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. He seemed to be everywhere at once during those
busy days which followed the entrance into the town. But outraged
nature would have her revenge at last, and for three days he had
lain helpless and suffering in the room assigned to him in the
Governor's house, watched over and tended by Julian, who had by
this time come to have a very adequate idea as to the treatment
most needed by him when those attacks came on.
The cool of the evening had followed upon the heat of a very sultry
day, which had greatly tried the sufferer. Wolfe looked up, and saw
his friend beside him, and smiled in recognition of his attentions.
"You are always here, Julian; you must surely want rest yourself.
You have been here night and day. I know it even though I may not
seem to do so. But I shall be on my legs again soon. I can feel
that the access of pain is abating. How have things been going in
the town since I was laid by the heels?"
"Oh well, several vessels with their load of prisoners have already
sailed for England; many of the townsfolk and merchants have
started, or are starting, for France; some regiments of our men are
to be sent at once to reinforce General Abercromby. I fear by all
accounts that they will come too late to be of any real use for the
campaign this season. It is quite true that he suffered a crushing
defeat at Ticonderoga, due, as many of the officers say, to bad
generalship. Still he will doubtless be glad of support in the
wilderness, wherever he may be. Humphrey is to start with the first
detachment; he expects his orders for departure daily."
Wolfe raised himself upon his elbow and sat up, despite his
weakness, fired by excitement and energy.
"But Quebec, Quebec, Quebec!" he exclaimed; "surely we are going
forward to Quebec?"
Julian shook his head doubtfully.
"I fear me not at least this present season. I hear it said that
General Amherst was ready, but that the Admiral was against it for
the present. They say there is still much to do in subduing the
adjacent possessions of France in these lands, and so paving the
way for the greater enterprise. Various officers are to be sent
hither and thither upon expeditions to small settlements, to uproot
or destroy them. When this has been done, perhaps the move to
Quebec will be made. But I fear me it will not be before next
year."
Wolfe made a gesture of irritation and impatience.
"Have we not yet had enough of procrastination?" he questioned
bitterly. "Will England never learn the lesson which her reverses
should have taught her? What boots the victory we have gained here,
if it be not the stepping stone to lead us to Quebec?"
"Who speaks of Quebec?" asked a clear, musical voice at the
half-open door; and Julian sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did
so:
"It is Madame Drucour! she has come every day to see and inquire
after you."
Hearing the sound of her name, the lady pushed open the door and
entered--a graceful, stately figure clothed all in black; her
beautiful face worn and pale, and trouble lurking in the depths of
her hazel eyes; yet calm and serene and noble of aspect as she
moved forward and held out a slim white hand to the patient.
"You are better, Monsieur?" she asked, in her full, rich tones. "I
trust that the suffering is less than it was. The fever, I can see,
has abated somewhat."
Wolfe carried the hand he held to his lips. In common with all the
officers who had made her acquaintance, Wolfe had come to have a
very high opinion of Madame Drucour.
"I thank you, gracious lady, for your condescension in asking. I
trust soon to be restored to such measure of health and strength as
I ever enjoy. At best I am but a cranky creature; but with quarters
such as these I should be worse than ungrateful if I did not mend.
I trust my presence here has caused you no inconvenience; for truly
I believe that I am in your house, and that I owe to you the
comforts I enjoy."
She gave a strange little smile as she seated herself beside him.
"In truth, Monsieur, I know not what I may call my own today. This
town and fortress are now no longer ours, and we are but here
ourselves on sufferance--prisoners of war--"
"Nay, nay, not prisoners--not you, Madame," answered Wolfe hastily.
"We war not against women--least of all such noble ladies as
yourself!"
She acknowledged this speech by a little motion of the head, and
then continued, in a tone at once sorrowful and dignified: "I
cannot separate myself from those amongst whom I have lived for so
long. I acknowledge with gratitude the courtesy I have received
from all. I know that my personal liberty is assured to me. But my
heart will always be where there is need of help by my own
countrymen. If not a prisoner to the English, I am held in other
bonds."
"Ah yes," answered Wolfe, with an answering sparkle in his eye;
"that I understand well. We are all bound to our country in bonds
that cannot be severed. And yet we are bound to the common cause of
humanity, and there we meet on common ground. We need not remember
anything else at such a time, Madame. We serve in one army there.
