On August 19 an aide-de-camp came out of the farmhouse at Montmorency
which served as the headquarters of the British army to say that Wolfe
was too ill to rise from his bed. The bad news spread like wildfire
through the camp and fleet, and soon became known among the French.
A week passed; but Wolfe was no better. Tossing about on his bed in a
fever, he thought bitterly of his double defeat, of the critical month
of September, of the grim strength of Quebec, formed by nature for a
stronghold, and then--worse still--of his own weak body, which made him
most helpless just when he should have been most fit for his duty.
Feeling that he could no longer lead in person, he dictated a letter to
the brigadiers, sent them the secret instructions he had received from
Pitt and the king, and asked them to think over his three new plans for
attacking Montcalm at Beauport. They wrote back to say they thought the
defeats at the upper fords of the Montmorency and at the heights facing
the St Lawrence showed that the French could not be beaten by attacking
the Beauport lines again, no matter from what side the attack was made.
They then gave him a plan of their own, which was, to convey the army up
the St Lawrence and fight their way ashore somewhere between Cap Rouge,
nine miles above Quebec, and Pointe-aux-Trembles, twenty-two miles
above. They argued that, by making a landing there, the British could
cut off Montcalm's communications with Three Rivers and Montreal, from
which his army drew its supplies. Wolfe's letter was dictated from his
bed of sickness on the 26th. The brigadiers answered him on the 29th.
Saunders talked it all over with him on the 31st. Before this the fate
of Canada had been an affair of weeks. Now it was a matter of days;
for the morrow would dawn on the very last possible month of the
siege--September.
After his talk with Saunders Wolfe wrote his last letter home to his
mother, telling her of his desperate plight:
The enemy puts nothing to risk, and I can't in conscience
put the whole army to risk. My antagonist has wisely
shut himself up in inaccessible entrenchments, so that
I can't get at him without spilling a torrent of blood,
and that perhaps to little purpose. The Marquis de
Montcalm is at the head of a great number of bad
soldiers and I am at the head of a small number of
good ones, that wish for nothing so much as to fight
him; but the wary old fellow avoids an action, doubtful
of the behaviour of his army. People must be of the
profession to understand the disadvantages and
difficulties we labour under, arising from the uncommon
natural strength of the country.
On September 2 he wrote his last letter to Pitt. He had asked the
doctors to 'patch him up,' saying that if they could make him fit for
duty for only the next few days they need not trouble about what might
happen to him afterwards. Their 'patching up' certainly cleared his
fevered brain, for this letter was a masterly account of the whole siege
and the plans just laid to bring it to an end. The style was so good,
indeed, that Charles Townshend said his brother George must have been
the real author, and that Wolfe, whom he dubbed 'a fiery-headed fellow,
only fit for fighting,' could not have done any more than sign his name.
But when George Townshend's own official letter about the battle in
which Wolfe fell was also published, and was found to be much less
effective than Wolfe's, Selwyn went up to Charles Townshend and said:
'Look here, Charles, if your brother wrote Wolfe's letter, who the devil
wrote your brother's?'
Wolfe did not try to hide anything from Pitt. He told him plainly about
the two defeats and the terrible difficulties in the way of winning any
victory. The whole letter is too long for quotation, and odd scraps from
it give no idea of Wolfe's lucid style. But here are a few which tell
the gist of the story:
I found myself so ill, and am still so weak, that I
begged the generals to consult together. They are all
of opinion, that, as more ships and provisions are
now got above the town, they should try, by conveying
up five thousand men, to draw the enemy from his
present position and bring him to an action. I have
acquiesced in their proposal, and we are preparing to
put it into execution. The admiral will readily join
in any measure for the public service. There is such
a choice of difficulties that I own myself at a loss
how to determine. The affairs of Great Britain I know
require the most vigorous measures. You may be sure
that the small part of the campaign which remains
shall be employed, as far as I am able, for the honour
of His Majesty and the interest of the nation. I am
sure of being well seconded by the admirals and
generals; happy if our efforts here can contribute to
the success of His Majesty's arms in any other part
of America.
