 | War |  |
WAR: BOOK III.
The Argument.
Great-Britain's preparation of her fleet, and troops, against Quebec, under Admiral Saunders, and Admiral Holmes; and the Generals, Wolfe, Monckton, and Townshend. The pannic in France! and of Quebec! as the consequence thereof. The fleet sailing; their arrival in the river of Quebec. The formidable appearance, and resolution, of the English, Scotch, Irish, and Provincials; when they remember'd Zell, and the scalping butchery of the French, Canadians, and Indians. The fleet proceeded up the Gulf, and the English Wolfe landed against the enemy. His intrepidity, and the execution of his attacks. Fireships sent down, several times by the French, upon the stream, to burn our fleet; but by the vigilance of Admiral Saunders, Holmes, and other resolved commanders; join'd with the indefatigable resolution, and activity, of our bold, and hardy tars; they are baffled in all their schemes, and the fireships, and fire-floats, do no damage to the English fleet. The vexation of the French thereon; and the war carried to their walls. The united bravery of General Wolfe, on Point Levi: Admiral Saunders, below the town, and Admiral Holmes, above the town.
General Wolfe, represented as in suspence, on point of Levi; on account of the small number of forces he had with him, and viewing Montcalm's camp, with near double the number; and observing the stupendous height, and stability of the town, and garrison of Quebec. Compared to Babylon's (as was thought, impregnable) ramparts, for the town stood upon a lofty rock, and was defended by trench, on trench, and impassable works, and avenues; rising dreadfully to view! one above another. General Wolfe's intrepid resolves, to attack Monsieur Montcalm's entrenchments. The dangerous landing: fight, and retreat. The undaunted behaviour of Captain Ochterlony, (a Scotch gentleman,) and Lieut. Peyton, (an Irish gentleman:) both of one company of Royal American grenadiers & left wounded on the field of battle. Their refusal to be carried off. Two Indians, and a Frenchman, attack Capt. Ochterlony. Mr. Peyton, (after a long struggle,) kills the Indians, and is rescu'd from about thirty more by three Highlanders, detached by Capt. M Donald of Fraser's battalion. General Wolfe is vex'd at his repulse, and sickens thro' care and watching. The united efforts of the soldiers, and seamen, to reduce the place. The battery against, and from the town, and all the terrors! carnage! and tumult of the siege describ'd! the terror of the French, Canadians, and Indians, on account of their crulety, and treachery!
General Amherst, Townshend, Johnson, Howe, Prideaux,
Rogers, Forbes, Schumberg, Abercromby, and
their transactions on the Continent mentioned, by way
of episode; who reduced in the mean time, Ticonderoga,
Crown Point, and Niagara; with some other services
performed by them. The siege of Quebec reassumed.
The day of battle describ'd before the town. The
difficulty our troops met in ascending the hill, and their
resolution. The summit of the hill gain'd. The armies
A description of the Anstruthers and Scots, with their broad swords, and the rest of the troops, with their bayonets fix'd; piercing thro', hewing down whole lanes of carnage! and rolling the Gallic squadrons before them, in confusion! General Monckton wounded: his behaviour, and a short parallel between him and General Townshend.
General Townshend takes the command. His address, skill, and intrepidity; like Achilles, leading on his myrmidons to battle, to revenge the death of his dear Patroclus! the wounded Ulysses! Diomed! &c. &c. &c. The general rout, and slaughter of Montcalm and his troops. Bougainville's corps appears, just as the rout began: but are soon likewise routed by General Townshend, and our animated troops, and sent full speed, to join the rest in their retreat.
The chase continued to the town of Quebec: our troops mixing with, running down, and taken the Frenchmen prisoners at will, with the surrender of the town and garrison, to General Townshend.
Victims, to Britain's fierce resentment fall;
The like black fate, did Guadaloup betide;
Strong Louisbourg we made our own beside:
The Gallic, captiv'd fleets, in British harbours ride;
Lewis no cause has got, whereof to boast;
Nor Royal George to grieve, that he Minorca lost.
How satiate now, Great Britain might sit down;
But Brunswick, still puts on a threat'ning frown;
By Pitt, (resolv'd to awe the wond'ring world;)
Against Quebec, the English thunder's hurl'd;
With mischief sure, the bolts destructive fly;
Guided by Him, who thunders from the sky;
From Pole, to Pole, great Albion's terror's known;
She roars in thunder; and her pow'r they own,
Amid the frigid and the torrid Zone!
Saunders, aloft, the British ensign rears;
English, Hibermans, Scotchmen, all combine;
With one consent, (resolv'd,) united join,
T'imbark, and boldly urge the grand design;
Tents, horses, carts, are in great plenty shipt;
And hardy troops for wasting war equipt;
For cannonading, 'gainst the Gallic forts;
They've pond'rous guns, and shot of various sorts.
Fuses, and shells, by thousands now they get,
And brazen mortars, for bombardment fit.
Cargoes are shipt, of black, infernal grain;
T'eject the balls, in thunder, on the main:
With large reserves, from Britain's ordnance store,
For field artill'ries, on the Gallic shore.
Incentive match, is put on board the fleet,
And all the tools, for pioneering meet.
The gath'ring ships, from various harbours glide,
And at one gen'ral rendezvous they ride.
The Grecian fleet, so met, for Trojan doom;
When Paris ravish'd Helen from her home.
So glow'd the troops, to raze proud Illium's walls,
Only they wanted powder, bombs, and balls!
At Paris, sad foreboding fear, prevails;
The coast of France, a pannic dread alarms;
Britannia's angry sons, are rous'd again to arms;
As when a flock of swans have ken'd on high,
A dreaded eagle, sousing from the sky!
They flutter, scream, and gather closely round,
and wish a place of safety could be found;
Till down he comes, upon the pinion'd prey;
Scatters, and tears, and bears a swan away;
When Saunders sail'd, in France such moan was heard;
But Quebec, chiefly, his approaches fear'd;
There Albion's thunders, did most fiercely roar;
Quebec, (well mann'd,) from Lewis, reeking tore;
And laid Canadians, welt'ring in their gore;
So oft, before, have England's Admirals hurl'd,
Great George's flame, and terror thro' the world;
Safe to America, our squadron sails.
Provincials there, against Quebec design'd,
And friendly ships, with Saunders are combin'd.
Provincials, English, Scotch, Hibernians bold,
Frown, formidably, dreadful to behold;
Canadian scalping now, before their eyes,
And butcher'd fathers, mothers, wives, and children rise!
And ev'ry cruel treach'ry, which the Gauls devise;
Gloomy they low'r, like pond'rous show'rs, when born,
Towards a field, of yellow standing corn.