Do not our wounded as well as your own bless the sight of your face
and the sound of your voice amongst them?"
"And have they not cause to bless the name of that brave officer
who, in spite of his own weakness and suffering, would not rest
until he had seen in person that all were cared for--foes as well
as friends? Yes, truly, Monsieur, in one warfare we can stand upon
the same side, and fight the same battle against disease and
suffering and death. I would that this were the only kind of
warfare that is known in the world!"
"And I too--sometimes," replied Wolfe, lying back again on his
pillows and looking dreamily out before him. "There are moments, it
is true, when the battle fever works in a man's blood, and war
seems to him then a glorious game. But it has its terrible and
hateful side, as every soldier knows well. And yet the day seems
far away when wars shall be no more."
"Indeed yes," answered Madame Drucour, with a little sigh; "we have
a sorrowful prospect before us yet. What was the word which I heard
you speak as I entered? Was it not of that projected march upon
Quebec?"
"It was," answered Wolfe frankly. "I may not deny, Madame, that the
longing of my heart at this moment is to try conclusions with your
gallant countrymen beneath the walls of Quebec."
"You are bold, Monsieur," said Madame Drucour, with a little smile.
"You know Quebec, Madame?"
"Very well. It is there that I purpose going with my husband when
the exchange is completed which gives him his liberty. I have
relatives there, and I go to be with them when duty may call my
husband elsewhere. If you come to Quebec, Monsieur, we may
perchance meet again."
"It will be something happy to look forward to."
"There is always joy in feeling that the foe we fight is a noble
and generous one. I shall tell in Quebec how the English General,
though stern in his terms of capitulation, refused to me nothing
that I asked when once the town was given up, and how generously he
and all his officers showed themselves, and in especial
one--Brigadier Wolfe!"
The young man bowed at the compliment.
"And I, on my side, shall know that if Madame Drucour is within the
walls of Quebec, no garrison can fail to be gallant and devoted.
Such an example before their eyes would put heart and heroism into
the most faint hearted."
A very sincere liking grew up between Madame Drucour and her guests
before Wolfe was on his legs again, and able to return to his
quarters amongst his men. Indeed, his happiest hours were spent in
the company of that lady, for there was much to vex and try him
when in the camp.
There was to be no move upon Quebec that season and Wolfe chafed
rather bitterly at the decision, and wrote to General Amherst in
stronger terms than most subordinate officers would have ventured
to do. He even spoke of throwing up the service, if nothing were to
be done at such a critical time; but the General would not hear of
losing so valuable an officer, and indeed, in spite of the
irritability sometimes engendered by his ill-health, Wolfe was too
much the soldier at heart ever to abandon his calling.
It was, however, rather hard to one of his ardent and chivalrous
temperament, eager for the great blow to be struck against Quebec,
to be deputed to harry and destroy a number of little fishing
settlements along the Gulf of St. Lawrence--which measure he
considered a needless severity, and hated accordingly. It was a
relief to him to know that Pitt, having heard of his severe bout of
illness after the taking of Louisbourg, had summoned him back to
England to recruit his health.
"When we have finished our great exploit of robbing fishermen of
their nets and burning their huts, we will to England again,
Julian; and you will come with me, my trusty comrade and friend. If
we are spreading the terror of England's name here, we are not
adding to her laurels. Let me remain at home till there be real
warfare to accomplish, and then let me come out again. This task is
odious and sickening to me. Were it not that another might show
more harshness and barbarity over it, I would e'en decline the
mission."
Humphrey had already left Louisbourg for Philadelphia and the
western frontier; but Julian had elected to remain with Wolfe, who
had come to depend upon him in no small measure. There was
something in the temperaments of the two men which made them
congenial one to the other. Wolfe's restless irritability was
soothed by Julian's quiet calmness, and there was in both men a
strain of ardent patriotism and self devotion which gave them
sympathies in common.
Together they set sail for England when the soldier's work was
done, and after a fairly prosperous voyage they landed in that
country, and immediately started for Bath, where Wolfe hoped to
find relief from his rheumatic troubles, and gain the strength
which he had lost during this hard campaign.
