LÉVIS AND THE NOBLES RETIRE TO OLD FRANCE
It was while Montcalm, high-spirited and valorous, yet lay dying,
that Vaudreuil, now quartered on the Beauport Road, called a council
of war. Tumult, fear, and confusion reigned. Montcalm, seeing the
sands of his life fast running out, despatched a brief reply. "You
have a threefold choice," he said: "to fight the English again, to
retreat to Jacques Cartier, or to surrender the colony."
Over which choice to make, Vaudreuil hesitated. With Bougainville's
troops he could muster 3000 men. These added to the Quebec garrison,
the Canadian militia and artillery at Beauport, would give him a
force far larger than that which had been mustered by the heroic
Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham. When he asked the advice of the
council of war he found, to his chagrin, that all his officers voted
for retreat. "In vain," he reported to the King, "I told these
gentlemen that we were superior to the enemy, and should beat them if
we mustered. Still I could not at all change their opinion, and my
love for the service and for the colony made me subscribe to the
voice of the council. In fact, if I had attacked the English against
the advice of the principal officers, {222} their ill-will would have
exposed me to the risk of losing the battle and the colony also."
But the real reason why the officers were against fighting afterwards
appeared. It was that they thought their commander, Vaudreuil, unfit
to lead them to the fray. So Quebec, which might even now have been
prevented from falling into the hands of the English, was left to its
fate. Weary and footsore, almost dead for want of sleep, leaving
their cannon, tents, and provisions behind them, Vaudreuil and the
Beauport army set out for the distant hill of Jacques Cartier, where
they were certain of a refuge that very night. Never was such
disorder seen before. "It was not a retreat," wrote one of the
officers afterwards, "but an abominable flight, with such disorder
and confusion that, had the English but known it, 300 men sent after
us would have been sufficient to cut all our army to pieces. The
soldiers were all mixed, scattered, dispersed, and running as hard as
they could, as if the English army were at their heels."
But the English, under General Townsend, were not so foolish as to
risk the fruits of their victory by making an attempt to pursue the
French across the St. Charles River. The people of Quebec, realising
that they were deserted by the army, without provisions or munitions
of war, and that the defences were insufficient to repulse a
bombardment and assault, wished to surrender at once. Seeing that
they refused to fight the enemy, the commandant, Ramésay, could only
send out a flag of truce to the hostile camp and begin negotiations
for capitulation.
{223}
But within the walls of Quebec dwelt a doughty patriot, the
town-major, named Joannès. He called upon the soldiers and citizens
to fight with their last breath, to die as Montcalm had done rather
than let Quebec pass into the hands of the enemy. In his rage at the
cowardice about him he beat two of the garrison with the flat of his
sword. When the white flag was raised Joannès, the bravest man in
the city, instantly hauled it down with his own hands. But alas! it
was but fighting a battle against fate. His superior officer,
Ramésay, commanded him sternly to repair to the English camp and get
the best terms of peace he could. Through the pelting rain the
town-major of Quebec, his head thrown back defiantly, his hand on his
empty scabbard, sought the quarters of General Townsend. There he
spun out the hours in a parley, hoping against hope that the recreant
Vaudreuil would return and try to succour the city. Joannès kept up
the negotiations as long as he could. Losing patience at last,
Townsend sent him back to the French general with the message that if
Quebec were not surrendered before eleven o'clock, he would capture
it by assault. Ramésay, seeing all was lost, put his name to the
articles of capitulation, and Joannès, with a heavy heart, carried
the document back to the English commander. Scarcely had he put the
walls of the city he loved behind him, when a troop of sixty Canadian
horsemen appeared with the news that the Chevalier de Lévis was on
the way with troops and provisions to rescue Quebec. The tidings
came too late! The French general had surrendered; he would not now
break his word. {224} Ramésay dreaded too much the vengeance of the
English in case the news borne by the sixty horsemen was not true,
but false. How shall we picture the feelings of the town-major
Joannès? When he returned he hid himself in a cellar and wept, while
the blood-red cross of St. George was flaunted from the summit of the
citadel. Thus at length, on the 18th September 1759, the capital
town and rock-bound fortress of New France fell into the hands of the
English.
General Townsend recognised too well the danger of his position not
to grant favourable terms to the enemy, whose troops and sailors were
allowed to march out of the garrison with the honours of war and
granted passage in English ships to France. The persons and property
of the inhabitants were promised protection, and their religion was
not to be interfered with.
