Wolfe was acting as adjutant and helping the major. His regiment had neither colonel nor lieutenant-colonel with it that day; so he had plenty to do, riding up and down to see that all ranks understood the order that they were not to fire till they were close to the French and were given the word for a volley. He cast a glance at his brother, standing straight and proudly with the regimental colours that he himself had carried past the king at Blackheath the year before. He was not anxious about 'Ned'; he knew how all the Wolfes could fight. He was not anxious about himself; he was only too eager for the fray. A first battle tries every man, and few have not dry lips, tense nerves, and beating hearts at its approach. But the great anxiety of an officer going into action for the first time with untried men is for them and not for himself. The agony of wondering whether they will do well or not is worse, a thousand times, than what he fears for his own safety.
Presently the French gunners, in the centre of their position across the Main, lit their matches and, at a given signal, fired a salvo into the British rear. Most of the baggage wagons were there; and, as the shot and shell began to knock them over, the drivers were seized with a panic. Cutting the traces, these men galloped off up the hills and into the woods as hard as they could go. Now battery after battery began to thunder, and the fire grew hot all round. The king had been in the rear, as he did not wish to change the command on the eve of the battle. But, seeing the panic, he galloped through the whole of his army to show that he was going to fight beside his men. As he passed, and the men saw what he intended to do, they cheered and cheered, and took heart so boldly that it was hard work to keep them from rushing up the heights of Dettingen, where Gramont's 30,000 Frenchmen were waiting to shoot them down.
Across the river Marshal Noailles, the French commander-in-chief, saw the sudden stir in the British ranks, heard the roaring hurrahs, and supposed that his enemies were going to be fairly caught against Gramont in front. In this event he could finish their defeat himself by an overwhelming attack in flank. Both his own and Gramont's artillery now redoubled their fire, till the British could hardly stand it. But then, to the rage and despair of Noailles, Gramont's men, thinking the day was theirs, suddenly left their strong position and charged down on to the same level as the British, who were only too pleased to meet them there. The king, seeing what a happy turn things were taking, galloped along the front of his army, waving his sword and calling out, 'Now, boys! Now for the honour of England!' His horse, maddened by the din, plunged and reared, and would have run away with him, straight in among the French, if a young officer called Trapaud had not seized the reins. The king then dismounted and put himself at the head of his troops, where he remained fighting, sword in hand, till the battle was over.
Wolfe and his major rode along the line of their regiment for the last time. There was not a minute to lose. Down came the Royal Musketeers of France, full gallop, smash through the Scots Fusiliers and into the line in rear, where most of them were unhorsed and killed. Next, both sides advanced their cavalry, but without advantage to either. Then, with a clear front once more, the main bodies of the French and British infantry rushed together for a fight to a finish. Nearly all of Wolfe's regiment were new to war and too excited to hold their fire. When they were within range, and had halted for a moment to steady the ranks, they brought their muskets down to the 'present.' The French fell flat on their faces and the bullets whistled harmlessly over them. Then they sprang to their feet and poured in a steady volley while the British were reloading. But the second British volley went home. When the two enemies closed on each other with the bayonet, like the meeting of two stormy seas, the British fought with such fury that the French ranks were broken. Soon the long white waves rolled back and the long red waves rolled forward. Dettingen was reached and the desperate fight was won.
Both the boy-officers wrote home, Edward to his mother; James to his father. Here is a part of Edward's letter:
My brother and self escaped in the engagement and,
thank God, are as well as ever we were in our lives,
after not only being cannonaded two hours and
three-quarters, and fighting with small arms [muskets
and bayonets] two hours and one-quarter, but lay the
two following nights upon our arms; whilst it rained
for about twenty hours in the same time, yet are ready
and as capable to do the same again. The Duke of
Cumberland behaved charmingly. Our regiment has got
a great deal of honour, for we were in the middle of
the first line, and in the greatest danger. My brother
has wrote to my father and I believe has given him a
small account of the battle, so I hope you will excuse
it me.
A manly and soldier-like letter for a boy of fifteen! Wolfe's own is much longer and full of touches that show how cool and observant he was, even in his first battle and at the age of only sixteen. Here is some of it:
The Gens d'Armes, or Mousquetaires Gris, attacked the
first line, composed of nine regiments of English
foot, and four or five of Austrians, and some
Hanoverians. But before they got to the second line,
out of two hundred there were not forty living. These
unhappy men were of the first families in France.
Nothing, I believe, could be more rash than their
undertaking. The third and last attack was made by
the foot on both sides. We advanced towards one another;
our men in high spirits, and very impatient for
fighting, being elated with beating the French Horse,
part of which advanced towards us; while the rest
attacked our Horse, but were soon driven back by the
great fire we gave them. The major and I (for we had
neither colonel nor lieutenant-colonel), before they
came near, were employed in begging and ordering the
men not to fire at too great a distance, but to keep
it till the enemy should come near us; but to little
purpose. The whole fired when they thought they could
reach them, which had like to have ruined us. However,
we soon rallied again, and attacked them with great
fury, which gained us a complete victory, and forced
the enemy to retire in great haste. We got the sad
news of the death of as good and brave a man as any
amongst us, General Clayton. His death gave us all
sorrow, so great was the opinion we had of him. He
had, 'tis said, orders for pursuing the enemy, and if
we had followed them, they would not have repassed
the Main with half their number. Their loss is computed
to be between six and seven thousand men, and ours
three thousand. His Majesty was in the midst of the
fight; and the duke behaved as bravely as a man could
do. I had several times the honour of speaking with
him just as the battle began and was often afraid of
his being dashed to pieces by the cannon-balls. He
gave his orders with a great deal of calmness and
seemed quite unconcerned. The soldiers were in high
delight to have him so near them. I sometimes thought
I had lost poor Ned when I saw arms, legs, and heads
beat off close by him. A horse I rid of the colonel's,
at the first attack, was shot in one of his hinder
legs and threw me; so I was obliged to do the duty of
an adjutant all that and the next day on foot, in a
pair of heavy boots. Three days after the battle I
got the horse again, and he is almost well.
Shortly after Dettingen Wolfe was appointed adjutant and promoted to a lieutenancy. In the next year he was made a captain in the 4th Foot while his brother became a lieutenant in the 12th. After this they had very few chances of meeting; and Edward, who had caught a deadly chill, died alone in Flanders, not yet seventeen years old. Wolfe wrote home to his mother:
Poor Ned wanted nothing but the satisfaction of seeing
his dearest friends to leave the world with the greatest
tranquillity. It gives me many uneasy hours when I
reflect on the possibility there was of my being with
him before he died. God knows it was not apprehending
the danger the poor fellow was in; and even that would
not have hindered it had I received the physician's
first letter. I know you won't be able to read this
without shedding tears, as I do writing it. Though it
is the custom of the army to sell the deceased's
effects, I could not suffer it. We none of us want,
and I thought the best way would be to bestow them on
the deserving whom he had an esteem for in his lifetime.
To his servant—the most honest and faithful man I
ever knew—I gave all his clothes. I gave his horse
to his friend Parry. I know he loved Parry; and for
that reason the horse will be taken care of. His other
horse I keep myself. I have his watch, sash, gorget,
books, and maps, which I shall preserve to his memory.
He was an honest and good lad, had lived very well,
and always discharged his duty with the cheerfulness
becoming a good officer. He lived and died as a son
of you two should. There was no part of his life that
makes him dearer to me than what you so often
mentioned—he pined after me.