THROUGH THE FOREST
It was the 5th of July, 1758. The sun shone forth in all his glory, gilding
the mountain tops and lighting up the deepest valleys. The English and
Colonial troops had embarked the previous evening on nine hundred troop-boats;
a hundred and thirty-five whale-boats and a large number of flat boats carried
the artillery.
It was a superb spectacle, never forgotten by those who witnessed it, when the
boats filed forth and entered the narrows, a long line extending for six
miles. The flash of oars and glitter of weapons, the banners, the varied
uniforms, the notes of the bugle, the bagpipes, trumpets, and drums, prolonged
by a hundred woodland echoes, enhanced the brightness of the summer day and
the romantic beauty of the scenery. The sheen and sparkle of the crystal
waters, the countless islets tufted with pine, birch, and fir, the bordering
mountains, with their green summits and sunny crags, united to impress this
scene upon the minds of all present.
“I never beheld such a delightful prospect,” wrote an eye-witness to his
friends at home. There was something triumphant in it; and the spirits of both
men and officers responded to the general impression. The boats advanced
rapidly down Lake St. George, and it was still daylight when they halted to
await the baggage and artillery, which were in the rear. After sunset they
started afresh, and by daybreak the next morning had reached the end of the
lake.
Here they became aware that they were being watched by an advance party of the
French. Roger immediately landed with his company of Rangers, and drove the
enemy back into the wood, after which the whole army went on shore. A council
of officers was then called, of whom Howe and Roger were the leading spirits.
When the council was over the two men lay side by side on their outstretched
bearskins resting. The scene was lovely. A plain covered with forest stretched
half a mile or more to the mountains, behind which lay Trout Brook, whilst
ruddy in the warm sunrise rose the vast bare face of Roger’s Rock.
“I marvel how you did it!” said Lord Howe to his companion.
“It looks worse than it really is,” answered Roger. “One only needs a steady
head, a good eye for distances, and a firm foot. Nevertheless, I should not
care to try it again. And now what is to be our next move? Langy and his
French have retreated to the woods. He will probably join Montcalm at the Saw
Mills up by the falls. My advice is to cross the forest, dislodge the French,
and make for Ticonderoga. I know positively that Montcalm’s army only numbers
a fourth of ours; of course, Levis may bring up reinforcements, but at present
he is at Montreal, and Vaudreuil may, and probably will, think proper to
detain him there. It is for us to advance without delay.”
“Then let us do it at once!” said Lord Howe, springing up; and, going to the
group of officers, he imparted Roger’s opinion to them.
It was immediately decided that the Royal Rangers should take to the woods
under Roger, and that Lord Howe and Major Putman should follow with two
hundred Rangers and scouts, the remainder of the army in four separate columns
bringing up the rear.
In less than an hour the plan was carried into effect; and soon through the
silent primeval forest an army was groping its way, buried in foliage so thick
that no sound of waggons or artillery could be heard, only “the cawing of the
crows, flapping their black wings over the sea of tree-tops.” The forest was
dense; the way was obstructed by undergrowth, and it was impossible to see the
fallen trees which lay about in every stage of decay. The sun, even when at
its height, could hardly pierce the canopy of boughs. Roger, who was in
advance, was himself fairly puzzled; but he knew the direction he had to take,
and was able to guide his men, fully believing Howe was on the same track; and
so in truth he was, only at a greater distance than Roger had supposed.
Suddenly Lord Howe and those nearest to him heard voices close upon them, and
recognised that they were French. They checked their advance and listened.
“We are caught in an ambush,” said Lord Howe, “or else it is the advance party
under Langy who are in retreat, and have lost their way. One thing is in our
favour: in the darkness they cannot recognise friend from foe. We must try to
push through them. Let no man speak. If they challenge us the word is
‘Français.’ I’ll give it!”
He was right in his surmise. It was Langy with his three hundred and fifty men
who had got lost in the woods, and now found themselves in the very centre of
the English army, dividing it, so to speak, Roger and the Royal Rangers in
front, Howe and the remainder of the English army behind. For a few minutes
the two armies were mingled, until a suspicion of the truth dawned on the
French.
