"Tis in the prime of summer-time, an evening calm and cool,
When certain bright-eyed English boys come bounding out of school."
The school is at Greenwich, six miles below London Bridge, and is kept by
the Reverend Samuel Swinden. Date, some time in the month of June, 1741.
The boys are of all ages, from five years upwards, and most of them are
sons of military and naval officers resident in the neighbourhood. One of
them, a sturdy little urchin of seven years, is a son of the Treasurer of
the great Marine Hospital down by the river's bank. He is destined by his
father for the legal profession, but has already begun to shew his contempt
for the law by breaking His Majesty's peace several times in the course of
every week. He has been at school only a few months, and hitherto he has
not displayed much aptitude for his lessons; but he has distinguished
himself in numberless hand-to-hand engagements with his fellow-scholars,
and has gained the reputation of being, for a youngster of his inches,
tremendously heavy about the fist. On this particular evening the school
has been dismissed barely five minutes before the pugnacious little rascal
contrives to get into an altercation with a lad several years his senior.
As to the precise nature, of the _casus belli_, history and tradition are
alike silent. The pair adjourn to a secluded part of the playground to
settle their differences _a la_ Dogginson, "by fighting it out with their
fistes." The other boys follow as a matter of course, to see fair play. It
is to be regretted that history has not furnished sufficient data to enable
us to describe the passage of arms very minutely. Suffice it is to say
that after a few rounds have been fought, it becomes apparent to all the
spectators that Master Jackey Jervis has at last found his match. His
opponent, a great hulking fellow without any forehead, who has arms like
sledge-hammers, and who has hitherto found it impossible to learn the
multiplication table, takes all Master Jackey's blows with seeming
nonchalance, and ever and anon puts in a tremendous rejoinder which
stretches the Treasurer's son upon the sward. When the contest has gone on
after this fashion for some time the seconds propose that, as there has
been a sufficient effusion of blood to vindicate the courage of both the
combatants, there may well be a cessation of hostilities. The big fellow
stolidly remarks that it is all one to him; but Master Jackey spurns the
proposal with lofty contempt. The contest is renewed; another round is
fought, and the lighter weight once more bites the grass. Before he can
arise to resume the fray, the company receives an accession in the person
of a tall, slabsided, awkwardly-made youth, who impetuously elbows the
others aside, and makes his way to the centre of the fistic arena. The
new-comer is somewhat older than any of the other boys, and is apparently
verging towards manhood. His appearance is somewhat peculiar. The most
partial admirer could hardly pronounce him handsome. Apart from his
ungainly build, he has fiery red hair, high, prominent cheek bones, a
receding forehead, and a proboscis of the kind which the French call a
nose in the air. There is a set, decisive expression about his mouth which
betokens an indomitable will; and a flash in his sparkling blue eyes bears
witness that he has an ominous temper of his own. But, though his personal
appearance is by no means that of an Adonis, the brightness of his
complexion and a certain bold frankness of facial expression preserves him
from absolute ugliness. Those who know him, moreover, are aware that he
possesses qualities which more than redeem his plainness of feature. Though
by no means of a robust constitution, he is endowed with unflinching
courage. He has a high sense of honour, and is the repository of the
secrets of nearly every boy in the school. He is a diligent student, and
though somewhat vain of his superior knowledge, is ever ready to assist
those of his fellow-pupils who are anxious to learn. Add to all this that
he is the senior boy of the school; that, though a stern disciplinarian, he
is generous, impartial, and a protector of the weak; and it will readily be
understood that he is popular both with master and scholars. Unnecessary to
say that there is no more fighting, for the senior boy has forbidden it,
and he is not one who tolerates any opposition to his authority. Two
minutes suffice to quell the disturbance; and the belligerents shake hands
and march off to their respective homes. Little Jackey, however, has been
rather severely handled in the encounter, and does not put in an appearance
for several days, when the preceptor reads him a lecture before the whole
school on the ill effects resulting from little boys permitting their angry
passions to rise.
It is to be presumed that the lecture was not taken very seriously to
heart, for Master Jervis, during the following seventy years, was many
times conspicuous for little ebullitions of temper. He never took kindly to
his father's scheme to make a lawyer of him. About three years subsequent
to the event just recorded he ran away to sea, and began that glorious
maritime career, the details of which form an important chapter in the
history of England. For Master Jackey Jervis lived to take part in more
deadly encounters than the one in the play-ground at Greenwich, and to take
high rank among the naval heroes of Great Britain. After valiantly fighting
the battles of his country in both hemispheres, and rising to the rank
of Admiral, he achieved that signal victory over the Spanish fleet which
procured for him the Earldom of St. Vincent. Nor is the low-browed lad who
was his opponent altogether unknown to fame. His name was Thomas Brett,
and he lived to do good service in various capacities under Nelson and
Collingwood. But the fame of the senior boy--the florid-complexioned youth
with the aspiring nose--is more dear to Canadians of British blood than is
that of either of his schoolfellows; for his name was James Wolfe.
His career was short, and was compressed within a space of less than
thirty-four years. It terminated in the moment of victory on the Plains of
Abraham. But, brief as was his earthly span, few lives of any length have
accomplished so much; and his death was so glorious that it should scarcely
have been regretted, even by his nearest and dearest, what he _did_ is
known to us. What he might have done if his life had been spared, can only
be conjectured; but he possessed all the qualifications of a great military
commander, and needed but time and opportunity for their development. Of
these, so long as they were vouchsafed to him, no man knew better how to
take advantage; and it is not extravagant to believe that had he lived to
the age of Marlborough or Wellington, he would have won a place in history
not less distinguished than theirs.
