HOW THE GALLANT WOLFE TOOK QUEBEC
If we were to tell the story of Canada faithfully for the next few
years, it would be only of further battles, sieges, skirmishes, and
massacres between the French and English colonists, aided by savage
Indian warriors.
Never before had Canada boasted so many French soldiers as were now
arrayed under the command of Montcalm. He fell upon Oswego and
destroyed it, taking 1400 prisoners and great booty. Against him was
sent the English Earl of Loudoun, no match for the French commander,
and afraid to strike an overwhelming blow. Loudoun at last sailed
away for Halifax with his army, thinking to make another attack by
and by on Louisburg, still in French hands. A terrible mistake this
of Loudoun's, and just the opportunity Montcalm looked for. The
French had built a strong fortress at Ticonderoga, and now that the
danger of Loudoun's army was removed, 6000 of their troops moved
swiftly out of the fortress and attacked Fort William Henry.
Undaunted by the great force brought against him, the commander,
Colonel Munro, answered Montcalm's summons to surrender by saying
that he would {206} defend his post to the death. The French planted
their guns and the siege commenced. Day and night the wooden
ramparts of Fort William Henry were splintered by Montcalm's cannon
balls. Munro, brave Scotsman that he was, hoped vainly that the
English garrison at Fort Edward would come to his rescue, but their
commander was afraid to send them over. He knew that there were
nearly 2000 bloodthirsty redskins roaming at large in the woods.
They dreaded the tomahawk and scalping-knife more than the sword and
musket. Well did they know what their fate would be if they fell
into the hands, wounded or prisoners, of those relentless savages.
So at last one sweltering August day Munro realised that no hope
remained. He could hold out no longer. His fort was nearly a mass
of ruins, and reluctantly he hoisted the white flag asking Montcalm
for terms of capitulation.
The French commander allowed the brave Munro and his soldiers to
march out with the honours of war, pledging himself to protect them
from his savage followers. Alas! Montcalm had reckoned without his
host. He might as well have tried to fetter the summer breeze that
blew across Lake George as to balk his redskin allies of their
destined prey. They thirsted for the blood of the English. They
could not understand the French code of honour. Of terms of
capitulation they knew nothing. The soldiers of the garrison, with
their wives and children, with a French escort, filed slowly through
the woods on their way to a refuge at Fort Edward. Suddenly the
Indians, sending up a terrible war-yell, darted {207} upon them. One
of the most dreadful massacres in history now took place. The
soldiers could do nothing to defend themselves, because they had
given up their muskets to the French. They were scalped by dozens
and hundreds. Helpless women were brained by hatchets and little
children were dashed to death against the trunks of trees.
At the risk of their lives, Montcalm and his officers strove to save
the fugitives, but not until nearly 1000 had been slain did they
succeed. Montcalm was pale with horror at the awful disgrace which
had stained the French name. He had given his word that the garrison
should march out unharmed, and now his brave foes were lying in heaps
of mangled corpses in the heart of this once peaceful forest.
In fear lest he should punish them in his great anger, the
treacherous redskins slunk away with their scalps and plunder. Such
was the massacre of Fort William Henry. Afterwards the fort itself
was levelled to the ground.
This was not the only disaster the English suffered. Twelve thousand
soldiers and eighteen battleships were sent to capture Louisburg, but
after cruising about for many weeks and losing several vessels, the
weak and cowardly Lord Loudoun did not venture upon an attack, and
sailed back to England to meet the contempt of his fellow-countrymen.
You can see what a critical period this was in the history of Canada.
To many it seemed a critical period in the life of the English
colonists in America. {208} But the French triumph was soon to be
cut short. A new and vigorous minister was called by King George to
his councils. The energy and fire of the great William Pitt put new
life into the hearts of the English people in every part of the
Empire. Crushing his right hand down upon the map of the New World,
Pitt decreed that French dominion in Canada must be brought to a
close. Easy it was to say this. Other English ministers had said it
before, but their misfortune was that they did not know how to make
the right plans, or to find the right men to carry out their plans.