“_Qui vive?_” shouted Langy.
“_Français!_” came from the English; but Langy was not deceived. A volley of
musketry was the immediate answer. William Parkmann, who was close beside
Howe, saw by the flash of the muskets his chief stagger. He caught him in his
arms, and carried him out of the ranks. Alas! in that second the noble spirit
had winged its flight to another world. Those nearest him had seen him fall,
and the ill news spread like wild-fire. A sort of panic seized the soldiers.
They believed they had fallen into an ambush, and that Montcalm’s whole force
was upon them; but fortunately the Rangers stood firm and fought steadily. The
sound of the musketry reached Roger. A faint inkling of the truth dawned upon
him, and without hesitation he turned round and took the French in the rear.
Thus, between two fires, their position was desperate. Nevertheless, they
fought with unrivalled bravery, and of the three hundred and fifty men of
Langy’s corps, fifty only escaped: one hundred and sixty were made prisoners;
the remainder being killed or drowned in trying to cross the rapids. The
English had lost comparatively few men. But Howe’s death was an irreparable
disaster. “The death of this one man,” a contemporary observes, “was the ruin
of fifteen thousand!” The soul of Abercromby’s army expired with this young
officer; an almost general languor crept over the men. Order and discipline
became lax. Abercromby himself seemed paralysed. Montcalm had retreated to the
base of the peninsula upon which Ticonderoga stands, and had intrenched
himself there.
The peninsula of Ticonderoga consists of a rocky plateau, with low grounds on
each side, bordering Lake Champlain on the one hand, and the outlet of Lake
St. George on the other. A ridge is formed across the plateau. Montcalm
decided to defend this ridge by abattis. Men and officers worked together,
making a barricade of trees eight or nine feet high; every tree in the
neighbourhood was hewn down as if laid flat by a hurricane.
Abercromby, fearing Montcalm’s position would be further strengthened by
reinforcements, ordered an immediate attack; but he himself remained at the
Mill, a mile and a half away in the rear. The English were therefore virtually
without a leader, and nothing was left them in the coming struggle but blind,
headlong valour. As they advanced to the attack they could see the top of the
breastwork, but not the men who fought behind it; and when they attempted to
penetrate through the breastwork, or climb over it, they were stopped by
sharpened branches and by a cross fire which poured down upon them. The French
fought with intrepid gaiety, shouting, “Long live our King! Long live our
General!” Montcalm, with his coat off, was everywhere. Six times the English
returned to the attack. Campbell Duncan, laird of Inveraw, belonging to the
42nd regiment, called the “Black Watch,” with others jumped down the abattis
into the midst of the French, and were killed, bayoneted.
The English lost nineteen hundred men and forty-four officers; the French
three hundred and seventy-seven; but their officers Bourlamaque and
Bougainville were both wounded, while Levis, who came up at the end, had his
hat twice shot through. Abercromby was at last obliged to retreat, and
Ticonderoga remained in the hands of the French. Montcalm, in gratitude to God
for having given him the victory over so brave an enemy, erected a cross on
the spot.
Roger and his Rangers had taken no active part in the attack upon Ticonderoga;
the loss of Howe hung like a heavy cloud over them. Roger, with Putman, had
remained in the woods, keeping up a border warfare, pursuing the French and
shooting any who came in his way; and they pursued these tactics so
persistently and aggressively that the French at last openly attacked the
Rangers. With the aid of the Indians, they succeeded in taking Putman
prisoner. He was, however, rescued from the hands of the Indians by a French
officer, and conveyed under escort to Ticonderoga, where Montcalm received him
and treated him with kindness. Here he made friends with Colonel Schuyler, who
was also a prisoner, and together they lamented the death of their friend.
This victory was to be the last great success of the French. Slowly but surely
they were being pushed back upon their great fortress, the key of Canada:
Quebec. Still there was no thought of surrender--Montcalm stood firm at the
helm.