Till down a deluge comes, with rattling sound,
And beats the plenteous harvest to the ground;
So Britain's troops, when they remember'd Zell,
And scalping knives, frown'd with resentment fell,
With gen'rous rage; they beat Quebec to ground;
And recompence most just, the black Canadians found.
And sends, (to prowl) on shore, the English Wolfe!
Who with an (eager,) martial transport flew,
Upon the black, Canadian, scalping crew!
Yet warm from Louisbourg, and blood of Gaul!
He long'd to see the savage scalpers fall.
Keen threat'ning fires, he shot from wrathful eyes,
Whilst from his brazen engines, veng'ance flies.
His manly bosom burn'd, with freeborn flame;
To spread the terror of his sov'reign's name.
And whelm'd them in the Gallic overthrow;
To vex the foe, (whom num'rous forts immure,)
And Britain's fleet from danger to secure,
Levi at first, and Orleans they possess'd;
And to the bat'ring siege, themselves address'd.
Our troops, urg'd on, drove Gauls, and Indians back,
Resolv'd with speed, the castle to attack.
As mortal palsies, e'er they seize the heart,
Attack, and weaken, man's extremest part!
At length, death urges on the fatal strife,
Surrounds the breasts, attacks the seat of life;
So Wolfe devour'd the interjacent ground;
Resolv'd advanc'd, and scatter'd terrors round!
And guns, and murd'ring mortars, quickly mann'd;
Great store of shells, & shot, & black disploding grain,
Are sent on shore, to Wolfe, nor are they sent in vain;
He deals with martial wrath, destruction thro' the plain;
Whilst Wolfe, and Saunders, 'gainst Quebec combine,
The French (alarm'd,) had plann'd a dire design,
To execute a dreadful fiery doom;
And in relentless blaze, the fleet consume.
As Etna oft, with sulph'rous flame and noise,
Subjacent towns, and cities quick destroys;
Whene'er inraged, the mountain overflows,
And from its womb, th' infernal mixture throws:
So from Quebec, (adrift,) the Gallic flame;
Down thro' the Gulf, against brave Saunders came!
Toward the British fleet, the floating terrors ride,
In awful manner, on the rapid tide;
The thronging blazing deaths, a little fleet appear;
Woun'd in pitchy gloom; and cloath'd around with fear;
As if th' infernal coast, (itself,) was drawing near,
Saunders aware, descry'd 'em from afar,
And soon prepar'd to meet the flaming war;
Great Britain's tars, toward the danger speed;
And prov'd they were, true Englishmen indeed;
For as the Grecians gather'd from a far,
When Hector urg'd along the flaming war,
Round Ajax throng'd, his near approach to greet,
To sell their lives, and save the Grecian fleet.
(Begirt with Trojans on the hero came;
And high uplifted, bore, the Phrygian flame;)
Resolv'd they fix'd, nor ever once gave ground,
Till Hector's flame, in Trojan blood was drown'd;
So English sailors, glow'd with fierce desires,
Resolv'd to quell, those num'rous floating sires;
Boats, throng on boats, as near the fireships drew;
Clap'd close on board, and chains, & grapples threw;
With busy, anxious minds, they boldly wrought;
And Gallia's burning scheme, reduc'd to nought;
Canadians, Gauls, frustrated, all in vain,
Gnashing their teeth, to senseless walls complain,
Just as a hungry wolf, but slowly flies,
Whilst dogs, and shepherds, follow with their cries,
Grinning, oft turns, with fear, and fierce disdain,
Reluctant runs, and quits the bleating plain,
His savage fierceness, scarcely can with-hold,
So grinn'd Quebec, by providence controul'd;
So fled their tars, when our brave tars appear'd;
They heard their shouts, their boist'rous greeting fear'd.
From larboard, starboard clear, each flame was tow'd;
Whilst Brunswick's ships, at anchor safely rode.
Britain exult; to wond'ring nations tell,
Thy tars, wou'd grapple with a floating hell;
Thus oft, the French sent down their horrid fires,
As oft our, sailors glow'd with fierce desires,
To grapple with the flaming sulph'rous war;
T' oppose their boats; and all their schemes to mar;
Where flame, and death, and war, tumultous rage;
There shout the British tars; & with delight engage;
And did that long defended town destroy,
Saunders, and Wolfe, and Holmes, repay'd the Gauls;
And brought Great-Britain's thunder to their walls.
Saunders below, and Holmes above the town,
(Intent on war, in fulminating sort,)
Eject their bolts, to raze the Gallic fort.
From ships, and batt'ries, (with destruction stor'd)
In triple concert, England's veng'ance roar'd.
Thence Montcalm's camp, and strong Quebec he view'd,
Quebec! whose base was on a lofty rock;
Dispos'd to stand, amidst the fiercest shock;
Tho' English fleets, the garrison surround;
And English armies, throng th' adjacent ground;
Who fear'd no foes, tho' heav'n shou'd threat the fall;
By art and nature form'd, for strong defence;
With proud disdain; the French look'd down from thence.
On glorious death, or well earn'd conquest bent:
Wolfe, with his troops, to Montmorenci went:
Attack'd the trenches, brav'd the num'rous foe;
Who sculk'd behind, their banks, and fear'd an overthrow.
And death put on, a fierce, tremendous form;
His vanguard, were the terrors of the night;
Wolfe, Monckton, Townshend, whetted for the fight;
English, Hibernians, Caledonians, arm'd
With native rage, for dang'rous battle warm'd;
Provincials too, with emulation came;
And march'd intrepid, to the field of fame.
And British tars, as strong reserves await;
To join the chace, or favour the retreat,
Inviron'd thus, midst terrors on he came;
With Britain's thunderbolts, and sulph'rous flame;
And leaden death, (like hail,) in volleys flew.
English, Canadians, French, drop all around;
Guns, men, and blood, bestrew the slipp'ry ground.
French deep-mouth'd guns, disgorge their murd'ring glut!
From front to rear, wide lanes of carnage cut!
Descending bombs, (from num'rous forts of Gaul,)
Among the troops, and boats, in plenty fall!
Promiscuous kill! with fulminating light,
Displode, and add, new terrors to the fight!
The troops, and tars, rush'd on, with martial wrath;
Thro' floods of flame! and deluges of death!
Wolfe, and his men, thro' dangers, speed to shore;
Where Gallic guns, and murd'ring mortars roar!
Gauls and Canadians, mix'd, engage ten deep;
Our troops attempt, an ascent, rough, and steep!
And on the neck of danger, dare to land;
Where Gallia's thick mud banks, were ten times mann'd;
At length retreat; (for numbers gain'd the day;)
Whilst Peyton , 'mongst the dead, and wounded lay.
