Canadian Notabilities, John Charles Dent [brene brown rising strong .TXT] 📗

of the English, for whom his honour was plighted, he would have done well to have kept that honour unsullied by observing the plain terms of capitulation, and providing a suitable escort. Instead of calling upon the British--hampered as they were by the presence of their sick, and of their women and children--to defend themselves, he should have called upon his own troops to protect his honour and that of France. Had his promised escort been provided no attempt would have been made by the Indians, and the tragedy at Oswego might in process of time have come to be regarded as a mere mischance. But no such excuse can now be of any avail. According to some accounts of this second massacre, no escort whatever was furnished. According to others, the escort was a mere mockery, consisting of a totally inadequate number of French troops, who were very willing to see their enemies butchered, and who did not even make any attempt to restrain their allies. All that can be known for certain is, that if there was any escort at all it was wholly ineffective; and, leaving humanity altogether out of the question, this was in itself an express violation of the terms upon which the garrison had been surrendered. The massacre at Fort William Henry followed one short year after that at Oswego, and the two combined have left a stain upon the memory of the man who permitted them which no time can ever wash away.
Time and space alike fail us to describe at length the subsequent campaigns of that and the following year. Montcalm's defence of Fort Ticonderoga on the 8th of June, 1758, was a masterly piece of strategy, and was unmarred by any incident to detract from the honour of his victory, which was achieved against stupendous odds. Ticonderoga continued to be Montcalm's headquarters until Quebec was threatened by the British under Wolfe; when he at once abandoned the shores of Lake Champlain, and mustered all his forces for the defence of the capital of the French colony.
The siege of Quebec has been described at length in a former sketch, and it is unnecessary to add much to that description here. It will be remembered how Wolfe landed at _L'Anse du Foulon_ in the darkness of the night of September 12th, 1759, and how the British troops scaled the precipitous heights leading to the Plains of Abraham. Intelligence of this momentous event reached Montcalm, at his headquarters at Beauport, about daybreak on the morning of the 13th. "Aha," said the General, "then they have at last got to the weak side of this miserable garrison." He at once issued orders to break up the camp, and led his army across the St. Charles River, past the northern ramparts of the city, and thence on to the plains of Abraham, where Wolfe and his forces were impatiently awaiting his arrival. The battle was of short duration. The first deadly volley fired by the British decided the fortunes of the day, and the French fled across the plains in the direction of the citadel. Montcalm, who had himself received a dangerous wound, rode hither and thither, and used his utmost endeavour to rally his flying troops. While so engaged he received a mortal wound, and sank to the ground. From that moment there was no attempt to oppose the victorious British, whose general had likewise fallen in the conflict.
Montcalm's wound, though mortal, was not immediately so, and he survived until the following day. When the surgeons proceeded to examine his wound the general asked if it was mortal. They replied in the affirmative. "How long before the end?" he calmly enquired. He was informed that the end was not far off, and would certainly, arrive before many hours. "So much the better," was the comment of the dying soldier--"I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec." The commander of the garrison asked for instructions as to the further defence of the city, but Montcalm declined to occupy himself any longer with worldly affairs. Still, even at this solemn moment, the courteous urbanity by which he had always been distinguished did not desert him. "To your keeping," he said, to De Ramesey, "I commend the honour of France. I wish you all comfort, and that you may be happily extricated from your present perplexities. As for me, my time is short, and I have matters of more importance to attend to than the defence of Quebec I shall pass the night with God, and prepare myself for death." Not long afterwards he again spoke: "Since it was my misfortune to be discomfitted and mortally wounded, it is a great consolation to me to be vanquished by so great and generous an enemy. If I could survive this wound, I would engage to beat three times the number of such forces as I commanded this morning with a third of their number of British troops." His chaplain arrived about this time, accompanied by the bishop of the colony, from whom the dying man received the last sacred offices of the Roman Catholic religion. He lingered for some hours afterwards, and finally passed away, to all outward seeming, with calmness and resignation.
It seems like an ungrateful task to recur to the frailties of a brave and chivalrous man, more especially when he dies in the odour of sanctity. But as we ponder upon that final scene in the life of the gay, charming, brilliant Marquis of Montcalm, we cannot avoid wondering whether the "sheeted ghosts" of the wounded men, helpless women, and innocent babes who were so ruthlessly slaughtered at Oswego and William Henry flitted around his pillow in these last fleeting moments. Notwithstanding the fact that his mind seemed to receive solace from the solemn rites in which he then took part, we have never read the account of those last hours of Montcalm without being reminded of the lines of the British Homer descriptive of the death of him who fell "on Flodden's fatal field."
The exact place of Montcalm's death has never been definitely ascertained. Various sites are indicated by different authorities, but no conclusive evidence has been adduced in support of the claims of any of them. It is, however, known for certain that his body was interred within the precincts of the Ursuline Convent at Quebec, where a mural tablet was erected by Lord Aylmer to his memory in 1832. The following is a translation of the inscription:--
HONOUR TO MONTCALM!
FATE, IN DEPRIVING HIM OF VICTORY,
RECOMPENSED HIM BY A GLORIOUS DEATH.
A few years ago his remains were disinterred, and his skull, with its base enclosed in a military collar, is religiously preserved in a glass case on a table in the convent. The monument to the joint memory of Wolfe and Montcalm has been referred to in a previous sketch.
Thus lived and died the Marquis of Montcalm. He was forty-seven years of age at the time of his death, and was constitutionally younger than his years would seem to indicate. A Canadian historian thus sums up the brighter side of his character: "Trained from his youth in the art of war; laborious, just, and self-denying, he offered a remarkable exception to the venality of the public men of Canada at this period, and in the midst of universal corruption made the general good his aim. Night, the rushing tide, veteran discipline, and more brilliant genius had given his rival the victory. Yet he was not the less great; and while the name of Wolfe will never be forgotten, that of Montcalm is also engraved by its side on the enduring scroll of human fame. The latter has been censured for not abiding the chances of a siege, rather than risking a battle. But with a town already in ruins, a garrison deficient in provisions and ammunition, and an enemy to contend with possessed of a formidable siege-train, the fire of which must speedily silence his guns, he acted wisely in staking the issue on a battle, in which, if he found defeat, he met also an honourable and a glorious death."