He was born at the Vicarage, in the little village of Westerham, Kent, on
the 2nd of January, 1726. [Footnote: Authorities are all but unanimous in
placing this date a year later--i.e., on the 2nd of January, 1727. Even the
standard biography of Wolfe (Wright's) repeats the error. That it _is_ an
error becomes apparent when we learn that he was baptized at twenty days
old, and that the parish register shows this ceremony to have taken place
on the 11th of January, 1726--the latter date being Old Style, equivalent
to January 22nd, New Style. The correct date is further confirmed by the
entry in the register of the baptism of his brother, Edward, who was about
a year younger, and who was baptized of the 10th of January, 1727.] His
father, Colonel Edward Wolfe, was an officer in the English army, who
subsequently rose to the rank of Lieutenant-General. His mother was
Henrietta, daughter of Edward Thompson, of Marsden, Yorkshire. James was
their first-born, and was the only member of the family destined to attain
high distinction. The only other offspring of the marriage was a younger
son, Edward, who was born about a year after the birth of James, and who
did not live to reach manhood. Edward entered the army while still a mere
lad, and fought in the battle of Dettingen, on the 16th of June, 1743. He
died on October of the following year, of consumption, accellerated by the
hardships incidental to a campaigning life.
But little is known of the childhood of the two brothers. Both of them seem
to have been of rather frail constitutions, and the precarious state of
their health is said to have caused their parents much anxiety. As they
grew up to youth they appear to have become somewhat more healthful, though
still far from robust. Their earliest scholastic attainments were received
at the hands of a Mr. Lawrence, who kept a small school in their native
village. Their father was almost always on active service with his
regiment, and the boys saw very little of him. About 1737 the family
removed from Westerham to Greenwich, where the children at once began to
attend Mr. Swinden's School. The episode described in the opening paragraph
is about the only anecdote which has been preserved of their connection
with that institution, and for it we are indebted, not to any life of
Wolfe, but to an old history of Greenwich. Early in November, 1741, within
five months after the happening of the incident above described, Master
James received his first commission, appointing him Second Lieutenant in
his father's regiment of Marines; but there is no trace of his ever having
served under it. He shortly afterwards exchanged into the Line, and his
first active service was in the capacity of Ensign of the Twelfth, or
Colonel Duroure's Regiment of Foot. The exchange took place early in 1742,
and in April of that year he embarked with his regiment for Flanders. The
first of his letters which have been preserved, is written to his mother
from Ghent, and is dated August 27th, 1742. His brother Edward followed
him to the Continent during the same year, and died, as we have seen, in
October, 1744. James's aptitude for the military profession soon became
apparent to his superior officers, and shortly after the completion of his
seventeenth year we find him filling the important pest of Adjutant. He, as
well as his brother, took part in the battle of Dettingen, on the 16th of
June, and though they were placed in the middle of the first line, they
both escaped without a scar. A few days afterwards James, in consequence of
the talent for command which he had already displayed, was promoted to
a lieutenancy and on the 3rd of June, 1744, he received a captain's
commission in the Fourth, or King's Regiment of Foot, commanded by
Lieutenant-General Barrell. His life for some months thereafter was one
of uninterrupted campaigning, but it contains no incident necessary to
be remarked upon. Nest year, Great Britain was compelled to withdraw her
forces from Flander's in order to suppress the Jacobite rebellion in
Scotland, known as the "Rising of the Forty-five." Early in June, Wolfe was
commissioned a Brigade-Major, and almost immediately afterwards he returned
to England. He was at once despatched northward to Newcastle, and fought at
Falkirk and Culloden, in both of which engagements his regiments suffered
severely, though he himself escaped unwounded.
The Anti-Jacobin _Review_ for 1802 contains an anecdote which, though
probably apocryphal, may as well be inserted here. It is said that when
Wolfe was riding over the field of Culloden with the Duke of Cumberland
they observed a Highlander, who, although severely wounded, was able to
sit up, and who, leaning on his arm, seemed to smile defiance upon them.
"Wolfe," said the Duke, "shoot me that Highland scoundrel, who thus dares
to look on us with such insolence." To which Wolfe replied: "My commission
is at your Royal Highness' disposal, but I can never consent to become an
_executioner_." From this day forward, it is said, Wolfe visibly declined
in the favour of the Commander-in-Chief. It is manifestly impossible to
disprove such a story as this; but it is an undoubted fact that Wolfe did
_not_ decline in the Duke's favour after the battle of Culloden, and as no
authorities are cited in support of the anecdote, it is not unreasonable to
infer that the whole is fictitious. For some months after the "dark day of
Culloden," Wolfe remained in the Highlands, but we have no information as
to how he spent his time there. He passed a part of the following winter in
London, where he took up his quarters with his parents, who then lived
in their town house in Old Burlington-street. During his stay in the
metropolis at this time he must frequently have passed through Temple Bar.
If so, he doubtless had the grim satisfaction of seeing the heads of some
of his former opponents, the Highland rebels, grinning at passers-by from
the spikes over the gateway.
