Not till the French were within forty yards was the word given to fire, then simultaneously the long line of muskets were brought to the level, and from end to end of the English ranks a crashing blaze of leaden hail was poured upon the enemy. The columns of Montcalm reeled and staggered before this dreadful impact. A second volley was fired, and then, before the smoke had rolled away, or the enemy had had an opportunity to reform his shattered ranks, a deafening cheer rang from end to end of the Plains. The flood of British fury was at length undammed, and trampling the dead and dying they swept the shattered columns before them in one mad, wild stampede. The Highlanders, wielding their terrible broadswords, chased the fugitives right up to the gates of the city and across the St. Charles River.
The defeat was crushing and absolute, and in that moment of victory the destiny of Canada was settled, but the cheers of the victors were silenced as the sad news passed from rank to rank that Wolfe had fallen. In the heat of the fight, leading on the Grenadiers, his wrist had been shattered by a ball. He quickly bound it in a handkerchief, and continued the fight. A second ball pierced his side, but he stayed not. Then a bullet entered his breast, and he reeled and fell.
Four soldiers raised him up, and carrying him to the rear laid him gently upon the grass. He appeared to be unconscious, but when a soldier near him exclaimed--
"See how they run!"
"Who run?" asked the dying soldier, opening his eyes.
"The enemy, sir! They give way everywhere!" was the reply.
"Then tell Colonel Burton to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River to cut off their retreat from the bridge. Now, God be praised! I will die in peace," were the last words of General Wolfe. That day England gained an Empire, but lost a hero.
The three scouts had finished their task when they led the forlorn hope up the precipice and on to the Plains, but they were not to be denied a share in the fight, for they had received permission to join the ranks of the centre column, which was under the personal command of Wolfe, and bore the brunt of the fight on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. They were in the forefront of that wild rush to the bridge, where the fight was thickest, and where many hundreds were hurled into the St. Charles River, and where Montcalm's retreat was effectually blocked and victory made secure.
The battle was over now, for though one of the most glorious, it was one of the briefest in history, and though they had lost each other in the pursuit, the three comrades were glad to rejoin the ranks at the roll-call on the Plains and find each other alive and well, except for minor wounds, though the joy of victory was damped and a chill went to every heart when the word was passed down the ranks that their illustrious leader had fallen.
Next morning General Townshend passed to the head of every regiment in succession, and thanked the troops for their brilliant services, and soon afterwards one of his aide-de-camps approached the scouts and requested their immediate presence in the General's tent. They followed him, wondering that he had not forgotten them altogether in the excitement of so great a victory. When they stood in his presence they saluted and waited for him to speak.