Canadian Notabilities by John Charles Dent (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📕

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,