1759 -
The Deaths of Wolfe and Montcalm the Plains of Abraham,
September 19
by Francis Parkman (1829-99)
Wolfe was everywhere. How cool he was, and why his
followers loved him, is shown by an incident that
happened in the course of the morning. One of his
captains was shot through the lungs; and on recovering
consciousness he saw the general standing at his side.
Wolfe pressed his hand, told him not to despair, praised
his services, promised him an early promotion, and sent
an aide-de-camp to Monckton to beg that officer to keep
the promise if he himself should fall.
It was towards ten o'clock when, from the high ground
on the right of the line, Wolfe saw that the crisis was
near. The French on the ridge had formed themselves into
three bodies, regulars in the centre, regulars and
Canadians on the right and left. Two field-pieces, which
had been dragged up the heights at Anse du Foulon, fired
on them with grape-shot, and the troops, rising from the
ground, prepared to receive them. In a few moments more
they were in motion. They came on rapidly, uttering loud
shouts, and firing as soon as they were within range.
Their ranks, ill ordered at the best, were further
confused by a number of Canadians who had been mixed
among the regulars, and who, after hastily firing, threw
themselves on the ground to reload. The British advanced
a few rods; then halted and stood still. When the French
were within forty paces the word of command rang out,
and a crash of musketry answered all along the line. The
volley was delivered with remarkable precision. In the
battalions of the centre, which had suffered least from
the enemy's bullets, the simultaneous explosion was
afterwards said by French officers to have sounded like
a cannon-shot. Another volley followed, and then a
furious clattering fire that lasted but a minute or two.
When the smoke rose, a miserable sight was revealed: the
ground cumbered with dead and wounded, the advancing
masses stopped short and turned into a frantic mob,
shouting, cursing, gesticulating. The order was given to
charge. Then over the field rose the British cheer,
mixed with the fierce yell of the Highland slogan.
Some of the corps pushed forward with the bayonet;
some advanced firing. The clansmen drew their
broadswords and dashed on, keen and swift as
bloodhounds. At the English right, though the attacking
column was broken to pieces, a fire was still kept up,
chiefly, it seems, by sharpshooters from the bushes and
cornfields, where they had lain for an hour or more.
Here Wolfe himself led the charge, at the head of the
Louisbourg grenadiers. A shot shattered his wrist. He
wrapped his handkerchief about it and kept on. Another
shot struck him, and he still advanced, when a third
lodged in his breast. He staggered, and sat on the
ground. Lieutenant Brown, of the grenadiers, one
Henderson, a volunteer in the same company, and a
private soldier, aided by an officer of artillery who
ran to join them, carried him in their arms to the rear.
He begged them to lay him down. They did so, and
asked if he would have a surgeon. "There's no need," he
answered; "it's all over with me." A moment after, one
of them cried out: "They run; see how they run. Who
run?" Wolfe demanded, like a man roused from sleep. "The
enemy, sir. Egad, they give way everywhere Go, one of
you, to Colonel Burton," returned the dying man; "tell
him to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River, to
cut off their retreat from the bridge." Then, turning on
his side, he murmured, "Now, God be praised, I will die
in peace!" and in a few moments his gallant soul had
fled.
Montcalm, still on horseback, was borne with the tide
of fugitives towards the town. As he approached the
walls a shot passed through his body. He kept his seat;
two soldiers supported him, one on each side, and led
his horse through the St. Louis Gate. On the open space
within, among the excited crowd, were several women,
drawn, no doubt, by eagerness to know the result of the
fight. One of them recognized him, saw the streaming
blood, and shrieked, "O mon Dieu! mon Dieu! le Marquis
est tué!"
"It's nothing, it's nothing," replied the dead
stricken man; "don't be troubled for me, my friends. "("Ce
n'est rien; ne vous affligez pas pour mes bonnes amies.")
***
Source: Francis Parkman, Montcalm and Wolfe (1884)
