Wolfe landed his men on the Isle of Orleans, and soon realized the desperate character of the task which he had undertaken. To take Quebec seemed impossible. The cliffs to his left were edged with palisades and capped with redoubts, while on his right was a far-extended line of entrenchments, ending at the foaming cataract of Montmorency. There seemed to be no chink in the wall of defence. For weeks Wolfe lay inactive, wearing himself to a shadow in the attempt to find a weak spot against which he might hurl his army.
He seized Point Levis, and from it bombarded the city, only a mile away. Fierce as his fire was, it did nothing to help him to capture the place. At length, tired of inactivity, he attempted on the 31st of July to gain a footing on the north shore of the St. Lawrence by landing his men at the Montmorency Falls and climbing to the plateau above. In this he was successful; but though his guns now played on the flank of Montcalm’s entrenchments, the city of his desire was as far off as ever. “You may demolish the town,” said the bearer of a flag of truce, “but you shall never get inside it.” “I will take Quebec,” replied Wolfe, “if I stay here until November.”
A frontal attack on the Beauport Heights was a complete failure, and Wolfe lost more than two hundred men. He was now almost worn out. His pale face and tall, lean form were no more seen going to and fro amongst his soldiers. He lay dangerously ill, and his life was almost despaired of. He felt his failure intensely, especially as news now arrived that the attacks on Ticonderoga and Niagara had been successful. Meanwhile the British fleet had accomplished a great feat. Despite a furious cannonade from the guns of Quebec, ship after ship had managed to sail up the river past the forts, and now were able to threaten the city from a position which the French believed to be unattainable by the enemy.
On the 20th of August the young general was about again, and was diligently searching the steep, rocky shore above Quebec for a possible landing-place. At last, about three miles from the city, at a place now called Wolfe’s Cove, he discovered a goat track that wound up the wooded precipice for two hundred and fifty feet above the St. Lawrence. A French guard was stationed at the top, but Wolfe thought it could easily be surprised. Had he known that the captain in charge had gained a reputation for cowardice, and had allowed his men to go home to dig up their potatoes, his hopes would have been higher. At any rate he was now resolved to climb the Heights of Abraham and meet Montcalm’s army at the very gates of Quebec.
Now let us pass on to the fateful night of September 13, 1759. Under cover of the darkness the British flotilla of boats moved silently with muffled oars towards the landing-place. Wolfe, who was in the leading boat, began in a low whisper to recite the beautiful lines of Gray’s “Elegy.” He came to the noble verse—
“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec.”