French and English: A Story of the Struggle in America

The soldiers were bidden to lie down, to be safer from accident, and to rest themselves in preparation for what was coming. The main body of the army was quiet, but to the left, where some woods and houses gave cover to the enemy, the fire be came galling, and some light infantry were sent out to make an end of the foes there, to take and burn the houses and scatter the marksmen.

This was successfully done, and again there was quiet. Wolfe, who seemed to be everywhere at once, went round the field once again, cheered lustily wherever he appeared; grave, watchful, with the air of a man who knows that the crisis of his life is at hand, and that upon the issue of the day hang results greater than he can reckon or comprehend.

It was about ten in the morning before his quick eye saw signs that the enemy was at last advancing to take up the gage of battle so gallantly thrown down. Hitherto the French had succeeded in avoiding a pitched encounter with their foe; now they must fight, or have their city hopelessly cut off from the basis of their supplies. Wolfe knew that at last the hour had come, and his pale face flushed with a strange exultation as he saw the first white lines advancing towards him.

"At last!" he exclaimed-"at last! We have waited many months for this moment; now that it has come, pray Heaven we may strike a blow for England's honour which France shall never forget!"

Julian's attention was distracted by the sight of a little knot of men coming slowly towards the rear, where the surgeons were stationed to care for the wounded, who were to be carried there when possible.

"It is Fritz!" he exclaimed; "he has been wounded!"

Wolfe uttered an expression of concern, and stepped forward to inquire. It had been the regiment in command of Fritz which had been sent to silence the sharpshooters in the farms and copses. John Stark had gone with him, their former life as Rangers having well qualified them for this species of warfare. Fritz was now being led back, white and bloody, one ball having lodged in his shoulder, and another in his foot. He walked with difficulty, supported by two of his men.

"I am grieved to see you so!" cried Wolfe, with the ready concern he showed in any sufferings not his own.

"It is naught," answered Fritz, faintly but cheerfully; "I would care no whit but that it will keep me from the fight.

"I have left John Stark in command, sir," he added to the General; "the men are perfectly steady when he directs their movements."

Wolfe nodded. He knew the intrepidity and cool courage of the Ranger. There would be no blundering where Stark held the command.

"Care for your patient well," said the young General to a surgeon who came hurrying up at the moment; "Captain Neville is too good a soldier and officer for us to lose."

Then turning to Humphrey, who was acting in the capacity of aide-de-camp, he said in a quick undertone:

"If anything should happen to me in the battle, let Brigadier Moncton know that I recommend Captain Neville for promotion."

Then he turned his attention towards the oncoming tide of battle, knowing that the great crisis for which he had been waiting all these long months was now upon him.

The French were forming up along the opposite ridge, which hid the city from view. Wolfe took in their disposition at a glance, and a grim smile formed itself upon his lips. He saw that though the centre of the three bodies forming up into order was composed entirely of regular troops, both flanks were regulars intermixed with Canadians; and for the Canadian militia in the open he had an unbounded contempt. Moreover, he noted that instead of waiting until they were in good and compact order, they began almost immediately to advance, and that without any of the method and precision so necessary in an attack upon a well-posted and stationary foe.

He passed along the word of command to his own officers, instructing them how to act, and stood watching with the breathless intensity of a man who knows that the crisis of a mighty destiny is at hand.

The moment the French soldiers got within range they commenced to fire; not as one man, in a crashing volley, but wildly, irregularly, excitedly, uttering cries and shouts the while-a trick caught from their Indian allies, who used noise as one of their most effective weapons.

"Bah!" cried Wolfe, with a sudden exclamation of mingled contempt and amusement; "look there! Saw you ever such soldiers as these?"

Those about him looked, and a hoarse laugh broke from them, and seemed to run along the ranks of immovable red-coats drawn up like a wall, and coolly reserving their fire.

The gust of laughter was called forth by the action of the Canadian recruits, who, immediately upon discharging their pieces, flung themselves down upon the ground to reload, throwing their companions into the utmost confusion, as it was almost impossible to continue marching without trampling upon their prostrate figures.

"I would sooner trust my whole fate to one company of regulars," exclaimed Wolfe, "than attempt to fight with such soldiers as these! They are fit only for their native forests; and were I in command, back they should go there, quick march."

