Wolfe lay upon a couch in a comfortable apartment, such as he had not inhabited since he set sail from England months ago.

It was in the citadel itself--in the heart of the King's Bastion, where the Governor had his quarters.
Wolfe had been the life and soul of the siege.

To his genius and indomitable resolution the victory of the English arms had been largely due.

He had forced himself to take the lead, and had toiled night and day in the crisis of the struggle and the final triumph; and even after the victors had marched in, his eyes seemed to be everywhere, enforcing discipline, preventing any sort of disorder or licence amongst the soldiers, and sternly repressing the smallest attempt on their part to plunder the townsfolk, or take the slightest advantage of their helpless condition.
He had specially seen to the condition of the sick and wounded, insuring them the same care as was given to the English in like case.

This had been one of the articles of the capitulation, but it was one which was in like cases too often carelessly carried out, sometimes almost ignored.
Wolfe with his own eyes saw that there was no shirking, no mismanagement here.