An alarm spread. A Frenchman on horseback came dashing over to Montcalm’s headquarters, gasping: “The English—on the Plains of Abraham!”
There was a great fight on top of that cliff. Wolfe was seen here—there—everywhere! But before the British drove the French back, the young general had fallen—shot three times.
“Shall I go for a surgeon?” asked an Englishman.
“There’s no need,” Wolfe whispered. “It’s all over with me.”
A little later a man shouted, “See how they run!”
“Who run?” repeated Wolfe, opening his eyes.