The complete British loss in killed and wounded was wonderfully small, only thirty, just one-tenth of the corresponding American loss, which was large out of all proportion.  Nearly half of the fifteen hundred Americans had gone—­over four hundred prisoners and about three hundred killed and wounded.  Nor were the mere numbers the most telling point about it; for the worse half escaped—­Livingston’s Montreal ‘patriots,’ many of whom had done very little fighting, Montgomery’s time-expired New Yorkers, most of whom wanted to go home, and Jerry Duggan’s miscellaneous rabble, all of whom wanted a maximum of plunder with a minimum of war.

The British victory was as nearly perfect as could have been desired.  It marked the turn of the tide in a desperate campaign which might have resulted in the total loss of Canada.  And it was of the greatest significance and happiest augury because all the racial elements of this new and vast domain had here united for the first time in defence of that which was to be their common heritage.  In Carleton’s little garrison of regulars and militia, of bluejackets, marines, and merchant seamen, there were Frenchmen and French Canadians, there were Englishmen, Irishmen, Scotsmen, Welshmen, Orcadians, and Channel Islanders, there were a few Newfoundlanders, and there mere a good many of those steadfast Royal Emigrants who may be fitly called the forerunners of the United Empire Loyalists.  Yet, in spite of this remarkable significance, no public memorial of Carleton has ever been set up; and it was only in the twentieth century that the Dominion first thought of commemorating his most pregnant victory by placing tablets to mark the sites of the two famous barricades.

As soon as things had quieted down within the walls Carleton sent out search-parties to bring in the dead for decent burial and to see if any of the wounded had been overlooked.  James Thompson, the assistant engineer, saw a frozen hand protruding from a snowdrift at Pres-de-Ville.  It was Montgomery’s.  The thirteen bodies were dug out and Thompson was ordered to have a ’genteel coffin made for Mr Montgomery,’ who was buried in the wall just above St Louis Gate by the Anglican chaplain.  Thompson kept Montgomery’s sword, which was given to the Livingston family more than a century later.

The beleaguerment continued, in a half-hearted way, till the spring.  The Americans received various small reinforcements, which eventually brought their total up to what it had been under Montgomery’s command.  But there were no more assaults.  Arnold grew dissatisfied and finally went to Montreal; while Wooster, the new general, who arrived on the 1st of April, was himself succeeded by Thomas, an ex-apothecary, on the 1st of May.  The suburb of St Roch was burnt down after the victory; so the American snipers were bereft of some very favourite cover, and this, with other causes, kept the bulk of the besiegers at an ineffective distance from the walls.