But now the question was with the English, should they keep Quebec or
destroy it, as they had destroyed Louisburg? For a moment the city's
fate trembled in the balance, and then it was resolved to keep it.
Ten battalions of the artillery and a company of Rangers were ordered
to remain behind and through the long Canadian winter hold the ruins
of Quebec against the efforts of Lévis and the French, for little
more than ruins much of Quebec now was. It needed enormous labour to
make the town secure against the enemy, or even habitable.
While Townsend sailed away to England, leaving General Murray in
charge, many working parties of soldiers were distributed through the
town to clear {225} the streets of rubbish and to repair the
buildings for occupation. The palace of the Intendant was turned
into winter quarters for an English regiment, which found there
quantities of unused firearms, iron-mongery, blankets, cloths and
linen, trinkets and lace, furs, wine, sugar, moccasins, and other
stores. These were seized upon with alacrity. Nearly 7000 English,
with insufficient food and clothing, made ready to face the
approaching winter. Outposts in the neighbourhood of Sillery, St.
Foye, and Lorette were established in order to guard against a
surprise and to cover the safety of the detachments sent out to
gather fuel in the surrounding woods. Canadian winters are cold, and
the English soldiers were not yet hardened to their severities, and
this gathering of firewood became a very serious business. Each
detachment could make only one trip a day to the forest, returning
with a fair-sized load on a sled drawn by hand. The soldiers were
obliged to go armed as they worked, and keep a sharp lookout for fear
of attacks by the Indians, who were always skulking in the
neighbourhood. Winter this year set in even earlier than usual, and
the brave soldiers who had served in India and Europe were now face
to face with an enemy more terrible than the French. Their faces,
hands, and feet were often frost-bitten, and on some occasions half
the force of a detachment would be borne back entirely disabled. As
if this were not enough, fever and scurvy prevailed in the garrison
the whole winter long, and the brave fellows perished by scores and
hundreds. Those who died were buried in the deep snow to await
interment {226} in the spring, for the ground was fast locked by
frost.
Meanwhile the inhabitants of the province were disarmed and required
to take the oath of allegiance to King George. But they could not
all be trusted. The English lived in constant insecurity, and during
the winter many rumours came of a projected attack by the French, and
several skirmishes took place. Once in November it was reported that
Lévis was about to march upon Quebec with 15,000 men the next month,
for had he not sworn an oath to eat his Christmas dinner under the
French flag within the walls? So the half-frozen English, each man
hugging his musket in his frost-bitten fingers, waited for the enemy.
The enemy had a fine sense of humour. In February a party of French
and Indians sent a message to the English officers that a large
company of expert hairdressers were prepared to wait upon them
whenever their services were required! Needless to say, the English
took no notice of this handsome offer to deprive them of their scalps.
Not until April did the long-expected battle occur. For months Lévis
had been gathering his forces, and now, with an army of 8000 men and
many redskins, he set out to recover the lost city of Quebec. At the
village of St. Foye, five or six miles away, he halted. So wary had
been his approach, that Murray and his garrison were ignorant of
danger. They might have learnt it too late but for a strange and
fortunate accident. It so happened that a frigate called the
_Racehorse_ had wintered in the {227} dock at Quebec Lower town. On
board this frigate soon after midnight the watch heard a faint cry of
distress proceeding from the river. He ran at once to the captain,
who, believing that some one was drowning, ordered a boat to be put
out to save him. Guided by the cries, the sailors found a man lying
on a large cake of ice, wet through and half dead with cold.
Carrying him to the ship and pouring hot cordials down his throat,
the man at last found strength to mutter that he was a soldier in
Lévis's army; he and his companions had been trying to land just
about Cap Rouge, but the boat had overturned, and he was the sole
survivor. His life had been saved by his clambering upon a cake of
floating ice. "The army of Lévis?" echoed the puzzled ship captain.
"Just so," answered the soldier; "there are 12,000 of us. We are
coming to retake Quebec."
Although it was between two and three o'clock in the morning, the
rescued soldier was wrapped up warmly, slung in a hammock, and
carried straightway up the heights to the commander's quarters.
General Murray was fast asleep, but, having risen and heard the man's
story, he ordered the troops under arms on the instant. By daybreak
half the English garrison, with ten pieces of cannon, were hurled on
the French columns at St. Foye. But in his rashness and thirst for
renown, Murray had not counted well the cost. The French had thrice
as many soldiers, and although the English fought gallantly and
doggedly, they were compelled at last to fall back. When the English
columns withdrew again to the city, they had left 1000 dead and dying
men on the field of St. Foye.
