AT THE HELM
After his repulse from Ticonderoga, General Abercromby made no marked effort
to retrieve his position; his troops were disheartened, and fearing another
attack by the French, he hastened to retire down Lake St. George, and to
protect himself in an intrenched camp. In October, after the taking of
Louisburg, General Amherst joined him; but it was then too late in the year to
renew active service. Montcalm with his army withdrew for the winter to
Montreal, and the English returned to Albany.
The English were, however, slowly gaining ground. Fort Duquesne, after immense
labour and many hardships, was wrested by Brigadier-General Forbes from the
French, and re-baptised, in honour of the great statesman, Pittsburg. Fort
Frontenac was also captured, and this was more especially important as it gave
the English a footing on Lake Ontario. And so the year 1758 came to a close,
and the nations knew, both at home and abroad, that the great contest was
likely to be fought out during the ensuing year; but whilst the land lay under
its white covering of snow, with ice-bound rivers, there was peace, or rather
a cessation of hostilities, and the leaders at home and abroad looked around
to see who were the men most fitted to place at the helm.
Pitt had for some time past had his eye on a man who had already distinguished
himself at the siege of Louisburg, James Wolfe. After the taking of that
fortress he had desired to push on at once to Quebec; but he was overruled by
the other generals, and a far more disagreeable task was allotted to him. It
was considered necessary to destroy all the French settlements on the Gulf of
St. Lawrence, and he was deputed to carry out the order.
It is difficult for us now to realise the extent of misery this decision
entailed; certainly it was more especially repugnant to a sensitive, humane
nature such as Wolfe’s. It meant laying waste hundreds of pleasant homesteads,
driving their inhabitants forth shelterless! The wailing of women and
children, the low, bitter curses of the men--all this had to be borne with
apparent stoicism. Always delicate, already suffering from the disease to
which he was to succumb, Wolfe’s health entirely broke down under the severe
mental and moral strain, and it was found necessary to grant him a prolonged
leave of absence. He immediately set sail for England, hoping in the quiet of
his home and his much-loved mother’s society to recruit his shattered health.
His was a peculiar nature, a strange mixture of tenderness and passion; loving
and sensitive beyond measure, yet at times strangely fierce and stern. His
mother was wont to say he was a living barometer, his spirits rising and
falling with every change of weather.
With such a character it was hardly possible for him to have been what we
generally term a happy man; there were too many contradictions in his nature.
When still quite young he either was, or imagined himself to be, in love; the
result was a bitter disappointment, and for some time afterwards he plunged
into a life of dissipation. At the early age of twenty-three he was already
lieutenant-colonel (he had entered the army at fourteen), and was sent in
garrison to Inverness. Here he remained five years, a great favourite with
both his men and fellow-officers, but so entirely isolated from society that,
as he expressed it himself, “He feared lest he should become a ruffian.” Once
more he went to the other extreme, like a pendulum, and for six months took up
his residence in Paris, devoting himself to the study of the French language
and to the acquirement of every social accomplishment.
He was, we are told by those who knew him most intimately, possessed of only
moderate abilities; but his diligence and perseverance were so remarkable that
he accomplished anything he set his heart upon. Effeminacy was hateful to him;
he was essentially a high-principled man, with a strong sense of duty, ever
faithful to his ideal of what a true soldier ought to be--“always ready to
meet the fate we cannot shun, and die gracefully when my hour comes,” he said
on one occasion, and truly he carried this axiom out through life unto death!
In personal appearance he might almost have been considered an ugly man. He
had a retreating forehead and chin; his nose was upturned, and formed with
other features the point of an obtuse triangle. His mouth was by no means
shaped to express resolution. The redeeming point in his face was his eyes;
they were clear, bright, and piercing, full of spirit. His hair was red, and,
according to the custom of the time, tied in a queue, and he always wore a
black three-cornered hat. His physique denoted less than ordinary strength. He
is represented with narrow shoulders, slender body, long thin limbs cased in
scarlet frock-coat with broad cuffs and ample skirts, which reached down to
his knees. Such was the outward seeming and character of the man who played so
conspicuous a part in a war which ultimately gave to England one of her
richest and most loyal colonies.
It was with a sense of relief that after the capture of Louisburg Wolfe set
sail for England. His experiences of the last few months had impressed him so
painfully that he hoped never to return to Canada. He had strong domestic
tastes, his affection for his mother was the dominant passion of his life, and
he had been but a few weeks in England when he proposed to and was accepted by
a Miss Lowther; and so life seemed to be dawning for him in roseate hues. He
was only thirty-three years of age, and was beloved both at home and abroad;
his delicate health was the only shadow on his horizon, but it was hoped that
perfect rest and good nursing would restore that. Therefore, throughout that
winter Wolfe remained at home, perfectly happy, ignoring the fact that William
Pitt’s eagle eye had already marked him out, and that his name was destined to
be handed down to posterity among those men who have deserved well of their
country.
