MacKim felt his tension rise as a company of French Light Infantry appeared on a ridge between the British and the still invisible walls of Quebec. Weak sunlight picked out the white uniforms and glittered from the burnished barrels of French muskets. “Isn’t it strange to think that these men are just like us, wondering why they are fighting, hoping to survive the day, hungry, scared and prepared to do their duty.”
Chisholm glanced at MacKim. “You’re growing up, boy.”
“They’re French,” Cumming said. “They’re the enemy. They’re the men that burned the Grenadiers alive, and scalped the wounded at Montmorency.”
“That’s the Guyenne regiment,” Chisholm said. “They did not burn anybody alive and I doubt they scalped anyone, either.”
“How do you know who they are?” Cumming asked.
Chisholm sm
