James Wolfe was in his thirty-third year. His father was an officer of
distinction, Major-General Edward Wolfe, and he himself, a delicate and
sensitive child, but an impetuous and somewhat headstrong youth, had
served the King since the age of fifteen. From childhood he had dreamed
of the army and the wars. At sixteen he was in Flanders, adjutant of his
regiment, discharging the duties of the post in a way that gained him
early promotion and, along with a painstaking assiduity, showing a
precocious faculty for commanding men. He passed with credit through
several campaigns, took part in the victory of Dettingen, and then went
to Scotland to fight at Culloden. Next we find him at Stirling, Perth,
and Glasgow, always ardent and always diligent, constant in military
duty, and giving his spare hours to mathematics and Latin. He presently
fell in love; and being disappointed, plunged into a variety of
dissipations, contrary to his usual habits, which were far above the
standard of that profligate time.
At twenty-three he was a lieutenant-colonel, commanding his regiment in
the then dirty and barbarous town of Inverness, amid a disaffected and
turbulent population whom it was his duty to keep in order: a difficult
task, which he accomplished so well as to gain the special commendation
of the King, and even the goodwill of the Highlanders themselves. He
was five years among these northern hills, battling with ill-health, and
restless under the intellectual barrenness of his surroundings.
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