ight, though the attacking column
was broken to pieces, a fire was still kept up, chiefly, it seems, by
sharpshooters from the bushes and cornfields, where they had lain for an
hour or more. Here Wolfe himself led the charge, at the head of the
Louisbourg grenadiers. A shot shattered his wrist. He wrapped his
handkerchief about it and kept on. Another shot struck him, and he still
advanced, when a third lodged in his breast. He staggered, and sat on
the ground. Lieutenant Brown, of the grenadiers, one Henderson, a
volunteer in the same company, and a private soldier, aided by an
officer of artillery who ran to join them, carried him in their arms to
the rear. He begged them to lay him down. They did so, and asked if he
would have a surgeon. "There's no need," he answered; "it's all over
with me." A moment after, one of them cried out: "They run; see how they
run!" "Who run?" Wolfe demanded, like a man roused from sleep. "The
enemy, sir. Egad, they give way everywhere!" "Go one of you, to Colonel
Burton," returned the dying man; "tell him to march Webb's regiment down
to Charles River, to cut off their retreat from the bridge." Then,
turning on his side, he murmured, "Now, God be praised, I will die in
peace!" and in a few moments his gallant soul had fled.

[Footnote 782: "Les Canadiens, qui etaient meles dans les bataillons, se
passerent de tirer et, des qu'ils l'eussent fait, de mettre ventre a
terre pour charger, ce qui rompit tout l'ordre." _Malartic a
Bourlamaque, 25 Sept._ 1759.]

Montcalm, still on horseback, was borne with the tide of fugitives
towards the town. As he approached the walls a shot passed through his
body. He kept his seat; two soldiers supported him, one on each side,
and led his horse through the St. Louis Gate. On the open space within,
among the excited crowd, were several women, drawn, no doubt, by
eagerness to know the result of the fight. One of them recognized him,
saw the streaming blood, and shrieked, "_O mon Dieu! mon Dieu! le
Marquis est tue!_" "It's nothing, it's nothing," replied the
death-stricken man; "don't be troubled for me, my good friends." _("Ce
n'est rien, ce n'est rien; ne vous affligez pas pour moi, mes bonnes
amies.")_

NOTE: There are several contemporary versions of the dying words of
Wolfe. The report of Knox, given above, is by far the best attested.
Knox says that he took particular pains at the time to learn them
accurately from those who were with Wolfe when they