G. A. Henty - With Wolfe in Canada

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WITH WOLFE IN CANADA

Or The Winning of a Continent

by

G. A. Henty

1894

CONTENTS:

Preface.
Chapter 1: A Rescue.
Chapter 2: The Showman's Grandchild.
Chapter 3: The Justice Room.
Chapter 4: The Squire's Granddaughter.
Chapter 5: A Quiet Time.
Chapter 6: A Storm.
Chapter 7: Pressed.
Chapter 8: Discharged.
Chapter 9: The Defeat Of Braddock.
Chapter 10: The Fight At Lake George.
Chapter 11: Scouting.
Chapter 12: A Commission.
Chapter 13: An Abortive Attack.
Chapter 14: Scouting On Lake Champlain.
Chapter 15: Through Many Perils.
Chapter 16: The Massacre At Fort William Henry.
Chapter 17: Louisbourg And Ticonderoga.
Chapter 18: Quebec.
Chapter 19: A Dangerous Expedition.
Chapter 20: The Path Down The Heights.
Chapter 21: The Capture Of Quebec.

Preface.

My Dear Lads,

In the present volume I have endeavoured to give the details of the
principal events in a struggle whose importance can hardly be
overrated. At its commencement the English occupied a mere patch of
land on the eastern seaboard of America, hemmed in on all sides by the
French, who occupied not only Canada in the north and Louisiana in the
south, but possessed a chain of posts connecting them, so cutting off
the English from all access to the vast countries of the west.

On the issues of that struggle depended not only the destiny of Canada,
but of the whole of North America and, to a large extent, that of the
two mother countries. When the contest began, the chances of France
becoming the great colonizing empire of the world were as good as those
of England. Not only did she hold far larger territories in America
than did England, but she had rich colonies in the West Indies, where
the flag of England was at that time hardly represented, and her
prospects in India were better than our own. At that time, too, she
disputed with us on equal terms the empire of the sea.

The loss of her North American provinces turned the scale. With the
monopoly of such a market, the commerce of England increased
enormously, and with her commerce her wealth and power of extension,
while the power of France was proportionately crippled. It is true
that, in time, the North American colonies, with the exception of
Canada, broke away from their connection with the old country; but they
still remained English, still continued to be the best market for our
goods and manufactures.

Never was the short-sightedness of human beings shown more distinctly,
than when France wasted her strength and treasure in a sterile contest
on the continent of Europe, and permitted, with scarce an effort, her
North American colonies to be torn from her.

All the historical details of the war have been drawn from the
excellent work entitled Montcalm and Wolfe, by Mr. Francis Parkman, and
from the detailed history of the Louisbourg and Quebec expeditions, by
Major Knox, who served under Generals Amherst and Wolfe.

Yours very sincerely,

G. A. Henty.

Chapter 1: A Rescue.

Most of the towns standing on our seacoast have suffered a radical
change in the course of the last century. Railways, and the fashion of
summer holiday making, have transformed them altogether, and great
towns have sprung up where fishing villages once stood. There are a few
places, however, which seem to have been passed by, by the crowd. The
number yearly becomes smaller, as the iron roads throw out fresh
branches. With the advent of these comes the speculative builder. Rows
of terraces and shops are run up, promenades are made, bathing machines
and brass bands become familiar objects, and in a few years the
original character of the place altogether disappears.

Sidmouth, for a long time, was passed by, by the world of holiday
makers. East and west of her, great changes took place, and many far
smaller villages became fashionable seaside watering places. The
railway, which passed by some twelve miles away, carried its tens of
thousands westward, but left few of them for Sidmouth, and anyone who
visited the pretty little place, fifteen years back, would have seen it
almost as it stood when our story opens a century ago.

There are few places in England with a fairer site. It lies embosomed
in the hills, which rise sharply on either side of it, while behind
stretches a rich, undulating country, thickly dotted with orchards and
snug homesteads, with lanes bright with wildflowers and ferns, with
high hedges and trees meeting overhead. The cold breezes, which render
so bare of interest the walks round the great majority of our seaside
towns, pass harmlessly over the valley of the Sid, where the vegetation
is as bright and luxuriant as if the ocean lay leagues away, instead of
breaking on the shore within a few feet of the front line of houses.

