The order went rolling down our thin ranks, and again Steve heard the clink and ring of the ramrods. Then came a second rattling volley, the bullets crashing into the French ranks. Hurrah! Our men were advancing again. The bayonets were breast high, while the broadswords of the Highlanders flashed in the sun. Another shout went down the ranks, and then there was heard the clatter of bayonet on bayonet, the hoarse cheers of Highlanders, and the frantic shouts of New England lads, and men from Old England. The French held their ground for a moment, bravely contesting the path. Then they turned, broke into small parties, and for the most part fled, a few veterans here and there standing shoulder to shoulder to the last. But where was Wolfe? The Indians and Canadians were flying with their comrades now, and Steve was no longer required on the flank. He slung his musket over his shoulder, and went off at a run till a small gathering of officers attracted his attention. Wolfe, the gallant, lion-hearted officer had been hit in the wrist at the commencement of the action, and afterwards in the groin and through the lung. He was mortally wounded, and called to Lieutenant Browne. "Support me," he cried, "lest my gallant fellows should see me fall." The officer was too late, and arrived at the general's side to find him on the ground. Then a Mr. Henderson and Colonel Williamson arrived, while Steve came on the scene a second or so later. Together they lifted the poor general and carried him to the rear, where they laid him gently down again, for he was in great pain and almost unconscious. "They run! See how they run!" cried an officer. The words seemed to rouse the dying man. "Who run?" he asked eagerly, but with feeble voice. "The enemy, sir. Egad, they give way everywhere!" "Go one of you, my lads," said Wolfe, "with all speed to Colonel Burton, and tell him to march down to the St. Charles river and cut off the retreat of the fugitives to the bridge." Those were almost his last words. Even as he lay dying this fine officer thought of his duty and of his country. He turned on his side, exclaimed, "God be praised, I now die in peace," and becoming unconscious, he died within a few minutes. Wolfe had won fame indeed. His last hours of life had been devoted to the welfare of his country, and this crowning stroke had won Quebec, had wrecked the French power, and given to England another colony, a gem which shines in our crown as brightly as do any. Many and many a winter has come and gone since Wolfe laid down his life on those Plains of Abraham, the maple leaf has gladdened the eye with its wonderful autumn tints on many an occasion, while thousands of our population have blessed the man who helped to win us this fine province. Let England and her sons not forget. It is to devoted heroes such as Wolfe and his officers and soldiers that she owes in great part this flourishing empire over the seas.