One of the grenadiers looked up and cried out, "They run! See how they run!"
The dying Wolfe opened his eyes and murmured, "Who run?"
"The enemy, sir; they give way everywhere."
The general roused himself by a superhuman effort.
"Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," he said in quick terms of command. "Tell him to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River to cut off their retreat from the bridge." Then, turning on his side, he whispered faintly, "Now, God be praised, I die in peace."
In a few moments the gallant Wolfe was no more.
How fared it meanwhile with his brave enemy, Montcalm? As he galloped about on horseback the tide of French fugitives pressed him back towards the gates of Quebec. He was nearing the walls when a shot passed through his body. Mortally wounded though he was, he kept himself seated in the saddle, two soldiers supporting him on either side.
As his life-blood streamed from Montcalm's body down his horse's limbs, the frightened crowd of women within the gates exclaimed in grief and terror, "The Marquis is killed! the Marquis is killed!"
"It is nothing, it is nothing," replied the dying Montcalm: "do not be troubled for me, my good friends."