Townshend hastened to recall his disordered battalions, but he determined not to imperil the victory by seeking another engagement with fresh troops. His arrangements were strictly defensive; while re-forming a line of battle, he dispatched the 35th and the 48th with two field-pieces to meet De Bougainville, and, if possible, check his advance. The demonstration sufficed; the French soldiers, demoralized by the defeat of their general-in-chief, were in no condition to meet a victorious enemy; they recoiled before the resolute front of the British force, and retreated with precipitation up the left bank of the St. Lawrence. There Townshend did not deem it prudent to follow; the ground was swampy, and, for the most part, still covered with the primeval forest, affording every advantage to a retreating enemy.
As soon as the action was over, Townshend began to intrench his camp, and to widen the road up the cliff for the convenience of the artillery and stores. De Bougainville did not halt till he reached Cape Rouge, and M. de Vaudreuil,[188] with his 1500 Canadians, deserted the lines west of the Montmorency, left all his artillery, ammunition, tents, and stores behind him, and made a hurried retreat toward Jacques Cartier.
The loss of the English in this memorable battle amounted to 55 killed and 607 wounded of all ranks; that of the French has never been clearly ascertained, but it was not probably less than 1500 in killed and wounded and prisoners. Moreover, a very large proportion of the Canadian militia dispersed and never rejoined their colors. On the British side, the Louisburg Grenadiers upon the right, and the 58th and 78th upon the left, suffered the most severely. The five regular French battalions were almost destroyed, and one of the two pieces of artillery which they had brought into action was captured by the victors.[189]
While the British troops were carrying all before them, their young general's life was ebbing fast away. When struck for the third time, he sank down; he then supported himself for a few minutes in a sitting posture, with the assistance of Lieutenant Brown, Mr. Henderson, a volunteer, and a private soldier, all of the Grenadier company of the 22d; Colonel Williamson, of the Royal Artillery, afterward went to his aid. From time to time, Wolfe tried, with his faint hand, to clear away the death-mist that gathered on his sight; but the effort seemed vain; for presently he lay back, and gave no signs of life beyond a heavy breathing and an occasional groan. Meantime the French had given way, and were flying in all directions. The grenadier officers, seeing this, called out to those around him, "See, they run." The words caught the ear of the dying man; he raised himself, like one aroused from sleep, and asked eagerly, "Who runs?" "The enemy, sir," answered the officer: "they give way every where." "Go one of you to Colonel Burton," said Wolfe: "tell him to march Webbe's (the 48th) regiment with all speed down to the St. Charles River, to cut off the retreat." His voice grew faint as he spoke, and he turned as if seeking an easier position on his side; when he had given this last order, he seemed to feel that he had done his duty, and added feebly, but distinctly, "Now, God be praised, I die happy." His eyes then closed, and, after a few convulsive movements, he became still.[190] Despite the anguish of his wounds, he died happy; for through the mortal shades that fell upon his soul, there rose, over the unknown world's horizon, the dawn of an eternal morning.