LORD ELGIN.

James Bruce, who afterwards became eighth Earl of Elgin and twelfth Earl of Kincardine, was born in London, on the 20th of July, 1811. He was the second son of his father, the seventh Earl, whose embassy to Constantinople at the beginning of the present century was indirectly the means of procuring for him a reputation which will probably endure as long as the English language. All readers of Byron are familiar with the circumstances under which this reputation was gained. In the year 1799, Lord Elgin was despatched by the British Government as envoy extraordinary to Constantinople. During his embassy he had occasion to visit Athens, where he found that the combined influence of time and the Turks was rapidly destroying the magnificent vestiges of the past wherewith the city and its neighbourhood abounded. Actuated by a wish to preserve some of these relics of departed greatness--and probably wishing to connect his name with their preservation--he conceived the idea of removing a few of the more interesting of them to England. Without much difficulty he obtained permission from the Porte to take away from the ruins of ancient Athens "any stones that might appear interesting to him." The British Government declined to lend its assistance to what some members of the Cabinet regarded as an act of spoliation, and Lord Elgin was thus compelled to carry out the project at his own expense. He hired a corps of artists, labourers, and other assistants, most of whom were specially brought from Italy to aid in the work. About ten years were spent in detaching from the Parthenon, and in excavating from the rubbish at its base, numerous specimens of various sculptures, all or most of which were presumed to have been the handiwork of Phidias and his pupils. Other valuable sculptures were disinterred from the ruins about the Acropolis, and elsewhere in the neighbourhood. Upon the arrival in England of these great works of ancient art all the world of London went to see and admire them. In 1816 they were purchased for the nation for L35,000, and placed in the British Museum, where they still remain. Many persons, however, censured Lord Elgin for what they called his Vandalism in removing the relics from their native land. Among those who assailed him on this score was Lord Byron, who hurled anathemas at him both in prose and verse. "The Curse of Minerva" may fairly be said to have made Lord Elgin's name immortal. The case made against him in that fierce philippic, however, is grossly one-sided, as the author himself subsequently acknowledged; and there is a good deal to be said on the other side. The presence of these magnificent sculptures in the British Museum gave an impetus to sculpture not only throughout Great Britain, but to a less extent throughout the whole of Western Europe. It should also be remembered that had they been permitted to remain where they were they would most likely have been totally destroyed long before now in some of the many violent scenes of which Athens has since been the theatre. Some art critics have--more especially of late years--decried the workmanship of these marbles, and have argued that they could not possibly have been the work of Phidias. It is beyond doubt, however, that they display Greek art at a splendid and mature stage of development, and their value to the British nation is simply beyond price.
The subject of this sketch was destined to achieve a higher and less dubious reputation than that of his father. Being only a second son, he was not born heir-apparent to the family title and estates, and his education was completed before--in consequence of the death