In January, 1747, he again set out for the Continent with the British
reinforcements for the Netherlands. At the battle of Laffeldt, fought on
the 2nd July, he received a slight wound, and was publicly thanked by the
Commander-in-Chief for his distinguished services. We do not find that he
took part in any other active engagement at this time, and we hear no more
of his wound. We next find him in London, where he seems to have spent the
greater part of the winter of 1747-8. The treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was
signed soon after, whereby peace was restored to Europe.
About this time Wolfe had his first experience of the tender passion, the
object being a Miss Lawson, one of the maids of honour to the Princess of
Wales. His suit, however, was disapproved of by his parents, and does not
appear to have been particularly acceptable to the young lady herself, for,
after a good deal of delay, she rejected his offer of his hand. She died
unmarried in March, 1759--the same year which witnessed the death of her
former admirer. Wolfe was not precisely the kind of material of which
despairing lovers are made, and beyond a few expressions of regret, he does
not seem to have taken the rejection very deeply to heart. On the 5th of
January, 1749, he was gazetted as Major of the 20th Regiment, stationed
in Scotland, whither he repaired soon after. His promotion to a
Lieutenant-Colonelcy in the same regiment followed fifteen months later,
and the next three years were for the most part spent with his regiment
in the Highlands, which were gradually recovering from the effects of the
rebellion. Then came a journey to Paris, where he remained several months,
and where he was presented to the King, Louis XV., and to Madame de
Pompadour. The following two or three years of his life were not marked by
any incident of special importance.
In 1757, in consequence of the recommencement of hostilities with France,
British forces, under Sir John Mordaunt, were despatched to attack
Rochfort, and Wolfe accompanied the expedition as Quartermaster-General.
This expedition was destined to exercise an important influence upon his
future career. He had hitherto been known simply as a brave and efficient
officer, but it was not commonly supposed, even by his intimate friends,
that he was endowed with an original military genius of high order. The
time had arrived when the world was to form a more accurate estimate of
him. Sir John Mordaunt, who was placed in command of the land forces for
the Rochfort expedition, was totally unfit for so responsible a post. Sir
Edward Hawke, who commanded the fleet, did good service both before and
after that time; but this expedition was one for which he does not appear
to have been suited. The incapacity of both the commanders soon began to be
painfully apparent; and Wolfe, a soldier by nature as well as by training,
determined to show them how the siege of Rochfort should be conducted.
While they were wasting time in laying and abandoning immature plans, and
in suggesting this, that and the other impracticable schemes, he, with
Sir John's sanction, quietly landed on the island at one o'clock in the
morning, and made his observations. He saw a small post on the promontory
of Fouras, which it was evident must be taken before Rochfort could be
besieged with success. He further noted the most favourable point for
landing the troops. Having matured his scheme, he returned and made his
report to Sir John and Sir Edward, and urgently recommended that his
suggestions be acted upon. Sir Edward approved of the plan, but Sir John
thought proper to call a Council of war, which, after a long session,
decided that such an attempt was neither advisable nor practicable. The
lucky moment was lost, and the expedition returned to England without
having accomplished anything. The English people had confidently counted
on the success of the expedition, and were proportionately dissapointed.
A committee of inquiry was summoned, and Sir John Mordaunt was tried by
court-martial. He was acquitted; but Pitt, who was at the head of the
Government, after carefully mastering the evidence given by Wolfe, came to
the conclusion that the Quartermaster was an extraordinary young man, and
that if his advice had been followed there would have been a very different
result from the expedition. The youth who had the intrepidity to take the
initiatory observations, and who had had the military skill to concoct the
plan of attack, was evidently a person whose services it might be worth
while to turn to account. At no period in the history of England had there
been a greater scarcity of capable military leaders, and not often had
capable leaders been more urgently needed. This young Wolfe was evidently
an original military genius, and must be pushed forward. He was immediately
promoted to the rank of Colonel, and was soon to receive still higher
promotion.
The incompetency of the superior officers in the British army had of late
become painfully manifest on both sides of the Atlantic. The American
campaign of 1757 was even more disastrous than were British operations in
Europe. Lord Loudoun, who had been despatched to America in the preceding
year, to direct the campaign against the French, had accomplished nothing,
and the enemy, under Montcalm, were uniformly successful in their
operations. In August occurred the terrible massacre at Fort William Henry.
Other massacres followed, and the colonists were literally panic-stricken.
The border settlements were laid waste, the houses and property of the
inhabitants destroyed, and the colonists themselves scalped and murdered by
the French and their Indian allies. French spies gained early intelligence
of every movement contemplated by the British, and were thus, in many
cases, the means of rendering those movements abortive. The grand British
scheme of the year, however, was the reduction of Louisburg, in furtherance
of which an armament such had never before been collected in the British
Colonies, assembled at Halifax. This armament consisted of about 12,000
troops, 19 vessels of war, and a considerable number of smaller craft.
The troops were embarked early in August with the ostensible object of
capturing Louisburg; but Lord Loudoun, learning that the French anticipated
the attack, and were prepared to oppose it, abandoned the idea. He landed a
part of the forces on the coast of Nova Scotia, and returned with the rest
to New York. A fleet specially sent out from Great Britain, under the
command of Admiral Holborne, sailed for Cape Breton about the same time;
but the sight of the French ships in Louisburg harbour proved too much for
the Admiral's nerves, and he steered for Halifax. Here he was reinforced
by four men-of-war, and the fleet again set sail for Louisburg. The French
fleet remained under the shelter of the batteries in the harbour; and would
not be coaxed out. Holborne cruised about the coast until late in the
autumn, when his fleet was dispersed and almost destroyed by a succession
of violent storms. Considering that, under the circumstances, he had done
enough for his country for that time, he returned to England with the
shattered remains of his fleet.
