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round Wolfe's left, but if their fire was galling, their effort was too uncontrolled to be effective. About 10 A.M. the French main body advanced, but their ragged fire drew no reply from the British line, obedient to Wolfe's instructions that a cool welllevelled fire is much more destructive and formidable than the quickest fire in confusion." He himself was shot through the wrist, but, wrapping a handkerchief round it, continued his calls to the men to hold their fire. At last, when the French were barely forty yards distant, the word was given, and the British line delivered a shattering volley, repeated it, and then, on Wolfe's signal, charged a foe already disintegrating. At the head of his picked grenadiers Wolfe was an inevitable target. A bullet penetrated his groin, a second his lungs, and he fell, unobserved by the charging ranks. Only an officer and two others, soon joined by an artillery officer, saw what happened, and began to carry him to the rear. But realising that the wound was mortal, he bade them put him down, and stopped them sending for a surgeon. A few minutes later his spirit had passed. His dying words, when told that the enemy were on the run"Now God be praised, I die happy"—are historic. But the words immediately preceding these are a finer tribute to him as a general-even on the point of death: "Go, one of you, with all speed to Colonel

Burton, and tell him to march Webb's regiment down to the St Charles River, and cut off the retreat of the fugitives to the bridge."

Monckton, too, had fallen wounded, and the command thus passed to Townshend, who checked the pursuit which might have rushed the city gates on the heels of the flying foe-in order to reform the army and turn about to face Bougainville's belated approach. The sight of the British, emphasised by a few preliminary shots, was sufficient to convince Bougainville that his small force had best seek a safe haven, and he retreated rapidly.

In the city all was confusion, for Montcalm had been gravely wounded in the rout, and that night the wreckage of the French army streamed away up the river in flight. With the death of the gallant Montcalm-to complete as dramatic a battle as history records-and Townshend's energetic pressing of the siege, Quebec surrendered four days later; and as its fall virtually gave Canada to Britain, so within a few years the removal of the French danger to the American colonies paved the way for their revolt, and thus to the creation of that vast

new "seat of power which Wolfe's vision had foreseen. He is known as the conqueror of Canada and as one of the progenitors of the British Empire; he might equally be termed the grandfather of the

United States. But if he had lived, they might never have come into being, for with our knowledge of the way their struggle for independence hovered in the balance, for long tilting towards the British side, and of the half-heartedness of many in the revolting colonies, it is probable rather than possible that his decisive military action would have quelled the rebellion. We may go farther if his military operation had cut out the hostile growth, it is possible that a repetition of the wise and generous measures which he had recommended for French Canada might have healed the wound.

As a soldier, Wolfe's brief career makes it impossible to estimate his place among the Great Captains. Potentially he was among the greatest, and as a man had proved among the finest. Moreover, he had achieved the most masterly example in history of an amphibious operation, that combined "land and water coup which

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is inherent in our traditions and the key to our world power; which by exploiting the mobility given by our command of the sea for a sudden "bolt from the blue" endows our military striking forces with an influence out of all proportion to their slender size. And he had done enough to perpetuate the lesson that it is military genius and not mere competence which decides the fate of nations. To-day our army is in its average of ability as high as in Wolfe's day it was low: yet, and for this very reason, it would be inherently impossible for military genius to force its way to the front at an early age; and history tells us that genius commonly flowers young. Is the inference that only a bad or an improvised army can produce a great general? general? Not only Wolfe, but Napoleon, Moore, Wellington, Lee, and Stonewall Jackson, support it in modern times. Another paradox from mystery of history.



I AM not a sailor. I have never been a sailor, nor do I ever wish to be a sailor. Alleged soul-stirring songs about harbour bars and homes on rolling deeps somehow leave me unmoved. I have never consciously craved for the fresh salty winds of the sea, nor yet been thrown into ecstasy by the tarry smell of a rope, and it was for these very sufficient reasons that I fought so hard against becoming part-owner of a yacht.

Why Herrington ever wanted the yacht was always a mystery to me. We had the road, the desert, and the air as our highway, and who, having these, has any need of the sea? Nobody with any sense, surely; but then Herrington hadn't any


Jimmy Herrington was my observer. He didn't belong to the same squadron, but when I was sent from India to Aden to replace a man who had been shot down in flames, I found that he was allocated to my machine. In this particular sphere he was quite all right. As an observer he possessed both skill and quickness, and if I had any fault at all to find with him, it was the way he insisted upon singing sea chanties while in the air. He had a most ridiculous habit of leaning over the edge of the

nacelle and twanging the flying wires-harp fashion-by way of accompaniment, and this twanging sound was so exactly like the spang of the tribesmen's bullets in the taut canvas of our wings that I often thought we were in hot water when we weren't.

