“We must retreat—nothing more is left to us,” said more than one French officer, and the word swept the rounds with incredible swiftness. “Retreat! retreat, ere it is too late!” was the French cry, and away fled regulars and colonists, in a mad rush that was little short of a panic. The red men, who before the battle had boasted of what they would do, disappeared as if the ground had opened and swallowed them up.
That night the Marquis de Montcalm, as brave a soldier as ever lived, breathed his last. There was no coffin at hand in which to bury him, and his remains were placed in a rude pine box and deposited under the floor of the Ursuline Convent. As one historian has fitly said, the funeral of Montcalm was the funeral of New France.
Wolfe and Montcalm! brave, generous soldiers both of them. Is it a wonder that the people of Canada, French and English combined love their memory, and that on what was the Plains of Abraham there stands to-day a pyramid raised in their combined honor?
Ramesey was in command of Quebec, but under the orders of the Governor-General. From a safe distance Vaudreuil wrote to the commandant telling him not to let the English carry the place by assault.
“As soon as provisions fail, raise the white flag, and make the best terms you can,” wrote the Governor-General, and Ramesey prepared to obey. At one time he hesitated, hoping to be relieved by General Lévis, who wanted the army to march back. But in a day or two matters grew worse, and at last the white flag was raised, and Quebec capitulated.
“The city is ours!” cried Henry. “What a victory!”
It was indeed a victory, but one tinged with sadness, for General Wolfe was loved by all. The remains of the officer were tenderly cared for, and, later on, sent to England, where another monument to his memory was erected in Westminster Abbey.
It was a great shock to Henry to find that Silvers had been shot and killed. The man was comparatively a new acquaintance, yet their mutual experiences of the past few weeks had made them feel more like old friends. Silvers was buried in a trench outside of Quebec, along with many others who had fallen, and Henry was a sincere mourner at the brief funeral. Later on, the young soldier carved out a rude slab with his jackknife which he erected over the mound. Fortunately Louis Silvers was a bachelor, so there remained no wife or children to mourn his loss.