{228}
Then began what Murray dreaded most--a new siege of Quebec. Weak his
men were with sickness, and feeble with toil, fighting, and hunger,
but their spirit was as unquenchable as ever. While Lévis set up his
siege guns in position and began a steady bombardment of the city,
the English garrison worked unceasingly, officers and privates
handling spade and pickaxe in the same trenches together. Not a man
of them all was idle. Even the sick in hospital filled sandbags or
made wadding for the cannons. The English fire grew hotter every day
from the 150 cannon which had been planted upon the walls.
All depended now on the reinforcements of troops expected by both
sides from England and from France. Whichever arrived first would
settle the question of victory. It was on a bright May morning, as
Murray sat pondering over his despatches at headquarters, that an
officer burst in to tell him that a ship of war had been sighted far
down the river. The news spread through the town; all were divided
between hope and fear. Was this warship French or was she English?
Every eye was strained on the approaching ship, which displayed no
colours at her mast-head. Slowly, slowly she drew near, and then
hurrah! there unfurled to the wind the crimson flag of England, and
the first boom of a salute of twenty-one guns reverberated across the
mighty river. She turned out to be the _Lowestoft_ bringing news
that a British squadron was at the mouth of the St. Lawrence and
would reach Quebec in a few days. "The gladness of the troops,"
wrote home one of the {229} garrison, "is not to be expressed. Both
officers and soldiers mounted the parapet in the face of the enemy
and huzzaed, with their hats in the air, for almost an hour. The
garrison, the enemy's camp, the bay resounded with our shouts and the
thunder of our artillery, and the gunners were so elated that they
did nothing but load and fire for a considerable time."
But if a French squadron had been first, what a shock to their
spirits, what a test of their endurance, which they might not have
overborne!
On the heart of the gallant Chevalier de Lévis this news fell, and
brought a deadly chill. He withdrew his troops hastily, and it was
soon seen that the French ships, which had wintered high up the
river, were fated to destruction. Of these there were six
altogether, two frigates, two small armed ships, and two schooners.
Commanding them was a daring officer named Vauquelin. Although
Vauquelin fought with dogged determination till all his powder and
lead was spent, although he refused to lower his colours, the English
mariners overpowered him and made him their prisoner. But the
English knew a brave man when they saw one, and Vauquelin they
treated with distinguished honour, inviting him to a banquet and
toasting him loudly as a hero.
This was the deathblow to the hopes of Lévis. True, he had Montreal
still in his hands, but what was Montreal without ammunition and
provisions, with the enemy clamouring at the very gates? The
Canadian Militia had deserted to their homes, and Vaudreuil and De
Lévis had to defend the city with only 2000 disheartened troops;
while against them {230} was ranged a force of 17,000 English.
Further resistance was useless, and so on the 8th of September
Vaudreuil surrendered to General Murray, and Canada and all its
dependencies passed to the British Crown.
Hopeless as the situation had been for a full year past, ever since
Wolfe had laid down his life at the moment of victory on the Plains
of Abraham, there were some amongst the French to whom the thought of
defeat was unbearable pain. Invincible in spirit, we see emerging
through the mist of a century and a half, the courtly, stalwart,
chivalrous figure of the Chevalier de Lévis. To be conquered while
his right arm could grip the handle of a sword was to him unutterable
disgrace. When he heard that his superior, Vaudreuil, had agreed
that the French troops should lay down their arms and serve no longer
during the war, his manly cheek flushed and he insisted that the
negotiations should be broken off. "If," he said, "the Marquis de
Vaudreuil must surrender, let us at least withdraw with the troops to
the Island of St. Helen in order to uphold there, on our own behalf,
the honour of the King's army." But this step Vaudreuil could not,
of course, permit, and the Chevalier could only grind his teeth in
mortification and prepare to bid the Canada he loved an eternal
farewell.