The cliffs which, on either side, rise from the water's edge, are
neither white like those to the east, nor grey as are the rugged
bulwarks to the west. They are of a deep red, warm and pleasant to the
eye, with clumps of green showing brightly up against them on every
little ledge where vegetation can get a footing; while the beach is
neither pebble, nor rock, nor sand, but a smooth, level surface sloping
evenly down; hard and pleasant to walk on when the sea has gone down,
and the sun has dried and baked it for an hour or two; but slippery and
treacherous when freshly wetted, for the red cliffs are of clay. Those
who sail past in a boat would hardly believe that this is so, for the
sun has baked its face, and the wind dried it, till it is cracked and
seamed, and makes a brave imitation of red granite; but the clammy
ooze, when the sea goes down, tells its nature only too plainly, and
Sidmouth will never be a popular watering place for children, for there
is no digging sand castles here, and a fall will stain light dresses
and pinafores a ruddy hue, and the young labourers will look as if they
had been at work in a brick field.

But a century since, the march of improvement had nowhere begun; and
there were few larger, and no prettier, seaside villages on the coast
than Sidmouth.

It was an afternoon in August. The sun was blazing down hotly, scarce a
breath of wind was stirring, and the tiny waves broke along the shore
with a low rustle like that of falling leaves. Some fishermen were at
work, recaulking a boat hauled up on the shore. Others were laying out
some nets to dry in the sun. Some fisher boys were lying asleep, like
dogs basking in the heat; and a knot of lads, sitting under the shade
of a boat, were discussing with some warmth the question of smuggling.

"What do you say to it, Jim Walsham?" one of the party said, looking up
at a boy some twelve years old, who was leaning against a boat, but who
had hitherto taken no part in the discussion.

"There is no doubt that it's wrong," the boy said. "Not wrong like
stealing, and lying, and that sort of thing; still it's wrong, because
it's against the law; and the revenue men, if they come upon a gang
landing the tubs, fight with them, and if any are killed they are not
blamed for it, so there is no doubt about its being wrong. Then, on the
other hand, no one thinks any the worse of the men that do it, and
there is scarce a one, gentle or simple, as won't buy some of the stuff
if he gets a chance, so it can't be so very wrong. It must be great fun
to be a smuggler, to be always dodging the king's cutters, and running
cargoes under the nose of the officers ashore. There is some excitement
in a life like that."

"There is plenty of excitement in fishing," one of the boys said
sturdily. "If you had been out in that storm last March, you would have
had as much excitement as you liked. For twelve hours we expected to go
down every minute, and we were half our time bailing for our lives."

An approving murmur broke from the others, who were all, with the
exception of the one addressed as Jim Walsham, of the fisher class. His
clothing differed but little from that of the rest. His dark blue pilot
trousers were old and sea stained, his hands and face were dyed brown
with exposure to the sun and the salt water; but there was something,
in his manner and tone of voice, which showed that a distinction
existed.

James Walsham was, indeed, the son of the late doctor of the village,
who had died two years previously. Dr. Walsham had been clever in his
profession, but circumstances were against him. Sidmouth and its
neighbourhood were so healthy, that his patients were few and far
between; and when he died, of injuries received from being thrown over
his horse's head, when the animal one night trod on a stone coming down
the hill into Sidmouth, his widow and son were left almost penniless.

Mrs. Walsham was, fortunately, an energetic woman, and a fortnight
after her husband's death, she went round among the tradesmen of the
place and the farmers of the neighbourhood, and announced her intention
of opening a school for girls. She had received a good education, being
the daughter of a clergyman, and she soon obtained enough pupils to
enable her to pay her way, and to keep up the pretty home in which her
husband lived in the outskirts of Sidmouth.

If she would have taken boarders, she could have obtained far higher
terms, for good schools were scarce; but this she would not do, and her
pupils all lived within distances where they could walk backwards and
forwards to their homes. Her evenings she devoted to her son, and,
though the education which she was enabled to give him would be
considered meagre, indeed, in these days of universal cramming, he
learned as much as the average boy of the period.

