every order given; it only remained to wait the turning of the tide.
Seated with him in the cabin was the commander of the sloop-of-war
"Porcupine," his former school-fellow John Jervis, afterwards Earl St.
Vincent. Wolfe told him that he expected to die in the battle of the
next day; and taking from his bosom a miniature of Miss Lowther, his
betrothed, he gave it to him with a request that he would return it to
her if the presentiment should prove true.
Towards two o'clock the tide began to ebb, and a fresh wind blew down
the river. Two lanterns were raised into the maintop shrouds of the
"Sutherland." It was the appointed signal; the boats cast off and fell
down with the current, those of the light infantry leading the way. The
vessels with the rest of the troops had orders to follow a little later.
To look for a moment at the chances on which this bold adventure hung.
First, the deserters told Wolfe that provision-boats were ordered to go
down to Quebec that night; secondly, Bougainville countermanded them;
thirdly, the sentries posted along the heights were told of the order,
but not of the countermand; fourthly, Vergor at the Anse du Foulon had
permitted most of his men, chiefly Canadians from Lorette, to go home
for a time and work at their harvesting, on condition, it is said, that
they should afterwards work in a neighboring field of his own; fifthly,
he kept careless watch, and went quietly to bed; sixthly, the battalion
of Guienne, ordered to take post on the Plains of Abraham, had, for
reasons unexplained, remained encamped by the St. Charles; and lastly,
when Bougainville saw Holmes's vessels drift down the stream, he did not
tax his weary troops to follow them, thinking that they would return as
usual with the flood tide. But for these conspiring circumstances New
France might have lived a little longer, and the fruitless heroism of
Wolfe would have passed, with countless other heroisms, into oblivion.
For full two hours the procession of boats, borne on the current,
steered silently down the St. Lawrence. The stars were visible, but the
night was moonless and sufficiently dark. The General was in one of the
foremost boats, and near him was a young midshipman, John Robison,
afterwards professor of natural philosophy in the University of
Edinburgh. He used to tell in his later life how Wolfe, with a low
voice, repeated Gray's _Elegy in a Country Churchyard_ to the officers
about him. Probably it was to relieve the intense strain of his
thoughts. Among the rest was the verse which his own fate was soon to
illustrate,--
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
"Gentlemen," he said, as his recital ended, "I would rather have written
those lines than take Quebec." None were there to tell him that the hero
is greater than the poet.
As they neared their destination, the tide bore them in towards the
shore, and the mighty wall of rock and forest towered in darkness on
their left. The dead stillness was suddenly broken by the sharp _Qui
vive!_ of a French sentry, invisible in the thick gloom. _France!_
answered a Highland officer of Fraser's regiment from one of the boats
of the light infantry. He had served in Holland, and spoke French
fluently.
_A quel regiment?_
_De la Reine_, replied the Highlander. He knew that a part of that corps
was with Bougainville. The sentry, expecting the convoy of provisions,
was satisfied, and did not ask for the password.
Soon after, the foremost boats were passing the heights of Samos, when
another sentry challenged them, and they could see him through the
darkness running down to the edge of the water, within range of a
pistol-shot. In answer to his questions, the same officer replied, in
French: "Provision-boats. Don't make a noise; the English will hear us."
In fact, the sloop-of-war "Hunter" was anchored in the stream not far
off. This time, again, the sentry let them pass. In a few moments they
rounded the headland above the Anse du Foulon. There was no sentry
there. The strong current swept the boats of the light infantry a little
below the intended landing-place. They disembarked on a narrow strand at
the foot of heights as steep as a hill covered with trees can be. The
twenty-four volunteers led the way, climbing with what silence they
might, closely followed by a much larger body. When they reached the top
they saw in the dim light a cluster of tents at a short distance, and
immediately made a dash at them. Vergor leaped from bed and tried to run
off, but was shot in the heel and captured. His men, taken by surprise,
made little resistance. One or two were caught, and the rest fled.
The main body of troops waited in their boats by the edge of the strand.
The heights near by were cleft by a great ravine choked with forest
trees; and in its depths ran a little brook called Ruisseau St.-Denis,
which, swollen by the late rains, fell plashing in the stillness over a
rock. Other than this no sound could reach the strained ear of Wolfe but
the gurgle of the tide and the cautious climbing of his advance-parties
as they mounted the steeps at some little distance from where he sat
listening. At length from the top came a sound of musket-shots, followed
by loud huzzas, and he knew that his men were masters of the position.