Not far: (descending to the shades of night;)
Lay Ochterlony , in a dismal plight!
Their two great hearts, by martial glow were fir'd;
And both their souls, sweet friendship's flame inspir'd;
Of characters unblam'd; and free from stains;
Link'd firm as fate, in amicable chains;
The grenadiers, wou'd fain their help bestow;
And bear them (wounded,) from the scence of woe;
No gen'rous friends; the Caledonian said
Bear that brave man, (in safety,) from the dead!
Pointing to Peyton, with his fractur'd bone:
Here let me lie, and bleed to death alone.
Peyton refus'd with generous disdain;
To leave his friend, upon the hostile plain;
Fierce as the dragon, guards th' Hesperian fruit,
Lay bleeding, (warm'd) to meet the dread dispute!
Peyton some minutes, guards departing life;
And Ochterlony, with his dying breath,
Begs Peyton's rescue, from the field of death!
Two scalping murderers, (with cruel mein,)
Join'd by a Gaul, towards the warriors drew;
And acted like a plund'ring highway crow.
Now Ochterlony rose, from off the ground:
(Tho' pain'd, and bleeding, from a mortal wound) .
Within his reach, no friendly weapon saw,
Wherewith to deal, the Caledonian blow;
Else, doubtless, all, his mighty blows had felt;
And fall'n beneath the strokes, his rage had dealt;
As dying lions, wide destruction spread!
Crush dogs, and men! and sink together dead!
With firelock's clubb'd, they fought to lay him low,
And on his shoulder , laid the pond'rous blow:
Another full of savage, (Gallic) wrath!
Pour'd in his breast, a load of leaden death;
Not satiate yet, a third effort he made;
And thro' his belly, plung'd his scalping blade
Most fiercely kneeling , midst his murd'ring foes,
His naked hands, still parry'd off their blows!
He call'd to wounded Peyton, deeply pain'd;
And of the outrage, to his friend complain'd
As rush'd the Trojan hero , from the shade,
Soon as he saw, (the fatal,) yawning wound!
And a brave dying friend, upon the ground;
Like him, fierce Peyton, straightway, boldly rear'd;
Defiance frown'd; and both the Indians dar'd;
Rouz'd, tho' in pain! 'twixt bravery, and hate!
He groan'd in flame; and sent the leaden fate;
Which gain'd th' event, the gallant Peyton hop'd,
By death arrested, down an Indian dropp'd;
On Ochterlony fell, (design'd his prey;)
And grinning, groan'd his savage soul away!
When Furio saw his mate, bereav'd of life,
Frowning he grasp'd, his fatal, scalping knife;
Fiercely, toward the wounded Peyton sped;
In fancy seiz'd his scalp, and doom'd him dead!
The bold Hibernian, still unconquer'd stood;
His fractur'd leg, pour'd out the vital blood!
Tho' his firm heart, of blood, was nearly drain'd;
Resenting rage, and courage, yet remain'd;
Tho' wounded, left, upon the hostile field,
To Indian foes, he greatly scorn'd to yield;
For as the savage, nearer to him drew,
His scorn encreas'd, and resolution grew,
On one foot poiz'd again, he boldly fir'd:
But fate deny'd, the great event desir'd!
The Indian's breast, receiv'd the missive ball:
But still, unshock'd, as if it struck a wall;
He shew'd no sign of pain, and scorn'd to fall!
Gainst Peyton, he, the leaden ruin sent:
Which ah! full sure, the hero's shoulder rent;
The onward rush'd, full of Canadian pride;
His bay'net flesh'd, and thrust it thro' his side.
The second thrust, he found himself deceiv'd;
Peyton's left hand, the sanguin'd point receiv'd;
Which seiz'd the musket, with uncommon wrath!
Whilst his right hand drew forth the glitt'r'ng death.
He play'd again, the brave Hibernian's part;
And plung'd his faithful dagger to his heart!
Now hand, to hand, they join, and face, to face;
And grasp, and struggle, in a close embrace;
For prey, the Indian, still maintain'd the strife:
Peyton, for vict'ry fought, for fame, and life!
He oft his dagger plung'd, and groan'd, and frown'd,
And spurn'd th' infernal scalper to the ground;
Run down by blacks, and vex'd with pungent pains,
Drop to the ground and seem to pant for breath,
A prey, almost, to grim, all conq'ring death:
But on th' approach, of black pursuing foes,
Again reviv'd, their innate courage glows:
Rampart, they rear, and roar, and swing their tails;
With deadly fangs, and lacerating nails;
They tear, and kill, and stain the place with blood,
Walk growling off; and shelter in the wood;
As Peyton limp'd, with cruciating pain,
After he had Canadian scalpers slain.
A band of savage Indians, now drew near;
But Peyton fac'd as if forgot to fear.
As if grim death, had brandish'd high his dart;
They stood aloof, and terror fill'd each heart;
So Ajax turn'd and frown'd at Illium's cowr's;
When Grecians fled, from conq'ring Trojan pow'rs;
A living bulwark, in the rear remain'd;
The chace retarded, and the charge sustain'd;
The mean soul'd French, seem'd on his death intent;
And from the breastwork, thund'ring volleys sent.
Peyton, (as if, invulnerable,) stood,
Sedate in pain, their grov'ling rancour view'd.
For Mighty Fate, frustrated spightful Gauls;
To right, and left, wide flew the hissing balls;
As he such wonders, in their sight had done!
So bravely fought! and dear bought vict'ry won!
French harmless cannon, took a random aim;
They roar'd applause; and thunder'd loud acclaim.
Amid surrounding dangers, fiercely came:
And with his little party, rush'd along,
Before him French and Indians, fearful throng.
As bears, when chas'd, will sometimes make a stand,
And rush triumphant, thro' the hunting band;
For stolen cubs, with double fury burn!
And certain death, which way so'er they turn;
So for his fall'n friend, Macdonald stray'd,
And bore him from the field of battle dead.
As round he turn'd, his anxious busy sight,
He saw brave Peyton, in distressed plight:
Sent three fierce Highlanders, across the field;
Who from the savages, the hero shield.
'Midst volleys , flame , a & deaths, & Gallic fire;
With him, (triumphant,) from the foes retire!
Like Scipio, thro' the field, with carnage strow'd;
So he, upon the Scotchman's shoulders rode;
Now providence once more, espous'd their cause;
Again, French cannon, harmless roar'd applause!
