There
is no depending upon 'em in action. They fall down dead
in their own dirt, and desert by battalions, officers
and all.'
Drucour's sorties, made by good French regulars, were
much more serious than Boishebert's feeble, irregular
attack. On the night of July 8, while Montcalm's
Ticonderogan heroes were resting on their hard-won field
a thousand miles inland, Drucour's best troops crept out
unseen and charged the British right. Lord Dundonald and
several of his men were killed, while the rest were driven
back to the second approach, where desperate work was
done with the bayonet in the dark. But Wolfe commanded
that part of the line, and his supports were under arms
in a moment. The French attack had broken up into a score
of little rough-and-tumble fights--bayonets, butts, and
swords all at it; friend and foe mixed up in wild confusion.
So the first properly formed troops carried all before
them. The knots of struggling combatants separated into
French and British.
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