force a passage; but several combats of detached ships took place, one of which is too remarkable to pass unnoticed. Captain Gardiner of the "Monmouth,' a ship of four hundred and seventy men and sixtyfour guns, engaged the French ship "Foudroyant," carrying a thousand men and eighty-four guns of heavier metal than those of the Englishman. Gardiner had lately been reproved by Anson, First Lord of the Admiralty, for some alleged misconduct or shortcoming, and he thought of nothing but retrieving his honor. "We must take her," he said to his crew as the "Foudroyant "hove in sight. "She looks more than a match for us, but I will not quit her while this ship can swim or I have a soul left alive;" and the sailors answered with cheers. The fight was long and furious Gardiner was killed by a musketshot, begging his first lieutenant with his dying breath not to hau! down his flag. The lieutenant nailed it to the mast. At length the "Foudroyant ceased from thundering, struck her colors, and was carried a prize to England.1

The typical British naval officer of that time was a rugged sea-dog, a tough and stubborn fighter, though no more so than the politer generations that followed, at home on the quarter-deck, but no ornament to the drawing-room, by reason of what his contemporary, Entick, the strenuous chronicler of the war, calls, not unapprovingly, "the ferocity of his manners. While Osborn held La Clue imprisoned at Toulon, 1 Entick, iii. 56-60.

CHAPTER XIX.

1758.

LOUISBOURG.

- ARRIVAL OF THE ENGLISH.

CONDITION OF THE FORTRESS.
GALLANTRY OF WOLFE. -THE ENGLISH CAMP. -THE SIEGE
SALLIES OF THE
COURTESIES OF WAR.
- FURY OF THE

PROGRESS OF THE BESIEGERS.

MADAME Drucour.

BEGUN. -
FRENCH.
FRENCH SHIPS DESTROYED. CONFLAGRATION.
BOMBARDMENT. - EXPLOIT OF ENGLISH SAILORS.- THE END
NEAR. -THE WHITE FLAG. SURRENDER. RECEPTION OF
THE NEWS IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA. WOLFE NOT SATIS-
FIED: HIS LETTERS TO AMHERST; HE DESTROYS GASPÉ; RE-
TURNS TO ENGLAND.

THE stormy coast of Cape Breton is indented by a small land-locked bay, between which and the ocean lies a tongue of land dotted with a few grazing sheep, and intersected by rows of stone that mark more or less distinctly the lines of what once were streets. Green mounds and embankments of earth enclose the whole space, and beneath the highest of them yawn arches and caverns of ancient masonry. This grassy solitude was once the "Dunkirk of America;" the vaulted caverns where the sheep find shelter from the rain were casemates where terrified women sought refuge from storms of shot and shell, and the shapeless green mounds were citadel, bastion, rampart, and