SCALING THE HEIGHTS OF QUEBEC
BOTH Henry and Silvers were much interested in the inspection of the
camp General Wolfe had established near the Falls of Montmorenci and
along the St. Lawrence River.
The falls at this point were a grand sight, tumbling over the rough
rocks that lined the gorge with a thunder which to the young soldier
seemed a second Niagara. Below the falls was a stretch of smooth water,
and here was a succession of shoals, dry, or nearly so, during low tide.
The French camp was within sight between the trees, and it is said that
the English and French guards occasionally spoke to each other further
up the small stream, where the noise was not so loud. But men as well as
officers had to be careful, for each army had its sharpshooters posted,
ready to bring down any enemy who showed himself.
During the time spent near the falls General Wolfe had not been idle. He
had tried his best to draw General Montcalm from his secure position by
making moves up and down the St. Lawrence and by sending detachments
hither and thither, to attack and destroy various villages, towns, and
isolated chateaux and farmhouses. All were given over to the flames, and
night after night the sky was lit up by the conflagrations.
All of these deeds made the Marquis de Montcalm very angry, but he was
too wily a general to be drawn into any trap. “Wolfe cannot dislodge
me,” he said. “And soon his supplies will give out, winter will be on
him, and he and his fleet will have to sail for home.”
His remarks were not mere guesswork. From various sources he learned
that the English supplies were running low, and that many of the British
soldiers were sick. Those on the fleet were growing tired of drifting up
and down the river, and the admiral in charge knew that winter came
early around Quebec.
“Something will have to be done between now and the first of October,”
said the admiral. “To remain in these waters after that would be a
hardship.”
“Something shall be done,” said General Wolfe, and, still weak from his
spell of sickness, he began to lay new plans to force Montcalm into a
battle.
Several days slipped by, and Henry was glad enough to take the rest thus
afforded. On the fourth day a messenger appeared bringing in news from
Fort Oswego.
“Hurrah!” shouted Henry, as he ran up to where Silvers sat smoking on a
rock. “Dave is safe, and so are Shamer and Raymond. Oh, how glad I am!”
“That is good news!” returned the sharpshooter. “Wonder how they managed
to escape?”
“The messenger didn’t know the full particulars. He says each was hurt a
little, but not of any account. I can tell you, I feel much relieved”
“I don’t doubt it, Henry. I know you think a good deal of your cousin.”
“And why shouldn’t I? We have been playmates for years, and we have
hunted and fished and fought together for ever so long, too. Dave is as
close as a brother to me.”
“Well, now you know he is safe, I reckon you won’t be so anxious to get
to Fort Oswego as you was.”
“No, I am going to send word to him that I am here, and then stay a
while.”
“So am I going to stay,” went on Silvers. “I feel it in my bones that
there will be a big fight here before this campaign closes.”
General Wolfe had under him three brigadiers, Murray, Monckton, and
Townshend. He now called them to him for consultation and submitted
several propositions. A debate lasting a long time followed, and at last
it was decided to attack the French at a point some distance above the
city of Quebec. By doing this, Montcalm would be cut off from his base
of supplies and compelled to either fight or surrender.
The task which General Wolfe had set for himself and his men was an
exceedingly difficult one. As already mentioned, the river was fronted
by a high wall of rocks, and to scale these seemed next to impossible.
Besides, the French were on constant guard, and would be sure to sound
the alarm quickly and pour a hot fire into the advancing British.
In order to carry out the plan decided upon General Wolfe had first to
abandon the camp at the falls. He knew the French would harass him as
much as possible, and so sent Monckton from Point Levi with a number of
soldiers, under pretense of attacking Beauport, midway between the falls
and the city. Montcalm looked on this with new alarm and sent his troops
in that direction; and Wolfe withdrew without further trouble.
Henry and Silvers were with the soldiers who abandoned the Montmorenci
and soon found themselves at Point Levi, where they joined a handful of
other Colonial English mixed in with the Royal Grenadiers. This was
early in September, and a few days later the troops were transferred to
the ships under Admiral Holmes, and here General Wolfe joined the
expedition.
To the French it looked as if the English were going to give up the
campaign, and Wolfe and his officers, as well as the admiral of the
squadrons, did all in their power to make the deception more real.
Cannon were taken up and placed aboard the vessels in the most open
manner, and soldiers were made to pack away the camp outfits as if
getting ready for a long voyage. “The English are going to sail!” cried
the people of Quebec and vicinity, and their hopes arose, to think that
they would at last be free from the grim terror which had hung over them
so long.