Th' Hibernian sav'd the Caledonian's life;
And now Macdonald, thirsting after fame,
(From Indian knives,) to Peyton's rescue came,
Repuls'd, and vex'd, uncertain of supplies;
Worse view'd the lofty town, with ardent eyes;
And whilst he plann'd the methods to prevail,
(Resolv'd he would the garrison assail;)
His mighty soul, within his bosom rag'd,
And war intestine, with his body wag'd.
His enterprising mind, by glory fir'd!
His genius active! but his body slow;
To counteract, the strong, the Gallic foe;
As guns are worn, by fierce expanding flame;
Resolves intrepid, shook his tender frame!
And Britain's troops by numbers were repell'd;
Like hungry lions (foaming for their prey;)
Our troops again prepare to force their way.
As ev'ry grain, with joint impulsive force,
The bullet urges, in its rapid course;
Soldiers , and sailors, join'd against the Gauls,
With bombs, and buletts, raz'd the hostile walls.
French, and Canadians, under covert get;
Death glances swift, along the parapet.
Rais'd up aloft, descending death comes down,
Like Egypt's hail, upon the subject town!
Which mix'd with fierce æthereal flame around,
Beat man, and beast, and cattle, to the ground!
So glancing bombs, dance madly thro' the street:
And with displosion fierce, their houses greet:
Which piece-meal torn, to open view display'd,
The bases of the strongest domes are laid;
Men, women, children, midst the flame are lost!
To atoms rent; and into nothing tost;
With these, the flaming carcases conspire,
To scatter ruin, and devouring fire;
British, and Gallic guns, and mortars sound;
With roar destructive, shake th' adjacent ground!
Shrieks! groans! and yells! and hostile shouts! are heard around!
Such noise heard Satan, (that deceiver fell;)
When on the verge or chaos, night and hell.
With eager speed, they guns, and mortars ply:
And thronging deaths, of lead, and iron fly!
Our troops roar death, against the batter'd walls;
And death, receive again, from fretful Gauls.
So engineers (unseen,) approaches make:
Prepar'd (like earthquakes, tumid, from below,
To raise destructive, with sulphureous glow!
And raze the town, and fort, with instant overthrow!
Wolfe, and his troops, (with slow advances) steal,
Towards the town, still anxious to prevail.
Saunders, incessant plies his double tiers:
Makes breach, on breach, and mutiplies their fears!
With full ten thousand, Montcalm keeps the trench:
Canadians, mix'd with trembling, tim'rous French;
Quebec holds out, and much surrender dreads;
Wolfe shakes his flaming veng'ance o'er their heads!
Conscious of British blood, by murder spilt!
Of treaties broke! and sportive scalping guilt!
Of mothers ripp'd, and helpless infants cries!
Which calls forsweeping judgment from the skies!
They roll with gloomy dread, their haggard eyes!
Mean while, brave Amherst, Johnston, Rogers, warm,
With native zeal, the Continent alarm;
Townshead, and Bradstreet, Prideaux, How, advance;
With Forbes, Schomberg, 'gainst friends of France.
Braddick, and Abercromby, bold, arose;
And wag'd unequal war, against our foes.
Amherst drove on, cloath'd in stern war's alarms;
And spread the terror of Britannia's arms;
(Thro' pathless dangers, and thro' deep defiles,)
From ambush sate, and base Canadian wiles;
He past victorious, heav'n propitious smiles;
So Hannibal, o'er Alpine mountains sped,
And Carthaginians against the Romans led.
Behind, black desolation might be view'd;
Bulwarks unmann'd! & trenches drench'd in blood!
Canadian carnage, round the ramplers lay;
And treach'rous Gallic blood, mark'd out his way;
Provincials rage, and British heroes glow,
For grand revenge, against the scalping foe!
And like that death, which much fam'd Milton made,
Whom Satan found amid th' infernal shade;
And told him straight, he shou'd mankind devour,
He bless'd his maw, and wish'd the happy hour;
Grinn'd horrid smiles! and brandish'd high his dart
Prepar'd to strike each living creature's heart!
So these rejoice, (inrag'd,) with vengeful gloom!
Anticipate the day, and fix Canadia's doom!
They burn within, with fierce, and martial treads,
Their broad swords draw, & wave 'em o'er their heads!
They knit their brows, and with a stern disdain,
They frown defiance thro' the hostile plain;
For savage Montcalm, in their minds remain'd,
Who tamely stood, while Gallic Indians stain'd
With British conquer'd blood, Fort William's
When Fort William, (as well as I can remember) was taken in America, by Monsieur Montcalm, after the surrender of the fort, and our troops were marching out, (according to capitulation:) the Indians fell upon our soldiers, as they passed on, with their wives and children, and began to knock down, strip, and butcher, men, women, and children, promiscuously! whilst Monsieur Montcalm, and the French troops, stood and looked tamely on the dispersion! confusion! and carnage of the English! and on being asked by some gentlemen, (who fled to them, and claim'd their protection,) why they suffered this outrage, & cruelty? Montcalm answered them in a frivolous manner, something to this purport: that they were a desperate, savage sort of people; scarcely to be kept within bounds; their good friends and allies, served them for what plunder they could get; and claimed it as their due; (tho' sore against his will;) and as the case stood, they being so resolute, and ungovernable, he could not well tell how to restrain them. However, several who escaped in the general tumult, fled back to him, and had the great humanity shown them, to be preserved from butchery. Whilst the Indians, still continued to glut themselves, in plundering, scalping, ripping womens bodies, and dashing children brains out! at least, if all this was not done there; it was done at other places several times.
Ripp'd mothers up, and dash'd out infants brains!
As when fierce tygers roar amid the wood,
Hunting for prey, full scent on human blood;
To distant shelter, for his safety flies;
So veng'ance Amherst roar'd, the French and Indians creep,
To woods, and caves, and forts, like flocks of tim'rous sheep;
Whose dread approach, Quebec so greatly fear'd.
When Montcalm, and his troops, shou'd quit the field;
To Monckton, Wolfe, & Townshend, vanquish'd yield!
The martial trine, ascend the hostile hill,
The troops inspir'd, a manly ardour feel;
They clamber up, the ascent, rough, and steep;
Retarded oft, and oft times forc'd to creep;
From bough, to bough, themselves they onward drew;
Their resolution, with the danger grew;
Most nobly rouz'd, to act beyond compare;
And show the world, how much true Britains dare;
To give the French, another specimen,
Like Poictiers, Cressy, Blenheim, Dettingen;
And like the (sturdy,) British troops of old;
With whom the Henry's oft the Gauls controul'd,
Onward they trod, with great heroic glow,
To hew thro' squadrons of the num'rous foe;
Who from a four gun fort, to flight betake,
As Wolfe, and Monckton, their approaches make;
With which our troops, the flying Frenchmen rake!
