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THE WINNING OF CANADA
THE WINNING OF CANADA WILLIAM WOOD AUTHOR'S NOTE
Any life of Wolfe can be artificially simplified by
treating his purely military work as something complete
in itself and not as a part of a greater whole. But
since such treatment gives a totally false idea of his
achievement this little sketch drawn straight from
original sources tries to show him as he really was a
co-worker with the British fleet in a war based entirely
on naval strategy and inseparably connected with
international affairs of world-wide significance. The
only simplification attempted here is that of arrangement
and expression.
W.W.
Quebec April 1914.
CONTENTS
I. THE BOY
II. THE YOUNG SOLDIER
III. THE SEVEN YEARS' PEACE
IV. THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR
V. LOUISBOURG
VI. QUEBEC
VII. THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM
VIII. EPILOGUE--THE LAST STAND
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
CHAPTER I
THE BOY
1727-1741
Wolfe was a soldier born. Many of his ancestors had stood
ready to fight for king and country at a moment's notice.
His father fought under the great Duke of Marlborough in
the war against France at the beginning of the eighteenth
century. His grandfather his great-grandfather his only
uncle and his only brother were soldiers too. Nor has
the martial spirit deserted the descendants of the Wolfes
in the generation now alive. They are soldiers still.
The present head of the family who represented it at
the celebration of the tercentenary of the founding of
Quebec fought in Egypt for Queen Victoria; and the member
of it who represented Wolfe on that occasion in the
pageant of the Quebec campaign is an officer in the
Canadian army under George V.
The Wolfes are of an old and honourable line. Many hundreds
of years ago their forefathers lived in England and later
on in Wales. Later still in the fifteenth century before
America was discovered they were living in Ireland.
Wolfe's father however was born in England; and as
there is no evidence that any of his ancestors in Ireland
had married other than English Protestants and as Wolfe's
mother was also English we may say that the victor of
Quebec was a pure-bred Englishman. Among his Anglo-Irish
kinsmen were the Goldsmiths and the Seymours. Oliver
Goldsmith himself was always very proud of being a cousin
of the man who took Quebec.
Wolfe's mother to whom he owed a great deal of his
genius; was a descendant of two good families in Yorkshire.
She was eighteen years younger than his father and was
very tall and handsome. Wolfe thought there was no one
like her. When he was a colonel and had been through
the wars and at court he still believed she was 'a match
for all the beauties.' He was not lucky enough to take
after her in looks except in her one weak feature a
cutaway chin. His body indeed seems to have been made
up of the bad points of both parents: he had his rheumatism
from his father. But his spirit was made up of all their
good points; and no braver ever lived in any healthy body
than in his own sickly lanky six foot three.
Wolfe's parents went to live at Westerham in Kent shortly
after they were married; and there on January 2 1727
in the vicarage--where Mrs Wolfe was staying while her
husband was away on duty with his regiment--the victor
of Quebec was born. Two other houses in the little country
town of Westerham are full of memories of Wolfe. One of
these was his father's a house more than two hundred
years old when he was born. It was built in the reign of
Henry VII and the loyal subject who built it had the
king's coat of arms carved over the big stone fireplace.
Here Wolfe and his younger brother Edward used to sit in
the winter evenings with their mother while their veteran
father told them the story of his long campaigns. So
curiously enough it appears that Wolfe the soldier who
won Canada for England in 1759 sat under the arms of
the king in whose service the sailor Cabot hoisted the
flag of England over Canadian soil in 1497. This house
has been called Quebec House ever since the victory in
1759. The other house is Squerryes Court belonging then
and now to the Warde family the Wolfes' closest friends.
Wolfe and George Warde were chums from the first day they
met. Both wished to go into the Army; and both of course
'played soldiers' like other virile boys. Warde lived
to be an old man and actually did become a famous cavalry
leader. Perhaps when he charged a real enemy sword in hand
at the head of thundering squadrons it may have flashed
through his mind how he and Wolfe had waved their whips
and cheered like mad when they galloped their ponies down
the common with nothing but their barking dogs behind them.
Wolfe's parents presently moved to Greenwich where he
was sent to school at Swinden's. Here he worked quietly
enough till just before he entered on his 'teens. Then
the long-pent rage of England suddenly burst in war with
Spain. The people went wild when the British fleet took
Porto Bello a Spanish port in Central America. The news
was cried through the streets all night. The noise of
battle seemed to be sounding all round Swinden's school
where most of the boys belonged to naval and military
families. Ships were fitting out in English harbours.
Soldiers were marching into every English camp. Crowds
were singing and cheering. First one boy's father and
then another's was under orders for the front. Among them
was Wolfe's father who was made adjutant-general to the
forces assembling in the Isle of Wight. What were history
and geography and mathematics now when a whole nation
was afoot to fight! And who would not fight the Spaniards
when they cut off British sailors' ears? That was an old
tale by this time; but the flames of anger threw it into
lurid relief once more.
Wolfe was determined to go and fight. Nothing could stop
him. There was no commission for him as an officer. Never
mind! He would go as a volunteer and win his commission
in the field. So one hot day in July 1740 the lanky
red-haired boy of thirteen-and-a-half took his seat on
the Portsmouth coach beside his father the veteran
soldier of fifty-five. His mother was a woman of much
too fine a spirit to grudge anything for the service of
her country; but she could not help being exceptionally
anxious about the dangers of disease for a sickly boy in
a far-off land of pestilence and fever. She had written
to him the very day he left. But he full of the stir
and excitement of a big camp had carried the letter in
his pocket for two or three days before answering it.
Then he wrote her the first of many letters from different
seats of war the last one of all being written just before
he won the victory that made him famous round the world.
Newport Isle of Wight August 6th 1740.
I received my dearest Mamma's letter on Monday last
but could not answer it then by reason I was at camp
to see the regiments off to go on board and was too
late for the post; but am very sorry dear Mamma that
you doubt my love which I'm sure is as sincere as
ever any son's was to his mother.
Papa and I are just going on board but I believe
shall not sail this fortnight; in which time if I
can get ashore at Portsmouth or any other town I will
certainly write to you and when we are gone by
every ship we meet because I know it is my duty.
Besides if it is not I would do it out of love with
pleasure.
I am sorry to hear that your head is so bad which I
fear is caused by your being so melancholy; but pray
dear Mamma if you love me don't give yourself up to
fears for us. I hope if it please God we shall soon
see one another which will be the happiest day that
ever I shall see. I will as sure as I live if it is
possible for me let you know everything that has
happened by every ship; therefore pray dearest Mamma
don't doubt about it. I am in a very good state of
health and am likely to continue so. Pray my love to
my brother. Pray my service to Mr Streton and his
family to Mr and Mrs Weston and to George Warde when
you see him; and pray believe me to be my dearest
Mamma your most dutiful loving and affectionate son
J. Wolfe.
To Mrs. Wolfe at her house in Greenwich Kent.
Wolfe's 'very good state of health' was not 'likely to
continue so' either in camp or on board ship. A long
peace had made the country indifferent to the welfare of
the Army and Navy. Now men were suddenly being massed
together in camps and fleets as if on Purpose to breed
disease. Sanitation on a large scale never having been
practised in peace could not be improvised in this
hurried though disastrously slow preparation for a war.
The ship in which Wolfe was to sail had been lying idle
for years; and her pestilential bilge-water soon began
to make the sailors and soldiers sicken and die. Most
fortunately Wolfe was among the first to take ill; and
so he was sent home in time to save him from the fevers
of Spanish America.
Wolfe was happy to see his mother again to have his pony
to ride and his dogs to play with. But though he tried
his best to stick to his lessons his heart was wild for
the war. He and George Warde used to go every day during
the Christmas holidays behind the pigeon-house at Squerryes
Court and practise with their swords and pistols. One
day they stopped when they heard the post-horn blowing
at the gate; and both of them became very much excited
when George's father came out himself with a big official
envelope marked 'On His Majesty's Service' and addressed
to 'James Wolfe Esquire.' Inside was a commission as
second lieutenant in the Marines signed by George II
and dated at St James's Palace November 3 1741. Eighteen
years later when the fame of the conquest of Canada was
the talk of the kingdom the Wardes had a stone monument
built to mark the spot where Wolfe was standing when the
squire handed him his first commission. And there it is
to-day; and on it are the verses ending
This spot so sacred will forever claim
A proud alliance with its hero's name.
Wolfe was at last an officer. But the Marines were not
the corps for him. Their service companies were five
thousand miles away while war with France was breaking
out much nearer home. So what was his delight at receiving
another commission on March 25 1742 as an ensign in
the 12th Regiment of Foot! He was now fifteen an officer
a soldier born and bred eager to serve his country and
just appointed to a regiment ordered to the front! Within
a month an army such as no one had seen since the days
of Marlborough had been assembled at Blackheath. Infantry
cavalry artillery and engineers they were all there
when King George II the Prince of Wales and the Duke
of Cumberland came down to review them. Little did anybody
think that the tall eager ensign carrying the colours
of the 12th past His Majesty was the man who was to play
the foremost part in winning Canada for the British crown.
CHAPTER II
THE YOUNG SOLDIER
1741-1748
Wolfe's short life may be divided into four periods all
easy to remember because all are connected with the same
number-seven. He was fourteen years a boy at home with
one attempt to be a soldier. This period lasted from 1727
to 1741. Then he was seven years a young officer in time
of war from 1741 to 1748. Then he served seven years
more in time of peace from 1748 to 1755. Lastly he died
in the middle at the very climax of the world-famous
Seven Years' War in 1759.
