ictim of an inexorable
destiny, unsupported led forth his men, and saw, not without surprise,
the whole British Army ranged in battle array. Without giving his men
time to recover breath after the fatigue of their laborious and hurried
march, he went into action, trusting to the well-tested courage of his
troops.

[Illustration: Jam: Wolfe]

Wolfe led the charge at the head of the Louisburg Grenadiers, and when
the Highlanders, throwing away their muskets, rushed on with their broad
swords like a tempest of steel, the hapless blue coats, though lacking
in neither prowess nor patriotism, fled in all directions. The two young
leaders fell almost simultaneously.

When Wolfe received his death wound, he was in a conspicuous spot near
the Redoubt, and was thence borne to the rear. He had calmly prepared
for this contingency. He had made his will, of which he appointed Sir
Guy Carleton the executor, and for whom he had early formed a close
friendship, generally speaking of him as "My friend Carleton," and to
whom he bequeathed his books and papers. His plate he willed to
Saunders, and to another friend he entrusted the miniature of his
betrothed with the charge of returning it to her in the event of his
fall. That was probably the most trying moment of those hours so fraught
with tragedy--a moment like those on the eve of Waterloo, when there
were

"Partings that crush the life from out young hearts."

It was not in his martial cloak nor in his country's flag that he was
carried dead off the field, but in the tartan "plaidie" of an old
Highland man, named McLeod, which was tenderly wrapped around him, wet
with tears from eyes to which tears had long been strangers.

As he fell, his principal care was for the effect it would have upon his
troops, who, down to the humblest in his command, had caught his spirit,
and who felt that "they must fulfil the trust reposed in them, or die in
the ranks."

Leaning against the shoulder of the officer who caught him when falling,
he implored him to support him, saying, "Do not let my brave soldiers
see me drop, the day is ours, keep it!" A death attended with
circumstances more pathetic or incidents more picturesque the annals of
war do not record.

"The capture of Quebec was an achievement of so formidable a character,
so distinguished by chivalrous enterprise, and so fraught with singular
adventure, that the interest attending it still remains undimmed and its
glorious reco