Such was the position of affairs at the close of the year 1757. Public
indignation was aroused by the incompetency and supineness of the military
and naval commanders, and it became apparent either that more efficient
leaders most be found or that all operations in America must be abandoned.
The new Ministry, with Pitt at its head, proved equal to the occasion. Lord
Loudoun was recalled and General Abercromby appointed in his stead. The
Great Commoner formed his plans for next year's campaign, which included
the reduction of Fort Duquesne, Louisburg, Ticonderoga, and Crown Point.
The expedition against Louisburg required a conjoint naval and military
armament. The naval command was assigned to Admiral Boscawen, and the
military forces to Colonel Amherst, who was advanced to the rank of
Major-General. With the latter was associated Wolfe, Whitmore, and
Lawrence, as Brigade-Generals. Operations against Crown Point and
Ticonderoga were entrusted to General Abercromby and Lord Howe. Those
against Fort Duquesne were conducted by General Forbes. The expedition
against Fort Duquesne was completely successful, but Abercromby proved
himself as inefficient as his predecessor in office, Lord Loudoun. Howe,
who was a thoroughly capable officer, was killed at Ticonderoga on the 6th
of July, before his powers could be brought into play. The expedition
under Abercromby proved an utter failure. Not so the expedition against
Louisburg, the capture of which was the most important event of the year.
Being regarded as the key to the St. Lawrence, it was a strongly fortified
place. A fortress had been erected there at a cost of 30,000,000 livres.
The garrison was defended by the Chevalier de Drucourt, with 3,100 troops
and about 700 Indians; while two frigates and six line-of-battle ships
guarded the harbour, the entrance to which was blocked by three sunken
frigates. Boscawen's fleet crossed the Atlantic, and in due course laid
siege to Louisburg. Wolfe led the left division of attack, which may be
said to have borne the brunt of the entire siege. A landing was effected on
the 8th of June, and during the following seven weeks the operations were
almost entirely conducted by Wolfe, to whose skill and judgment their
success is mainly to be attributed. The garrison surrendered on the 26th
of July, and together with sailors and marines, amounting collectively to
5,637 men, were carried to England as prisoners of war. 15,000 stand of
arms and a great quantity of military stores became the property of the
victors; and a glorious array of captured colours were sent to England,
where they were carried in solemn procession through the principal
thoroughfares, and finally placed in St. Paul's Cathedral. The town of
Louisburg was reduced to a heap of ruins. The inhabitants were sent to
France in English ships, and the fortifications were soon after demolished.
A few fishermen's huts are all the dwellings to be found on the site at the
present day.
From the moment when the news of the fall of Louisburg reached England,
the eyes of the entire nation were turned upon Pitt and Wolfe, who jointly
shared the popular enthusiasm. The lustre of the British arms--tarnished by
so many reverses--began to shine with restored brilliancy, and the nation
rose almost as one man to do honour to the brave young officer whose
prowess and courage had been so signally displayed in its behalf. He
returned to England towards the close of the year, and at once rejoined
his regiment. His health had suffered a good deal during the campaign in
America, but this did not prevent his offering his services to Pitt for the
forthcoming campaign in the St Lawrence. His offer was accepted, and he was
rewarded with the rank of Major-General. To him was assigned the command of
the land forces; the naval armament being entrusted to Admiral Saunders.
Before starting on this, his final expedition, he became a suitor to
Miss Katherine Lowther, sister to Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl of
Lonsdale. Her father had formerly been Governor of Barbadoes, and died
in 1745. We have no means of ascertaining when Wolfe first formed the
acquaintance of this lady, but there is no allusion to her in any of his
letters written previous to this time, and it is probable that until his
return from America there had been no love passages between them. His
courtship in this instance was successful. What young lady of generous
impulses would be likely to refuse the hand of the brave hero of Louisburg,
whose praises were in everybody's mouth, and who was the favourite of the
greatest statesman that ever swayed the destinies of Great Britain? His
suit was accepted, and he carried the lady's portrait with him across the
seas, wearing it next his heart until the evening before his death.
Having got together a staff of officers to his liking, he embarked at
Spithead on the 17th of February, 1759, and reached Halifax on the 30th of
April following. Louisburg harbour was not clear of ice until about the
middle of May, when the fleet sailed thither. During his stay at Louisburg
Wolfe received intelligence of the death of his father, who died at
Blackheath on the 26th of March, in the 75th year of his age. The fleet
left Louisburg early in June, and proceeded to the St. Lawrence. Wolfe, in
due course, landed on the Isle of Orleans, just below Quebec, where the
troops, to the number of 8,000, were landed without opposition, on the
morning of the 27th of June. Having seen his army encamped, Wolfe set out,
accompanied by his Chief Engineer, and an escort to reconnoitre the enemy's
position. Upon reaching the western point of the island, he was not long
in perceiving that Quebec would not fall without a struggle. The prospect,
sufficiently grand at any time, was rendered more than ordinarily
impressive by the warlike preparations to be seen on every hand. In front,
on the summit of Cape Diamond, rose the lofty citadel, with the flag of
France fluttering in the breeze. Above, all the way to Cape Rouge, every
landing-place bristled with well-guarded encampments. Below, on the
elevated range extending from the mouth of the River St. Charles to the
mouth of the Montmorenci--a distance of eight miles--was a still more
imposing array. Every assailable point was efficiently guarded by a
redoubt. A bridge, protected by _tetes de pont_, spanned the St. Charles,
and formed a ready means of communication between the garrison and the
troops on the opposite side of the river. The mouth of the stream, just
below the citadel, was closed by a boom, and was further defended by
stranded frigates. The natural advantages of the situation had been
enhanced by the highest military skill, and there was not a vulnerable
point to be seen anywhere. The enemy's forces, 12,000 strong, composed
of French regulars, Canadian militia, and a few Indians, were under the
direction of the Marquis de Montcalm, one of the most consummate generals
of the age. The position was one which was one which might have well been
pronounced impregnable, and Wolfe could hardly have been censured if he had
then and there abandoned all hope of success.