They could not kindle the soldiers into a flame of enthusiasm by
their zeal and eloquence. Pitt could do this. He could choose his
generals for their worth and fighting qualities, and when he wanted a
live ardent soldier, upon whom he could rely, he chose James Wolfe.
Who would have dreamt that in the long, gaunt figure, with pale face
and straight red hair, that shuffled into the minister's ante-chamber
in the spring of 1758, was the future conqueror of Quebec!
General Wolfe was then thirty-two years old. His appearance little
revealed his character. A born soldier, he had already distinguished
himself on the battlefields of Europe. In those sleepy days, before
Pitt came, his fellow-officers could not understand Wolfe's
enthusiasm. One of them told King George that he believed Wolfe was
mad. "Then," cried the King, remembering the defeats his army had
suffered, "I only hope he will bite some of my generals!"
Court influence succeeded in giving the nominal command to General
Amherst, but Wolfe was the {209} real leader. With Amherst and Wolfe
sailed a powerful fleet under Admiral Boscawen. By June 1758 the
whole of this great force drew up before the fortress of Louisburg,
within whose walls was a population of 4000 souls. The garrison
consisted of the bravest men the French could furnish, veterans of
many battlefields. The Commandant was Drucour. But it was in vain
now that the French defended their splendid fortress. After an
heroic defence, Drucour was at last obliged to surrender, and all the
garrison were sent to England as prisoners of war. Louisburg would
give the English trouble and anxiety no more. As if it were but a
tiny sandcastle built by children on the seashore, these mighty stone
bastions were swept away. After the surrender the English soldiers
were ordered to the duty of destroying the stronghold of France in
Cape Breton, pulling it to pieces with pickaxe and crowbar, filling
the crevices with gunpowder, until at last hardly a vestige remained.
If you ask to see Louisburg to-day, you will be shown only a rolling
meadow upon which sheep graze peacefully.
Wolfe was now eager to push on to Quebec, but he had to wait nearly a
year. In the meantime the French had triumphed on Lake Champlain.
General Abercrombie had tried to take Fort Ticonderoga with 15,000
men, but Abercrombie was no such soldier as James Wolfe. He had,
however, with him Lord Howe, a brave and able young officer, who was
the second in command. Had not a stray bullet struck him down on his
way to the battlefield, the story of Ticonderoga might have had a
different ending. He {210} was beloved and trusted by his soldiers,
and when he died their courage seemed to die away also.
Abercrombie foolishly thought that by his superior numbers he could
force Ticonderoga without cannon, but Montcalm knew his strength. He
was surprised when he saw the English general hurling his soldiers in
four strong columns upon the front of his fort. It was a battle in
which superior numbers, bravery, and perseverance were thrown away.
Six times did the English doggedly come on, and six times did the
cannon of the French sow carnage amongst them. There was a regiment
of Highlanders fighting like tigers, some of them hacking the wooden
stocks of the outposts with their claymores until a cannon-ball
carried away their limbs. When at last, at the close of that long
bloody day, Abercrombie drew off his troops, he left 2000 English
corpses in the glacis outside the walls of the French fort.
Was it strange that the hearts of the survivors turned against him?
that they did not conceal their rejoicing when the King, after this
fearful defeat, relieved Abercrombie of his command?
It was not, however, all a tale of repulses and humiliation for the
English. Colonel Bradstreet had crossed Lake Ontario and captured
Fort Frontenac. General Forbes had made the French abandon Fort
Duquesne. On its site a new stronghold arose, to which the name of
Fort Pitt was given. Here in our day is the great and flourishing
city of Pittsburg. This was not all. In the spring of the fateful
year 1759, Fort Niagara fell.
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The news of the capture of Louisburg, which caused such rejoicings in
America and England, cast a terrible gloom over French Canada.
