An Island Story, H. E. Marshall [learn to read books txt] 📗
- Author: H. E. Marshall
- Performer: -
Book online «An Island Story, H. E. Marshall [learn to read books txt] 📗». Author H. E. Marshall
Among the men whom Pitt sent to fight in America was a young man called James Wolfe. Wolfe was sent from England with eight thousand soldiers, and was told that he must take Quebec, the capital of Canada. He reached Canada and sailed up the St. Lawrence, greatly to the surprise of the French, for it was a very difficult passage, full of rocks and banks of sand. Yet Wolfe took his great war-ships where the French would have feared to venture with their little trading vessels. He anchored opposite Quebec, and landed his soldiers on the island of Orleans.
Quebec was a very strong town. It was built upon rocks high above the river, and was defended by the great French general, Montcalm.
For a long time Wolfe tried in vain to take the town. Montcalm was too clever and watchful. Day by day passed, and Wolfe grew ill with care and weariness. Many of his soldiers were killed, and the fresh troops which he expected did not arrive. At last he decided upon a bold and daring plan.
There was one place which the French did not guard very strongly, because they thought it was quite impossible for the British to attack them there. This was a steep cliff. But Wolfe noticed that there was a narrow pathway up this cliff, and he decided to take his soldiers by that path. He felt so doubtful of success, however, that he wrote a sad letter home before he made the attempt. “I have done little for my country,” he said, “I have little hope of doing anything, but I have done my best.”
One dark night the British soldiers were rowed over the river. No one spoke, every one moved as quietly as possible. The oars even were muffled, so that the sound of rowing might not be heard by the French. Only Wolfe, as his boat went silently down the river, repeated a poem to his officers in a low voice. The poem was called “An Elegy in a Country Churchyard” and it had been written a few years before by an English poet called Gray.
“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
��The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
��And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
“Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
��And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
��And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.”
That is how the poem begins. It is a long poem, and very beautiful, and, when Wolfe had finished repeating it, he turned to his officers and said, “Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec.”
The boat reached the Quebec side of the river, and Wolfe was among the first to spring ashore. Silently, quickly, with beating hearts and held breath, the men followed. Then as silently and quickly the boats put off again, for there had been room in them only for half the soldiers, and they returned to bring the rest.
The climb up the narrow pathway began. It was so narrow in places that only one could go at a time. But every man was full of courage and hope. They struggled up as best they could, clinging on to bushes, rocks, roots of trees, anything that would give them the least grip for hand or rest for foot. A regiment of Highlanders were among the first to lead the way, for they were used to scrambling and climbing among the rocks of their homeland.
Nearer and nearer to the top they came, unseen and unheard by the French sentinels above. But at last the rustling among the bushes and leaves down the slope caught their ear. “What was that?” they asked, and fired at random down into the darkness. But it was too late, the first soldiers had reached the height, others followed after them and, terrified at the sudden appearance of men where they had thought no men could be, the French sentinels ran away.
As soon as the British reached the top, they fell into fighting order, and when day broke, the sun shone on their red coats as they stood drawn up in line upon the heights of Abraham, as the place was called.
At first the French leader, Montcalm, could hardly believe that he saw aright. Then he said quietly, “I see them where they ought not to be. We must fight them, and I am going to crush them.”
A fierce battle followed. Wolfe was struck in the wrist, but he tied his handkerchief round it and went on fighting and giving orders, as if nothing had happened. A second time he was hit. Still he went on. A third shot struck him in the breast. Then he sank to the ground with a groan.
Wolfe was quickly carried out of the fight, but nothing could be done for him. He was dying. His officers stood sadly round him, when suddenly one of them cried, “See, they run, they run.”
“Who run?” asked Wolfe, opening his eyes and trying to raise himself.
“The enemy, sir,” replied the officer, “they are running everywhere.”
“Thank God,” said Wolfe, “I die happy.” Then he fell back and never spoke again.
The brave French leader, Montcalm, was also killed in this battle. “So much the better,” he said, when he was told that he was dying. “I shall not live to see Quebec surrender.”
