After his repulse from Ticonderoga, General Abercromby made no marked effort to retrieve his position; his troops were disheartened, and fearing another attack by the French, he hastened to retire down Lake St. George, and to protect himself in an intrenched camp. In October, after the taking of Louisburg, General Amherst joined him; but it was then too late in the year to renew active service. Montcalm with his army withdrew for the winter to Montreal, and the English returned to Albany.
The English were, however, slowly gaining ground. Fort Duquesne, after immense labour and many hardships, was wrested by Brigadier-General Forbes from the French, and re-baptised, in honour of the great statesman, Pittsburg. Fort Frontenac was also captured, and this was more especially important as it gave the English a footing on Lake Ontario. And so the year 1758 came to a close, and the nations knew, both at home and abroad, that the great contest was likely to be fought out during the ensuing year; but whilst the land lay under its white covering of snow, with ice-bound rivers, there was peace, or rather a cessation of hostilities, and the leaders at home and abroad looked around to see who were the men most fitted to place at the helm.
Pitt had for some time past had his eye on a man who had already distinguished himself at the siege of Louisburg, James Wolfe. After the taking of that fortress he had desired to push on at once to Quebec; but he was overruled by the other generals, and a far more disagreeable task was allotted to him. It was considered necessary to destroy all the French settlements on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and he was deputed to carry out the order.
It is difficult for us now to realise the extent of misery this decision entailed; certainly it was more especially repugnant to a sensitive, humane nature such as Wolfe’s. It meant laying waste hundreds of pleasant homesteads, driving their inhabitants forth shelterless! The wailing of women and children, the low, bitter curses of the men—all this had to be borne with apparent stoicism. Always delicate, already suffering from the disease to which he was to succumb, Wolfe’s health entirely broke down under the severe mental and moral strain, and it was found necessary to grant him a prolonged leave of absence. He immediately set sail for England, hoping in the quiet of his home and his much-loved mother’s society to recruit his shattered health. His was a peculiar nature, a strange mixture of tenderness and passion; loving and sensitive beyond measure, yet at times strangely fierce and stern. His mother was wont to say he was a living barometer, his spirits rising and falling with every change of weather.
With such a character it was hardly possible for him to have been what we generally term a happy man; there were too many contradictions in his nature. When still quite young he either was, or imagined himself to be, in love; the result was a bitter disappointment, and for some time afterwards he plunged into a life of dissipation. At the early age of twenty-three he was already lieutenant-colonel (he had entered the army at fourteen), and was sent in garrison to Inverness. Here he remained five years, a great favourite with both his men and fellow-officers, but so entirely isolated from society that, as he expressed it himself, “He feared lest he should become a ruffian.” Once more he went to the other extreme, like a pendulum, and for six months took up his residence in Paris, devoting himself to the study of the French language and to the acquirement of every social accomplishment.
He was, we are told by those who knew him most intimately, possessed of only moderate abilities; but his diligence and perseverance were so remarkable that he accomplished anything he set his heart upon. Effeminacy was hateful to him; he was essentially a high-principled man, with a strong sense of duty, ever faithful to his ideal of what a true soldier ought to be—“always ready to meet the fate we cannot shun, and die gracefully when my hour comes,” he said on one occasion, and truly he carried this axiom out through life unto death!
In personal appearance he might almost have been considered an ugly man. He had a retreating forehead and chin; his nose was upturned, and formed with other features the point of an obtuse triangle. His mouth was by no means shaped to express resolution. The redeeming point in his face was his eyes; they were clear, bright, and piercing, full of spirit. His hair was red, and, according to the custom of the time, tied in a queue, and he always wore a black three-cornered hat. His physique denoted less than ordinary strength. He is represented with narrow shoulders, slender body, long thin limbs cased in scarlet frock-coat with broad cuffs and ample skirts, which reached down to his knees. Such was the outward seeming and character of the man who played so conspicuous a part in a war which ultimately gave to England one of her richest and most loyal colonies.
It was with a sense of relief that after the capture of Louisburg Wolfe set sail for England. His experiences of the last few months had impressed him so painfully that he hoped never to return to Canada. He had strong domestic tastes, his affection for his mother was the dominant passion of his life, and he had been but a few weeks in England when he proposed to and was accepted by a Miss Lowther; and so life seemed to be dawning for him in roseate hues. He was only thirty-three years of age, and was beloved both at home and abroad; his delicate health was the only shadow on his horizon, but it was hoped that perfect rest and good nursing would restore that. Therefore, throughout that winter Wolfe remained at home, perfectly happy, ignoring the fact that William Pitt’s eagle eye had already marked him out, and that his name was destined to be handed down to posterity among those men who have deserved well of their country.
