of encouraging the men to do their duty. He wore a uniform with large sleeves, and the one covering the arm he held in the air, had fallen back, disclosing the white linen of his wristband. When he was wounded, a rumor spread that he was killed, a panic ensued, and the soldiers rushed promiscuously from the Buttes á Nepveu (near where the Asyle Champétre,—now Mr. Dinning’s house—stands), towards the Coteau Sainte Genevieve thence towards the St. Charles, over the meadow (on which St. Roch has since been built.) I can remember the Scotch Highlanders flying wildly after us, with streaming plaids, bonnets and large swords—like so many infuriated demons—over the brow of the hill. In their course, was a wood, in which we had some Indians and sharpshooters, who bowled over the Sauvages d’Ecosse in fine style. Their partly naked bodies fell on their face, and their kilts in disorder left exposed a portion of their thighs, at which our fugitives on passing by, would make lunges with their swords, cutting large slices out of the fleshiest portions of their persons. I was amongst the fugitives and received in the calf of the leg a spent bullet, which stretched me on the ground. I thought it was all over with me; but presently, I rose up, and continued to run towards the General Hospital, in order to gain the Beau-port camp over the bridge of boats. On my way, I came to a bake-house, in which the baker that day had baked an ovenful of bread. Some of the exhausted fugitives asked him for food, which he refused, when in a fit of rage at such heartlessness, one of them lopped off his head with his sword. The bloody head was then deposited on the top of the pile of bread. Hunger getting the better of me, I helped myself to a loaf all smeared with gore, and with my pocket-knife removing the crust, I greedily devoured the crumb. This was in the afternoon, and the sun was descending in the West."