Wolfe and George Warde were chums from the first day they
met. Both wished to go into the Army; and both, of course,
'played soldiers,' like other virile boys. Warde lived
to be an old man and actually did become a famous cavalry
leader. Perhaps when he charged a real enemy, sword in hand,
at the head of thundering squadrons, it may have flashed
through his mind how he and Wolfe had waved their whips
and cheered like mad when they galloped their ponies down
the common with nothing but their barking dogs behind them.

Wolfe's parents presently moved to Greenwich, where he
was sent to school at Swinden's. Here he worked quietly
enough till just before he entered on his 'teens. Then
the long-pent rage of England suddenly burst in war with
Spain. The people went wild when the British fleet took
Porto Bello, a Spanish port in Central America. The news
was cried through the streets all night. The noise of
battle seemed to be sounding all round Swinden's school,
where most of the boys belonged to naval and military
families. Ships were fitting out in English harbours.
Soldiers were marching into every English camp. Crowds
were singing and cheering. First one boy's father and
then another's was under orders for the front. Among them
was Wolfe's father, who was made adjutant-general to the
forces assembling in the Isle of Wight. What were history
and geography and mathematics now, when a whole nation
was afoot to fight! And who would not fight the Spaniards
when they cut off British sailors' ears? That was an old
tale by this time; but the flames of anger threw it into
lurid relief once more.