"I think my mother will be awaiting me there this time," he said,
with a light in his eyes. "You have never seen my mother yet,
Julian. Ah, how I long to see her again! she has been such a mother
to me! There are times when I think if I have to give up this
profession of arms, and take to a quiet life, I could have a very
happy life at home with my mother. We suit each other so well, and
we are like each other in our foibles and weaknesses. I think I
have inherited my cranky health from her, but not her beauty. You
will see for yourself how little like her I am in that respect when
we get home."
To Julian, who had known nothing of the joys of home since he left
his valley in the far south of the Western world, and who had no
home to call his own now, there was something touching in the
eagerness of Wolfe to reach his home and his mother. His father was
not likely to be there. He would almost certainly be either in
Kent, or else abroad; for he still held a command in the army, and
the war on the Continent was still raging furiously. But the mother
would be awaiting her son in the house he had written to ask her to
secure for him again. It was within easy reach of the town, and yet
it was quiet and secluded, and suited his tastes and habits.
It was almost dark one murky autumn evening when the lumbering
coach, which had conveyed the friends the last stages of their
journey, drew up at the door of the house. Lights shone in the
windows, and from the open door there streamed out a glowing shaft
of yellow light, bespeaking the warm welcome awaiting the tired
traveller.
Wolfe had been weary to the verge of exhaustion when they had
abandoned the attempt to ride the whole distance, and had secured
the heavy coach; but now he seemed to revive to new life, and he
sprang from it with some of the activity of youth and strength.
"Mother--there is my mother!" he exclaimed; and Julian saw him take
the steps two at a time, to meet the advancing greeting from the
mother who had come to welcome home her son.
Mrs. Wolfe was a distinctly beautiful woman, whose beauty had been
but little dimmed by time. There was a sweet, matronly repose about
her, and the brightness of her red-gold hair was dashed with
streaks of soft grey beneath the laces with which it was crowned.
But her complexion was clear and fair, and there was a look of soft
fragility about her which made the son's protecting air of
solicitude a natural and appropriate one. She folded him in her
arms in a long, rapturous embrace; and Julian stood silently by the
while, reverent of that deep love which for the moment could find
no expression save in the whispered words:
"Mother! mother! mother!"
"My son--my dear boy! my son come back to me!"
When the lady turned at length to greet the silent figure who stood
silently watching this meeting, Julian could see that the tears
were standing upon her cheeks and sparkling in her eyes.
"You will pardon me, sir, for this apparent neglect," she said
sweetly, putting her thin jewelled fingers into Julian's hand; "but
when my boy goes forth to the fight, I never know whether it will
be God's will to send him back to me safe and sound. A mother's
heart cannot but be full upon a day like this. But second only to
my joy in welcoming him back is this of making acquaintance with
the trusty friend who has been so much to him during his perils and
labours."
"Madam, it has been the joy and honour of my life to be able to
serve so great a soldier and so noble a man!"
The warm clasp upon his fingers gave the mother's answer to this;
and then they all moved within the lighted hall, where a glowing
fire and a number of candles gave bright illumination, and where
quite a hubbub of welcome was going on. The servants were pressing
forward to see and greet their young master, who had come home
crowned with laurels. It was known by this time in England how much
of the success at Louisbourg had been due to Wolfe's unfailing
energy and intrepidity. He was a hero at home as well as abroad,
though he had hardly realized it yet. Moreover, he was vociferously
welcomed by his dogs, all of whom had been brought by his mother to
meet their master again; and he had much ado to return the manifold
greetings bestowed upon him, and to free himself at last from the
demonstrative affection of his canine friends.
A plentiful supper was awaiting the wearied travellers; and it was
when they had put in order their dress and entered the dining room
that they were aware of the presence of another lady, a very
handsome, dark-eyed girl, who stood beside the glowing fire
regarding their entrance with looks of unaffected interest.
"My dear," said Mrs. Wolfe, "let me present to you my son James, of
whom you know much, although you have never met; and his friend and
companion, Lieutenant Julian Dautray, whose name is equally known
to you.
