Montcalm, who had led the centre and had been wounded in
the advance, galloped over to the Royal Roussillon as it
was making this last stand. But even he could not stem
the rush that followed and that carried him along with
it. Over the crest and down to the valley of the St
Charles his army fled, the Canadians and Indians scurrying
away through the bushes as hard as they could run. While
making one more effort to rally enough men to cover the
retreat he was struck again, this time by a dozen grape-shot
from York's gun. He reeled in the saddle. But two of his
grenadiers caught him and held him up while he rode into
Quebec. As he passed through St Louis Gate a terrified
woman called out, 'Oh! look at the marquis, he's killed,
he's killed!' But Montcalm, by a supreme effort, sat up
straight for a moment and said: 'It is nothing at all,
my kind friend; you must not be so much alarmed!' and,
saying this, passed on to die, a hero to the very last.

In the thick of the short, fierce fire-fight the bagpipes
began to skirl, the Highlanders dashed down their muskets,
drew their claymores, and gave a yell that might have
been heard across the river. In a moment every British
bugle was sounding the 'Charge' and the whole red, living
wall was rushing forward with a roaring cheer.

But it charged without Wolfe. He had been mortally wounded
just after giving the signal for those famous volleys.
Two officers sprang to his side. 'Hold me up!' he implored
them, 'don't let my gallant fellows see me fall!' With
the help of a couple of men he was carried back to the