Howe, and his troops, ascend the rocky steep,
They clear'd the path, the guards dislodg'd pursu'd,
And all our troops upon the summit stood.
There undisturb'd they rang'd, in dread array;
E'er Phoebus thither roll'd the car of day.
And now, death woke, a formidable frown;
He fill'd the battlements of hostile walls;
To right, and left sustain'd, by troops of Gauls;
Comedians black, fill'd up the howling rear;
And female shrieks, and tremor, and pale fear;
And shatter'd flaming domes, close at their heels appear;
Now Montcalm, dares t' evacuate the trench:
(Six thousand Britons brave, ten thousand French.)
Montcalm, whose name is brought, by fame, from far;
In battle brave; and much expert in war;
On whom, all France, and Lewis, had an eye;
On whose try'd conduct, chiefly they rely;
Montcalm; who had so long, great Wolfe withstood;
And as a dam, repels a mighty flood;
(Well vers'd in war, back'd by Canadian force,)
Stopp'd the brave warrior, in his rapid course;
Thus at a bay, retarded, not repell'd;
Cape Breton's scourge, & England's troops were held;
For Montcalm dares, and Wolfe with ardour glows;
The hour is come and now their eager feet;
Advance with speed, in fierce assault to meet;
And with a hostile frown, each other greet;
So Anthony, dar'd Cesar once t' oppose;
And ne'er since then, till now met two such foes;
At stake, on fortune of the doubtful day,
Canadia's weal, and Britain's honour lay.
Tho' the spruce Gauls, and Indians, rudely sneer'd,
And ask'd how Wolfe, and his eight thousand dar'd,
To come so far, against their strong Quebec;
Drawn by fond hope, to give their arms a check?
Advis'd he'd go, and this for truth report;
I can't attack, much less reduce the fort;
For Montcalm occupies the hostile plain;
Whose camp I cannot force , nor charge sustain;
Wolfe, like a lion growl'd, when held at bay;
And roar'd an answer, on this fatal day.
To meet the coming num'rous troops of France.
The Highlanders discharg'd their broad swords drew;
And close to battle, with the Frenchmen flew;
The rest, as fiercely charg'd the troops of Gaul:
When lo, Wolfe's wrist, was broken by a ball.
(Sound was his heart,) he wrapp'd it up undrest;
And (unconcern'd) among the foremost prest;
Like to a lion when the dogs surround,
By hunters vexd, and rouz'd by painful wound;
The fearless beast, does all their terrors dare,
He growls, and foams, and shakes his shaggy hair;
Aloft they stand, nor dare provoke the fight;
He roars aloud, with new collected might;
With rage indignant now, his tail he swings;
He looks; and in a storm of death he springs;
O'er dogs and horse and men, his course is bent,
Whose bodies strew the way, the gen'rous Savage went;
Thus with a rage, most Lion-like, he turn'd;
His indignation, 'gainst the Frenchmen burn'd;
So Wolfe, and Britons, pierc'd the French array;
And breathless carcases point out his way;
Where-e'er he turns, death finds an ample prey;
Thousands recede, and those who dare to stand,
Are hewn in lanes, by his victorious band.
And in his belly, dug a sanguin'd grave.
(Fearing his wounds might spread a wild dismay!
And fix the dubious fortune of the day:)
With well dissembled ease, he onward trod,
Whilst crimson'd life, (unseen,) in torrents flow'd!
So ebb'd the Spartan's stream of life away!
Whilst he alone, (with hostile host inclos'd,)
Hew'd wasteful voids; and all their pow'r oppos'd;
Who, (tho a king, in freedom's glorious cause,)
Fell a glad victim, for his country's laws;
Millions of thronging darts, obscur'd the skies:
He falls, all o'er one wound, no more to rise;
Fixt as a rock, his fame; his honour never dies;
So bleeding Wolfe march'd, on without dismay;
To glory's goal, he mark'd his purple way;
His manly breast, receives a mortal wound!
Tho' sinking down, amid the gloom of death,
The patriot's bosom glow'd with martial wrath;
And whilst the shades of night upon him steal,
Most anxiously demands, Do we prevail?
He heard we did, and e'er the hero dy'd,
He own'd himself compleatly satisfy'd;
Cato, self wounded dy'd, and scorn'd to yield:
But Wolfe, was slain, amid the glorious field;
Th' unwelcome fatal news, to England flies;
And whilst the loud acclaims of joy arise,
For conquest, on Canadia's cruel shore;
They mourn the hero, and his loss deplore;
Maternal fondness, heart felt grief express'd,
And all the mother, stood to view confess'd!
Fondly absorpt; she seem'd, in briny woe;
And sympathizing Britain felt the blow;
The mighty, warlike George, too condescends,
To own his worth, and royal pity blends;
Then sigh'd, the much renowned Ligonier;
Heroes hold heroes, eminently dear;
The much lov'd Pitt, his eloquence display'd,
In due encomiums, on the worthy dead;
Such was his rhet'rick; such the force of truth;
So great the actions of the gen'ral's youth;
In lords, and commons, such the grateful flame;
They vote a monument of lasting fame!
With glorious truth, his honour to display;
Till marble blocks, (themselves,) shall fade away;
The living leaders, gain'd a due regard;
Brunswick applauds; and Britain shouts regard;
Each patriot mourn'd; each warring leader sigh'd;
E'en cowards griev'd, when Wolfe, the hero dy'd,
Among the fair ones, plaintive murmurs ran;
We've lost the soldier; warrior; gentleman;
A sullen gloom, invades the English coast,
One of our brightest constellations lost;
Yet from our souls, he never shall depart;
Most gloriously intomb'd in ev'ry heart;
The Plebeian crowd, a grateful ardour felt;
And nobly, with his mournful parent dealt.
Adjacent great ones, scorn'd to be outdone;
Politely pensive, mourn'd her worthy son:
No fires there blaz'd, nor bright illuminations shone;
But all in secret, (with accustom'd light,)
Pity, applaud, and oft recount the fight:
To neighb'ring nations, this your fame shall sound
In sad regret, the gen'ral joy was drown'd.
This show'd your value for the patriot more,
Than blazing joy, join'd with deep throated roar.
By striplings (now,) in future days grown old,
This pleasing tale, shall to their sons be told;
Whilst Wolfe's sad mother, for her darling wept,
The tumult round her dome, in mute oblivion slept.
Hail happy woman! mother of a son!
Who may be equall'd! never be out done
This be thy boast, thy son, (Britannia's pride;)
Like great Leonidas , and Titus dy'd!
Thy dying Son was conq'ror at Quebec;
At noon of life, his glory's race was run!
Bright as meridian blaze, his setting sun!