The word was given; the troops leaped from the boats and scaled the
heights, some here, some there, clutching at trees and bushes, their
muskets slung at their backs. Tradition still points out the place, near
the mouth of the ravine, where the foremost reached the top. Wolfe said
to an officer near him: "You can try it, but I don't think you'll get
up." He himself, however, found strength to drag himself up with the
rest. The narrow slanting path on the face of the heights had been made
impassable by trenches and abatis; but all obstructions were soon
cleared away, and then the ascent was easy. In the gray of the morning
the long file of red-coated soldiers moved quickly upward, and formed in
order on the plateau above.
Before many of them had reached the top, cannon were heard close on the
left. It was the battery at Samos firing on the boats in the rear and
the vessels descending from Cap-Rouge. A party was sent to silence it;
this was soon effected, and the more distant battery at Sillery was next
attacked and taken. As fast as the boats were emptied they returned for
the troops left on board the vessels and for those waiting on the
southern shore under Colonel Burton.
The day broke in clouds and threatening rain. Wolfe's battalions were
drawn up along the crest of the heights. No enemy was in sight, though a
body of Canadians had sallied from the town and moved along the strand
towards the landing-place, whence they were quickly driven back. He had
achieved the most critical part of his enterprise; yet the success that
he coveted placed him in imminent danger. On one side was the garrison
of Quebec and the army of Beauport, and Bougainville was on the other.
Wolfe's alternative was victory or ruin; for if he should be overwhelmed
by a combined attack, retreat would be hopeless. His feelings no man can
know; but it would be safe to say that hesitation or doubt had no part
in them.
He went to reconnoitre the ground, and soon came to the Plains of
Abraham, so called from Abraham Martin, a pilot known as Maitre Abraham,
who had owned a piece of land here in the early times of the colony. The
Plains were a tract of grass, tolerably level in most parts, patched
here and there with cornfields, studded with clumps of bushes, and
forming a part of the high plateau at the eastern end of which Quebec
stood. On the south it was bounded by the declivities along the St.
Lawrence; on the north, by those along the St. Charles, or rather along
the meadows through which that lazy stream crawled like a writhing
snake. At the place that Wolfe chose for his battle-field the plateau
was less than a mile wide.
Thither the troops advanced, marched by files till they reached the
ground, and then wheeled to form their line of battle, which stretched
across the plateau and faced the city. It consisted of six battalions
and the detached grenadiers from Louisbourg, all drawn up in ranks three
deep. Its right wing was near the brink of the heights along the St.
Lawrence; but the left could not reach those along the St. Charles. On
this side a wide space was perforce left open, and there was danger of
being outflanked. To prevent this, Brigadier Townshend was stationed
here with two battalions, drawn up at right angles with the rest, and
fronting the St. Charles. The battalion of Webb's regiment, under
Colonel Burton, formed the reserve; the third battalion of Royal
Americans was left to guard the landing; and Howe's light infantry
occupied a wood far in the rear. Wolfe, with Monckton and Murray,
commanded the front line, on which the heavy fighting was to fall, and
which, when all the troops had arrived, numbered less than thirty-five
hundred men.
Quebec was not a mile distant, but they could not see it; for a ridge of
broken ground intervened, called Buttes-a-Neveu, about six hundred paces
off. The first division of troops had scarcely come up when, about six
o'clock, this ridge was suddenly thronged with white uniforms. It was
the battalion of Guienne, arrived at the eleventh hour from its camp by
the St. Charles. Some time after there was hot firing in the rear. It
came from a detachment of Bougainville's command attacking a house where
some of the light infantry were posted. The assailants were repulsed,
and the firing ceased. Light showers fell at intervals, besprinkling
the troops as they stood patiently waiting the event.
Montcalm had passed a troubled night. Through all the evening the cannon
bellowed from the ships of Saunders, and the boats of the fleet hovered
in the dusk off the Beauport shore, threatening every moment to land.
Troops lined the intrenchments till day, while the General walked the
field that adjoined his headquarters till one in the morning,
accompanied by the Chevalier Johnstone and Colonel Poulariez. Johnstone
says that he was in great agitation, and took no rest all night. At
daybreak he heard the sound of cannon above the town. It was the battery
at Samos firing on the English ships. He had sent an officer to the
quarters of Vaudreuil, which were much nearer Quebec, with orders to
bring him word at once should anything unusual happen. But no word came,
and about six o'clock he mounted and rode thither with Johnstone. As
they advanced, the country behind the town opened more and more upon
their sight; till at length, when opposite Vaudreuil's house, they saw
across the St. Charles, some two miles away, the red ranks of British
soldiers on the heights beyond.