On the 31st, the day he wrote to his mother and had his long talk
with Saunders, Wolfe began to send his guns and stores away from the
Montmorency camp. Carleton managed the removal very cleverly; and on
September 3 only the five thousand infantry who were to go up the St
Lawrence were left there. Wolfe tried to tempt Montcalm to attack him.
But Montcalm knew better; and half suspected that Wolfe himself might
make another attack on the Beauport lines. When everything was ready,
all the men at the Point of Levy who could be spared put off in boats
and rowed over towards Beauport, just as Monckton's men had done on the
disastrous last day of July. At the same time the main division of the
fleet, under Saunders, made as if to support these boats, while the
Levis batteries thundered against Quebec. Carleton gave the signal from
the beach at Montmorency when the tide was high; and the whole five
thousand infantry marched down the hill, got into their boats, and rowed
over to where the other boats were waiting. The French now prepared
to defend themselves at once. But as the two divisions of boats came
together, they both rowed off through the gaps between the men-of-war.
Wolfe's army had broken camp and got safely away, right under the noses
of the French, without the loss of a single man.
A whole week, from September 3 to 10, was then taken up with trying to
see how the brigadiers' plan could be carried out.
This plan was good, as far as it went. An army is even harder to supply
than a town would be if the town was taken up bodily and moved about the
country. An army makes no supplies itself, but uses up a great deal.
It must have food, clothing, arms, ammunition, stores of all kinds, and
everything else it needs to keep it fit for action. So it must always
keep what are called 'communications' with the places from which it gets
these supplies. Now, Wolfe's and Montcalm's armies were both supplied
along the St Lawrence, Wolfe's from below Quebec and Montcalm's
from above. But Wolfe had no trouble about the safety of his own
'communications,' since they were managed and protected by the fleet.
Even before he first saw Quebec, a convoy of supply ships had sailed
from the Maritime Provinces for his army under the charge of a
man-of-war. And so it went on all through the siege. Including
forty-nine men-of-war, no less than 277 British vessels sailed up to
Quebec during this campaign; and not one of them was lost on the way,
though the St Lawrence had then no lighthouses, buoys, or other aids to
navigation, as it has now, and though the British officers themselves
were compelled to take the ships through the worst places in these
foreign and little-known waters. The result was that there were abundant
supplies for the British army the whole time, thanks to the fleet.
But Montcalm was in a very different plight. Since the previous autumn,
when Wolfe and Hardy had laid waste the coast of Gaspe, the supply of
sea-fish had almost failed. Now the whole country below Quebec had been
cut off by the fleet, while most of the country round Quebec was being
laid waste by the army. Wolfe's orders were that no man, woman, or child
was to be touched, nor any house or other buildings burnt, if his
own men were not attacked. But if the men of the country fired at his
soldiers they were to be shot down, and everything they had was to be
destroyed. Of course, women and children were strictly protected, under
all circumstances, and no just complaint was ever made against the
British for hurting a single one. But as the men persisted in firing,
the British fired back and destroyed the farms where the firing took
place, on the fair-play principle that it is right to destroy whatever
is used to destroy you.
It thus happened that, except at a few little villages where the men
had not fired on the soldiers, the country all round Quebec was like a
desert, as far as supplies for the French were concerned. The only
way to obtain anything for their camp was by bringing it down the St
Lawrence from Montreal, Sorel, and Three Rivers. French vessels would
come down as far as they dared and then send the supplies on in barges,
which kept close in under the north shore above Quebec, where the French
outposts and batteries protected them from the British men-of-war that
were pushing higher and higher up the river. Some supplies were brought
in by land after they were put ashore above the highest British vessels.
But as a hundred tons came far more easily by water than one ton by
land, it is not hard to see that Montcalm's men could not hold out long
if the St Lawrence near Quebec was closed to supplies.
