The Coming of the English.
Many years passed quietly by. The French people in Canada lived peacefully with their red neighbors. They built trading stations out in the country, and here furs were brought in great numbers by the Indian hunters. Forts were also built along the banks of the St. Lawrence, and still farther into the wilderness, on the shores of the Five Great Lakes, which separate Canada from the United States.
The French explorers and priests went even farther, for they made their way from these lakes down into the United States, never stopping till they had sailed the whole length of the Mississippi River. Everywhere they went they planted the French flag and claimed the country in the name of the king across the ocean. Now, the English, who had settled on the southern side of the Great Lakes, did not like the idea of the French becoming so powerful in North America; thus it came about after a while that there were wars between the two peoples.
The Indians of Canada took the part of their French friends. Terrible battles were fought; brave soldiers were killed; cruel deeds were done to women and little children by the savage Indians. Years passed by and the troubles did not come to an end. It seemed as though there was no way of settling matters and making peace.
All this time a little boy was growing up in England. His name was James Wolfe. He was delicate and sickly, yet his bright, clear eyes showed that he had a strong will. He longed with all his heart to be a soldier. And soldier he became, though it seemed as if he would never be able to bear such a hard life.
When he was only sixteen he fought for his country in Flanders. He soon showed how brave he was, and became a high officer in the army. He was sent to America to fight against the French and Indians. If he could only get to Quebec, he thought. It was the strongest fortress of all the enemy held. But that seemed impossible, for no one dreamed that an army could scale the steep crags above which the fortress was built.
Yet Wolfe kept thinking, thinking. By this time he was the commander of a whole fleet of English ships. At last there came a day when he sailed boldly up the St. Lawrence, and landed his men on the shore opposite to Quebec. He set up great cannons which should fire upon the fortress across the river. The siege began. In the midst of it heavy rain fell; Wolfe and many of his men became ill. Though he was burning with fever he still kept planning. One day, as he looked through his telescope, he saw something that he had never noticed before. It was a narrow path,—O, so very narrow—that wound in and out, yet ever upward, to the top of the crags that guarded Quebec.
He said to himself, “My men and I shall climb that path and take the fortress by surprise.”
Soon afterwards, on a dark night, they did climb it. Wolfe himself rose from his sick bed and led them. As the sun rose the next morning the English army appeared on the Plains of Abraham, behind the fort, and one of the great battles of the world was fought. Before night fell, Quebec was in the hands of the English. Both Wolfe, and Montcalm, the French commander were killed. Henceforth, not only Quebec, but all Canada would be ruled over by the English.