In 1755 Wolfe was already writing what he thought were farewell letters
before going off to the war. And that very year the war, though not
formally declared till the next, actually did break out in America,
where a British army under Braddock, with Washington as his
aide-de-camp, was beaten in Ohio by the French and Indians. Next year
the French, owing to the failure of Admiral Byng and the British
fleet to assist the garrison, were able to capture Minorca in the
Mediterranean; while their new general in Canada, Montcalm, Wolfe's
great opponent, took Oswego. The triumph of the French fleet at Minorca
made the British people furious. Byng was court-martialled, found guilty
of failure to do his utmost to save Minorca, and condemned to death. In
spite of Pitt's efforts to save him, the sentence was carried out and
he was shot on the quarter-deck of his own flagship. Two other admirals,
Hawke and Saunders, both of whom were soon to see service with Wolfe,
were then sent out as a 'cargo of courage' to retrieve the British
position at sea. By this time preparations were being hurried forward on
every hand. Fleets were fitting out. Armies were mustering. And, best of
all, Pitt was just beginning to make his influence felt.
In 1757, the third year of war, things still went badly for the British
at the front. In America Montcalm took Fort William Henry, and a British
fleet and army failed to accomplish anything against Louisbourg. In
Europe another British fleet and army were fitted out to go on another
joint expedition, this time against Rochefort, a great seaport in the
west of France. The senior staff officer, next to the three generals in
command, was Wolfe, now thirty years of age. The admiral in charge of
the fleet was Hawke, as famous a fighter as Wolfe himself. A little
later, when both these great men were known throughout the whole
United Service, as well as among the millions in Britain and in Greater
Britain, their names were coupled in countless punning toasts, and
patriots from Canada to Calcutta would stand up to drink a health to
'the eye of a Hawke and the heart of a Wolfe.' But Wolfe was not a
general yet; and the three pottering old men who were generals at
Rochefort could not make up their minds to do anything but talk. These
generals had been ordered to take Rochefort by complete surprise. But
after spending five days in front of it, so that every Frenchman could
see what they had come for, they decided to countermand the attack and
sail home.
Wolfe was a very angry and disgusted man. Yet, though this joint
expedition was a disgraceful failure, he had learned some useful
lessons, which he was presently to turn to good account. He saw, at
least, what such expeditions should not attempt; and that a general
should act boldly, though wisely, with the fleet. More than this, he had
himself made a plan which his generals were too timid to carry out; and
this plan was so good that Pitt, now in supreme control for the next
four years, made a note of it and marked him down for promotion and
command.
Both came sooner than any one could have expected. Pitt was sick of
fleets and armies that did nothing but hold councils of war and then
come back to say that the enemy could not be safely attacked. He made up
his mind to send out real fighters with the next joint expedition. So
in 1758 he appointed Wolfe as the junior of the three brigadier-generals
under Amherst, who was to join Admiral Boscawen--nicknamed 'Old
Dreadnought'--in a great expedition meant to take Louisbourg for good
and all.
Louisbourg was the greatest fortress in America. It was in the
extreme east of Canada, on the island of Cape Breton, near the best
fishing-grounds, and on the flank of the ship channel into the St
Lawrence. A fortress there, in which French fleets could shelter safely,
was like a shield for New France and a sword against New England. In
1745, just before the outbreak of the Jacobite rebellion in Scotland, an
army of New Englanders under Sir William Pepperrell, with the assistance
of Commodore Warren's fleet, had taken this fortress. But at the peace
of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748, when Wolfe had just come of age, it was
given back to France.
Ten years later, when Wolfe went out to join the second army that was
sent against it, the situation was extremely critical. Both French and
British strained every nerve, the one to hold, the other to take, the
greatest fortress in America. A French fleet sailed from Brest in
the spring and arrived safely. But it was not nearly strong enough to
attempt a sea-fight off Louisbourg, and three smaller fleets that were
meant to join it were all smashed up off the coast of France by the
British, who thus knew, before beginning the siege, that Louisbourg
could hardly expect any help from outside. Hawke was one of the British
smashers this year. The next year he smashed up a much greater force in
Quiberon Bay, and so made 'the eye of a Hawke and the heart of a Wolfe'
work together again, though they were thousands of miles apart and one
directed a fleet while the other inspired an army.
The fortress of Louisbourg was built beside a fine harbour with an
entrance still further defended by a fortified island. It was garrisoned
by about four thousand four hundred soldiers. Some of these were hired
Germans, who cared nothing for the French; and the French-Canadian and
Indian irregulars were not of much use at a regular siege. The British
admiral Boscawen had a large fleet, and General Amherst an army twelve
thousand strong. Taking everything into account, by land and sea, the
British united service at the siege was quite three times as strong
as the French united service. But the French ships, manned by three
thousand sailors, were in a good harbour, and they and the soldiers were
defended by thick walls with many guns. Besides, the whole defence was
conducted by Drucour, as gallant a leader as ever drew sword.