Wolfe, Montcalm, the brigadiers, and every one else on both sides knew
this perfectly well. But, as it was now September, the fleet could not
go far up the much more difficult channel towards Montreal. If it did,
and took Wolfe's army with it, the few French men-of-war might dispute
the passage, and some sunken ships might block the way, at all events
for a time. Besides, the French were preparing to repulse any landing up
the river, between Cap Rouge, nine miles above Quebec, and Deschambault,
forty miles above; and with good prospect of success, because the
country favoured their irregulars. Moreover, if Wolfe should land many
miles up, Montcalm might still hold out far down in Quebec for the few
days remaining till October. If, on the other hand, the fleet went
up and left Wolfe's men behind, Montcalm would be safer than ever at
Beauport and Quebec; because, how could Wolfe reach him without a fleet
when he had failed to reach him with one?
The life-and-death question for Wolfe was how to land close enough above
Quebec and soon enough in September to make Montcalm fight it out on
even terms and in the open field.
The brigadiers' plan of landing high up seemed all right till they tried
to work it out. Then they found troubles in plenty. There were several
places for them to land between Cap Rouge, nine miles above Quebec, and
Pointe-aux-Trembles, thirteen miles higher still. Ever since July 18
British vessels had been passing to and fro above Quebec; and in August,
Murray, under the guard of Holmes's squadron, had tried his brigade
against Pointe-aux-Trembles, where he was beaten back, and at
Deschambault, twenty miles farther up, where he took some prisoners
and burnt some supplies. To ward off further and perhaps more serious
attacks from this quarter, Montcalm had been keeping Bougainville on the
lookout, especially round Pointe-aux-Trembles, for several weeks before
the brigadiers arranged their plan. Bougainville now had 2,000 infantry,
all the mounted men--nearly 300--and all the best Indian and Canadian
scouts, along the thirteen miles of shore between Cap Rouge and
Pointe-aux-Trembles. His land and water batteries had also been made
much stronger. He and Montcalm were in close touch and could send
messages to each other and get an answer back within four hours.
On the 7th Wolfe and the brigadiers had a good look at every spot round
Pointe-aux-Trembles. On the 8th and 9th the brigadiers were still there;
while five transports sailed past Quebec on the 8th to join Holmes, who
commanded the up-river squadron. Two of Wolfe's brigades were now on
board the transports with Holmes. But the whole three were needed; and
this need at once entailed another difficulty. A successful landing on
the north shore above Quebec could only be made under cover of the dark;
and Wolfe could not bring the third brigade, under cover of night, from
the island of Orleans and the Point of Levy, and land it with the other
two twenty miles up the river before daylight. The tidal stream runs
up barely five hours, while it runs down more than seven; and winds are
mostly down. Next, if, instead of sailing, the third brigade marched
twenty miles at night across very rough country on the south shore, it
would arrive later than ever. Then, only one brigade could be put ashore
in boats at one time in one place, and Bougainville could collect enough
men to hold it in check while he called in reinforcements at least as
fast on the French side as the British could on theirs. Another thing
was that the wooded country favoured the French defence and hindered the
British attack. Lastly, if Wolfe and Saunders collected the whole five
thousand soldiers and a still larger squadron and convoy up the river,
Montcalm would see the men and ships being moved from their positions in
front of his Beauport entrenchments, and would hurry to the threatened
shore between Cap Rouge and Pointe-aux-Trembles almost as soon as the
British, and certainly in time to reinforce Bougainville and repulse
Wolfe.
The 9th was Wolfe's last Sunday. It was a cheerless, rainy day; and he
almost confessed himself beaten for good, as he sat writing his last
official letter to one of Pitt's friends, the Earl of Holderness. He
dated it, 'On board the _Sutherland_ at anchor off Cap Rouge, September
9, 1759.' He ended it with gloomy news: 'I am so far recovered as to be
able to do business, but my constitution is entirely ruined, without
the consolation of having done any considerable service to the state, or
without any prospect of it.'