"This, James, is Miss Kate Lowther, the daughter of an old friend
of ours, who has left her in my charge whilst he takes a last
voyage to Barbados, where once he was Governor, to be my daughter
and companion till he comes back to claim her."
The bright-eyed girl dropped a courtesy to the gentlemen, who bowed
low before her; but then holding out her hand frankly to Wolfe, she
said in a clear, fresh voice.
"I am so glad to see you, Cousin James. I am going to call you that
because I call your mother Aunt, and she has given me leave to do
so. I know so much about you from your letters. I have copied every
one of them to send to your father, for Aunt will not part with the
originals even for him! I know all about Louisbourg, and the
batteries, and the ships, and the big guns. Oh, I think if I were a
man I could become an officer at once, and command a great campaign
like that one! We had such rejoicings here when the news came! it
was like new life to us. We had heard of that dreadful defeat at
Ticonderoga, and it seemed as though England was never to rise from
the dust of humiliation. It was openly said that Louisbourg would
never fall; that it was as impregnable as Quebec. Oh, there was
such lugubrious talk! And then came the news of the victory, and of
Brigadier Wolfe's valiant and doughty deeds. You may guess how your
mother's eyes shone at that! And all England echoed to the sound of
your name!"
"A name more formidable in sound than in reality," spoke Wolfe,
laughing, but cheered and pleased by the sincere and pretty
enthusiasm of the winning girl. "When those who have kindly admired
me from the distance come to inspect me in person, what a shock
they will receive! We shall have to palm Julian here off as the
right man; he will play the part with much more dignity and grace."
Kate looked from one to the other laughing.
"What do you expect me to say to that? Lieutenant Dautray looks
every inch a soldier; but I think, Cousin James, that you have the
air of the man born to command."
"In spite of my cropped red head and lanky limbs? I am proud of the
compliment paid me."
Wolfe was certainly rather taken aback to find himself a man of so
much mark when he showed himself in Bath. He had quite an ovation
when first he appeared at the Pump Room; and although he was in a
measure accustomed to lead a public life, and to be the object of
attention and even admiration, he shrank from having this carried
into his private life, and was happiest at home with his mother and
friend, and with bright Kate Lowther, with whom he soon became
wonderfully intimate.
The girl's sincere affection for his frail and delicate mother
would in any case have won his heart; but there was something
exceedingly attractive in her whole personality and in her eager
interest in his past career and in the fortunes of the war. She
would sit for hours beside him whilst he related to his mother the
incidents of the campaign, and her questions and comments showed a
quick intelligence and ready sympathy that were a never-failing
source of interest to him.
Her strength and vitality were refreshing to one who was himself
almost always weak and suffering. He would watch her at play with
the dogs in the garden, or up and down the staircase, and delight
in the grace and vigour of her movements. She would come in from
her walks and rides with a glow upon her face and a light in her
eyes, and sitting down beside him would relate all that had
befallen her since her departure an hour or two before--telling
everything in so racy and lively a fashion that it became the
chiefest pleasure of Wolfe's life to lie and look at her and listen
to her conversation.
Christmas was close upon them. It would be a bright and happy
season for mother and son, spent together after their long
separation. Upon the eve of that day Kate came eagerly in with a
large official letter in her hand, addressed to the soldier. It was
a moment of excitement whilst he opened it, for it was known that
he had been corresponding latterly with several ministers
respecting the proposed expedition against Quebec, and all knew how
dear to his heart was the fulfilment of that daring scheme.
As he read the document his cheek flushed. He sat up more erect in
his chair, and there came into his face a look which his soldiers
well knew. It was always to be seen there when he led them into
battle.
"Mother," he said very quietly, "Mr. Pitt has chosen me to command
the expedition now fitting out against Quebec."
Mrs. Wolfe gave a little gasp, the tears springing to her eyes; but
over Kate's face there spread a deep, beautiful flush, and she
grasped the young man by the hand, exclaiming:
"O Cousin James, how glad I am! What a splendid victory it will
be!"
"If it be won!" he said, looking up at her with kindling eyes. "But
there is always an 'if' in the case."
"There will be none when you are in command," answered Kate, with a
ring of proud assurance in her voice. "Had you been commander of
the Louisbourg expedition, Quebec would have been ours by now."