Quebec did surrender, and Canada was won, and ever since then it has belonged to Britain, and to-day it is one of the greatest of her colonies.
A few days after Wolfe’s sad letter reached hone, another both sad and joyful followed. It told of the taking of Quebec; it told, too, of the death of the brave young leader.
“Not once or twice in our fair island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory:
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro’ the long gorge to the far light has won
His path upward, and prevail’d,
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled
Are close upon the shining table-lands
To which our God Himself is moon and sun.
Such was he: his work is done.
But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,
And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure:
Till in all lands and thro’ all human story,
The path of duty be the way to glory.”
GEORGE III.—THE STORY OF HOW AMERICA WAS LOST
GEORGE II. died in October 1759 A.D., and was succeeded by his grandson George III., whose father, the Prince of Wales, had died some years before.
George III. had been born in England, and seemed more of an Englishman than either George I. or George II. For that reason, and because he was young and handsome, the people were glad when he came to the throne. But he proved himself to be an unwise King, and it was during his reign that Britain suffered a great loss—the loss of all the American colonies except Canada.
The wars which Britain had been fighting all over the world had cost a great deal of money. When Pitt saw a thing needed to be done he did not stop to ask how much it would cost—he did it and afterwards the country had to find ways and means of paying. War always costs a great deal, and the country had been fighting so much that it was now deeply in debt. The King’s ministers, therefore, had to find some new way of raising money. It seemed to them that, as the war in America had been for the benefit of the colonies, the colonists ought to pay some of the cost. This being so, King George decided to tax the Americans.
You know what a tax means. If a certain thing costs one shilling a pound, and the Government said, “We will put a tax of twopence a pound on this thing,” then it would cost one shilling and twopence, and the extra twopence would go to Government to help to pay the expenses of the country. For it requires money to keep up a country just as much as to keep up a house.
You also know that the King could not make the people pay taxes without the consent of Parliament. That was a right for which the people and Parliament had fought over and over again, and which they had won at last. And if Parliament consented to a tax, it was really the people who consented, as the members of Parliament were chosen by the people.
Now the people of America sent no members to the British Parliament. When King George tried to make them pay taxes, they at once said, “No, that is not just. It is against the laws of Britain. If we are to pay taxes we must be allowed to send members to Parliament as England and Scotland do. If we are to pay taxes we must have a share in making the laws and saying how the money is to be spent.”
This was quite reasonable, but King George was not reasonable, He said, “No.”
The Americans were very angry at this, and they made up their minds to do without the things which the King wanted to tax. This was very hard for them, especially as one of the things taxed was tea. You can imagine how difficult it would be to do without tea.
While these things were happening, the great Pitt had been ill. When he was well again, and heard what George III. and his foolish ministers had been doing, he was very angry. He said the Americans were quite right, and he talked so fiercely that all the taxes were taken off again, except the one on tea. George insisted on keeping that on. He was very angry with both Pitt and the Americans. He called them rebels, and Pitt the “trumpet of rebellion.”
But the Americans would not yield even to one tax. There were meetings all over the States and the young men banded together under the name of “The Sons of Liberty.” They swore to do anything rather than use taxed tea.
At last ships arrived in Boston harbor laden with tea. The Americans knew that if once that tea got ashore it would be very difficult to keep the people from buying it. They determined that it should not be landed.
While some of the wise people were talking and advising each other as to what should be done, about twenty young men dressed themselves as Red Indians. They painted their faces brown, stuck feathers in their hair, and put on clothes such as Red Indians wore.
Red Indians are the natives of America and, although they have nearly died out now, in those days it was quite common to see them even in the towns.
With wild war whoops these make-believe Red Indians ran to the harbor. They sprang on board the tea ships, they seized the chests, opened them with their hatchets, and poured the tea into the water. Chest after chest, chest after chest was burst open, and the tea poured over the ship’s side, till three hundred and forty-two chests had been emptied, and the harbor was black with tea leaves.
Many an honest merchant looked sadly on, many a thrifty housewife
Comments (0)