A moment, and but a moment, was now employed to re-excite the ardor of the troops, which the fatigue of the march and the severity of the weather had somewhat abated. “Men of New York,” exclaimed Montgomery, “you will not fear to follow where your general leads—march on!” then placing himself again in the front, he pressed eagerly forward to the second; he assisted with his own hands in pulling up some pickets which hindered the march. Near this place a barrier had been made across the road, and from the windows of a low house, which formed part of it, were planted two cannon. At his appearing upon a little rising ground, at the distance of about twenty or thirty yards, the guns were discharged, and the general with his aide-de-camps fell dead. Thus terminated the life and labors of Major-general Richard Montgomery, in the thirty-ninth year of his age.
Upon hearing of the death of their commander, both divisions made a disorderly and hasty retreat to the Heights of Abraham.
The fortune of the day being now decided, the corpse of the fallen general was eagerly sought for and soon found. When the corpse of Montgomery was shown to Carleton, the heart of that noble officer melted. They had served in the same regiment under Wolfe, and the most friendly relation existed between them throughout the whole of the French war. The lieutenant-governor of Quebec, M. Cramahé, ordered a coffin to be prepared for him, and decently interred within the walls of the city, where friends and enemies united in expressions of sorrow, as his remains were conveyed to their final resting-place. Ramsey, in his History of the Revolution, has the following appropriate remarks:
“Few men have ever fallen in battle so much regretted on both sides as General Richard Montgomery. His many amiable qualities had procured him an uncommon share of private affection; and his great abilities an equal proportion of public esteem. Being a sincere lover of liberty, he had engaged in the American cause from principle, and quitted the enjoyment of an easy fortune, and the highest domestic felicity, to take an active share in the fatigues and dangers of a war instituted for the defense of the community of which he was an adopted member. His well-known character was almost equally esteemed by the friends and foes of the side of which he espoused. In America he was celebrated as a martyr to the liberties of mankind; in Great Britain, as a misguided good man, sacrificing to what he supposed to be the rights of his country.
His name was mentioned in Parliament with singular respect. Some of the most powerful speakers in that assembly displayed their eloquence in sounding his praise and lamenting his fate. Those in particular who had been his fellow soldiers in the previous war, expatiated on his many virtues. The minister himself acknowledged his worth, while he reprobated the cause for which he fell. He concluded an involuntary panegyric by saying, “Curse on his virtues, they have undone his country.”
“In this brief story of a short and useful life,” says his biographer, “we find all the elements which enter into the composition of a great man and a distinguished soldier; a happy physical organization, combining strength and activity, and enabling its possessor to encounter laborious days and sleepless nights, hunger and thirst, all changes of weather, and every variation of climate.
“To these corporeal advantages was added a mind, cool, discriminating, energetic, and fearless; thoroughly acquainted with mankind, not uninstructed in the literature and sciences of the day, and habitually directed by a high and unchangeable moral sense. That a man so constituted should have won the golden opinions of friends and foes, is not extraordinary. The most eloquent men of the British Senate became his panegyrists; and the American Congress hastened to testify for him their grateful remembrance, profound respect, and high veneration. A monument to his memory was accordingly erected, on which might justly be inscribed the impressive lines of the poet:
‘Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career;
His mourners were two hosts—his friends and foes;
And fitly may the stranger, lingering here,