The English retreated in good order, after setting fire to the two stranded vessels.  Those of the grenadiers and Royal Americans who were left alive rowed for the Point of Orleans; the fifteenth regiment rowed for Point Levi; and the Highlanders, led by Wolfe himself, joined the column from beyond the Montmorenci, placing themselves in its rear as it slowly retired along the flats and across the ford, the Indians yelling and the French shouting from the heights, while the British waved their hats, daring them to come down and fight.

The grenadiers and the Royal Americans, who had borne the brunt of the fray, bore also nearly all the loss; which, in proportion to their numbers, was enormous.  Knox reports it at four hundred and forty-three, killed, wounded, and missing, including one colonel, eight captains, twenty-one lieutenants, and three ensigns.

Vaudreuil, delighted, wrote to Bourlamaque an account of the affair.  “I have no more anxiety about Quebec.  M. Wolfe, I can assure you, will make no progress.  Luckily for him, his prudence saved him from the consequences of his mad enterprise, and he contented himself with losing about five hundred of his best soldiers.  Deserters say that he will try us again in a few days.  That is what we want; he’ll find somebody to talk to (il trouvera a qui parler).”

NOTE:  Among the killed in this affair was Edward Botwood, sergeant in the grenadiers of the forty-seventh, or Lascelles’ regiment.  “Ned Botwood” was well known among his comrades as a poet; and the following lines of his, written on the eve of the expedition to Quebec, continued to be favorites with the British troops during the War of the Revolution (see Historical Magazine, II., First Series, 164).  It may be observed here that the war produced a considerable quantity of indifferent verse on both sides.  On that of the English it took the shape of occasional ballads, such as “Bold General Wolfe,” printed on broadsides, or of patriotic effusions scattered through magazines and newspapers, while the French celebrated all their victories with songs.

HOT STUFF.

Air,—­Lilies of France.

    Come, each death-doing dog who dares venture his neck,
    Come, follow the hero that goes to Quebec;
    Jump aboard of the transports, and loose every sail,
    Pay your debts at the tavern by giving leg-bail;
    And ye that love fighting shall soon have enough: 
    Wolfe commands us, my boys; we shall give them Hot Stuff.

    Up the River St. Lawrence our troops shall advance,
    To the Grenadiers’ March we will teach them to dance. 
    Cape Breton we have taken, and next we will try
    At their capital to give them another black eye. 
    Vaudreuil ’t is in vain you pretend to look gruff,—­
    Those are coming who know how to give you Hot Stuff.