Canada was now a British colony, and those members of the old French
Canadian families who were unwilling to become British subjects
followed Vaudreuil and Lévis back to France. With them also went the
rascally Bigot and the traitors and pilferers who had fattened on the
distresses of their country. Nemesis awaited them! No sooner had
{231} they touched French soil than they were seized and flung into
the Bastille. At first the brazen Cadet swore, when he faced his
judges, he was innocent, but afterwards he confessed all. Bigot too
denied his knavery, until the papers signed by himself put him to
silence. His punishment was great, but far less than he deserved; he
was banished from France for life, his property confiscated to the
King, and he was made to pay a fine of 1,500,000 francs. Cadet was
banished for nine years and fined 6,000,000 francs, while the rest
were ordered to be imprisoned until their fines were paid, so that
many who had betrayed New France languished in the gaols of Old
France and died within those bare stone walls.
Canada, as you have seen, had now changed masters. But the red-man,
so long the friend and ally of the French, standing at the door of
his wigwam or stealing noiselessly in his war-paint through the
forest, was puzzled and angered. He could not understand how it had
happened; he could not understand why the flag of the lilies should
be hauled down from every fort and trading-station, and the flag of
the English or the "Boston men," as he called them, unfurled. His
mind could not grasp the meek submission of the Canadian
pale-faces--the farmers and traders--to the chiefs sent out by King
George. "Why do you not," said one of their braves, "leave your
towns and villages and set up your lodges in the forest? Then, when
the English are lulled into security, return and fall upon and slay
them? You can win battles by craft and cunning as well as by numbers
and cannon." But although the French Canadians smiled and shook
{232} their heads at this plan, yet at the western settlements, such
as Michilimackinac, Detroit, and Presqu'Isle, they did not scruple to
tell the Indians that the English would soon drive them from their
forest homes and hunting-grounds, and thereby to kindle hate in their
hearts for the new conquerors. The French certainly understood the
Indian character far better than the English, who treated them with
contemptuous neglect. The vanity of the redskin chiefs was no longer
fostered, and the tribes were told plainly that they were regarded as
vassals and savages. For the English--the Boston men--could not
forget the bloodthirsty cruelty which had been practised upon them
and their wives and children for so long, and now that they felt that
all power on the continent was in the hollow of their hands, they
would not stoop to truckle to its aboriginal masters.
At first the haughty redskin chiefs were taken wholly by surprise at
the contempt meted out to them; then all their hot savage blood
mounted in their veins. All that they needed was a leader, and they
had not long to wait. A leader of their own race, intelligent,
daring, treacherous, and vain, suddenly appeared on the scene.
Pontiac was a chieftain of the Ottawas, but so greatly had his fame
spread that all the braves of the Hurons, the Ojibways, the Sacs, the
Wyandots, the Delawares, and the Senecas looked to him as their guide
and captain. In the strange drama which was now to thrill the
Western world, Pontiac takes the stage as the central figure. In
history this drama is called "The Conspiracy of Pontiac."
{233}
It was not many months after General Murray was ruling Canada in the
name of his young master, King George III., that Pontiac, the
chieftain of the Ottawas, saw with a keen eye the danger that
threatened his people. Either the red-man and all the tribes would
be crushed under the heel of the pale-faces, or else they must take
up their dwellings and retreat farther into the western forests.
"With the French," said Pontiac, "we can live in friendship, but with
the restless English either we must flee afar or we or they must die!"
A plot grew and took shape in Pontiac's mind of uniting all the power
of the red-men and driving the English for ever out of the whole
country. He told his audacious plot to some of the Western French
fur-traders, who expressed their joy, saying that the King of France
would surely help him, and was even then sending out fresh hosts to
slay the enemy. With the utmost care did Pontiac lay his plans. A
day was chosen, a day in May 1763, when all the Indians who looked to
Pontiac as their leader would rise in their might and fall with
musket and tomahawk upon their unsuspecting victims. At this time
the strongest of the western forts was Detroit, and this fort Pontiac
had arranged to surprise and seize by strategy. A council of Indians
arranged to meet Major Gladwin, the commander, and the other English
officers within the fort on that day. They were supposed to be
entirely unarmed, but beneath his blanket each conspirator concealed
a musket, shortened by its barrel being filed in half. While they
conversed pleasantly Pontiac was to give the signal which would {234}
sound the doom of the garrison. But the plot failed. To the love of
an Indian maiden for Gladwin the English owed their lives. This
young girl overheard the plot. She could not sleep the whole of one
night, and in the morning stole hurriedly to Gladwin and told him of
Pontiac's intended treachery. Altogether ignorant of how he had been
betrayed, Pontiac and his fellow-conspirators, with faces calm and
smiling, for the Indians can wear the most impenetrable mask, arrived
at the fort to attend the proposed conference. To Pontiac's
astonishment, he saw the English soldiers drawn up with loaded
muskets as if for battle. Did he start back cringing and
discomfited? Nay, not a change of expression passed his impassive
features; he went on with the conference as if nothing had happened,
and afterwards, without giving any signal, withdrew. Next morning
Pontiac again came; this time he was ordered away from the gates of
the fort. Fierce rage filled his heart; he knew then that his plot
had been revealed to the English. Strategy had failed at Detroit, he
must now fire the torch of Indian hatred and openly assault the
stronghold. He attacked, and for months the red-men were kept at bay
until succour could come to the heroic Gladwin and his men.
