Montcalm and Wolfe
by Francis Parkman
About a dozen years ago I finally got round to reading James Fenimore Cooper's “Last of the Mohicans”. A shocking tale, I thought, and one that portrayed the Huron - a native people of North America - as utter savages. Let's be clear about that term (which Parkman uses throughout his “Montcalm and Wolfe”): savage denotes those who would practice cruelty as a matter of course; force prisoners of war to 'run the gauntlet'; and - in prima facie evidence of the accusation - cut the scalp from a wounded man, woman or child; all the while, glorying in such deeds as their natural right. Cooper's book is pretty lurid in this respect.
As someone who spent a rather severe winter living in a North American Tipi – though in the Southern English countryside – I had gained something of a first hand respect for the so-called Red Indians because of their close-to-nature lifestyle. Not that I was surprised by Cooper's account of the Huron, but I have to say I was expecting redeeming qualities. Which, of course, are present in the honour and humanity of Uncas and his father Chingachgook (the last of the Mohicans). But the savagery of Magua and the other Huron is not redeemed by such of the 'Indians' deemed 'friendly' by Whites. Besides which, Cooper was probably guilty of romanticising both the good and the evil of his characters; and it's not surprising to learn (from his own words) that his take on native America was derived from books rather than living in Tipis or Wigwams (whatever they are). In contrast, Parkman had first hand experience of life with native Americans (the Sioux), though he was in the habit of calling even the Christianised ones 'savages'.
Another reason for picking up Parkman's book was the puzzle of Canada. I have often wondered why it was that whereas the United States, with their historic family connections to the British Isles, could fight for their independence - while Canada, only newly wrestled from the French, should fight to remain loyal to the crown? This is not something you can Google in an hour or two. Last year, we had a couple of Quebecois students couch-surfing with us and one of them was of native stock. Exchanging ideas in broken French and English we learned where they stood on independence for Quebec and - for that matter - on Scotland. While Canadians are not known for their warmth or sense of humour, these boys were everything you'd hope for in the next generation: well brought up, alternative looking, concerned & talented. But you'd hardly guess we shared the same royals. It's a strange old world in which countries and nationalities are not what they used to be.
As you can see, whenever I read a book, I want it to engage with the world I live in; even if it's a history book written more than a century ago. Parkman's “Montcalm & Wolfe” was first published in 1884, but when I came across a 1984 centenary edition – hrdbck. gd-cnd. – in a second-hand book store here in Bursa, I had no hesitation buying it, knowing I would be motivated to read it in a short time – and start making connections.
The title is a bit of a misnomer, as General Montcalm - commander of the French forces in New France - does not make an appearance in the first 200 pages; and to meet General Wolfe - who led the main assaults on Louisville and Quebec – the reader must get deep into the second half of the book. In the meantime, a dozen & more characters of equal or near-equal stature appear. Prominent amongst those who, like Montcalm and Wolfe, lost their lives on the fields was Braddock, a conventional English general mortally wounded at the battle of Monongahela. Of still greater prominence is George Washington, who was a volunteer captain with Braddock's tragic expedition to Fort Duquesne. Parkman's method is to give rounded portraits of all his main protagonists, so the title of this book (one of a series he wrote on the British and French in North America) functions as a token of its contents rather than a summary.
Herein lies one of the faults with Parkman's shameless historicism. He is forever partisan towards the Americans in the field (if not at home), usually against the French, often against the Canadians & Indians, and ultimately (despite admiring glances) against the British. For example, over Duquesne: he rates Washington's good sense above Braddock's heroism, praising the American's advice of splitting the column in two, with the Englishman leading a flying wing into Beaujeu's experienced Canadian woodsmen. But he then fails to point out one result of this very strategy leads the British - after being ambushed - to come crashing back into the rear guard. And whereas Braddock is then portrayed as a hero for rallying the regulars - implying it is all a folly anyway - Washington is allowed to criticise the British soldiers for a friendly-fire incident without comment. The tendency to style Washington as a dashing volunteer in the British army (as though his home state was never under any threat from New France) didn't start with Parkman; but he, as the virtual founder of American historical studies, does not seek to be objective about the famed Virginian soldier & statesman.
To return to stereotypes for a moment. James Fenimore Cooper candidly admitted to knowing little about native Americans beyond what he had read. Parkman, however, spent much time with the Sioux tribes of his own day (roughly a century after the events portrayed in this book). However, whereas Cooper is careful to give a balanced picture of native life, creating the idea of the noble savage (later to be taken up by others such as Longfellow), Parkman has no praise for native peoples. He refers to them as savages but never ascribes honour. Furthermore, several times he points out that it is often the Christianised tribes that commit the worst atrocities, scalping men, women & children in homesteads and forcing prisoners to run the gauntlet. In the notorious murder & scalping of the wounded at Fort William Henry, followed by robbing & the massacre of the column, the natives are portrayed as nothing short of devils incarnate.
The reverse of this is echoed in Parkman's partisan portrait of Washington. Whereas modern historians tend to question the value of Washington's strategic role in the Braddock expedition, Parkman has nothing but praise for the man who was to become first US president. As I said above, he reports Washington's disgust at the confusion of the British regular soldiers without comment. Moreover, Parkman does not much question Washington's earlier role in the death of the French officer de Jumonville (an incident that had led to the war), though it was widely believed at the time that Washington had been directly involved. Parkman's history, then, is the typical written-by-victors approach, which then becomes subject to revision and reconstruction.
Parkman's treatment of Montcalm & Wolfe and their exploits, is less open to reëvaluation – being more straightforward accounts of character and battles. Both were professional soldiers, the credibility of whose loyalties and fidelities has never needed questioning. The majority of this book, then, is a slow build-up to the dramatic events portrayed in its final hundred or so pages: the siege of the French citadel-port of Louisville turning the tide for Britain; then its forces sailing up the St Lawrence River and laying siege to Quebec; and (almost) finally the dramatic, literally cliff-hanging dénouement as French power crumbles.
Parkman is good at giving the economic & social roots of New France's failure, contrasting the colonial styles of the British & French. He does not do irony, however, and draws few parallels with what happened within two decades of victory at the Heights of Abraham (1763), or half a century later in the War of 1812. More recent historians have put those events in perspective (for example, Peter Snow's “When Britain Burned The White House”). But Parkman's style is engaging enough, for a Victorian, and his copious notes – including many archival extracts – make for an entertaining read (if you like this sort of thing). The copy I have has page after page of contemporary illustrations and, published in 1984, was a centenary reprint of the original edition.