Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

Four soldiers raised him up, and carrying him to the rear laid him gently upon the grass. He appeared to be unconscious, but when a soldier near him exclaimed–

"See how they run!"

"Who run?" asked the dying soldier, opening his eyes.

"The enemy, sir! They give way everywhere!" was the reply.

"Then tell Colonel Burton to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River to cut off their retreat from the bridge. Now, God be praised! I will die in peace," were the last words of General Wolfe. That day England gained an Empire, but lost a hero.

The three scouts had finished their task when they led the forlorn hope up the precipice and on to the Plains, but they were not to be denied a share in the fight, for they had received permission to join the ranks of the centre column, which was under the personal command of Wolfe, and bore the brunt of the fight on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. They were in the forefront of that wild rush to the bridge, where the fight was thickest, and where many hundreds were hurled into the St. Charles River, and where Montcalm's retreat was effectually blocked and victory made secure.

The battle was over now, for though one of the most glorious, it was one of the briefest in history, and though they had lost each other in the pursuit, the three comrades were glad to rejoin the ranks at the roll-call on the Plains and find each other alive and well, except for minor wounds, though the joy of victory was damped and a chill went to every heart when the word was passed down the ranks that their illustrious leader had fallen.

Next morning General Townshend passed to the head of every regiment in succession, and thanked the troops for their brilliant services, and soon afterwards one of his aide-de-camps approached the scouts and requested their immediate presence in the General's tent. They followed him, wondering that he had not forgotten them altogether in the excitement of so great a victory. When they stood in his presence they saluted and waited for him to speak.

"Jamie Stuart and Jack Elliot!" said General Townshend, and instantly several other officers, who had been busily engaged writing dispatches for England, rose and stood at attention. "In the name of His Most Gracious Majesty, King George the Second, I thank you for the eminent services you have rendered to your country. I have appointed you both from this day to be ensigns in the Royal Americans. Here are your commissions. Right nobly have you won them. May you be spared long to serve your country! God save the King!"

The youths were overwhelmed with this generous tribute from so great a soldier. They could find no words to express their gratitude for this signal honour conferred upon them. A commission in His Majesty's victorious army seemed too great a reward for their poor services, so each raised his hand to the salute again and repeated the General's words–

"God save the King!"

The General then turned to the hunter, who had been an interested and sympathetic witness of this stirring scene, but as he spake his voice softened, for he had noticed that down the bronzed cheek of the old man there trickled a tear.

"Frontiersman, what is your name?" he asked.

There was a pause, and for a few seconds the hunter's eyes were turned to Jamie, and a strange far-away look came into his face. Then in a half-broken voice he answered–

"John Stuart of Burnside! An exile!"

"Father!" burst from Jamie's lips, and the next instant the paleface hunter and his son were hugging each other with joy.

The next moment General Townshend advanced to the hunter, and pinning the King's medal upon his breast, he said–

"He is no longer an exile who wears this honoured decoration. John Stuart, I thank you for the work you have already done, but there are still further services that I wish to ask of you. I understand that your knowledge of the river and the forest from this point to Mont Royale is unsurpassed by that of any person in the camp. Your knowledge will shortly be invaluable to us. I appoint you as Frontiersman and Chief Guide to the British Army in the Canadas, and, furthermore, I desire to say that His Majesty shall be reminded after the war of the important services which I trust you will then have rendered to your country."

"General," said the hunter, "I am an exile from my native land, but I have never committed a crime, and my conscience is clear. England has treated me unkindly, but I love my country, and without any thought of reward I freely offer you my services. If necessary, I will gladly die for my country."

"Thank you, Frontiersman!" said the General, touched by these words. "A grateful country will not forget your devotion to her interests in the hour of her need. May every son of Britain likewise forget his private wrongs in England's hour of danger."

Four days later, on that memorable 17th of September, 1759, the white flag was hung out from the citadel at Quebec, and on the next day the Gibraltar of North America passed for ever from its old masters into the hands of Britain.

"Look, Jack! The French ensign is coming down," said Jamie, and they both looked towards the citadel, and a moment afterwards, amid the clash of martial music, the salute of the batteries, and the wild cheering of the soldiers, the English flag waved proudly over the fort and the river.

"There, Jamie, our dream has come true, it's the old flag at last, and, thank God, we have helped to plant it there."

After the fall of Quebec, the paleface hunter and the two youths accompanied the army in its victorious march upon Mont Royale, and when the war was over they returned to England. Jack survived his two brothers, and in time became the Squire of Burnside, and I find that to John Stuart, Esquire, of Burnside, Yorkshire, a grant of Crown land was made for his services to his country, and that the old farmhouse, which still stands, above the wood and the trout-stream, was built by him and his son Jamie in 1775. And there they lived happily for many years, and there Jamie's descendants live to this day, for only two years ago, while visiting his ancestral home and poring over ancient deeds and the old family Bible, with its records and dates, the author discovered this forgotten story of adventure and peril.