“They must be dislodged,” cried Wolfe, and led the charge. Back of him came the Louisburg Grenadiers, those men who had made such a record for themselves in other campaigns. With these grenadiers was Louis Silvers, running with many others into the very jaws of death.
Again the bullets whistled around them, and again General Wolfe was hit. He was seen to stagger, but kept on, when a third bullet took him in the breast.
“The general is killed!” was the cry, and Silvers ran to support him. But ere the brave sharpshooter who had been Henry’s companion through so much of peril could gain the general’s side, a bullet hit him in the side of the head, and he fell over on his face, dead.
Several officers and solders had seen General Wolfe’s condition, and a lieutenant and two privates ran to support him and carry him to the rear.
“Le—let me down, men,” he murmured. “Don’t take me from the field.”
“General, you must have a surgeon,” said one.
“There is no need; it is—is all over with me,” he gasped, and sank as in a faint.
“Run for a surgeon,” said another, and two privates sped away on the errand.
At that moment came another yell from the end of the field, some distance away:
“They run! They run! Hurrah! See them run!”