"This is a serious business," Montcalm said; and sent off Johnstone at
full gallop to bring up the troops from the centre and left of the camp.
Those of the right were in motion already, doubtless by the Governor's
order. Vaudreuil came out of the house. Montcalm stopped for a few words
with him; then set spurs to his horse, and rode over the bridge of the
St. Charles to the scene of danger. He rode with a fixed look, uttering
not a word.
The army followed in such order as it might, crossed the bridge in hot
haste, passed under the northern rampart of Quebec, entered at the
Palace Gate, and pressed on in headlong march along the quaint narrow
streets of the warlike town: troops of Indians in scalplocks and
war-paint, a savage glitter in their deep-set eyes; bands of Canadians
whose all was at stake,--faith, country, and home; the colony regulars;
the battalions of Old France, a torrent of white uniforms and gleaming
bayonets, La Sarre, Languedoc, Roussillon, Bearn,--victors of Oswego,
William Henry, and Ticonderoga. So they swept on poured out upon the
plain, some by the gate of St. Louis, and some by that of St. John, and
hurried, breathless, to where the banners of Guienne still fluttered on
the ridge.
Montcalm was amazed at what he saw. He had expected a detachment, and he
found an army. Full in sight before him stretched the lines of Wolfe:
the close ranks of the English infantry, a silent wall of red, and the
wild array of the Highlanders, with their waving tartans, and bagpipes
screaming defiance. Vaudreuil had not come; but not the less was felt
the evil of a divided authority and the jealousy of the rival chiefs.
Montcalm waited long for the forces he had ordered to join him from the
left wing of the army. He waited in vain. It is said that the Governor
had detained them, lest the English should attack the Beauport shore.
Even if they did so, and succeeded, the French might defy them, could
they but put Wolfe to rout on the Plains of Abraham. Neither did the
garrison of Quebec come to the aid of Montcalm. He sent to Ramesay, its
commander, for twenty-five field-pieces which were on the Palace
battery. Ramesay would give him only three, saying that he wanted them
for his own defence. There were orders and counter-orders;
misunderstanding, haste, delay, perplexity.
Montcalm and his chief officers held a council of war. It is said that
he and they alike were for immediate attack. His enemies declare that he
was afraid lest Vaudreuil should arrive and take command; but the
Governor was not a man to assume responsibility at such a crisis. Others
say that his impetuosity overcame his better judgment; and of this
charge it is hard to acquit him. Bougainville was but a few miles
distant, and some of his troops were much nearer; a messenger sent by
way of Old Lorette could have reached him in an hour and a half at most,
and a combined attack in front and rear might have been concerted with
him. If, moreover, Montcalm could have come to an understanding with
Vaudreuil, his own force might have been strengthened by two or three
thousand additional men from the town and the camp of Beauport; but he
felt that there was no time to lose, for he imagined that Wolfe would
soon be reinforced, which was impossible, and he believed that the
English were fortifying themselves, which was no less an error. He has
been blamed not only for fighting too soon, but for fighting at all. In
this he could not choose. Fight he must, for Wolfe was now in a position
to cut off all his supplies. His men were full of ardor, and he resolved
to attack before their ardor cooled. He spoke a few words to them in his
keen, vehement way. "I remember very well how he looked," one of the
Canadians, then a boy of eighteen, used to say in his old age; "he rode
a black or dark bay horse along the front of our lines, brandishing his
sword, as if to excite us to do our duty. He wore a coat with wide
sleeves, which fell back as he raised his arm, and showed the white
linen of the wristband."
The English waited the result with a composure which, if not quite real,
was at least well feigned. The three field-pieces sent by Ramesay plied
them with canister-shot, and fifteen hundred Canadians and Indians
fusilladed them in front and flank. Over all the plain, from behind
bushes and knolls and the edge of cornfields, puffs of smoke sprang
incessantly from the guns of these hidden marksmen. Skirmishers were
thrown out before the lines to hold them in check, and the soldiers were
ordered to lie on the grass to avoid the shot. The firing was liveliest
on the English left, where bands of sharpshooters got under the edge of
the declivity, among thickets, and behind scattered houses, whence they
killed and wounded a considerable number of Townshend's men. The light
infantry were called up from the rear. The houses were taken and
retaken, and one or more of them was burned.