But there are some men whom no difficulties can discourage, and no danger
can daunt. Such a man was the intrepid young Major-General who had been
sent out by Pitt to sound the death-note of French Dominion in Canada.
With a shattered constitution, and a frame already in an advanced stage of
consumption, the indomitable young hero commenced the first moves in that
desperate game which he was finally destined to win at the cost of his
own life. The siege lasted nearly three months, during all of which time,
consumed by organic disease, and worn out by long and uninterrupted
service, his dauntless resolution never wholly failed him. For weeks and
weeks his eagle eye, ever on the alert to spy out a vulnerable point in
that seemingly immaculate coat-of-mail, scanned the redoubts from Cape
Rouge to the Montmorenci. There was no fool-hardiness--no wilful throwing
away of life--but there was much to be dared, and much to be left to mere
chance. Whenever there seemed to be any, even the slightest, prospect of
effecting an opening, that chance was greedily seized and eagerly acted
upon. Contemplated in the light of the grand result, we are lost in
amazement at the indomitable soul of that frail young invalid who,
undismayed by repeated defeat, by conflicting counsels, and by the effect
of continued exposure upon his enfeebled frame, steadfastly persevered
in his course until the goal was won. For British dominion in Canada was
established, not by bravery alone. Montcalm's veteran troops were as
brave as those to which they were opposed. Quebec was won by patience, by
unceasing vigilance, by military skill, and by an inward conviction in the
breast of the English commander that "All things are possible to him who
will but do his duty, and who knoweth not when he is beaten." The time was
one which called for action and no time was lost in useless deliberation.
Wolfe's plan of attack was soon formed, and he at once proceeded to carry
it out. The soldiers were directed to hold themselves in readiness either
to march or fight at the shortest notice. A little before midnight on the
28th--about thirty hours after the forces had been landed--the sentinel
on the western point of the island perceived certain black objects in the
river which were slowly moving towards the land where he stood. He had no
sooner aroused his companions than a tremendous discharge of artillery took
place. The force immediately turned out and prepared for battle, but no
enemy being, visible, it was necessary to wait for daylight. It then
appeared that the French commander had despatched eight fire-ships and
rafts, freighted with explosives, towards the British fleet in the river.
These explosives had been launched from the shore in the darkness, but had
been lighted prematurely, and failed to accomplish anything beyond a grand
display of fireworks. Wolfe proceeded with his plans, and on the 30th he
issued a proclamation to the inhabitants, calling upon them to transfer
their allegiance, and enjoining upon them that they should at least
preserve a strict neutrality. Monckton, one of Wolfe's Brigadier-Generals,
then crossed over the arm of the river with a strong detachment, took
possession of Peint Levi, threw up entrenchments, and planted batteries
along the southern shore. In effecting this manoeuvre a body of 1,200
Canadians were dislodged and repulsed, and the British gained an
advantageous position for attacking the citadel. Monckton held the position
in spite of all Montcalm's efforts to dislodge him, and on the 13th of July
the batteries opened fire from here upon the citadel. The fleet in the
river also opened fire upon the French lines on the northern shore between
Quebec and the Falls of Montmorenci, and under cover of the fire Wolfe
landed on the eastern bank of the Montmorenci River, and intrenched his
position there. The shells from the batteries at Point Levi set fire to the
Upper Town of Quebec, whereby the great Cathedral and many other buildings
were destroyed. Hostilities were renewed day by day, and there was great
destruction both of property and of human life; but after weeks of toilsome
operation the capture of Quebec seemed as far off as when the British fleet
first arrived in the St. Lawrence. On the night of the 28th of July, the
French made a second attempt to destroy the English fleet with fire-rafts,
but the sailors grappled the rafts before they could reach the fleet and
quietly towed them ashore.