Quebec, that splendid stronghold which had defied the English, was
now their last hope. The town and citadel on the summit of Cape
Diamond which Champlain had founded and Frontenac guarded so well,
seemed to laugh at cannon and bayonet. Stern was the task set before
the man who should presume to scale those heights and force the proud
city to surrender. Behind its confident aspect Quebec was the scene
of despair and corruption. Amongst the officials reckless
extravagance reigned. While Canada's fate was trembling in the
balance, the Intendant Bigot, who should have been a pattern to the
community, spent his nights in riot and gambling. Although the King
had forbidden games of hazard, Bigot would often play amongst a party
of forty people, losing many thousands of francs in a few hours. The
King sent out his gold to help Canada, the people crushed by taxation
gave theirs, but all the money found its way into the pocket of Bigot
and his accomplices.
Provisions and clothing that should have gone to the hungry,
shivering French soldiers were sold at La Friponne to reap a profit.
Distant forts held bravely for the French cried aloud for succour,
but the scoundrelly Intendant put them off with excuses, and the
money intended for them was devoted to gaming and dissipation. In
two years alone Bigot's robberies amounted to nearly a million pounds
sterling. A time of retribution was at hand. Montcalm wept at the
vices and irregularities around him, but, {212} being only military
commander, he could do little or nothing. The Governor, De
Vaudreuil, answered his warnings haughtily, for he was jealous of
Montcalm. So the end approached.
Never had England sent out an army so full of zeal, courage, and
discipline as the army which sailed away from her shores under Wolfe
to take Quebec. Their commander well knew that he had to attack one
of the strongest forts in the world, defended by all the soldiers
that Montcalm could muster, fighting in defence of their country,
their flag, and their religion. Wolfe had only 9000 men against the
18,000 French Canadians, but he rejoiced in his Englishmen. "If
valour could make amends for want of numbers," he wrote to Pitt, "we
shall succeed."
On the first day of June 1759, the ships sailed out of the harbour of
Halifax for the river St. Lawrence. The harbour rang with the cheers
of the soldiers, and the bands struck up the old melody "The Girl I
left behind Me." When they reached the mighty river they ran great
danger for want of a pilot. A French prisoner on board began
wringing his hands, declaring that they would all go to the bottom.
An old British captain of a transport laughed in his face: "I will
show you," he roared with an oath, "that an Englishman shall go where
a Frenchman dare not show his nose." And he steered his ship through
in safety. The boast was no empty one. Vaudreuil wrote to France to
say "that the enemy have passed sixty ships of war where we dare not
risk a vessel of 100 tons by night or day."
In Quebec, Montcalm during the long days of {213} early summer
awaited the coming of the English. Not a man was idle. Drilling and
building of earthworks filled up nearly every hour of the day.
Montcalm's 18,000 men were as strongly entrenched as Nature and the
art of war could make them. On the 27th of June the French in Quebec
snatched their first glimpse of the masts of the English battleships.
A few hours later the English fleet had halted before the Isle of
Orleans, and Wolfe and his red-coated infantry landed on its shores.
Mounting the point of land to the west, the young general took out a
telescope and turned it towards the heights of Quebec, four miles
away. As he scanned the mighty rock he felt that it was indeed a
hard task which England had sent him to accomplish.
Vaudreuil did not wait for the English commander to make the first
move; he attempted to destroy the English fleet with fire-ships. One
dark night a number of old vessels, filled with pitch, gunpowder,
bombs, and antique cannon, packed to the muzzle, were towed out into
the channel and set on fire to float to the English fleet. The whole
countryside seemed to burst in lurid flames, and a hail of grapeshot
and bullets flew in all directions. But the English soldiers were
not frightened; they rowed out in their boats, grappling courageously
with the flaming monsters, and towed them to shore. Vaudreuil's
explosive experiments proved a total failure. During that very night
Wolfe was busy with pen and paper writing his first manifesto to the
Canadian people. "We are sent by King George," he said, "to conquer
this province, but not to make war upon women and {214} children, the
ministers of religion, or industrious people. We lament the
sufferings which our invasion may inflict upon you, but if you remain
neutral we proffer safety to person and property, with freedom in
religion. We are masters of the river; no succour can reach you from
France; General Amherst with a large army has sailed to the southern
frontier. Your cause is hopeless, your valour useless. Your nation
has been guilty of great cruelties to our unprotected settlers, but
we seek no revenge, we offer you the sweets of peace with the honours
of war. England in her strength will befriend you; France in her
weakness leaves you to your fate." But although the English
commander spoke so confidently, he had many misgivings in his heart.