He would have learned more had he followed her desires, and devoted the
time when she was engaged in teaching to his books; but this he did not
do. For a few hours in the day he would work vigorously at his lessons.
The rest of his time he spent either on the seashore, or in the boats
of the fishermen; and he could swim, row, or handle a boat under sail
in all weather, as well or better than any lad in the village of his
own age.

His disposition was a happy one, and he was a general favourite among
the boatmen. He had not, as yet, made up his mind as to his future. His
mother wanted him to follow his father's profession. He himself longed
to go to sea, but he had promised his mother that he would never do so
without her consent, and that consent he had no hope of obtaining.

The better-class people in the village shook their heads gravely over
James Walsham, and prophesied no good things of him. They considered
that he demeaned himself greatly by association with the fisher boys,
and more than once he had fallen into disgrace, with the more quiet
minded of the inhabitants, by mischievous pranks. His reputation that
way once established, every bit of mischief in the place, which could
not be clearly traced to someone else, was put down to him; and as he
was not one who would peach upon others to save himself, he was seldom
in a position to prove his innocence.

The parson had once called upon Mrs. Walsham, and had talked to her
gravely over her son's delinquencies, but his success had not been
equal to his anticipations. Mrs. Walsham had stood up warmly for her
son.

"The boy may get into mischief sometimes, Mr. Allanby, but it is the
nature of boys to do so. James is a good boy, upright and honourable,
and would not tell a lie under any consideration. What is he to do? If
I could afford to send him to a good school it would be a different
thing, but that you know I cannot do. From nine in the morning, until
five in the afternoon, my time is occupied by teaching, and I cannot
expect, nor do I wish, that he should sit moping indoors all day. He
had far better be out in the boats with the fishermen, than be hanging
about the place doing nothing. If anything happened to me, before he is
started in life, there would be nothing for him but to take to the sea.
I am laying by a little money every month, and if I live for another
year there will be enough to buy him a fishing boat and nets. I trust
that it may not come to that, but I see nothing derogatory in his
earning an honest living with his own hands. He will always be
something better than a common fisherman. The education I have striven
to give him, and his knowledge that he was born a gentleman, will nerve
him to try and rise.

"As to what you say about mischief, so far as I know all boys are
mischievous. I know that my own brothers were always getting into
scrapes, and I have no doubt, Mr. Allanby, that when you look back upon
your own boyhood, you will see that you were not an exception to the
general rule."

Mr. Allanby smiled. He had come rather against his own inclinations;
but his wife had urged him to speak to Mrs. Walsham, her temper being
ruffled by the disappearance of two favourite pigeons, whose loss she,
without a shadow of evidence, most unjustly put down to James Walsham.

The parson was by no means strict with his flock. He was a tall man,
inclined to be portly, a good shot and an ardent fisherman; and
although he did not hunt, he was frequently seen on his brown cob at
the meet, whenever it took place within a reasonable distance of
Sidmouth; and without exactly following the hounds, his knowledge of
the country often enabled him to see more of the hunt than those who
did.

As Mrs. Walsham spoke, the memory of his old school and college days
came across him.

"That is the argumentum ad hominem, Mrs. Walsham, and when a lady takes
to that we can say no more. You know I like your boy. There is much
that is good in him; but it struck me that you were letting him run a
little too wild. However, there is much in what you say, and I don't
believe that he is concerned in half the mischief that he gets credit
for. Still, you must remember that a little of the curb, just a little,
is good for us all. It spoils a horse to be always tugging at his
mouth, but he will go very badly if he does not feel that there is a
hand on the reins.

"I have said the same thing to the squire. He spoils that boy of his,
for whom, between ourselves, I have no great liking. The old man will
have trouble with him before he is done, or I am greatly mistaken."

Nothing came of Mr. Allanby's visit. Mrs. Walsham told James that he
had been there to remonstrate with her.

"I do not want to stop you from going out sailing, Jim; but I wish you
would give up your mischievous pranks, they only get you bad will and a
bad name in the place. Many people here think that I am wrong in
allowing you to associate so much with the fisher boys, and when you
get into scrapes, it enables them to impress upon me how right they
were in their forecasts. I do not want my boy to be named in the same
breath with those boys of Robson's, or young Peterson, or Blame."