But, whilst physically Wolfe was being thus strengthened for the fray, his great opponent was losing heart. Throughout that winter Montcalm recognised more than ever the many discordant elements by which he was surrounded.
The Governor’s jealousy had increased; he took every opportunity in his power for disparaging Montcalm, even going the length of demanding from the Court at Versailles that he should be recalled. But indifferent as the French king and his ministers were to the real interests of Canada, they were still sufficiently clear-sighted to know that General Montcalm was the right man in the right place, and to a certain extent to appreciate the services he had rendered the state. They therefore raised his rank to that of lieutenant-general, as also his officers Bourlamaque and Levis, who were made colonel and major-general.
But in his own heart Montcalm knew that when the Forts of Niagara, Crown Point, and Duquesne fell into the hands of the English, the end could not be far off. Little by little he was becoming isolated and cut off on the St. Lawrence, the British holding the command of the seas. He was possessed, however, of great military genius, and displayed to the last extraordinary skill in defending the French possessions.
During the winter the social life at Montreal was wholly in contradiction to the General’s feelings, so that he withdrew himself entirely from society, remaining in his own quarters, occupied with combining plans for the spring campaign, which he foresaw would decide the fate of Canada. This conduct was of itself a cause of complaint against him, being a reproach to Bigot and his associates, in whose palace at Quebec every night high revelry reigned. Supper parties, dances, and masquerades were of nightly occurrence; and worse still, gambling was carried to such a pitch that the results had in many cases to be hushed up.
Mercèdes lived in her rooms at the Intendance, ignorant of what was going on below. Like her father, retiring more and more from public life, seldom seen except on her way to church or on her visits to the poor, without knowing it she was a sort of hostage for her father. Probably she would not have been allowed to remain so entirely in the background but for Madame Péan’s open protection. That lady reigned supreme in the gay world at Quebec, and she would not suffer her protégée to be annoyed. “She is in my charge; she shall not be molested,” she was wont to say when it was hinted by the government officials that it would strengthen their arguments against Montcalm if his daughter could be persuaded to join in their revelries.
“It is quite useless,” Madame Péan declared; “she would not understand our ways. You would scare her quite away.”
But one night the revelry had attained even wilder proportions than usual. A sumptuous supper succeeded a masquerade ball. Towards morning the guests dispersed, and only about twenty intimates remained. Some one suddenly said,—
“What a joke it would be if we were to surprise Monsieur de Vaudreuil and General Montcalm at Montreal!”
There was a general laugh.
“Why not do so?” said Intendant Bigot. “We could be there in three days’ sleighing. If it would afford the ladies any pleasure, they have but to command. I am their humble servant.”
“It would cost a fortune,” said Madame Péan.
“You are growing economical, my dear,” retorted Madame Marin; “there is the king’s exchequer! I vote we do it, and we will take Mademoiselle Mercèdes with us to see her father. This gentle attention will soften the old bear, and he will not have the heart to reproach us. What do you say to my plan, Monsieur Bigot?”
“Only what I said before, that if you ladies wish it we will start at midday, reach Pointe-aux-Trembles in time for supper, sleep there, and go on the next day to St. Anne. Our next halt might be at the Isle des Castors, where Rigaud would entertain us, and finally Montreal. If you will decide at once, I will despatch couriers to have everything in readiness. What are your wishes, Madame?” he added, addressing himself to Madame Péan, whose beauty and accomplishments always ensured her the first place in every project for the general amusement.
“I am willing,” she said carelessly.
“And you will persuade Mademoiselle Mercèdes to join us?” insisted Madame Marin.
“If she knows she is likely to see her father she will not refuse,” answered Madame Péan. “She will go in my sleigh.”
“I wish you joy!” said one of her lady friends. “What you see in that little dull thing, to have her always about with you, is more than I can imagine. Why, I saw you out sleighing with her and that Indian hunter, Charles Langlade, last week, near the village of Beauport. Are you trying to make a match of it?”
“I wish I could,” answered Madame Péan; “but you know as well as I do he has his Indian squaw. Now, good-night, or rather good-morning; I am off to get a few hours’ sleep.”
There was a general leave-taking, and it was agreed they should all meet at midday on the morrow; and so the ladies retired, but the gentlemen remained in consultation as to ways and means.
“I intend it to be a grand affair,” said Bigot ostentatiously. “We will spare no expense, eh, Marin?”
“Certainly not! Why should we? It is necessary for the good of the country. You require to see Vaudreuil; De Martet and Varin have to look after the army and navy supplies. We are going on the king’s service, therefore the king must pay. Long live the King!”
“Long live our Gracious Master the King!” they all shouted in high spirits, and forthwith began arranging for the projected excursion. The light of the dim November morning was slowly creeping into the palace when they separated to snatch a brief repose.