Meantime, Wolfe's efforts to decoy Montcalm to emerge from his fastnesses
and to enter into a general engagement were unceasing; but the French
General was not to be tempted. Several British men-of-war sailed up the
St. Lawrence, past the city, and got into the upper river. Wolfe was thus
enabled to reconnoitre the country above, the bombardment of the citadel
being kept up almost without intermission. On the 31st, Wolfe, from his
camp near the month of the Montmorenci, made a formidable attack upon the
French on the other side of the (Montmorenci) River, near Beauport. The
attack was unsuccessful, and the British were compelled to retire with
considerable loss. Attempts to dislodge the French were made at all points
along the river; but owing to their advantageous position, all such
attempts were fruitless, and as the weeks passed by without securing any
decisive advantage to his arms, Wolfe's anxiety became so great as to bring
on a slow fever, which for some days confined him to his bed. As soon as he
was able to drag himself thence he called his chief officers together and
submitted to them several new methods of attack. Most of the officers were
of opinion that the attack should be made above the city, rather than
below. Wolfe coincided in this view, and on the 3rd of September
transferred his own camp to Point Levi. Soon afterwards a narrow path,
scarcely wide enough for two men to march abreast, was discovered on the
north bank of the St. Lawrence, leading up the cliffs, about two miles
above the city. The spot was known as _L'Anse du Foulon_, but has since
been known as Wolfe's Cove. Wolfe determined to land his forces here, and
under cover of night, to ascend to the heights above. The heights once
reached, it was probable that Montcalm might hazard a battle. Should he
decline to do so, the British troops would at any rate have gained an
advantageous point for a fresh attack upon the citadel.
Having determined upon this line of proceeding, preparations were at once
set on foot for carrying it out. An important point was to keep the French
in ignorance of the design, and if possible to mislead them as to the spot
where it was proposed to make the attack. With this view, soundings were
made in the river opposite Beauport, between the mouth of the St. Charles
and the Falls of Montmorenci, as though with the intention of effecting
a landing there. The ruse was successful, and Montcalm's attention was
directed to this spot as the probable point which he would soon have
to defend. He hurried down to the entrenchments at Beauport, and made
preparations to oppose the British in their anticipated attempt to land.
On the evening of the 12th of September, several of the heaviest vessels of
the British fleet anchored near Beauport. Boats were lowered, and were soon
filled with men, as though it were intended to effect a landing forthwith.
Montcalm's attention having been thus concentrated upon this point, the
smaller vessels sailed up the river past Cape Diamond, and joined the
squadron under Admiral Holmes, which lay near Cape Rouge. The forces on the
south bank of the St. Lawrence simultaneously advanced up the shore from
Point Levi, and having arrived opposite the squadron, were quietly taken on
board, where they awaited further orders. Wolfe, with the germs of a hectic
fever still rankling in his blood, was nevertheless actively engaged in
reconnoitring the position both on the river and on land. And now we again
meet for a few moments with our old friend, Mr. John Jervis. Eighteen
years have passed over his head since we last met him in the playground at
Greenwich. He is now commander of the _Porcupine_, one of the sloops of
war in the St. Lawrence. A few weeks before this time he had rendered
an essential service to his old school-fellow, James Wolfe. One of the
General's passages up the river had been made in the _Porcupine_, and in
passing the batteries of the Lower Town of Quebec, the wind had died away,
and the vessel had been driven by the current towards the northern shore. A
cannonade was at once opened upon the vessel from the French batteries, and
Wolfe would soon have been in the hands of the enemy. Jervis proved equal
to the occasion. His word of command rang out to lower the ship's boats.
The command was at once obeyed, and the crew soon towed the _Porcupine_ out
of danger. The memory of this event may perhaps have had something to do
with Wolfe's conduct towards his old friend on the evening of this 12th of
September. The General sent for young Jervis, and had a conversation with
him upon various private matters. He expressed his conviction that he would
not survive the impending battle, and taking Miss Lowther's picture from
his bosom, he delivered it to Jervis. "If I fall," he said, "let it be
given to her with my best love." Jervis, of course, promised compliance,
and the somewhile pupils of, Mr. Swindon bade each other a last farewell.
The hours intervening between this conference and midnight were chiefly
spent by the General in adding a codicil to his will, and in making a final
inspection of arrangements for the proposed landing at _L'Anse du Foulon_.
The night was calm and beautiful, and as he passed from ship to ship he
commented to the officers on the contrast between the quietness which
reigned supreme, and the resonant roar of battle which would almost
certainly be heard there on the morrow. As he quietly moved about he was
heard repeating in a low tone several stanzas of Gray's "Elegy." One of
these stanzas he repeated several times:
"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, and all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
The occasion was a solemn one, and he doubtless felt that, for him, the
last line had a special significance at that time. Who shall say what other
thoughts filled his breast on that last evening of his life? Perchance he
thought of his mother, of his dead father and brother, and of her who was
pledged to share his name and fame. Let us hope that, in that solemn hour,
with the forebodings of his coming doom strong upon him, he was able to
look back upon his life with a consciousness that he had served his God
with at least some measure of the zeal which he had ever been wont to
display in the service of his country. He continued to repeat the beautiful
lines of the poet, down to the concluding words of the epitaph. Then after
a brief pause, turning to his officers:--"Gentlemen," he said, "I would
rather be the author of that piece than take Quebec to-morrow." [Footnote:
There is a story to the effect that Wolfe, on this night, composed the
well-known song which bears his name, commencing: "How stands the glass
around?" The story is altogether without foundation, the song having been
written and published long before General Wolfe was born. The poetical
talent of the family seems to have been confined to the Irish branch,
one of the members whereof, the Rev. Charles Wolfe, subsequently won
immortality by a single short poem, "The Burial of Sir John Moore."]
But not much time could be given to sentiment. A little after midnight,
Wolfe embarked a strong detachment of forces in flat-bottomed boats, and,
placing himself at their head, quietly glided down the river to _L'Anse du
Foulon_. The spot was soon reached, and the landing was effected in safety.
