footsore, they had wandered far, They had fasted, they had bled; They had slept beneath the star With no pillow for the head; Was it but to freeze to stone In this cruel icy zone? Yet their leader held his heart, Naught discouraged, naught dismayed; Quelled with unobtrusive art Those that muttered; unafraid Waited, watchful, for the hour When his golden chance should flower. 'Twas the death-tide of the year; Night had passed its murky noon; Through the bitter atmosphere Pierced nor ray of star nor moon; But upon the bleak earth beat Blinding arrows of the sleet. While the trumpets of the storm Pealed the bastioned heights around, Did the dauntless heroes form, Did the low, sharp order sound. "Be the watchword _Liberty_!" Cried the brave Montgomery. Here, where he had won applause, When Wolfe faced the Gallic foe, For a nobler, grander cause Would he strike the fearless blow,-- Smite at Wrong upon the throne, At Injustice giant grown. "Men, you will not fear to tread Where your general dares to lead! On, my valiant boys!" he said, And his foot was first to speed; Swiftly up the beetling steep, Lion-hearted, did he leap. Flashed a sudden blinding glare; Roared a fearsome battle-peal; Rang the gloomy vasts of air; Seemed the earth to rock and reel; While adown that fiery breath Rode the hurtling bolts of death. Woe for him, the valorous one, Now a silent clod of clay! Nevermore for him the sun Would make glad the paths of day; Yet 'twere better thus to die Than to cringe to tyranny!-- Better thus the life to yield, Striking for the right and God, Upon Freedom's gory field, Than to kiss Oppression's rod! Honor, then, for all time be To the brave Montgomery! CLINTON SCOLLARD.