"But you know I have nothing to do with them, mother," James said
indignantly. "They spend half their time about the public house, and
they do say that when Peterson has been out with that lurcher of his,
he has been seen coming back with his coat bulged out, and there is
often a smell of hare round his father's cottage at supper time. You
know I wouldn't have anything to do with them."

"No, Jim, I am sure you would not; but if people mix up your name with
theirs it is almost as bad for you as if you had. Unfortunately, people
are too apt not to distinguish between tricks which are really only the
outcome of high spirit, and a lack of something better to do, and real
vice. Therefore, Jim, I say, keep yourself from mischief. I know that,
though you are out of doors so many hours of the day, you really do get
through a good deal of work; but other people do not give you credit
for this. Remember how your father was respected here. Try to act
always as you would have done had he been alive, and you cannot go far
wrong."

James had done his best, but he found it hard to get rid of his
reputation for getting into mischief, and more than once, when falsely
suspected, he grumbled that he might just as well have the fun of the
thing, for he was sure to have the blame.

As Jim Walsham and his companions were chatting in the shade of a boat,
their conversation was abruptly broken off by the sight of a figure
coming along the road. It was a tall figure, with a stiff military
bearing. He was pushing before him a large box, mounted on a framework
supported by four wheels. Low down, close to the ground, swung a large
flat basket. In this, on a shawl spread over a thick bed of hay, sat a
little girl some five years old.

"It is the sergeant," one of the boys exclaimed. "I wonder whether he
has got a fresh set of views? The last were first-rate ones."

The sergeant gave a friendly nod to the boys as he passed, and then,
turning up the main street from the beach, went along until he came to
a shaded corner, and there stopped. The boys had all got up and
followed him, and now stood looking on with interest at his
proceedings. The little girl had climbed out of her basket as soon as
he stopped, and after asking leave, trotted back along the street to
the beach, and was soon at play among the seaweed and stones.

She was a singularly pretty child, with dark blue eyes, and brown hair
with a touch of gold. Her print dress was spotlessly clean and neat; a
huge flapping sunbonnet shaded her face, whose expression was bright
and winning.

"Well, boys," the sergeant said cheerfully, "how have you been getting
on since I was here last? Nobody drowned, I hope, or come to any ill.
Not that we must grumble, whatever comes. We have all got to do our
duty, whether it be to march up a hill with shot and shell screaming
and whistling round, as I have had to do; or to be far out at sea with
the wind blowing fit to take the hair off your head, as comes to your
lot sometimes; or following the plough from year's end to year's end,
as happens to some. We have got to make the best of it, whatever it is.

"I have got a grand new set of pictures from Exeter. They came all the
way down from London town for me by waggon. London Bridge, and Windsor
Castle, with the flag flying over it, telling that the king--God bless
his gracious majesty--is at home.

"Then, I have got some pictures of foreign parts that will make you
open your eyes. There's Niagara. I don't know whether you've heard of
it, but it's a place where a great river jumps down over a wall of
rock, as high as that steeple there, with a roar like thunder that can
be heard, they say, on a still night, for twenty miles round.

"I have got some that will interest you more still, because you are
sailors, or are going to be sailors. I have got one of the killing of a
whale. He has just thrown a boat, with five sailors, into the air, with
a lash of his tail; but it's of no use, for there are other boats
round, and the harpoons are striking deep in his flesh. He is a big
fish, and a strong one; but he will be beaten, for he does not know how
to use his strength. That's the case with many men. They throw away
their life and their talents, just because they don't know what's in
them, and what they might do if they tried.

"And I have got a picture of the fight with the Spanish Armada. You
have heard about that, boys, surely; for it began out there, over the
water, almost in sight of Sidmouth, and went on all the way up the
Channel; our little ships hanging on to the great Spaniards and giving
them no rest, but worrying them, and battering them, till they were
glad to sail away to the Dutch coast. But they were not safe there, for
we sent fire ships at them, and they had to cut and run; and then a
storm came on, and sunk many, and drove others ashore all around our
coasts, even round the north of Scotland and Ireland.

"You will see it all here, boys, and as you know, the price is only one
penny."

By this time, the sergeant had let down one side of the box and
discovered four round holes, and had arranged a low stool in front, for
any of those, who were not tall enough to look through the glasses, to
stand upon. A considerable number of girls and boys had now gathered
round, for Sergeant Wilks and his show were old, established favourites
at Sidmouth, and the news of his arrival had travelled quickly round
the place.