But Wolfe was not yet ready to force the attack. The plan of action was
still in the rough. There was a high stone bluff, or cliff, to scale,
and how to do it in comparative safety was a delicate problem to solve.
The general listened patiently to what several who were acquainted with
the locality had to say, and then surveyed the north shore with a
telescope. Near what was then Anse du Foulon, and now called Wolfe’s
Cove, he discovered a narrow path running between rocks and bushes from
the water’s edge to the top of the bluff.
“That is our course,” he said, quietly but firmly. On the bluff at this
point were but a dozen soldiers’ tents, so he concluded that the French
guard there could not be a heavy one.
But to have given the French an inkling of what was in his mind would
have ruined everything, so once again Wolfe set to work to fool the
enemy. His ships sailed still further up the river, as if looking for a
landing, and the French batteries opened with vigor, but without doing
any harm.
A heavy downpour of rain now made further operations impossible for two
days. It was a cold, raw storm, and the soldiers in the transports could
not stand it, and had to be landed once more on the south shore, where
they built camp-fires, sought such shelters as were handy, and did what
they could to make themselves comfortable. The weather was very trying
on General Wolfe, but he refused to take again to his bed, declaring
that he was now going to see the campaign to a finish.
On the 12th of September all seemed in readiness for the attack. The
French soldiers were worn out through following the passage of the
English ships up and down the river, while the stay on the south shore
had rested the grenadiers and others in the English ranks.
For the daring expedition Wolfe selected forty-eight hundred men. He
knew that the enemy must be at least twice as strong, and to engage
Montcalm’s attention once again in a different direction, he had Admiral
Saunders make a move as if to land at Beauport. This deception was
carried on in grand style, with signals flashing from ship to ship,
cannons roaring, and boatload after boatload of sailors and marines
putting off as if to dash upon the mud flats. In great haste Montcalm
massed his men at the Beauport batteries, satisfied at last that this
was to be the real point of attack, while the movement up the river was
only a blind.
Fortune now seemed to be at last in Wolfe’s favor. He was ten miles away
from the din at Beauport, with nearly five thousand of his soldiers, and
creeping upon the north shore of the river with the silence of a shadow.
There was no moon, but otherwise the night was clear. Wolfe occupied a
place in one of the foremost boats. Behind him came a long procession,
containing the Highlanders and grenadiers and also a handful of
Colonials, including Henry and Silvers, who had been armed, and who were
just as anxious to aid in the taking of Quebec as anybody.
Once or twice from out of the darkness came a challenge.
“Who comes?” was the question, put in French.
“France!” was the answer, of one who could speak the language well.
“What boats are those?”
“The provision boats. Hush, or the English will hear. They are not far
away.”
The sentry knew that some provision boats were expected along that
night, so said no more. As a matter of fact, the order to send the
provisions down the river had been countermanded but a few hours before,
but without the sentry’s knowledge. Thus fortune again favored the
English.
At last the headland above Anse du Foulon was gained. Here the tide
swept along rapidly and some boats were carried partly past the cove.
“No guard in sight,” whispered one of the lookouts.
“It is well,” murmured Wolfe.
Only the sound of a gurgling brook as it rushed into the St. Lawrence
broke the stillness of the night. Before the boats lay the dark,
frowning bluff, with its loose rocks, and its straggling cedars, other
trees, and brushwood. The path was there, doubly uncertain in the
darkness.
Twenty-four volunteers, picked men, good shots, and with nerves of iron,
led the way. In the meantime those in the other boats waited by the
shore, for the signal to land if it proved safe, or to pull away with
might and main should the French have led them into a trap.
“Tell you what, Henry, this is a ticklish task,” whispered Silvers, as
he examined the new firearm he had received.
“It certainly is that,” answered the young soldier. “But I reckon
General Wolfe knows what he is doing.”
“Silence there,” came the low command, and the two said no more.
A painful period of waiting followed. Far up the bluff they could hear
the volunteers climbing along. Then came a shot, followed by others, and
then a ringing English cheer.
“We have them! We have them!” was the cry. “Come up!”
“Hurrah!” came a mighty cry. “_Up we go!_” And in a twinkle the soldiers
were out of the boats and scaling the rocks as best they could, some by
way of the path and others by rocks and bushes.
It was a climb that Henry never forgot. The path was choked with
grenadiers, each with his gun slung over his back and each loaded down
with knapsack and blanket.
“We can get up this way just as well,” said Silvers, and up they went,
side by side, over some rough stones, and then hauling, pushing, and
pulling themselves from one point of vantage to another, until, fairly
panting for breath, they reached the top and joined the forces gathering
on the field above, known as the Plains of Abraham.
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