The very next day, however, he saw his chance. He stood at Etchemin, on
the south shore, two miles above Quebec, and looked long and earnestly
through his telescope at the Foulon road, a mile and a half away,
running up to the Plains of Abraham from the Anse au Foulon, which
has ever since been called Wolfe's Cove. Then he looked at the Plains
themselves, especially at a spot only one mile from Quebec, where
the flat and open ground formed a perfect field of battle for his
well-drilled regulars. He knew the Foulon road must be fairly good,
because it was the French line of communication between the Anse au
Foulon and the Beauport camp. The Cove and the nearest point of the camp
were only two miles and a quarter apart, as the crow flies. But between
them rose the tableland of the Plains, 300 feet above the river. Thus
they were screened from each other, and a surprise at the Cove might not
be found out too soon at the camp.
Now, Wolfe knew that the French expected to be attacked either above Cap
Rouge (up towards Pointe-aux-Trembles) or below Quebec (down in their
Beauport entrenchments). He also knew that his own army thought the
attack would be made above Cap Rouge. Thus the French were still very
anxious about the six miles at Beauport, while both sides were keenly
watching each other all over the thirteen miles above Cap Rouge. Nobody
seemed to be thinking about the nine miles between Cap Rouge and Quebec,
and least of all about the part nearest Quebec.
Yes, one man was thinking about it, and he never stopped thinking about
it till he died. That man was Montcalm. On the 5th, when Wolfe began
moving up-stream, Montcalm had sent a whole battalion to the Plains. But
on the 7th, when the British generals were all at Pointe-aux-Trembles,
Vaudreuil, always ready to spite Montcalm, ordered this battalion back
to camp, saying, 'The British haven't got wings; they can't fly up to
the Plains!' Wolfe, of course, saw that the battalion had been taken
away; and he soon found out why. Vaudreuil was a great talker and could
never keep a secret. Wolfe knew perfectly well that Vaudreuil and Bigot
were constantly spoiling whatever Montcalm was doing, so he counted on
this trouble in the French camp as he did on other facts and chances.
He now gave up all idea of his old plans against Beauport, as well as
the new plan of the brigadiers, and decided on another plan of his own.
It was new in one way, because he had never seen a chance of carrying it
out before. But it was old in another way, because he had written to his
uncle from Louisbourg on May 19, and spoken of getting up the heights
four or five miles above Quebec if he could do so by surprise. Again,
even so early in the siege as July 18 he had been chafing at what he
called the 'coldness' of the fleet about pushing up beyond Quebec.
The entry in his private diary for that day is: 'The _Sutherland_ and
_Squirrell_, two transports, and two armed sloops passed the narrow
passage between Quebec and Levy _without losing a man_.' Next day, his
entry is more scathing still: 'Reconnoitred the country immediately
above Quebec and found that _if we had ventured the stroke that was
first intended we should infallibly have succeeded_.' This shows how
long he had kept the plan waiting for the chance. But it does not prove
that he had missed any earlier chances through the 'coldness' of
the fleet. For it is significant that he afterwards struck out
'_infallibly_' and substituted '_probably_'; while it must be remembered
that the _Sutherland_ and her consorts formed only a very small
flotilla, that they passed Quebec in the middle of a very dark night,
that the St Lawrence above the town was intricate and little known, that
the loss of several men-of-war might have been fatal, that the enemy's
attention had not become distracted in July to anything like the same
bewildering extent as it had in September, and that the intervening
course of events--however disappointing in itself--certainly helped to
make his plan suit the occasion far better late than soon. Moreover,
in a note to Saunders in August, he had spoken about a 'desperate' plan
which he could not trust his brigadiers to carry out, and which he was
then too sick to carry out himself.