The cliff here rises almost perpendicularly to a height of 350 feet, and
one of the soldiers was heard to remark that going up there would be like
going up the side of a house. No time was lost, and the ascent of the
ravine was at once begun. The enemy had a line of sentinels all along the
top of the cliff, and one of the sentries was stationed at the precise spot
where the British would emerge on the summit. When those who were in the
van of ascent had reached a point about half way up the acclevity, the
sentry's attention was aroused by the noise of scrambling that was
necessarily made by the British soldiers. Calling "_Qui vive_?" down
the cliff, he was answered in French, and, suspecting nothing amiss, he
proceeded on his rounds. Meanwhile the British had not waited to ascend two
abreast, but were scrambling up as best they could. Seizing hold of bushes,
roots, and projections of rock, they rapidly scaled the steep sides of the
cliff, and were soon within a few yards of the top. About a hundred of them
made the ascent at a point a few yards further east than the ravine, and
directly above their heads was a sentry-post with five or six French
soldiers, who, hearing the noise, began to peer down the side of the cliff.
Darkness prevented their seeing much, but the roots and bushes seemed all
alive, and firing a volley down at random, they took to their heels and
fled. The British vigorously pushed their way up, and were soon on level
ground. Long before daylight 4,828 British troops stood upon the Heights of
Abraham, commanding the city from the West. One solitary cannon had been
toilsomely dragged up the ravine. It was destined to do good service
against the French troops, and to carry a message of death to their
commander, ere many hours had passed.
The decisive moment was at hand. By this time Wolfe felt certain that the
French General would now emerge from his entrenchments and fight. His
conviction proved to be well founded. About six o'clock in the morning,
Montcalm, who had been vigilantly watching during the night for an attack
at Beauport, received the intelligence of Wolfe's manoeuvre. Hastening
across the St. Charles, he hurried along past the northern ramparts of
Quebec, and advanced to do battle. His forces consisted of 7,520 troops,
besides 400 Indians. In addition to these, he had a force of about 1,500
men farther up the river, near Cape Rouge, under H. de Bougainville.
Messengers were dispatched to this officer directing him to hasten to the
scene of action and attack the British in their rear.
The battle began early in the forenoon, when Montcalm's artillery opened
fire upon the British. His force, independently of that under H. de
Bougainville, being nearly double that of the British, he hoped to turn
his numerical superiority to account by out-flanking the enemy's left, and
crowding them towards the bank, when he would oppose them to the front and
to the north, while H. de Bougainville would sweep down upon their rear. M.
de Bougainville, however, was slow in arriving, and Montcalm's attack on
the north and east was opposed by the British with such determination that
he was compelled to draw back. Then, remustering his troops, he returned to
the charge. This was the decisive moment. The British, by Wolfe's command,
threw themselves on the ground, and though the hot fire of the approaching
Frenchmen did terrible execution among them not a shot was fired in return.
On came the foe until they had advanced to within forty yards of the
British. Then Wolfe's voice was suddenly heard above the din of battle like
the note of a clarion. Responsive to his call, the troops rose as one
man and poured in a volley so deadly as to strike even the well-trained
veterans of France with awe. Scores of them fell to rise no more, and
hundreds sank wounded on the plain. Such of the terrified Canadian troops
as were able to run, fled in sheer terror. Before the smoke of that
terrible volley had cleared away, Wolfe, his delicate frame trembling with
illness, but buoyed up with the assurance of a glorious victory, placed
himself at the head of the Louisburg Grenadiers and the 28th Regiment, and
led them to the fray. Wrapping a handkerchief round his left wrist, which
had just been shattered by a bullet, he continued to advance at the head of
his men, inspiriting them alike by his acts and his deeds. He gave the word
to "Charge," and the word has scarcely passed his lips when he received
a bullet in the groin. Staggering under the shock, he yet continued to
advance, though unable to speak above his breath. The battle had not yet
raged more than fifteen minutes, but it was even now virtually decided.
The French troops were utterly disorganized, and fled in all directions.
Montcalm, brave to rashness, rode along the broken ranks, and vainly tried
to re-form them. As he continued to harangue them, exposing himself to the
enemy's fire with utter indifference to his own safety, he was struck by a
shot from the solitary gun which the British had been able to drag up the
heights. He fell, mortally wounded; and from that moment there can no
longer be said to have been any fighting. It was a fierce pursuit on the
one side and a frantic flight on the other.
Less than three minutes before Montcalm's fall, Wolfe had received a third
bullet wound--this time in the left breast. He leant upon the arm of the
nearest officer, saying, "Support me--do not let my brave fellows see
me fall. The day is ours--keep it." He was at once carried to the rear.
Hearing some one giving directions to fetch a surgeon, he murmured, "It
is useless--all is over with me." As his life ebbed away he heard a voice
exclaim "They run, they run!" The words inspired him with temporary
animation. Slightly raising his head he asked, "Who--who run?" "The
enemy, sir," was the reply; "they give way everywhere." Summoning his
fast-fleeting strength, he rejoined, "Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton.
Tell him to march Webb's regiment with all speed down to Charles River to
cut off the retreat." His head then sank, and turning slightly on one side,
as in a heavy sleep, he was heard to murmur, "Now, God be praised, I die in
peace."
