"Tell Colonel Burton," he said, speaking with his old decision, "to march Webb's regiment down to the St. Charles, and cut off their retreat from the bridge."
Humphrey was off almost before the words had left his lips. He would be the one to carry the General's last message. Wolfe heard him go, and smiled. He knew that Humphrey was the trustiest of messengers. He looked up into Julian's face.
"Now lay me down again," he said faintly. "Farewell, my trusty friend and comrade. Take my love to those at home; remember my last messages. God be thanked; He has given us the victory. I can die in peace."
He drew a long sigh, and his eyes closed. A little thrill ran through the worn frame.
Julian laid it down, and reverently covered the peaceful face; whilst a stifled sob went up from those who saw the action.
James Wolfe had gone to his rest--had died the death of a hero upon the victorious battlefield.
Book 7: English Victors.
[Chapter 1]: A Panic-Stricken City.
It had come at last! The long delay and suspense were over. The English had stormed the Heights of Abraham. Their long red lines had been seen by terrified citizens, who came rushing into the town at dawn of day. The supposed attack at Beauport had been nothing but a blind. Whilst Montcalm and Vaudreuil were massing the troops to repel the enemy here, the real assault had been made behind the city, and the English foe was almost upon them.
Colin had dashed out when the first grey of the dawn had stolen in at their windows. There had been no sleep for Quebec that night. The whole city was in a state of tense excitement. Confidently had the Generals declared that the enemy were bent upon their own destruction; that they were about to tempt fate, and would be driven back with ignominy and loss.