Now that he was 'patched up' enough for a few days, and that the chance
seemed to be within his grasp, he made up his mind to strike at once. He
knew that the little French post above the Anse au Foulon was commanded
by one of Bigot's blackguards; Vergor, whose Canadian militiamen were
as slack as their commander. He knew that the Samos battery, a little
farther from Quebec, had too small a garrison, with only five guns and
no means of firing them on the landward side; so that any of his men,
once up the heights, could rush it from the rear. He knew the French had
only a few weak posts the whole way down from Cap Rouge, and that these
posts often let convoys of provision boats pass quietly at night into
the Anse au Foulon. He knew that some of Montcalm's best regulars had
gone to Montreal with Levis, the excellent French second-in-command,
to strengthen the defence against Amherst's slow advance from Lake
Champlain. He knew that Montcalm still had a total of 10,000 men between
Montmorency and Quebec, as against his own attacking force of 5,000; yet
he also knew that the odds of two to one were reversed in his favour
so far as European regulars were concerned; for Montcalm could not
now bring 3,000 French regulars into immediate action at any one spot.
Finally, he knew that all the French were only half-fed, and that
those with Bougainville were getting worn out by having to march across
country, in a fruitless effort to keep pace with the ships of Holmes's
squadron and convoy, which floated up and down with the tide.
Wolfe's plan was to keep the French alarmed more than ever at the
two extreme ends of their line--Beauport below Quebec and
Pointe-aux-Trembles above--and then to strike home at their undefended
centre, by a surprise landing at the Anse au Foulon. Once landed, well
before daylight, he could rush Vergor's post and the Samos battery,
march across the Plains, and form his line of battle a mile from Quebec
before Montcalm could come up in force from Beauport. Probably he could
also defeat him before Bougainville could march down from some point
well above Cap Rouge.
There were chances to reckon with in this plan. But so there are in all
plans; and to say Wolfe took Quebec by mere luck is utter nonsense. He
was one of the deepest thinkers on war who ever lived, especially on
the British kind of war, by land and sea together; and he had had the
preparation of a lifetime to help him in using a fleet and army that
worked together like the two arms of one body. He simply made a plan
which took proper account of all the facts and all the chances. Fools
make lucky hits, now and then, by the merest chance. But no one except a
genius can make and carry out a plan like Wolfe's, which meant at least
a hundred hits running, all in the selfsame spot.
No sooner had Wolfe made his admirable plan that Monday morning,
September 10, than he set all the principal officers to work out the
different parts of it. But he kept the whole a secret. Nobody except
himself knew more than one part, and how that one part was to be worked
in at the proper time and place. Even the fact that the Anse au Foulon
was to be the landing-place was kept secret till the last moment from
everybody except Admiral Holmes, who made all the arrangements, and
Captain Chads, the naval officer who was to lead the first boats down.
The great plot thickened fast. The siege that had been an affair of
weeks, and the brigadiers' plan that had been an affair of days, both
gave way to a plan in which every hour was made to tell. Wolfe's seventy
hours of consummate manoeuvres, by land and water, over a front of
thirty miles, were followed by a battle in which the fighting of only a
few minutes settled the fate of Canada for centuries.
During the whole of those momentous three days--Monday, Tuesday, and
Wednesday, September 10, 11, and 12, 1759--Wolfe, Saunders, and Holmes
kept the French in constant alarm about the thirteen miles _above_ Cap
Rouge and the six miles _below_ Quebec; but gave no sign by which any
immediate danger could be suspected along the nine miles between Cap
Rouge and Quebec.
Saunders stayed below Quebec. On the 12th he never gave the French
a minute's rest all day and night. He sent Cook and others close in
towards Beauport to lay buoys, as if to mark out a landing-place for
another attack like the one on July 31. It is a singular coincidence
that while Cook, the great British circumnavigator of the globe,
was trying to get Wolfe into Quebec, Bougainville, the great French
circumnavigator, was trying to keep him out. Towards evening Saunders
formed up his boats and filled them with marines, whose own red coats,
seen at a distance, made them look like soldiers. He moved his fleet in
at high tide and fired furiously at the entrenchments. All night long
his boatloads of men rowed up and down and kept the French on the alert.
