White Bluffs spokesman. [volume] (White Bluffs, Wash.) 1907-1938, 1931-05-28
The Plains Of Abraham
3 BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD
q Db O.
By JAMES OLIVER cURWOOD


Jeems was with the battalion of
Guienne which had come up from its
camp on the st. Charles at six o'clock
in the morning, it's white uniforms
thronging the ridge of Buttes-a-Neveu,
from which it beheld the British mole.
hill growing into mountain.
About him Jeems saw the Plains OF
Abraham, and strange song was in
had been Of this soil and that her
neutrality-suspicious. had given
name to the earth soon to run red
with blood. The Plains were wide and
level in most parts, with bushes and
trees and cornfields dotting them here
and there. They were the front yard
to Quebec, a field of destiny lying be-
tween the precipitous descents to the
st. Lawrence on one side and the
snakelike, lazy st. Charles on the
other, with a world Of splendid ter
rain spreading in panorama under
the eyes.
AS he lay watching with the men of
Guienne, Jeems could scarcely have
guessed that this scene of pastoral
beauty was the stage upon which one
of the epic tragedies of all time was
about to be enacted. A feeling of
rest possessed him, as If period had
come to mark the end Of the confu-
sion and unhappiness which had held
him a victim for three years, and he
felt mysteriously near the presence of
influences he could not see. He was
a product of times when faith in the
spiritual guidance Of the affairs of
men was strong, and 1t was not diff
cult for him to conceive that Toinette
was close at his side, whispering in
words which only his soul could hear
that he had come home.
Six o'clock grew into seven, seven
into eight, and eight into nine In
front Of him England was forming.
Behind him, tricked and outgeneraled,
Montcalm was rushing in mad haste
across the st. Charles bridge and I'M
der the northern rampant of Quebec
to enter the city through the Palace
gate. At the edge Of the Plains Of
Abraham the boyish Wolfe, poet and
philosopher, was preparing for glory
or doom. In the quaint, narrow
streets OF the town were gather
ing hordes Of Indians in scalp
locks and war paint, troops Of starved
and cheated Canadians ready to make
last stand for. their homes, bat
talions of Old France in white uni
forms and with cleaning bayonets,
battle-scarred veterans Of Sarre and
Languedoc and Roussillon and Bearn,
fed on meager rations for weeks but
eager to fight for Montcalm. Ahead
where Jeems was looking, were quiet
and order and the stole sureness of
England's morale. Behind were cour-
age and chivalry and the iron sinews
Of heroes in the throes Of excitement
and undisciplined rush.
Jeems saw none Of this and moth
ing beyond the distant red lines. The
Plains lay in sunshine, with bird wings
flashing, crows feeding in the corn
fields. The earth was great oriental
rug warm with autumn tintings, the
woods yellow and gold in frame
about it. The guns of Samos of
Sillery, Of the boats in the river made
sleepy detonations, and on the rise Of
Buttes-a-N eveu Jeems might have
slept, lulled by that never-ending
monotony of sound, the warmth Of the
sun, the blue Of the sky, the stiffness
of the Plains. He closed his eyes,
and the silver and gold mists Of sun
sets rose about him, the ends Of days
in which he saw the Plains peopled
again, first by Abraham Martin and
his cows a hundred and thirty-four
years before, then by Toinette, his IA
Their and mother, Hepsibah Adams
and himself. Here was place he had
known, a place his feet had trod, his
soul had lived. He heard the earth
whispering these things, the earth
which he held between his fingers as
| II it were Toinette's hands.
In the town, priests and nuns were
praying, and a bell sent forth its
melody, cheer to man, another ap.
peal to God. New France was on her
knees, and Montcalm was on the
| Plains, some Of his men coming
through the gate Of st. Louis and some
through that Of st. John. breathless
and eager, to where the banners OF
Guienne fluttered on the ridge.
(To BE coNTINUED.)