If Amherst did not get through to Montreal and down the St. Lawrence
by the autumn, it meant the winter would be lost, and where was he to
find food for his troops? How could he face amidst the snow and ice
the 18,000 men of Montcalm, as brave and as hardy as his own?
Victory was only to be won by quick and vigorous action. Seizing the
heights of Point Lévis opposite Quebec, Wolfe set up his batteries so
as to bombard the city. He planted a large force on the north bank
of the river St. Lawrence, near the Falls of Montmorency, leaving
some regiments encamped on the Isle of Orleans. Fleet and army now
only waited a given signal to attack the city. On board the fleet
were some, as yet unknown, officers, who were destined to rise to
great fame in the world. A young midshipman there was, named Jervis,
who became the great English Admiral Earl St. Vincent. Palliser
{215} too, who figures in history as Admiral Sir Hugh Palliser, was
on board the frigate _Mercury_. On another vessel was Robison,
destined to be a noted Professor of Science in Edinburgh, and the
partner of James Watt, inventor of the steam-engine. The humble
sailing master of the _Mercury_ was none other than James Cook, who
became the most famous scientific navigator that ever left the shores
of England.
Quickly did the fire of the English ships, joined to that of the
batteries, work destruction upon the outer walls of the grim
fortress. In the lower town the buildings were soon reduced to
ruins, and even in the upper town many dangerous fires broke out.
Indeed, before the siege was brought to a close, more than 500
buildings fell a prey to the flames, including public and private
structures, the Cathedral and other churches. Yet while the summer
wore away, in spite of Wolfe's terrible bombardment, Montcalm played
a waiting game. Wolfe was in despair. By the end of July half of
Quebec was shattered away by his cannon-balls, and still the French
commander could not be drawn out to a battle; so the Englishman
decided to attack the enemy at close quarters, just on the other side
of the river Montmorency. But a fierce repulse awaited him; 12,000
French soldiers poured a storm of bullets against the brave
grenadiers, who tried to get a footing on the river slopes. They
were beaten back, 500 of Wolfe's best troops having fallen in the
fatal charge. Wolfe fretted with impatience; he knew the time was
precious. If he could only draw Montcalm out to battle! But
Montcalm was wise; he refused to be drawn.
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"You may destroy the town," came the French message under the flag of
truce, "but you will never get inside it."
"I will take Quebec," replied Wolfe, "if I stay here until November."
One plan only now remained: it was to creep up in the night and scale
the heights. It was a desperate move, but the only one that remained
that offered a chance of success. In the midst of his plans the
young English commander fell ill. He had always been of a delicate
constitution, ever struggling with sickness. Days elapsed, but his
heroic spirit conquered, and on the 11th of September the English
troops were directed to be ready to land and attack the enemy. While
a portion of the troops made a feint to the eastward to disguise
Wolfe's intentions from the enemy, Wolfe and his troops drifted up
stream with the tide. When the tide began to ebb, boats full of
soldiers were cast off, reaching in safety a little cove three miles
above Quebec.
In the first boat to land was the young general himself, who, as the
oarsmen plied their muffled oars, murmured softly to his officers,
the famous lines in Gray's _Elegy_:--
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour--
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
"Gentlemen," said Wolfe, "I would rather have written those lines
than take Quebec."
As the boat's prow touched the shore, the sentinel's {217} challenge
rang out in the darkness, "Qui vive." To hesitate was to be lost.
Instantly a Scotch captain, who spoke French perfectly, answered, "La
France!"
"A quel régiment?"
"De la Heine," replied the Highlander boldly.
His quickness averted a calamity. The sentry was satisfied; his
comrades had been expecting provision boats from Montreal, and he
thought they had arrived. Sentry after sentry was passed by Wolfe
and his men with the same result.