This feint against Beauport was much helped by the men of Wolfe's third
brigade, who remained at the island of Orleans and the Point of Levy
till after dark, by a whole battalion of marines guarding the Levis
batteries, and by these batteries themselves, which, meanwhile, were
bombarding Quebec--again like the 31st of July. The bombardment was kept
up all night and became most intense just before dawn, when Wolfe was
landing two miles above.
At the other end of the French line, above Cap Rouge, Holmes had kept
threatening Bougainville more and more towards Pointe-aux-Trembles,
twenty miles above the Foulon. Wolfe's soldiers had kept landing on the
south shore day after day; then drifting up with the tide on board the
transports past Pointe-aux-Trembles; then drifting down towards Cap
Rouge; and then coming back the next day to do the same thing over
again. This had been going on, more or less, even before Wolfe had made
his plan, and it proved very useful to him. He knew that Bougainville's
men were getting quite worn out by scrambling across country, day after
day, to keep up with Holmes's restless squadron and transports. He also
knew that men who threw themselves down, tired out, late at night could
not be collected from different places, all over their thirteen-mile
beat, and brought down in the morning, fit to fight on a battlefield
eight miles from the nearest of them and twenty-one from the farthest.
Montcalm was greatly troubled. He saw redcoats with Saunders opposite
Beauport, redcoats at the island, redcoats at the Point of Levy, and
redcoats guarding the Levis batteries. He had no means of finding out at
once that the redcoats with Saunders and at the batteries were marines,
and that the redcoats who really did belong to Wolfe were under orders
to march off after dark that very night and join the other two brigades
which were coming down the river from the squadron above Cap Rouge. He
had no boats that could get through the perfect screen of the British
fleet. But all that the skill of mortal man could do against these odds
he did on that fatal eve of battle, as he had done for three years past,
with foes in front and false friends behind. He ordered the battalion
which he had sent to the Plains on the 5th, and which Vaudreuil had
brought back on the 7th, 'now to go and camp at the Foulon'; that is, at
the top of the road coming up from Wolfe's landing-place at the Anse au
Foulon. But Vaudreuil immediately gave a counter-order and said: 'We'll
see about that to-morrow.' Vaudreuil's 'to-morrow' never came.
That afternoon of the 12th, while Montcalm and Vaudreuil were at
cross-purposes near the mouth of the St Charles, Wolfe was only four
miles away, on the other side of the Plains, in a boat on the St
Lawrence, where he was taking his last look at what he then called the
Foulon and what the world now calls Wolfe's Cove. His boat was just
turning to drift up in midstream, off Sillery Point, which is only half
a mile above the Foulon. He wanted to examine the Cove well through his
telescope at dead low tide, as he intended to land his army there at
the next low tide. Close beside him sat young Robison, who was not an
officer in either the Army or Navy, but who had come out to Canada as
tutor to an admiral's son, and who had been found so good at maps that
he was employed with Wolfe's engineers in making surveys and sketches of
the ground about Quebec. Shutting up his telescope, Wolfe sat silent a
while. Then, as afterwards recorded by Robison, he turned towards his
officers and repeated several stanzas of Gray's _Elegy_. 'Gentlemen,' he
said as he ended, 'I would sooner have written that poem than beat the
French to-morrow.' He did not know then that his own fame would far
surpass the poet's, and that he should win it in the very way described
in one of the lines he had just been quoting--
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
At half-past eight in the evening he was sitting in his cabin on board
Holmes's flagship, the _Sutherland_, above Cap Rouge, with 'Jacky
Jervis'--the future Earl St Vincent, but now the youngest captain in
the fleet, only twenty-four. Wolfe and Jervis had both been at the same
school at Greenwich, Swinden's, though at different times, and they were
great friends. Wolfe had made up a sealed parcel of his notebook, his
will, and the portrait of Katherine Lowther, and he now handed it over
to Jervis for safe keeping.
But he had no chance of talking about old times at home, for just then a
letter from the three brigadiers was handed in. It asked him if he would
not give them 'distinct orders' about 'the place or places we are to
attack.' He wrote back to the senior, Monckton, telling him what he had
arranged for the first and second brigades, and then, separately, to
Townshend about the third, which was not with Holmes but on the south
shore. After dark the men from the island and the Point of Levy had
marched up to join this brigade at Etchemin, the very place where Wolfe
had made his plan on the 10th, as he stood and looked at the Foulon
opposite.
