back the two friends used to go to the French theatre.
Wolfe put his French to other use as well, and read all
the military books he could find time for. He always kept
his kit ready to pack; so that he could have marched
anywhere within two hours of receiving the order. And,
though only a mere boy-officer, he began to learn the
duties of an adjutant, so that he might be fit for
promotion whenever the chance should come.

Months wore on and Wolfe was still at Ghent. He had made
friends during his stay, and he tells his mother in
September: 'This place is full of officers, and we never
want company. I go to the play once or twice a week, and
talk a little with the ladies, who are very civil and
speak French.' Before Christmas it had been decided at
home--where the war-worn father now was, after a horrible
campaign at Cartagena--that Edward, the younger son, was
also to be allowed to join the Army. Wolfe was delighted.
'My brother is much to be commended for the pains he takes
to improve himself. I hope to see him soon in Flanders,
when, in all probability, before next year is over, we
may know something of our trade.' And so they did!

The two brothers marched for the Rhine early in 1743,
both in the same regiment. James was now sixteen, Edward
fifteen. The march was a terrible one for such delicate
boys. The roads were ankle-deep in mud; the weather was
vile; both food and water were very bad. Even the dauntless
Wolfe had to confess to his mother that he was 'very much
fatigued and out of order. I never come into quarters