Boscawen was chosen by Pitt for the same reason as Wolfe had been,
because he was a fighter. He earned his nickname of 'Old Dreadnought'
from the answer he made one night in the English Channel when the
officer of the watch called him to say that two big French ships were
bearing down on his single British one. 'What are we to do, sir?'
asked the officer. 'Do?' shouted Boscawen, springing out of his berth,
'Do?--Why, damn 'em, fight 'em, of course!' And they did. Amherst was
the slow-and-sure kind of general; but he had the sense to know a good
man when he saw one, and to give Wolfe the chance of trying his own
quick-and-sure way instead.
A portion of the British fleet under Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Hardy had
been cruising off Louisbourg for some time before Boscawen's squadron
hove in sight on June 2. This squadron was followed by more than twice
its own number of ships carrying the army. All together, there were
a hundred and fifty-seven British vessels, besides Hardy's covering
squadron. Of course, the men could not be landed under the fire of the
fortress. But two miles south of it, and running westward from it for
many miles more, was Gabarus Bay with an open beach. For several days
the Atlantic waves dashed against the shore so furiously that no boat
could live through their breakers. But on the eighth the three brigades
of infantry made for three different points, [Footnote: White Point,
Flat Point, and Kennington Cove. See the accompanying Map of the siege.]
respectively two, three, and four miles from the fortress. The French
sent out half the garrison to shoot down the first boatloads that came
in on the rollers. To cover the landing, some of Boscawen's ships
moved in as close as they could and threw shells inshore: but without
dislodging the enemy.
Each of the three brigades had its own flag--one red, another blue, and
the third white. Wolfe's brigade was the red, the one farthest west from
Louisbourg, and Wolfe's did the fighting. While the boats rose and fell
on the gigantic rollers and the enemy's cannon roared and the
waves broke in thunder on the beach, Wolfe was standing up in the
stern-sheets, scanning every inch of the ground to see if there was no
place where a few men could get a footing and keep it till the rest had
landed. He had first-rate soldiers with him: grenadiers, Highlanders,
and light infantry.
The boats were now close in, and the French were firing cannon and
muskets into them right and left. One cannon-ball whizzed across Wolfe's
own boat and smashed his flagstaff to splinters. Just then three young
light infantry officers saw a high ledge of rocks, under shelter of
which a few men could form up. Wolfe, directing every movement with his
cane, like Gordon in China a century later, shouted to the others to
follow them; and then, amid the crash of artillery and the wild welter
of the surf, though many boats were smashed and others upset, though
some men were shot and others drowned, the landing was securely made.
'Who were the first ashore?' asked Wolfe, as the men were forming up
under the ledge. Two Highlanders were pointed out. 'Good fellows!' he
said, as he went up to them and handed each a guinea.
While the ranks were forming on the beach, the French were firing into
them and men were dropping fast. But every gap was closed as soon as it
was made. Directly Wolfe saw he had enough men he sprang to the front;
whereupon they all charged after him, straight at the batteries on the
crest of the rising shore. Here there was some wild work for a minute or
two, with swords, bayonets, and muskets all hard at it. But the
French now saw, to their dismay, that thousands of other redcoats were
clambering ashore, nearer in to Louisbourg, and that these men would cut
them off if they waited a moment longer. So they turned and ran, hotly
pursued, till they were safe in under the guns of the fortress. A
deluge of shot and shell immediately belched forth against the pursuing
British, who wisely halted just out of range.
After this exciting commencement Amherst's guns, shot, shell, powder,
stores, food, tents, and a thousand other things had all to be landed on
the surf-lashed, open beach. It was the sailors' stupendous task to haul
the whole of this cumbrous material up to the camp. The bluejackets,
however, were not the only ones to take part in the work, for the ships'
women also turned to, with the best of a gallant goodwill. In a few days
all the material was landed; and Amherst, having formed his camp, sat
down to conduct the siege.
Louisbourg harbour faces east, runs in westward nearly a mile, and is
over two miles from north to south. The north and south points, however,
on either side of its entrance, are only a mile apart. On the south
point stood the fortress; on the north the lighthouse; and between were
several islands, rocks, and bars that narrowed the entrance for ships
to only three cables, or a little more than six hundred yards. Wolfe saw
that the north point, where the lighthouse stood, was undefended, and
might be seized and used as a British battery to smash up the French
batteries on Goat Island at the harbour mouth. Acting on this idea, he
marched with twelve hundred men across the stretch of country between
the British camp and the lighthouse. The fleet brought round his guns
and stores and all other necessaries by sea. A tremendous bombardment
then silenced every French gun on Goat Island. This left the French
nothing for their defence but the walls of Louisbourg itself.