England will ever hold his mem'ry dear!
From age, to age, the name of Wolfe revere!
Rush'd on the Gauls, and press'd toward the town!
And with his little army, dar'd advance,
Against ten thousand regulars of France.
(With many Indian tribes, drawn from afar,
Form scalping ambush, and the butch'ring war.
But these, to combat fair, scarce ever dar'd,
Where biting Caledonian broad swords glar'd.
To ambuscades they run, in shade they lie;
Nor stand the light'ning of an English eye.)
(Which stands unmov'd, amid the pond'rous shock;)
They fall in froth, and foam on ev'ry side,
Blended, and lost, amidst the briny tide.
So when their troops, our frowning troops beheld;
Receiv'd their shock, and found themselves repell'd;
And saw fierce Highlanders, their broad swords wield;
They soon fell off, disorder'd, thro' the field;
Now fell brave Wolfe, whose presence oft inspir'd
With warlike glow; and ev'ry warrior fir'd;
The brave defenders of Britannia's weal;
Which fought round Wolfe, and saw grim death prevail,
Rous'd by esteem, and love (with mighty rage)
Prepar'd most fiercely with the foe t'engage;
(Each lov'd the man, the warrior all esteem'd;
Their leader, friend, and martial father deem'd.)
Revenge! revenge! iniur'd Britannia calls!
As mighty cat'racts roar from lofty falls!
They shout, unite, and rush upon the Gauls!
And like a pond'rous overwhelming flood!
They swept along; and glutted death with food!
And Frenchmen mourn'd Wolfe's fall, in streams of blood!
Round the left shank, and rear in semicircle wheel'd;
A living rampart form'd, a fierce offensive shield;
By these, the charging enemy, were oft repell'd;
Broken, dispers'd, o'eraw'd, and at due distance held;
Or down in carnage trod, in close engagement fell'd.
Reluctant next, brave Monckton quits the field.
Oft frowning turn'd, and ey'd the hostile Gauls;
Like great Eneas, near Laurentum's walls;
Soldiers and sailors, jointly, all agreed,
Bold Monckton wou'd have done, what Townshend did
Did Townshend's bosom, glow with martial flame,
Monckton had ardour, equal to the same.
Did Townshend brave th' impetuous Gallic wrath;
So Monckton dar'd! midst show'rs of leaden death!
Was Townshend there, a Gen'ral in command,
In that exalted rank, might Monckton stand.
Was honour, death, or vict'ry, Townshend's aim;
Conquest, or death, was gallant Monckton's claim;
Each with indiff'rence, hostile dangers view'd;
And the great end, with souls resolv'd pursu'd.
Monckton led on to fierce encounter bent;
Till thro' his lungs, the rapid ball was sent.
Th' ill fated bullet, rapt his soul's design,
And sent him wounded, from th' advancing line,
He fain wou'd reap the honour of the day:
But fate demands him from the glorious fray.
When brave Patroclus, was by Hector slain;
And sage Ulysses, from the battle sent,
Came limping, wounded, near the hero's tent;
Frowning rush'd on, in mighty transport tost;
And with his pow'rs rejoin'd the friendly host;
He, and his myrmidons, like torrents flow'd;
Repell'd, bore down, and o'er the Trojans trod;
So Townshend, and his troops, to battle throng;
And urge the war, triumphantly along.
Two Gen'rals dropp'd, and he was left alone,
To lead, encourage, cheer each soldier's mind;
A work, ev'n three, an arduous task wou'd find.
Like sparkling gems, in bars of polish'd gold,
'Mongst hardy ranks, conspicuously appear;
In fronts in flanks, the center, or the rear;
Macdonald, Ince, with equal glory shine;
Fam'd in the glorious war of fifty nine,
Leaders, and soldiers, with one warring soul,
Thro' blood, and flame, and death to honour's gaol,
Onward they plung'd, with veng'ance fiercely pleas'd;
With sanguin'd grasp'd, the palm of vict'ry seiz'd;
The dying Wolfe, the shouts of conquest heard!
The welcome sound, the bleeding Monckton chear'd.
Lays heaps, on heaps, o'er all the frighted plain,
Sweeps thro' the throng, and with resistless wrath,
Spurns, tosses, gores, and tramples crowds to death!
So, thro' the ranks of war, Macpherson hew'd;
With martial soul, and manly arm endu'd;
Tho' with the weight of weak'ning years opprest,
Finds youthful ardour glowing in his breast!
That weight of years, no longer seems to feel;
But deals out death, with bright avenging steel;
Or as the Sons of Scotland, once before,
When they descended on Cape Breton shore;
Forc'd thro' the French, with fierce Herculean might,
And triumph'd 'midst the dangers of the fight;
He lifts his sword, and with repeated blow,
As peasants thro' a field of barly mow,
He lays the Gauls in heaps, in sanguin'd overthrow!
This saw our troops, and quick, from man, to man,
(As trains of powder blaze,) and ardour ran;
Grown greatly emulous, (with fixed thought,)
Each like a Hector, or Achilles fought.
In Frenchmens bodies oft, their broad swords sheath,
And onward tread, amid refulgent death;
Where'er they turn'd, a transient brightness gleam'd;
Which like th' Aurora Borealis seem'd,
With fixed bayonets, to stand the test.
As bolts, and lightnings, rive the knotted oak,
Thro' thick throng'd ranks, of charging Frenchmen broke;
As they grew warm, the Frenchmens hearts grew cold,
Platoons of soldiers, e'er the leaders roll'd;
Before the English charge, (with Gallic dread,)
Cohorts receding tumbled o'er the dead!
Battalions, and brigades, were throng'd with souls transfix'd;
In heaps, the fighting, wounded dying, dead, were mix'd;
And as in whirlwinds, on Arabia's coast,
(Amid surprize;) whole caravans are lost;
So these born down, before the British might,
(Involv'd in fear,) their safety sought in flight.
(Canadians yell! and conq'ring Britons shout!)
And spread tumultous terror round about!
He thought, (like floods, when swoln by heavy show'rs)
Begirt with Gauls, and black Canadian pow'rs,
To sweep triumphant, o'er the Indian plains;
Gave savage rage, and cruelty the reins.
The mighty pound'rous task, he could not wield:
Nor cou'd Quebec from Albion's thunder shield!
Wolfe, and his seconds, flung him vanquish'd down;
And chas'd his troops, disorder'd to the town.
Lurk'd in a halbert, pike, spontoon, or sword.
In guns, and pistols, too, he oft was found;
And flash'd out fate, with most unwelcome sound;
And oft, a broad sword, gave the deadly wound.
Fresh troops, with formidable front appear.
