Montcalm was in the center with the regiment of Languedoc and the battalion of Bearn.

On both flanks were Canadians and numerous Indians.
Robert from his position on a little knoll with Willet and Tayoga watched all these movements, and he was scarcely conscious of the passage of time.

There was a shifting in the British army also, as it perfected its alignment, and the bagpipes of the Scotchmen were already screaming defiance, but his eyes were mainly for the French before him.
He recognized Montcalm as he rode up and down the lines, raising his sword, and presently he saw another gallant figure on horseback that he knew.

It was St.Luc, and the old thrill shot through him: St.Luc for whom the ancient M.de Chatillard had taken him, St.Luc with whom he must have some blood tie.
Though it was now far beyond the time for the rising of the sun, the day was still dark, heavy with clouds, and now and then a puff of rain was blown in the faces of the waiting men, though few took notice.

The wait and the preparations had to Robert all the aspects of a duel, and the incessant shrill screaming of the Scotch bagpipes put a fever in his blood, setting all the little pulses in his head and body to beating.
Ever after he maintained that the call of the bagpipes was the most martial music in the world.
The crackle of firing broke out on the flanks.