But, whilst physically Wolfe was being thus strengthened for the fray, his
great opponent was losing heart. Throughout that winter Montcalm recognised
more than ever the many discordant elements by which he was surrounded.
The Governor’s jealousy had increased; he took every opportunity in his power
for disparaging Montcalm, even going the length of demanding from the Court at
Versailles that he should be recalled. But indifferent as the French king and
his ministers were to the real interests of Canada, they were still
sufficiently clear-sighted to know that General Montcalm was the right man in
the right place, and to a certain extent to appreciate the services he had
rendered the state. They therefore raised his rank to that of
lieutenant-general, as also his officers Bourlamaque and Levis, who were made
colonel and major-general.
But in his own heart Montcalm knew that when the Forts of Niagara, Crown
Point, and Duquesne fell into the hands of the English, the end could not be
far off. Little by little he was becoming isolated and cut off on the St.
Lawrence, the British holding the command of the seas. He was possessed,
however, of great military genius, and displayed to the last extraordinary
skill in defending the French possessions.
During the winter the social life at Montreal was wholly in contradiction to
the General’s feelings, so that he withdrew himself entirely from society,
remaining in his own quarters, occupied with combining plans for the spring
campaign, which he foresaw would decide the fate of Canada. This conduct was
of itself a cause of complaint against him, being a reproach to Bigot and his
associates, in whose palace at Quebec every night high revelry reigned. Supper
parties, dances, and masquerades were of nightly occurrence; and worse still,
gambling was carried to such a pitch that the results had in many cases to be
hushed up.
Mercèdes lived in her rooms at the Intendance, ignorant of what was going on
below. Like her father, retiring more and more from public life, seldom seen
except on her way to church or on her visits to the poor, without knowing it
she was a sort of hostage for her father. Probably she would not have been
allowed to remain so entirely in the background but for Madame Péan’s open
protection. That lady reigned supreme in the gay world at Quebec, and she
would not suffer her protégée to be annoyed. “She is in my charge; she shall
not be molested,” she was wont to say when it was hinted by the government
officials that it would strengthen their arguments against Montcalm if his
daughter could be persuaded to join in their revelries.
“It is quite useless,” Madame Péan declared; “she would not understand our
ways. You would scare her quite away.”
But one night the revelry had attained even wilder proportions than usual. A
sumptuous supper succeeded a masquerade ball. Towards morning the guests
dispersed, and only about twenty intimates remained. Some one suddenly said,--
“What a joke it would be if we were to surprise Monsieur de Vaudreuil and
General Montcalm at Montreal!”
There was a general laugh.
“Why not do so?” said Intendant Bigot. “We could be there in three days’
sleighing. If it would afford the ladies any pleasure, they have but to
command. I am their humble servant.”
“It would cost a fortune,” said Madame Péan.
“You are growing economical, my dear,” retorted Madame Marin; “there is the
king’s exchequer! I vote we do it, and we will take Mademoiselle Mercèdes with
us to see her father. This gentle attention will soften the old bear, and he
will not have the heart to reproach us. What do you say to my plan, Monsieur
Bigot?”
“Only what I said before, that if you ladies wish it we will start at midday,
reach Pointe-aux-Trembles in time for supper, sleep there, and go on the next
day to St. Anne. Our next halt might be at the Isle des Castors, where Rigaud
would entertain us, and finally Montreal. If you will decide at once, I will
despatch couriers to have everything in readiness. What are _your_ wishes,
Madame?” he added, addressing himself to Madame Péan, whose beauty and
accomplishments always ensured her the first place in every project for the
general amusement.
“I am willing,” she said carelessly.
“And you will persuade Mademoiselle Mercèdes to join us?” insisted Madame
Marin.
“If she knows she is likely to see her father she will not refuse,” answered
Madame Péan. “She will go in my sleigh.”
“I wish you joy!” said one of her lady friends. “What you see in that little
dull thing, to have her always about with you, is more than I can imagine.
Why, I saw you out sleighing with her and that Indian hunter, Charles
Langlade, last week, near the village of Beauport. Are you trying to make a
match of it?”
“I wish I could,” answered Madame Péan; “but you know as well as I do he has
his Indian squaw. Now, good-night, or rather good-morning; I am off to get a
few hours’ sleep.”
There was a general leave-taking, and it was agreed they should all meet at
midday on the morrow; and so the ladies retired, but the gentlemen remained in
consultation as to ways and means.
“I intend it to be a grand affair,” said Bigot ostentatiously. “We will spare
no expense, eh, Marin?”
“Certainly not! Why should we? It is necessary for the good of the country.
You require to see Vaudreuil; De Martet and Varin have to look after the army
and navy supplies. We are going on the king’s service, therefore the king must
pay. Long live the King!”
“Long live our Gracious Master the King!” they all shouted in high spirits,
and forthwith began arranging for the projected excursion. The light of the
dim November morning was slowly creeping into the palace when they separated
to snatch a brief repose.