MAJOR-GENERAL JAMES WOLFE.
"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: