Deeds that Won the Empire | Page 6

by powerful batteries on their
flank. At Quiberon, in the same year, Hawke, amid a tempest,
destroyed a mighty fleet that threatened England with invasion; and on
the heights of Abraham, Wolfe broke the French power in America.
"We are forced," said Horace Walpole, the wit of his day, "to ask every
morning what new victory there is, for fear of missing one." Yet, of all
the great deeds of that annus mirabilis, the victory which overthrew
Montcalm and gave Quebec to England--a victory achieved by the
genius of Pitt and the daring of Wolfe--was, if not the most shining in
quality, the most far-reaching in its results. "With the triumph of Wolfe
on the heights of Abraham," says Green, "began the history of the
United States."
The hero of that historic fight wore a singularly unheroic aspect.
Wolfe's face, in the famous picture by West, resembles that of a
nervous and sentimental boy--he was an adjutant at sixteen, and only
thirty-three when he fell, mortally wounded, under the walls of Quebec.
His forehead and chin receded; his nose, tip-tilted heavenwards, formed
with his other features the point of an obtuse triangle. His hair was fiery
red, his shoulders narrow, his legs a pair of attenuated spindle-shanks;
he was a chronic invalid. But between his fiery poll and his plebeian
and upturned nose flashed a pair of eyes--keen, piercing, and
steady--worthy of Caesar or of Napoleon. In warlike genius he was on

land as Nelson was on sea, chivalrous, fiery, intense. A "magnetic" man,
with a strange gift of impressing himself on the imagination of his
soldiers, and of so penetrating the whole force he commanded with his
own spirit that in his hands it became a terrible and almost resistless
instrument of war. The gift for choosing fit agents is one of the highest
qualities of genius; and it is a sign of Pitt's piercing insight into
character that, for the great task of overthrowing the French power in
Canada, he chose what seemed to commonplace vision a rickety,
hypochondriacal, and very youthful colonel like Wolfe.
Pitt's strategy for the American campaign was spacious, not to say
grandiose. A line of strong French posts, ranging from Duquesne, on
the Ohio, to Ticonderoga, on Lake Champlain, held the English
settlements on the coast girdled, as in an iron band, from all extension
westward; while Quebec, perched in almost impregnable strength on
the frowning cliffs which look down on the St. Lawrence, was the
centre of the French power in Canada. Pitt's plan was that Amherst,
with 12,000 men, should capture Ticonderoga; Prideaux, with another
powerful force, should carry Montreal; and Wolfe, with 7000 men,
should invest Quebec, where Amherst and Prideaux were to join him.
Two-thirds of this great plan broke down. Amherst and Prideaux,
indeed, succeeded in their local operations, but neither was able to join
Wolfe, who had to carry out with one army the task for which three
were designed.
On June 21, 1759, the advanced squadron of the fleet conveying Wolfe
came working up the St. Lawrence. To deceive the enemy they flew the
white flag, and, as the eight great ships came abreast of the Island of
Orleans, the good people of Quebec persuaded themselves it was a
French fleet bringing supplies and reinforcements. The bells rang a
welcome; flags waved. Boats put eagerly off to greet the approaching
ships. But as these swung round at their anchorage the white flag of
France disappeared, and the red ensign of Great Britain flew in its place.
The crowds, struck suddenly dumb, watched the gleam of the hostile
flag with chap-fallen faces. A priest, who was staring at the ships
through a telescope, actually dropped dead with the excitement and
passion created by the sight of the British fleet. On June 26 the main

body of the fleet bringing Wolfe himself with 7000 troops, was in sight
of the lofty cliffs on which Quebec stands; Cook, afterwards the
famous navigator, master of the Mercury, sounding ahead of the fleet.
Wolfe at once seized the Isle of Orleans, which shelters the basin of
Quebec to the east, and divides the St. Lawrence into two branches, and,
with a few officers, quickly stood on the western point of the isle. At a
glance the desperate nature of the task committed to him was apparent.
[Illustration: Siege of Quebec, 1759. From Parkman's "Montcalm &
Wolfe."]
Quebec stands on the rocky nose of a promontory, shaped roughly like
a bull's-head, looking eastward. The St. Lawrence flows eastward under
the chin of the head; the St. Charles runs, so to speak, down its nose
from the north to meet the St. Lawrence. The city itself stands on lofty
cliffs, and as Wolfe looked upon it on that June evening far away, it
was girt