As if they wou'd, the nice occasion catch,
And from our troops, the infant vict'ry snatch.
To take their charge, and their design to mar,
Ours fac'd about, and met the coming war:
With efforts weak, they faintly stood the test;
Soon wheel'd, retir'd, and ran to join the rest.
Midst flame! and blood! and groans! tread Frenchmen down!
Quite to the ditch, beneath Quebec's strong walls!
They chas'd; ran down; and kill'd the trembling Gauls;
The town submitted, struck with dread surprize;
Aloft the cross, the British ensign flies;
There may it fly; there British cannon rear;
Till wolves leave prey; and Gauls deceive no more.
The place in Germany, where Monsieur Richlieu, burnt the Orphan House, and so many hundred orphans in it.
Whilst Gen. Wolfe, and Admiral Saunders, were uniting their utmost efforts, to batter, destroy, and take the town: or bring Mons. de Montcalm, (an able fortunate and brave commander) to battle: the French several times sent down from the town, on the rapid stream, fireships, and boats full of combustibles, to destroy our shipping, which almost wholly filled the channel. But by the extraordinary skill, and vigilance of Admiral Saunders; the bravery, and intrepidity of his officers, and sailors, every vessel of this kind sent against them, was tow'd ashore, without doing the least mischief.
The whole story, of the battle near the ship of the dead Pretesilaus; the compact body, and immoveable resolution, of the Grecian Phalanx, around the two Ajaces, and several other commanders, opposing the desperate, and formidable onset of Hector; (exulting in his having passed the wall, which guarded the ships, and the Grecian camp;) begirt with the fiercest, and prime warriors of his army and the numerous bands of the then triumphant Trojans, rushing furiously on after, (like a deluge,) with the fiery war: the Grecian struggles to repulse the Trojans, and save the fleet; and the Trojans efforts, to rush on, and burn the fleet, with the scale of battle turn'd, by the approach of Patroclus, in Achilles's armour, and chariot, with Hector's retreat, the Grecian navy sav'd, from Hector's flame, the Trojan rout, and carnage, which ensu'd; may be read in the fifteenth, and sixteenth book of Homer's Iliad.
The people of Babylon, when the city was besieg'd, look'd down with a fearless disdain, on the troops which beleaguer'd the walls, and trusted to their stupendous height, and strength, So Quebec, both by art and nature, was most strongly fortify'd, and render'd capable of an obstinate defence.
Mr. Ochterlony, was a Scotch gentleman, and captain of a company of Royal American grenadiers. He, and Mr. Peyton, were inseparable friends, and of unblemish d characters.
They took Mr. Peyton's laced hat from him, and robbed Capt. Ochterlony of his watch, and money, then one of the Indians, attempted to knock his brains out, with his firelock, and the other discharged into his body, and stabbed him with his scalping knife.
He was shot thro' the lungs, with musket ball wore no sword in the action, and was obliged to drop his fusee, long before; so that now, he was quite unarm'd
One of the Indians, attempted to knock him on the head, missed the blow, and laid it on his shoulder; the other discharged into his breast, and stabbed him in the belly with his scalping knife. He still stood, and call'd to Mr. Peyton, O Peyton! the villain has shot me!
They brought him on his knees, by repeated blows and efforts, and thought to strangle him with his sash but he, still (tho' so often and deadly wounded) with surprising exertion, baffled them: and after all, got into the town, liv'd some days, and died there.
Nisus, who with Uryalus, issued from Eneas's camp, slew Rhamnes, Rhemus, and many others, of the enemy camp, and marched onward, to warn Eneas of their danger; but were met by Volscens, in the wood, with 300 horse, two of which, besides Volscens, Nisus slew in revenge of the gallant Uryalus, slain by them.
These were a company of above 30, in full march, to destroy him: but when he fac'd about, the foremost halted, and waited to be join'd by their fellows, but he kept them all at a distance, till 3 brave Highlanders, (detached from a small party, headed by Capt. Macdonald, a Scotch gentleman,) came to his timely rescue, and carried him off the field of battle.
Mr. Macdonald was a Scotch gentleman, a captain in Colonel Frazers battalion, who came for a young gentleman, his kinsman, who dropped in the field of battle, and bore him in triumph off against all opposition.
They were about 60 yards from the enemy's breast- work, and troops, who kept a continual fire of cannon, and small arms, on them, but they got all triumphant off.
Young Scipio, took his father on his shoulders, when in danger, and carried him thro the enemy's battle, to a place of safety It may be read in the Carthaginian war.
Mr. Peyton at first, killed the Indians attempting to kill Capt. Ochterlony; and now Mr. Macdonald, a Scotch Captain, rescues Mr. Peyton from a party of Indians coming down upon him: the whole story may be read at large,in the british Magazine of January, 1760
It is very remarkable, the union that subsisted between the soldiers and sailors, during the long, tedious, and dangerous siege; always ready and active, to support and assist each other, and seem'd never better pleas'd, then when an opportunity offer'd of exerting themselves for each other: as if fir'd by emulation, who cou'd show themselves most alert, to gain a glorious name, and stand with the most intrepid souls, the greatest shock of danger.
On the arrival of Admiral Saunders, with General Wolfe, and the troops near Quebec, when the French understood he had but 8000 troops with him, it is reported, they almost sneer'd at him with disdain; confiding in the lofty, and strong situation of the place; and the almost double number of regulars, they had entrench'd, near the town, at the only attackable spot, under a bold, enterprising, and fortunate General; Monsieur De Montcalm, and asked where he had left the keys of Quebec? and in a taunting manner, wou'd have him return, and ask his king for them; for he cou'd not force the bars of their gates; not daring to approach near enough; because Monsieur De Montcalm occupied the vacant plain, and formed a living outwork round their rampart, too dreadful for his near approaches; and before whose war he cou'd not stand, if he chose to evacuate the trenches, and give him battle! but how contrary, the great, (and almost unhoped for) event, of all these vaunts was, every one is so well acquainted with it, that it needs no recital here. And I wish I could say, needs no grief, for the loss of so great a Patriot, and brave Commander.
Long after Leonidas, (the gallant king of Lacedæmon, in the battle at the pass of Thermopyla,) had received a wound in his flank; he still rush'd on, bore nations down! thinn'd the thick wedg'd growing ranks of Barbarions! and roll'd Asian legions back confounded, with his impetuous charge! till faint with loss of blood, and pain, his body throng'd with wounds, o'er wearied with the long continued battle, almost sated with slaughter, and born down by millions he fell, a noble instance of that magnanimity, with which the spirit of freedom animates a patriot's soul.