After the royal review at Blackheath in the spring of
1742 the army marched down to Deptford and embarked for
Flanders. Wolfe was now off to the very places he had
heard his father tell about again and again. The surly
Flemings were still the same as when his father knew
them. They hated their British allies almost as much as
they hated their enemies. The long column of redcoats
marched through a scowling mob of citizens who meanly
grudged a night's lodging to the very men coming there
to fight for them. We may be sure that Wolfe thought
little enough of such mean people as he stepped out with
the colours flying above his head. The army halted at
Ghent an ancient city famous for its trade and wealth
and defended by walls which had once resisted Marlborough.
At first there was a good deal to do and see; and George
Warde was there too as an officer in a cavalry regiment.
But Warde had to march away; and Wolfe was left without
any companion of his own age to pass his spare time the
best way he could. Like another famous soldier Frederick
the Great who first won his fame in this very war he
was fond of music and took lessons on the flute. He also
did his best to improve his French; and when Warde came
back the two friends used to go to the French theatre.
Wolfe put his French to other use as well and read all
the military books he could find time for. He always kept
his kit ready to pack; so that he could have marched
anywhere within two hours of receiving the order. And
though only a mere boy-officer he began to learn the
duties of an adjutant so that he might be fit for
promotion whenever the chance should come.
Months wore on and Wolfe was still at Ghent. He had made
friends during his stay and he tells his mother in
September: 'This place is full of officers and we never
want company. I go to the play once or twice a week and
talk a little with the ladies who are very civil and
speak French.' Before Christmas it had been decided at
home--where the war-worn father now was after a horrible
campaign at Cartagena--that Edward the younger son was
also to be allowed to join the Army. Wolfe was delighted.
'My brother is much to be commended for the pains he takes
to improve himself. I hope to see him soon in Flanders
when in all probability before next year is over we
may know something of our trade.' And so they did!
The two brothers marched for the Rhine early in 1743
both in the same regiment. James was now sixteen Edward
fifteen. The march was a terrible one for such delicate
boys. The roads were ankle-deep in mud; the weather was
vile; both food and water were very bad. Even the dauntless
Wolfe had to confess to his mother that he was 'very much
fatigued and out of order. I never come into quarters
without aching hips and knees.' Edward still more
delicate was sent off on a foraging party to find
something for the regiment to eat. He wrote home to his
father from Bonn on April 7: 'We can get nothing upon
our march but eggs and bacon and sour bread. I have no
bedding nor can get it anywhere. We had a sad march last
Monday in the morning. I was obliged to walk up to my
knees in snow though my brother and I have a horse
between us. I have often lain upon straw and should
oftener had I not known some French which I find very
useful; though I was obliged the other day to speak
_Latin_ for a good dinner. We send for everything we want
to the priest.'
That summer when the king arrived with his son the Duke
of Cumberland the British and Hanoverian army was reduced
to 37000 half-fed men. Worse still the old general
Lord Stair had led it into a very bad place. These 37000
men were cooped up on the narrow side of the valley of
the river Main while a much larger French army was on
the better side holding bridges by which to cut them
off and attack them while they were all clumped together.
Stair tried to slip away in the night. But the French
hearing of this attempt sent 12000 men across the river
to hold the place the British general was leaving and
30000 more under the Duc de Gramont to block the road
at the place towards which he was evidently marching. At
daylight the British and Hanoverians found themselves
cut off both front and rear while a third French force
was waiting to pounce on whichever end showed weakness
first. The King of England who was also Elector of
Hanover would be a great prize and the French were
eager to capture him. This was how the armies faced each
other on the morning of June 27 1743 at Dettingen the
last battlefield on which any king of England has fought
in person and the first for Wolfe.
The two young brothers were now about to see a big battle
like those of which their father used to tell them.
Strangely enough Amherst the future commander-in-chief
in America under whom Wolfe served at Louisbourg and
the two men who succeeded Wolfe in command at Quebec
--Monckton and Townshend--were also there. It is an awful
moment for a young soldier the one before his first
great fight. And here were nearly a hundred thousand men
all in full view of each other and all waiting for the
word to begin. It was a beautiful day and the sun shone
down on a splendidly martial sight. There stood the
British and Hanoverians with wooded hills on their right
the river and the French on their left the French in
their rear and the French very strongly posted on the
rising ground straight in their front. The redcoats were
in dense columns their bayonets flashing and their
colours waving defiance. Side by side with their own red
cavalry were the black German cuirassiers the blue German
lancers and the gaily dressed green and scarlet Hungarian
hussars. The long white lines of the three French armies
varied with royal blue encircled them on three sides.
On the fourth were the leafy green hills.
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 30000
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
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