It was with stern words that Wolfe met his soldiers.  He was not a man to condone a lack of discipline because it had been coupled with personal bravery.

“Do you grenadiers suppose that you can beat the French single-handed?” he asked, eying the thinned ranks with stern displeasure in his eyes.  “Such impetuous, irregular, and unsoldierlike proceedings as those witnessed today destroy all order, and make it impossible for a commander to form any disposition for an attack, and put it out of the General’s power to execute his plans.  The death of those five hundred brave men who lie on the strand yonder is due, in the main, to your rashness and insubordination.”

The men were shamefaced and contrite.  They recognized their error, and were the more grieved inasmuch as they saw how the check had affected their brave young General.  They heard, too, that the French were full of triumphant rejoicings; that they declared this repulse to be the end of the English attempt upon Quebec.  They looked upon the game as already in their hands; and although the English were fond of declaring that but for the storm they would yet have won the heights, and with the aid of their other contingent have routed the French gunners and got a footing there, they knew that, as facts were now, they had rather suffered than benefited by the action, for it had put fresh hope into the hearts of their foes; and it was possible that the disappointment had something to do with the access of violent illness and suffering which at this juncture prostrated their General.

Wolfe was indeed dangerously ill.  He had long been putting the strongest pressure upon himself, and Julian had been struck upon the day of the assault with the look of suffering upon his worn face.  He kept up during the next few days, but looked so ghastly that his friends were deeply concerned; and Julian, together with Fritz and Humphrey, scoured the neighbourhood in order to find a place of greater comfort where their commander could lie.  Presently they came upon a little farmhouse near to the camp at Montmorency, sheltered from the wind, and pleasantly situated.  It had been deserted by its occupants, who had, however, left behind furniture enough to enable them to get one room at least fit for the habitation of the sufferer.  And none too soon.

That very day Wolfe, after trying to make a survey of the lines, was found in his tent half fainting with pain.  He looked up at Julian with heavy eyes, and stretching out his hand to him, he said: 

“I fear me I shall never live to enter Quebec.  I have fought till I can fight no more.  Take me somewhere that I can rest.  I can do no more—­yet.”