Yet still the oncoming mass of French approached, the dropping fire never ceasing. Nearer and nearer they came, and now were not fifty paces distant from the English lines.

"Crash!"

It was not like a volley of musketry; it was like a cannon shot. The absolute precision with which it was delivered showed the perfect steadiness and nerve of the men. Upon Wolfe's face might be seen a smile of approbation and pride. This was the way English soldiers met the foe; this was the spirit in which victory was won.

Another crash, almost as accurate as the first, and a few minutes of deafening clattering fire; a pause, in which nothing could be seen but rolling clouds of smoke; and then?

The smoke rolled slowly away, and as the pall lifted, a wild, ringing cheer broke from the English ranks, mingled with the yell of the Highlanders beyond. The ground was covered with dead and wounded; the ranks of the oncoming foe were shattered and broken. The Canadians had turned, and were flying hither and thither, only caring to escape the terrible fire, which in open country they could never stand. In a few more seconds, as soon as the regulars saw that the red-coats were preparing to charge, they too flung down their muskets and joined the rout.

"Charge them, men, charge them!"

Wolfe's voice rang like a clarion note over the field. He placed himself at the head of one of the columns. Julian and Humphrey were on either side of him. The yell of the Highlanders was in their ears, and the huzzah of the English soldiers, as they dashed upon the retreating foe.

Their line had been a little broken here by the fire of the foe, and still from ambushed sharpshooters hidden upon the plain a more or less deadly fire was kept up. Wolfe led where the danger was greatest and the firing most galling and persistent.

"Dislodge those men!" was the order which had just passed his lips, when Julian noticed that he seemed to pause and stagger for a moment.

"You are hurt!" he exclaimed anxiously, springing to his side; but Wolfe kept steadily on his way, wrapping his handkerchief round his wrist the while. The blood was welling from it. Julian insisted upon tying the bandage, finding that the wrist was shattered.

"You are wounded-you will surely go back!" he said anxiously; but Wolfe seemed scarcely to hear.

The next moment he was off again with his men, directing their movements with all his accustomed skill and acumen. Once again he staggered. Julian dashed to his side; but he spoke no word. If he would but think of himself! But no; his soul was in the battle. He had no care save for the issue of the day.

A sudden volley seemed to open upon them from a little unseen dip in the ground, masked by thick underwood. Julian felt a bullet whiz so near to his ear that the skin was grazed and the hair singed. For a moment he was dizzy with the deafening sound. Then a low cry from Humphrey reached him.

"The General! the General!" he said.

Julian dashed his hand across his eyes and looked. Wolfe was sitting upon the ground. He was still gazing earnestly at the battle rushing onward, but there had come into his eyes a strange dimness.

"He is struck-he is wounded!" said Humphrey in a low voice, bending over him. "Help, Julian; we must carry him to the rear."

Julian half expected resistance on the part of Wolfe; but no word passed his lips. They were growing ashy white.

With a groan of anguish-for he felt as though he knew what was coming-Julian bent to the task, and the pair conveyed the light, frail form through the melee of the battlefield towards the place where the wounded had been carried, and where Fritz still lay. A surgeon came hastily forward, and seeing who it was, uttered an exclamation of dismay.

Wolfe opened his dim eyes. He saw Julian's face, but all the rest was blotted out in a haze.

"Lay me down," he said faintly; "I want nothing."

"The surgeons are here," said Julian anxiously as they put him out of the hot rays of the sun, which was now shining over heights and plains.

"They can do nothing for me," said Wolfe, in the same faint, dreamy way; "let them look to those whom they can help."

A death-like faintness was creeping over him. The surgeon put a stimulating draught to his lips; and when a part had been swallowed, proceeded to make a partial examination of the injuries sustained. But when he had opened the breast of his coat and saw two orifices in the neighbourhood of the heart, he shook his head, and laid the wounded man down to rest.

Julian felt a spasm of pain shoot through his heart, like a thrust from a bayonet.

"Can you do nothing?" he asked in a whisper.

"Nothing," was the reply. "He has not an hour to live."

"To be cut off in the very hour of victory!" exclaimed Humphrey, with a burst of sorrow. "It is too hard-too hard!"

"Yet it is what he desired for himself," said Julian, in a low voice. I think it is what he himself would have chosen."