The Winning of Canada | Page 5

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 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