JAMES WOLFE (1759)

Wolfe was a commander hand-picked by Pitt.
The King would regularly throw a fit
As Will proposed a startling array
Of fresh new blood. But Pitt, as was his way,
Would press the deaf old King and win the day.
In Wolfe’s case, happily, it’s true to say
That George was pretty easily convinced.
Newcastle, I’ve read, positively winced
When Wolfe was tipped for senior command.
The King proffered this witty reprimand:
“Mad, is he? Then I hope that he will bite
“Some of my other generals!” Quite right.
George, on form, was an absolute delight.

So it was, on the 12th of September,
’59, truly a night to remember,
Wolfe prepared his men in an enterprise
Of rare strategic genius. The prize?
Quebec. Up the St. Lawrence, in small boats,
With muffled oars, he led his brave redcoats
(Some 5,000) under cover of dark.
No owl was heard to hoot, no dog to bark,
No gull to cry. The silence of the night
Bore but one sound. Wolfe was moved to recite
Gray’s Elegy. Madness? One of the signs?

Hardly. He’d rather have written these lines,
He told his fellows, than take Quebec. Well,
You can see why men fell under his spell.
Part of the British fleet, some miles away,
Began a bogus bombardment, to essay
A diversion, as Wolfe led the way
Up the Heights of Abraham – yes, a cliff.
There was no going back. Retreat? As if.

< Previous volume – Next volume >