And thus died all that was mortal of James Wolfe. [Footnote: There are
various accounts extant of this closing scene in Wolfe's life, all
professing to come more or less directly from eye-witnesses. No two of them
agree in all points, and one of them states that the General never uttered
a syllable after he was carried to the rear. The above is the version
generally accepted by historians, and is supported by the testimony of the
most trustworthy of those who were present at the scene.]
Everybody knows the rest of the story; how M. de Bougainville appeared on
the field too late to be of any service; how, seeing what had befallen, he
retreated again to Cape Rouge; how the Marquis de Vaudreuil, the Governor,
and his 1,300 Canadians deserted the lines below Quebec, and made what
haste they could to Montreal; how the beleagured garrison, reduced by
famine and slaughter, capitulated on the fifth day after the battle; how a
year afterwards Canada was surrendered to the British Crown; and how the
surrender was ratified by the Treaty of Paris on the 10th of February,
1763.
And Montcalm. He had his wish, expressed shortly after he received his
death-wound, and did not live to see the surrender of the city which he
had defended so bravely. The story of his life and death has been told at
length in a previous sketch. At present it is sufficient to day that he
died on the day following the battle, and that he was buried within the
precincts of the Ursuline Convent, on Garden street, Quebec.
The British loss on the Plains of Abraham consisted of 59 killed and 597
wounded. The French loss was much greater, amounting to about 600 killed
and more than 1,000 wounded and taken prisoners. The death-roll seems
wonderfully small when compared with the carnage in many fields famous in
history; but, judged by its results and all the attendant circumstances,
the battle may very properly be numbered among the decisive conflicts of
the world.
When intelligence of the death of Wolfe and the fall of Quebec reached
England, the enthusiasm of the people rose to a height which may almost be
described as delirious. The effect was much heightened by the fact
that such good news was wholly unexpected; for only three days before,
despatches had arrived from Wolfe wherein it did not appear that he was by
any means sanguine of success. Bonfires blazed from one end of the
kingdom to the other, and the streets of the metropolis were redolent of
marrow-bones and cleavers. Persons who had never seen each other before
shook hands, and in some cases even embraced one another, when they met on
the streets. The coffee-houses were thronged with hysteric orators who held
forth about the days of chivalry having come back again. Sermons about
the sword of the Lord and of Gideon were heard in churches and chapels
throughout the land. While all these things were passing in nearly every
city, town, and important village in the kingdom, one spot remained
unillumined. That spot was Blackheath, where the hero's mother mourned the
loss of her only child--the child to whom, notwithstanding his delicate
health, she had tried to look forward as the stay of her declining years.
The neighbours, one and all, of whatsoever degree, respected her great
sorrow, and forbore to take part in the general rejoicings. We can fancy,
too, that there was mourning and desolation at Raby Castle, the home of the
beautiful Miss Lowther.[Footnote: The portrait of this lady confided
by Wolfe to John Jervis on the night of the 12th of September, was
subsequently delivered to her, and she wore it in memory of her dead hero
until her marriage, nearly six years afterwards, to Harry, Sixth and last
Duke of Bolton. She survived until 1809, when she died at her mansion in
Grosvenor Square, London, at the age of seventy-five.] A month later this
lady wrote to one of her friends as follows, concerning Mrs. Wolfe: "I
feel for her more than words can say, and should, if it was given me to
alleviate her grief, gladly exert every power which nature or compassion
has bestowed; yet I feel we are the last people in the world who ought to
meet."
Wolfe's body was embalmed and conveyed to England, where, on the 20th of
November, it was deposited beside that of his father in the family vault,
beneath the parish church of Greenwich. An immense concourse of people
assembled to do honour to the dead hero's remains. On the day after the
funeral, Pitt rose in the House of Commons and proposed an address to the
King, praying that a monument might be erected in Westminster Abbey to
the memory of the Conqueror of Quebec. The prayer was assented to, and
a committee appointed to carry out the details. The sculpture occupied
thirteen years, and the ceremony of unveiling did not take place until the
4th of October, 1773. The monument is of white marble, and stands in the
Chapel of St. John the Evangelist, facing the ambulatory. The sculpture
is very fine, and embodies various emblematic scenes in Wolfe's life. The
inscription runs as follows:
TO THE MEMORY
OF
JAMES WOLFE
MAJOR-GENERAL AND COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF
OF THE
BRITISH LAND FORCES,
ON AN
EXPEDITION AGAINST QUEBEC,
WHO,
AFTER SURMOUNTING BY ABILITY AND VALOUR
ALL OBSTACLES OF ART AND NATURE,
WAS SLAIN IN THE MOMENT OF VICTORY,
ON THE
XIII. of SEPTEMBER, MDXXLIX.
THE
KING AND PARLIAMENT OF GREAT BRITAIN
DEDICATE THIS MONUMENT.
A monument was also erected to Wolfe's memory in the parish church of
Westerham, the village where he was born; and other memorials are to be
found in Spuerries Park and at Stowe. In the year 1832, Lord Aylmer,
Governor-General of Canada, erected a small pillar, on the Plains of
Abraham, on the exact spot where Wolfe is believed to have breathed his
last. The railing around it being insufficient for its protection, it was
ere long defaced by sacrilegious hands. In 1849 it was removed, and a more
suitable memorial set on in its stead. The cost of the latter was chiefly
defrayed by British troops stationed in the Province. The inscription upon
it is as follows:
HERE DIED
WOLFE:
VICTORIOUS.