Four years before, he had appeared there for the first time, and since
then had come every few months. He travelled round the southwestern
counties, Dorset and Wilts, Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall, and his
cheery good temper made him a general favourite wherever he went.

He was somewhat of a martinet, and would have no crowding and pushing,
and always made the boys stand aside till the girls had a good look;
but he never hurried them, and allowed each an ample time to see the
pictures, which were of a better class than those in most travelling
peep shows. There was some murmuring, at first, because the show
contained none of the popular murders and blood-curdling scenes to
which the people were accustomed.

"No," the sergeant had said firmly, when the omission was suggested to
him; "the young ones see quite enough scenes of drunkenness and
fighting. When I was a child, I remember seeing in a peep show the
picture of a woman lying with her head nearly cut off, and her husband
with a bloody chopper standing beside her; and it spoiled my sleep for
weeks. No, none of that sort of thing for Sergeant Wilks. He has fought
for his country, and has seen bloodshed enough in his time, and the
ground half covered with dead and dying men; but that was duty--this is
pleasure. Sergeant Wilks will show the boys and girls, who pay him
their pennies, views in all parts of the world, such as would cost them
thousands of pounds if they travelled to see them, and all as natural
as life. He will show them great battles by land and sea, where the
soldiers and sailors shed their blood like water in the service of
their country. But cruel murders and notorious crimes he will not show
them."

It was not the boys and girls, only, who were the sergeant's patrons.
Picture books were scarce in those days, and grown-up girls and young
men were not ashamed to pay their pennies to peep into the sergeant's
box.

There was scarcely a farm house throughout his beat where he was not
known and welcomed. His care of the child, who, when he first came
round, was but a year old, won the heart of the women; and a bowl of
bread and milk for the little one, and a mug of beer and a hunch of
bread and bacon for himself, were always at his service, before he
opened his box and showed its wonders to the maids and children of the
house.

Sidmouth was one of his regular halting places, and, indeed, he visited
it more often than any other town on his beat. There was always a room
ready for him there, in the house of a fisherman's widow, when he
arrived on the Saturday, and he generally stopped till the Monday. Thus
he had come to know the names of most of the boys of the place, as well
as of many of the elders; for it was his custom, of a Saturday evening,
after the little one was in bed, to go and smoke his pipe in the
taproom of the "Anchor," where he would sometimes relate tales of his
adventures to the assembled fishermen. But, although chatty and cheery
with his patrons, Sergeant Wilks was a reticent, rather than a
talkative, man. At the "Anchor" he was, except when called upon for a
story, a listener rather than a talker.

As to his history, or the county to which he belonged, he never alluded
to it, although communicative enough as to his military adventures; and
any questions which were asked him, he quietly put on one side. He had
intimated, indeed, that the father and mother of his grandchild were
both dead; but it was not known whether she was the child of his son or
daughter; for under his cheerful talk there was something of military
strictness and sternness, and he was not a man of whom idle questions
would be asked.

"Now, boys and girls," he said, "step up; the show is ready. Those who
have got a penny cannot spend it better. Those who haven't must try and
get their father or mother to give them one, and see the show later on.
Girls first. Boys should always give way to their sisters. The bravest
men are always the most courteous and gentle with women."

Four girls, of various ages, paid their pennies and took their places
at the glasses, and the sergeant then began to describe the pictures,
his descriptions of the wonders within being so exciting, that several
boys and girls stole off from the little crowd, and made their way to
their homes to coax their parents out of the necessary coin.

James Walsham listened a while, and then walked away to the sea, for
there would be several sets of girls before it came to the turn of the
boys. He strolled along, and as he came within sight of the beach
stopped for a moment suddenly, and then, with a shout, ran forward at
the top of his speed.

The little girl, after playing some time with the seaweed, had climbed
into a small boat which lay at the edge of the advancing tide, and,
leaning over the stern, watched the little waves as they ran up one
after another. A few minutes after she had got into it, the rising tide
floated the boat, and it drifted out a few yards, as far as its
headrope allowed it. Ignorant of what had happened, the child was
kneeling up at the stern, leaning over, and dabbling her hands in the
water.

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