I think I had been in Aden some three months when he first mooted this yacht question.

Our mess was at Khormaksah, a place some three or four miles from Steamer Point, and it appeared that upon one of our daily excursions to the club, Herrington-nosing round the harbour-had unearthed a boat which was for sale. Thereafter he lived, practically speaking, down in the harbour; but at the end of a week, finding himself unable to beat down the Arab owner to a price compatible with his bank balance, he put the whole question to a mess meeting with the suggestion that we should form a combine and buy the boat.

There were six of us in the mess, and we rose as one man. We didn't want a yacht. We knew nothing about yachts. And nothing on earth would persuade us to put our good money into such a hare-brained scheme.

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motto," replied the Flight Commander loftily.

"Well, an amateur lifeboatman, then," agreed the Flight That's not a

"And it's about all you're Commander. good for, too!"

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bad assortment for one mess."

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"Oh, I suppose you're all asked Herrington, once more afraid!" returning to the attack. "Look "I hate being sea-sick," I here-I'll put it this way. agreed. You're all afraid to risk your precious skins with me. Isn't that so? "

66 Sea-sick! You'd be seasick if you looked at a steamer ticket, some of you!"

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"But look here, Herrington," put in some one else, if you're so mighty keen on this sea business, why the dickens didn't you join the Navy?

"I should have if I'd been able."

"Then why didn't you?" "Because I hadn't served professionally."

"Then what have you done?" Herrington's chest expanded. "You ask me what I've done, you rotten lot of landlubbers? I'll tell you what I've done. I've pulled No. 4 in the Ramsgate lifeboat

"Eh? we asked all together. "No. 4 in the Ramsgate lifeboat!" he repeated proudly.

"Then "the Flight Commander looked round the table -"we've got a civil engineer, an accountant, an oil company director, a what are you, Green?"

"A chicken farmer!" said he promptly, amid roars of laughter.

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For a moment there was silence, while I found time to wonder what on earth he was getting at. Presently he spoke again.

"I was thinking that if you pulled it off, the four hundred rupees we should win, plus

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"I see! "I laughed. "That's the idea, is it?" And swinging the old Henri round I started back along the picquet-line.

For some time past we had had a kitty in the mess consisting of four hundred rupees -a hundred from each pilotwhich was to be the prize for the first man who should successfully fly between the masts of the naval wireless station which was situated alongside our aerodrome. In common with the other three I had very carefully measured the width of those poles on more occasions than one, and I knew that there were eighteen inches to spare on either wing tip. It was the top clearance alone which had so far stopped any of us attempting it, even though the Lieutenant in charge swore that there was sufficient clearance to enable us to pass through.

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"What about it? asked Herrington again, as the clock on the instrument board showed that our patrol was nearly finished.

It was a fine morning. There wasn't a breath of wind or a cloud in the sky. I thought of the prestige to be gained, of the fury of the other three.

"I'll give you a half share in the boat," wheedled Herrington.

Then hold your bonnet on!" I shouted suddenly. "But if I kill you, don't blame me ! " "I won't," he yelled.

The patrol finished, we turned back to the aerodrome, and, crossing the salt pans at two thousand feet, glided down over the wireless station. For a few minutes we circled round until we saw the naval man come running out of his hut. I waved my arm over the side and pointed to the masts-we were only about two hundred feet up at this time, and he instantly grasped the idea that I was about to attempt the passage. That was all we wanted, and flying back for a mile or so I came down to fifty feet, and, opening the throttle, drove straight at it.

Herrington had ceased to sing. In front of me stood the two posts with the bracing wires stretched taut from top to bottom. It was those wires I had to watch, for to touch one of them-at my speedwould simply result in the wings being cut clean in half. The impulse to turn away at the very last instant was almost irresistible. A second later we were through, and with a wild whoop from Herrington I turned and raced towards the aerodrome. By the time we landed my back hair had just about begun to lie down again. It had been a nerveracking business.

Fork out the four hundred !" shouted Herrington, bursting in upon the mess at breakfast. What d'you mean?" asked the Flight Commander.


"We've been under the wireless!" said I, trying to look nonchalant.

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