Their eyes met. In hers he read unbounded admiration and faith. It
thrilled him strangely. It brought a look of new purpose into his
face. He held her hand, and she left it lying in his clasp. He was
holding it still when he turned to his mother.
"Are you not glad, mother mine?" he asked gently.
"Oh yes, my son--glad and proud of the honour done you, of the
appreciation shown of your worth and service. But how will you be
able to undergo all that fatigue, and the perils and sufferings of
another voyage? That is what goes to my heart. You are so little
fit for it all!"
"I have found that a man can always be fit for his duty," said
Wolfe gravely. "Is not that so, Kate?"
"With you it is," she answered, with another of her wonderful
glances; and the mother, watching the faces of the pair, rose from
her seat and crept from the room. Her heart was at once glad and
sorrowful, proud and heavy; she felt that she must ease it with a
little weeping before she could talk of this great thing with the
spirit her son would look to find in her.
Wolfe and Kate were left alone together. He got possession of her
other hand. She was standing before him still, a beautiful bloom
upon her face, her eyes shining like stars.
"You are pleased with all this, my Kate?" he asked; and he let the
last words escape him unconsciously.
"Pleased that your country should do you this great honour? Of
course I am pleased. You have deserved it at her hands; yet men do
not always get their deserts in this world."
"No; and you must not think that there are not hundreds of better
and braver men than myself in our army, or that I am a very
wonderful person. I have got the wish of my heart--it has been
granted to me more fully than I ever looked to see it; but how
often do we see in the hour of triumph that there is something
bitter in the cup, something we had not looked to find there. Three
months ago I was burning to sail for Quebec, and now--"
He paused for a moment, and she looked full at him.
"Surely you have not changed. You want to go; your heart is set
upon it!"
"Yes," he answered gravely: "my wish and purpose have never
wavered; but now my heart is divided. Once it beat only for my
country, and the clash of arms was music in my ears; now it has
found a rival elsewhere. If I go to Quebec, I must leave you
behind, my Kate!"
Suddenly into her bright eyes there sprang the smart of tears. She
clasped the hands that held hers and pressed them closely.
"It will not be for long," she said; "you will return covered with
glory and renown!"
"It may be so, it may be so; yet who can tell? Think how many
gallant soldiers have been left behind upon that great continent:
Braddock, Howe--oh, I could name many others less known to fame,
perhaps, but gallant soldiers all. We go out with our lives in our
hand, and so many never return!"
The tears began to fall slowly in sparkling drops. She could not
release her hands to wipe them away.
"Do not speak so, James; it is not like you! Why do you try to
break my heart?"
"Would you care so much, so much, were I to find a soldier's
grave?"
A quick sob was her reply. She turned her head away.
"Kate, do you love me?"
"I think you know that I do, James."
"I have begun to hope, and yet I have scarcely dared. You so full
of life and strength and beauty, and I such a broken crock!"
"A hero, you mean!" she answered, with flashing eyes--"a soldier
and a hero; tenfold more a hero in that you overcome pain and
weakness, sickness and suffering, in the discharge of your duty,
and do things that others would declare impossible! Oh yes, I have
heard of you; Lieutenant Dautray has told me. I know how you have
done the impossible again and yet again. James, you will do this
once again. You will storm that great fortress which men call
impregnable--you will storm it and you will vanquish it; and you
will come home crowned with glory and honour! And I shall be here
waiting for you; I shall watch and wait till you come. It is
written in the book of fate that your name is to go down to
posterity as the hero of Quebec. I am sure of it--oh, I am sure! Do
not say anything to damp my hope, for I will not believe you!"
He looked into her face, and his own kindled strangely. "I will say
nothing but that I love you--I love you--I love you! Today that is
enough between us, Kate. Let the rest go--the honour and glory of
the world, the commission, and all besides. Today we belong to each
other; tomorrow we sing of peace on earth, goodwill toward men. Let
that suffice us; let us forget the rest. We will be happy together
in our love, and in love to all mankind. After that we must think
again of these things. Afterwards thoughts of war and strife must
have their place; but for once let love be lord of our lives. After
that storm and strife--and Quebec!"