Both French and British soon realized that the fall of Louisbourg was
only a question of time. But time was everything to both. The British
were anxious to take Louisbourg and then sail up to Quebec and take it
by a sudden attack while Montcalm was engaged in fighting Abercromby's
army on Lake Champlain. The French, of course, were anxious to hold
out long enough to prevent this; and Drucour, their commandant at
Louisbourg, was just the man for their purpose. His wife, too, was as
brave as he. She used to go round the batteries cheering up the gunners,
and paying no more attention to the British shot and shell than if they
had been only fireworks. On June 18, just before Wolfe's lighthouse
batteries were ready to open fire, Madame Drucour set sail in the
venturesome _Echo_, a little French man-of-war that was making a dash
for it, in the hope of carrying the news to Quebec. But after a gallant
fight the _Echo_ had to haul down her colours to the _Juno_ and the
_Sutherland_. We shall hear more of the _Sutherland_ at the supreme
moment of Wolfe's career.
Nothing French, not even a single man, could now get into or out of
Louisbourg. But Drucour still kept the flag up, and sent out parties at
night to harass his assailants. One of these surprised a British post,
killed Lord Dundonald who commanded it, and retired safely after being
almost cut off by British reinforcements. Though Wolfe had silenced the
island batteries and left the entrance open enough for Boscawen to sail
in, the admiral hesitated because he thought he might lose too many
ships by risking it. Then the French promptly sank some of their own
ships at the entrance to keep him out. But six hundred British sailors
rowed in at night and boarded and took the only two ships remaining
afloat. The others had been blown up a month before by British shells
fired by naval gunners from Amherst's batteries. Drucour was now in a
terrible, plight. Not a ship was left. He was completely cut off by land
and sea. Many of his garrison were dead, many more were lying sick or
wounded. His foreigners were ready for desertion. His French Canadians
had grown down-hearted. All the non-combatants wished him to surrender
at once. What else could he do but give in? On July 27 he hauled
down the fleurs-de-lis from the great fortress. But he had gained his
secondary object; for it was now much too late in the year for the same
British force to begin a new campaign against Quebec.
Wolfe, like Nelson and Napoleon, was never content to 'let well enough
alone,' if anything better could possibly be done. When the news came of
Montcalm's great victory over Abercromby at Ticonderoga, he told Amherst
he was ready to march inland at once with reinforcements. And after
Louisbourg had surrendered and Boscawen had said it was too late to
start for Quebec, he again volunteered to do any further service that
Amherst required. The service he was sent on was the soldier's most
disgusting duty; but he did it thoroughly, though he would have
preferred anything else. He went with Hardy's squadron to destroy the
French settlements along the Gulf of St Lawrence, so as to cut off their
supplies from the French in Quebec before the next campaign.
After Rochefort Wolfe had become a marked man. After Louisbourg he
became an Imperial hero. The only other the Army had yet produced in
this war was Lord Howe, who had been killed in a skirmish just before
Ticonderoga. Wolfe knew Howe well, admired him exceedingly, and called
him 'the noblest Englishman that has appeared in my time, and the
best soldier in the army.' He would have served under him gladly. But
Howe--young, ardent, gallant, yet profound--was dead; and the hopes
of discerning judges were centred on Wolfe. The war had not been going
well, and this victory at Louisbourg was the first that the British
people could really rejoice over with all their heart.
The British colonies went wild with delight. Halifax had a state ball,
at which Wolfe danced to his heart's content; while his unofficial
partners thought themselves the luckiest girls in all America to be
asked by the hero of Louisbourg. Boston and Philadelphia had large
bonfires and many fireworks. The chief people of New York attended a
gala dinner. Every church had special thanksgivings.
In England the excitement was just as great, and Wolfe's name and fame
flew from lip to lip all over the country. Parliament passed special
votes of thanks. Medals were struck to celebrate the event. The king
stood on his palace steps to receive the captured colours, which were
carried through London in triumph by the Guards and the Household
Brigade. And Pitt, the greatest--and, in a certain sense, the
only--British statesman who has ever managed people, parliament,
government, navy, and army, all together, in a world-wide Imperial
war--Pitt, the eagle-eyed and lion-hearted, at once marked Wolfe down
again for higher promotion and, this time, for the command of an army of
his own. And ever since the Empire Year of 1759 the world has known that
Pitt was right.