Up the dread heights the English soldiers clambered. Day was just
dawning when they reached the top. They could see a cluster of
French tents close at hand, and, dashing forward, they captured their
occupants. This was the first outpost. The victors' huzzas rang
out, and at this signal all Wolfe's red-coated battalions began
climbing the cliffs, and soon joined their companions on the top.
Their eyes beheld a great plain stretched out.
In the early days of the colony Master Abraham Martin had owned this
tract of ground, which he had planted with corn. The people called
it the Plains of Abraham, and Wolfe now chose it for his battlefield.
On one side of him was the garrison of Quebec, startled by hearing of
his mad adventure; on the opposite side was another French army under
Bougainville; behind was the edge of the steep cliff and the river.
Montcalm, deceived by the firing of the English fleet, was far away.
But at six o'clock he mounted and galloped thither as fast as his
horse would carry {218} him. Two miles away he could discern the red
ranks of the British soldiers.
"This is a serious business," he said coolly, riding over the bridge
of the St. Charles to gather his troops for the fray. Fervently they
rallied at his command, never doubting but that they would sweep
Wolfe and his men wholly from the heights. The eyes of the Indians,
as did their tomahawks, glittered with expectancy; as did too, the
eyes and bayonets of the white-coated battalions of Old France and
the native Canadians, whose homes were at stake.
Brandishing his sword and again putting spurs to his noble war-horse,
Montcalm led his ranks against the English infantry.
[Illustration: Wolfe's Army scaling the Cliff at Quebec. 1759]
Wolfe waited until the French were only forty paces away, and then
from kilted Highlander and English red-coat poured one tremendous
sheet of flame. The French staggered, but still came on. Another
fatal volley met them, inflicting awful slaughter. As they wavered,
Wolfe flourished his sword, and amidst the weird uproar of the
bagpipes, the shrieks and groans of the wounded, the war-whoops of
the Indians, the mad shouting of the English, and fierce slogan of
the Highlanders, Wolfe pushed on over dead and dying, behind a moving
wall of bayonets. A bullet shattered his wrist, another pierced his
body, but he kept on; a third lodged in his breast, and Wolfe fell
upon the ground.
Two or three stalwart grenadiers bore their beloved general quickly
to the rear. "There is no need for a surgeon," he said; "it is all
over with me!"
{219}
One of the grenadiers looked up and cried out, "They run! See how
they run!"
The dying Wolfe opened his eyes and murmured, "Who run?"
"The enemy, sir; they give way everywhere."
The general roused himself by a superhuman effort.
"Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," he said in quick terms of
command. "Tell him to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River to
cut off their retreat from the bridge." Then, turning on his side,
he whispered faintly, "Now, God be praised, I die in peace."
In a few moments the gallant Wolfe was no more.
How fared it meanwhile with his brave enemy, Montcalm? As he
galloped about on horseback the tide of French fugitives pressed him
back towards the gates of Quebec. He was nearing the walls when a
shot passed through his body. Mortally wounded though he was, he
kept himself seated in the saddle, two soldiers supporting him on
either side.
As his life-blood streamed from Montcalm's body down his horse's
limbs, the frightened crowd of women within the gates exclaimed in
grief and terror, "The Marquis is killed! the Marquis is killed!"
"It is nothing, it is nothing," replied the dying Montcalm: "do not
be troubled for me, my good friends."
When, some hours later, his spirit had breathed his last, Montcalm
was buried under the floor of the Ursuline Convent. No workman could
be found during the panic to make a coffin, and so an {220} old
servant gathered a few boards and nailed them together into a rough
box. No bell tolled, no cannon fired a salute as Montcalm was laid
to eternal rest.
Not thus was the funeral of the victorious Wolfe. His body was
embalmed and borne across the sea to England, where the greatest and
most powerful gathered to do him honour and reverence at his funeral
in Westminster Abbey.
Yet history has struck the balance. To-day in Quebec, marking the
scene of the death-struggle on that fateful September day, a single
shaft of stone rises to heaven to commemorate at the same time a
victory and a defeat. On the one side is graven the single word
"MONTCALM" and on the other "WOLFE."
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