His last general orders to his army had been read out some hours before;
but, of course, the Foulon was not mentioned. These orders show that he
well understood the great issues he was fighting for, and what men he
had to count upon. Here are only three sentences; but how much they
mean! 'The enemy's force is now divided. A vigorous blow struck by the
army at this juncture may determine the fate of Canada. The officers and
men will remember what their country expects of them.' The watchword
was 'Coventry,' which, being probably suggested by the saying, 'Sent
to Coventry,' that is, condemned to silence, was as apt a word for this
expectant night as 'Gibraltar,' the symbol of strength, was for the one
on which Quebec surrendered.
Just before dark Holmes sent every vessel he could spare to make a show
of force opposite Pointe-aux-Trembles, in order to hold Bougainville
there overnight. But after dark the main body of Holmes's squadron and
all the boats and small transports came together opposite Cap Rouge.
Just before ten a single lantern appeared in the _Sutherland's_ main
topmast shrouds. On seeing this, Chads formed up the boats between the
ships and the south shore, the side away from the French. In three
hours every man was in his place. Not a sound was to be heard except the
murmur of the strong ebb-tide setting down towards Quebec and a gentle
south-west breeze blowing in the same direction. 'All ready, sir!'
and Wolfe took his own place in the first boat with his friend Captain
Delaune, the leader of the twenty-four men of the 'Forlorn Hope,' who
were to be the first to scale the cliff. Then a second lantern appeared
above the first; and the whole brigade of boats began to move off in
succession. They had about eight miles to go. But the current ran the
distance in two hours. As they advanced they could see the flashes from
the Levis batteries growing brighter and more frequent; for both the
land gunners there and the seamen gunners with Saunders farther down
were increasing their fire as the hour for Wolfe's landing drew near.
A couple of miles above the Foulon the _Hunter_ was anchored in
midstream. As arranged, Chads left the south shore and steered straight
for her. To his surprise he saw her crew training their guns on him. But
they held their fire. Then Wolfe came alongside and found that she had
two French deserters on board who had mistaken his boats for the French
provision convoy that was expected to creep down the north shore that
very night and land at the Foulon. He had already planned to pass his
boats off as this convoy; for he knew that the farthest up of Holmes's
men-of-war had stopped it above Pointe-aux-Trembles. But he was glad
to know that the French posts below Cap Rouge had not yet heard of the
stoppage.
From the _Hunter_ his boat led the way to Sillery Point, half a mile
above the Foulon. 'Halt! Who comes there!'--a French sentry's voice rang
out in the silence of the night. 'France!' answered young Fraser, who
had been taken into Wolfe's boat because he spoke French like a native.
'What's your regiment?' asked the sentry. 'The Queen's,' answered
Fraser, who knew that this was the one supplying the escort for the
provision boats the British had held up. 'But why don't you speak out?'
asked the sentry again. 'Hush!' said Fraser, 'the British will hear us
if you make a noise.' And there, sure enough, was the _Hunter_, drifting
down, as arranged, not far outside the column of boats. Then the sentry
let them all pass; and, in ten minutes more, exactly at four o'clock,
the leading boat grounded in the Anse au Foulon and Wolfe jumped ashore.