But if the devotion of one Indian maiden had spared Detroit, the
treachery of another sacrificed Fort Miami and the garrison of the
Maumee River. Captain Holmes, the commandant, had inspired the
jealousy of a young squaw. She believed he loved another, and lent
herself to Pontiac's schemes to encompass the English chiefs
destruction. On the {235} fatal morning she came to tell Holmes that
her sister was seriously ill in one of the wigwams and desired to see
him. All unsuspecting, he set out on his mission of charity, and was
shot dead on the very threshold of the wigwam. As for his fort and
company of soldiers, they fell into the hands of the watchful
Indians. The same fate was reserved for the forts of De Boeuf,
Presqu'Isle, and Sandusky. The blood of the colonists on the
frontier of Pennsylvania flowed freely; the scalps of Pontiac's
victims adorned many lodges.
It soon began to appear as if Pontiac's threat against the English
had not been in vain. At Michilimackinac strategy carried the day
for the red conspirators. On King George's birthday, the 4th June,
Captain Etherington received an invitation from the Sacs and Ojibways
to witness their favourite game of lacrosse by way of celebrating the
day. Suspecting no danger, the gate of the fort was allowed to be
left open, while the officers and soldiers, clustered in groups
outside, became deeply interested in the progress of this most
exciting game. The ball was passed and repassed skilfully between
the goals, as, seizing their opportunity, a number of squaws, with
muskets and tomahawks hidden under their blankets, stole unseen
through the gates. Soon the ball bounced against the pallisade, and
instantly a swarm of players dashed after it. In the twinkling of an
eye they had darted through the open gates and snatched their weapons
from the waiting squaws. Before the garrison could realise what had
happened, fifteen of them lay weltering in their blood, and the rest
were {236} taken prisoners. Thus in only six weeks from the day of
the first attack of Pontiac on Detroit, all the forts in the western
country, except three, were seized and destroyed and the garrisons
massacred or made prisoners.
To Pontiac and his men Fort Pitt bade defiance. After some weeks'
delay Colonel Bouquet was sent out to reinforce it. Bouquet met and
defeated the Delaware and Shawanoe tribes, and gave them so sound a
beating that the tide against the English began to turn. The
misguided chiefs slowly came to see that the power of England was
greater than they had supposed, and that of France extinguished for
ever. In the following year several Indian tribes were defeated, and
Pontiac, now deserted by many of his allies, was obliged to fall back
farther into the west. Two years later the mighty chief's power was
broken, and he was forced to submit. So ended the great conspiracy.
The hundreds of prisoners whom Pontiac and his Indians had captured
in their raids were at last restored to families which had, not
without reason, supposed them to be dead. Parties of rescuers found
that some of the young English girls had actually fallen in love with
their savage captors and had wedded them in Indian fashion. Children
had forgotten their parents. One girl only remembered her childhood
when the strains of a lullaby fell from the lips of her rejoicing
mother, whose face was strange to her.
Pontiac himself vanished with ignominy from history. Fallen from his
high estate, defeated in his ambitious hopes, he engaged in a drunken
bout with {237} a warrior of the Illinois nation. From words the
pair proceeded to blows, tomahawks flashed in the air, and the once
powerful chieftain was laid low. Such was the ending to the career
of a savage enemy whose name had caused the people in the English
colonies to tremble for so long. But Pontiac and his conspiracy had
taught the new conquerors a lesson. Justice and forbearance not only
towards the French Canadians but towards the red-men was
thenceforward the policy of English Canada.
All seemed now fair sailing for all the colonies under the rule of
King George. But war-clouds were already mounting above the horizon
which would gather in size and intensity as the years ran on. More
blood would be spilt in Canada and on the great continent of which
Canada forms so important a part.
{238}