The Winning of Canada | Page 3

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