I often heard it reported, that the common people (when news came that Quebec was taken, and General Wolfe killed;) generously refus'd to ring, make any bonfires, or any kind tumultous joy, when General Wolfe's mother lived; and that the people of superior rank around her, as politely and generously refused to make an illumination; but sullenly seem'd to sympathize, and share her grief. A noble generosity!
Leonidas was a Spartan king, descended from Hercules; who offered to sacrifice his life that Lacedæmon might not be entirely destroyed by Xerxes, who made an attack upon their countries and liberties, with an army of about four or five millions: & as the Delphic oracle had foretold, a king descended from Hercules must die, to preseve their country; Leonidas immediately repair'd to that important pass, of the much famed Thermopylae, with three hundred of his countrymen; who with the forces of some other cities of the Peloponnesus, together with the Thebans, Thespians, and the troops of these states; composed an army, of near eight thousand men. With these be oft engaged, slew, trod down, and chased the Asians! who might be called a host of armies! but for the last fatal encounter, he reserved only about fourteen hundred with him, viz, about three hundred Spartans; four hundred Thebans; and seven hundred Thespians. With these be most bravely attacked the camp of Xerxes, forced his way to the royal pavilion! burnt half the camp! and made an incredible slaughter! but at length he fell, overpowered by millions! not till he might almost be called a conqueror, even in the center of the enemy's camp.
Titus was a young Roman warrior, son to Æmilius, consul of Rome, and governor of Aquileia; and endued with that magnanimity, and spirit of freedom, and valour, for which the ancient Romans were so much fam'd. He made a vigorous sally on the camp of Maximin; sustained by his brother Paulus, and the valiant Gartha, a Numidian officer in the troops of Æmilius, Gartha returned wounded from the battle: Paulus and Titus, the two brothers, were surrounded by an host of foes; born down, and taken prisoners; not till they had formed an heap of carnage round them, and burned the tower raised against the wall of Aquileia. But by means of the impetuous rage of the British legion, in the camp of Maximin, headed by Varus, whom Maximin flew; they were set at liberty, and Titus at the head of their resistless war, slew Maximin. But e'er the battle closed, received his mortal wound, and died in Aquileia.
It is said, in an account of the battle, that Col. Howe with his light infantry, covered the left wing and rear in such a manner, as entirely to frustrate the attempts of the enemy's Indians, and Canadians, upon that flank.
It is said, in one description of the battle, that the French troops, oft throng'd in heaps, at the repeated charges of our infantry; till at length they scatter'd, and commenc'd a total rout, in the usual French manner, full speed to the town.
M. de Bougainville, whom the feign'd movements of the English troops, had drawn up the river, turn'd back on discovering their real design; and now appear'd on the rear of the army, with a body of 2000 men. But fortunately, the main body of the French, was by this time so broken and dispersed, that the General was able to establish his rear, and to turn such an opposition on that side, that the enemy retired after a very feeble attempt.
And Monckton, for his King, & Country bled!
When conq'ring Townshend chac'd the flying Gauls!
And terror shook, Quebec's exalted walls!
Whilst leading fiercely on, to toilsome fight,
Cohorts of heroes, 'gainst unequal might.
A brave old man, judicious Townshend ey'd,
Mark'd how his sword, with gallic crimson dy'd,
Rose like a comet , with his flaming train;
And glar'd destruction thro' the hostile plain;
How oft alternate rose; how oft it set:
And setting, fell'd a Frenchman at his feet;
Saw him behind the heaps of slain retire,
To breathe awhile, and with collected ire,
Saw him again, address himself to fight;
Hew; and tread down; and put the foe to flight;
Amid the carnage, of deceitful France!
With pleasing horror! view'd the heaps of dead,
Around the worthy Caledonian spread!
Conceiv'd him straight the terror of the day!
Design'd by fate, to glut grim death with prey!
Townshend demands his age, his name, and place.
Stern he reply'd! Macpherson is my name!
From Scotia's hills, a volunteer I came.
Years, seventy-two, their influence have shed,
And roll'd successive, o'er my hoary head.
This sword I wield, now stain'd with hostile gore,
For near three hundred years, my fathers wore;
Good northern temper'd steel! a trusty blade!
With which my ancestors great havoc made!
This I hold dear! this as my life I prize!
(And terrors glanc'd from both the warrior's eyes!)
Who gave the brave old hero all his due!
Our martial King, bestows on him regard,
Gives Royal Favour, and a great reward;
Applauding crouds, with joy; his worth proclaim;
And grateful Britain, ecchoes back his fame;
Gallia, no more, we'll threat with hostile frown,
For George's smiles can pull her grandeur down.
Approving Majesty, her schemes can marr,
And rouze our troops, to glory, and to war;
Whilst with the royal smile, their labour's crown'd,
In each platoon, some heroes will be found.
In the battle, before the town of Quebec; we had an account, of Malcolm Macpherson, a brave old Highlander whom General Townshend observ'd, (after the Generals, Wolfe, and Monckton, were carried out of the line) laying about him with uncommon fury; and likewise, tho' he so often lifted his sword, he scarce dealt a blow in vain: but at every stroke, he fell d a Frenchmen at his feet! the account further says, that General Townshend mark'd when he retir'd behind the heaps of slain, (lain dead by his own hand,) to breathe awhile, as if glutted with destruction! and satiated with slaughter! and saw him pull off his coat, or jacket, and with an heroic ardour, glowing anew, (like an active flame, which had just overcome all opposition,) hew his way through thick throng'd obstructing ranks of Frenchmen! bearing down, or putting to flight, whoever came within the semi-zone, form'd by his tremendous sword! after the battle, General Townshend ask'd his name, age, and place of abode, or country. He answer'd, his name was Macpherson: come from the Highlands of Scotland; and his age was seventy-two. The sword he then fought with, had been in the family about three hundred years: he esteem'd it almost as his life; and seem'd exceeding alert! and well pleas'd! that he had us'd it on that memorable day so well, against the enemies of Caledonia! General Townshend, inspir'd with noble sentiments of the brave old hero's worth, reported his gallant behaviour to his Majesty; and seconded it with the honest rhetorick of a great soul'd commander, and a gentleman soldier! and it is well known, in all the British dominions such his Majesty loves; who not forgetting the martial fire of his own youth! (of which Dettingen remains a glorious instance!) gave him his royal favour, and a commission; by which he is for the future, intitled to the character of Malcom Macpherson, Gent. And it is said, the people of London were not behind hand, in their gratitude; but when he pass'd, wou'd cry out with a pleasing exclamation! there goes the gallant Scotchman! the intrepid Highlander! who laid the French in heaps, at the battle of Quebec! God bless the brave old boy, with his broad sword! &c.
| War | |