Wolfe was everywhere. How cool he was, and why his followers loved him,
is shown by an incident that happened in the course of the morning. One
of his captains was shot through the lungs; and on recovering
consciousness he saw the General standing at his side. Wolfe pressed his
hand, told him not to despair, praised his services, promised him early
promotion, and sent an aide-de-camp to Monckton to beg that officer to
keep the promise if he himself should fall.
It was towards ten o'clock when, from the high ground on the right of
the line, Wolfe saw that the crisis was near. The French on the ridge
had formed themselves into three bodies, regulars in the centre,
regulars and Canadians on right and left. Two field-pieces, which had
been dragged up the heights at Anse du Foulon, fired on them with
grape-shot, and the troops, rising from the ground, prepared to receive
them. In a few moments more they were in motion. They came on rapidly,
uttering loud shouts, and firing as soon as they were within range.
Their ranks, ill ordered at the best, were further confused by a number
of Canadians who had been mixed among the regulars, and who, after
hastily firing, threw themselves on the ground to reload. The British
advanced a few rods; then baited and stood still. When the French were
within forty paces the word of command rang out, and a crash of musketry
answered all along the line. The volley was delivered with remarkable
precision. In the battalions of the centre, which had suffered least
from the enemy's bullets, the simultaneous explosion was afterwards said
by French officers to have sounded like a cannon-shot. Another volley
followed, and then a furious clattering fire that lasted but a minute or
two. When the smoke rose, a miserable sight was revealed: the ground
cumbered with dead and wounded, the advancing masses stopped short and
turned into a frantic mob, shouting, cursing, gesticulating. The order
was given to charge. Then over the field rose the British cheer, mixed
with the fierce yell of the Highland slogan. Some of the corps pushed
forward with the bayonet; some advanced firing. The clansmen drew their
broadswords and dashed on, keen and swift as bloodhounds. At the English
right, though the attacking column was broken to pieces, a fire was
still kept up, chiefly, it seems, by sharpshooters from the bushes and
cornfields, where they had lain for an hour or more. Here Wolfe himself
led the charge, at the head of the Louisbourg grenadiers. A shot
shattered his wrist. He wrapped his handkerchief about it and kept on.
Another shot struck him, and he still advanced, when a third lodged in
his breast. He staggered, and sat on the ground. Lieutenant Brown, of
the grenadiers, one Henderson, a volunteer in the same company, and a
private soldier, aided by an officer of artillery who ran to join them,
carried him in their arms to the rear. He begged them to lay him down.
They did so, and asked if he would have a surgeon. "There's no need," he
answered; "it's all over with me." A moment after, one of them cried
out: "They run; see how they run!" "Who run?" Wolfe demanded, like a man
roused from sleep. "The enemy, sir. Egad, they give way everywhere!"
"Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," returned the dying man; "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 murmured, "Now, God be
praised, I will die in peace!" and in a few moments his gallant soul had
fled.
Montcalm, still on horseback, was borne with the tide of fugitives
towards the town. As he approached the walls a shot passed through his
body. He kept his seat; two soldiers supported him, one on each side,
and led his horse through the St. Louis Gate. On the open space within,
among the excited crowd, were several women, drawn, no doubt, by
eagerness to know the result of the fight. One of them recognized him,
saw the streaming blood, and shrieked, "_O mon Dieu! mon Dieu! le
Marquis est tue!_" "It's nothing, it's nothing," replied the
death-stricken man; "don't be troubled for me, my good friends." ("_Ce
n'est rien, ce n'est rien; ne vous affligez pas pour moi, mes bonnes
amies._")
* * * * *
Some of the fugitives took refuge in the city and others escaped across
the St. Charles. In the next night the French army abandoned Quebec to
its fate and fled up the St. Lawrence. The city soon surrendered to
Wolfe's successor, Brigadier Townshend, and the English held it during
the winter. In April, the French under the Chevalier de Levis made a
bold but unsuccessful attempt to retake it. In the following summer,
General Amherst advanced on Montreal, till in September all Canada was
forced to surrender, and the power of France was extinguished on the
North American continent.
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge
=Transcriber's Notes:=
original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in
the original
Page 15, "Day, 1646. he gave" changed to "Day, 1646, he gave"
Page 22, "want of pay: ordnance" changed to "want of pay; ordnance"
Page 41, "moccasons" changed to "moccasins"
Page 99, "rifle-but" changed to "rifle-butt"
Page 114, "seized her How" changed to "seized her. How"