French and English: A Story of the Struggle in America

by Evelyn Everett-Green

He did not open it, but he held it in his hand, and spoke with a dreamy softness of intonation.

"There be times when I think that men of war should have no mothers or sisters or lovers," he said. "We leave so sad a heritage behind for them so oft. And we are not worth the sacred tears that they shed over us when we fall."

"And yet I think they would scarce be without those sacred memories to cherish," answered Julian, thinking of Mrs. Wolfe's idolization of her son, and of Kate Lowther's bright eyes, overflowing with loving admiration. "But why speak you so, as though you would see them no more? Your health is slowly mending now, and you have been through perils and dangers before now, and have come safe out of them."

"That is true," answered Wolfe thoughtfully; "and yet a voice in my heart seems to tell me that I shall see those loved faces no more. It may be but the fantasy of a troubled and fevered brain; but in dreams I have seen them, tears in their eyes, weeping for one unworthy of such grief, who lies in a far-off grave beneath the frowning battlements of yon great city. I wonder ofttimes whether we are given to know something of that which is about to befall; for in my heart a voice has spoken, and that voice has said that Quebec shall be ours, but that these eyes shall never see what lies within the ramparts, for they will be sealed in death before that hour shall arrive."

Julian had no reply ready; he knew not what to say. It did indeed seem little likely that that frail form could survive the perils and hardships of this great siege, should it be prosecuted to the end, and should some daring assault be successfully made against the impregnable city.

From the day upon which Stark arrived in the camp at Montmorency with the news from Ticonderoga Wolfe began to mend. It seemed as though the certainty that the English arms were prevailing in the west, though no help could be looked for this season from Amherst, combined to put a sort of new vigour and resolution into the heart of the dauntless young General. If anything were to be accomplished, he must now do it by his own unaided efforts; and since August was well-nigh past, if he were to act at all it must be soon, or the winter storms might come sweeping down, and render his position untenable.

He had had plenty of time whilst lying helpless in bed to think out various plans of attack upon the city. Each one seemed desperate and hopeless, whether, as before, the assault were made by means of boats along the Beauport shore, or by crossing the upper ford above Montmorency and fetching a compass behind the French position, or by storming the lower town, now almost in ruins, for it was commanded by the batteries in the citadel and upper town. In fact, the French position was so strong everywhere that it was difficult to see how any enterprise could possibly prove successful.

In his hours of comparative ease Wolfe had thought out, and Julian had written out at his dictation, a sketch of one or two alternative plans for attack, which he sent in the form of a letter to the Brigadiers commanding the various detachments of the army, asking them to take counsel together over them, and to meet at the farmhouse as soon as he was well enough to see them, and let them discuss the matter together. All Wolfe's projects were for attack from the lower river; for lying ill and helpless as he was, he had hardly realized what had been going steadily on ever since that first successful attempt to get shipping past the town guns and into the upper reach of the St. Lawrence. Every time there was a suitable night, with a favouring wind, vessels had run the gauntlet of the batteries, always covered by a heavy fire from Point Levi; and now quite a fleet of warships, frigates, and transports lay in the reach above the town, whilst Montcalm had had to weaken his camp at Beauport to watch the heights there. For though these were steep and rugged and inaccessible, it would not do to leave them unguarded.

When the Brigadiers met in the old farmhouse, Wolfe was up and dressed for almost the first time, looking gaunt and haggard, his face lined with pain and care, but full of calm and steadfast purpose, and with a mind as clear as ever. He was touched by the warm greetings of his officers, and by their tales as to the enthusiastic delight in the ranks at the news that their General was better.

The army was animated by a spirit of great courage and confidence. The news from Ticonderoga had done good. This had been followed by tidings of the capture of the Niagara fort. Even though Amherst could not coalesce with them, they were feeling that English arms were everywhere invincible, and that even Quebec would not long stand against them. It would be the greater glory to vanquish it single-handed; and had they not Wolfe to lead them?