He at once took the 'Forlorn Hope' and 200 light infantry to the side
of the Cove towards Quebec, saying as he went, 'I don't know if we shall
all get up, but we must make the attempt.' Then, while these men were
scrambling up, he went back to the middle of the Cove, where Howe had
already formed the remaining 500 light infantry. Captain Macdonald, a
very active climber, passed the 'Forlorn Hope' and was the first man to
reach the top and feel his way through the trees to the left, towards
Vergor's tents. Presently he almost ran into the sleepy French-Canadian
sentry, who heard only a voice speaking perfect French and telling him
it was all right--nothing but the reinforcements from the Beauport camp;
for Wolfe knew that Montcalm had been trying to get a French regular
officer to replace Vergor, who was as good a thief as Bigot and as bad a
soldier as Vaudreuil. While this little parley was going on the 'Forlorn
Hope' came up; when Macdonald promptly hit the sentry between the eyes
with the hilt of his claymore and knocked him flat. The light infantry
pressed on close behind. The dumbfounded French colonial troops coming
out of their tents found themselves face to face with a whole woodful of
fixed bayonets. They fired a few shots. The British charged with a loud
cheer. The Canadians scurried away through the trees. And Vergor ran for
dear life in his nightshirt.
The ringing cheer with which Delaune charged home told Wolfe at the foot
of the road that the actual top was clear. Then Howe went up; and in
fifteen minutes all the light infantry had joined their comrades above.
Another battalion followed quickly, and Wolfe himself followed them. By
this time it was five o'clock and quite light. The boats that had landed
the first brigade had already rowed through the gaps between the small
transports which were landing the second brigade, and had reached the
south shore, a mile and a half away, where the third brigade was waiting
for them.
Meanwhile the suddenly roused gunners of the Samos battery were firing
wildly at the British vessels. But the men-of-war fired back with better
aim, and Howe's light infantry, coming up at a run from behind, dashed
in among the astonished gunners with the bayonet, cleared them all
out, and spiked every gun. Howe left three companies there to hold the
battery against Bougainville later in the day, and returned with the
other seven to Wolfe. It was now six o'clock. The third brigade had
landed, the whole of the ground at the top was clear; and Wolfe set off
with 1,000 men to see what Montcalm was doing.
Quebec stands on the eastern end of a sort of promontory, or narrow
tableland, between the St Lawrence and the valley of the St Charles.
This tableland is less than a mile wide and narrows still more as it
approaches Quebec. Its top is tilted over towards the St Charles and
Beauport, the cliffs being only 100 feet high there, instead of 300,
as they are beside the St Lawrence; so Wolfe, as he turned in towards
Quebec, after marching straight across the tableland, could look out
over the French camp. Everything seemed quiet; so he made his left
secure and sent for his main body to follow him at once. It was now
seven. In another hour his line of battle was formed, his reserves had
taken post in his rear, and a brigade of seamen from Saunders's fleet
were landing guns, stores, blankets, tents, entrenching tools, and
whatever else he would need for besieging the city after defeating
Montcalm. The 3,000 sailors on the beach were anything but pleased
with the tame work of waiting there while the soldiers were fighting up
above. One of their officers, in a letter home, said they could hardly
stand still, and were perpetually swearing because they were not allowed
to get into the heat of action.
The whole of the complicated manoeuvres, in face of an active enemy, for
three days and three nights, by land and water, over a front of thirty
miles, had now been crowned by complete success. The army of 5,000 men
had been put ashore at the right time and in the right way; and it was
now ready to fight one of the great immortal battles of the world.
'The thin red line.' The phrase was invented long after Wolfe's day. But
Wolfe invented the fact. The six battalions which formed his front,
that thirteenth morning of September 1759, were drawn up in the first
two-deep line that ever stood on any field of battle in the world since
war began. And it was Wolfe alone who made this 'thin red line,' as
surely as it was Wolfe alone who made the plan that conquered Canada.
Meanwhile Montcalm had not been idle; though he was perplexed to the
last, because one of the stupid rules in the French camp was that all
news was to be told first to Vaudreuil, who, as governor-general, could
pass it on or not, and interfere with the army as much as he liked. When
it was light enough to see Saunders's fleet, the island of Orleans, and
the Point of Levy, Montcalm at once noticed that Wolfe's men had gone.
He galloped down to the bridge of boats, where he found that Vaudreuil
had already heard of Wolfe's landing. At first the French thought the
firing round the Foulon was caused by an exchange of shots between the
Samos battery and some British men-of-war that were trying to stop the
French provision boats from getting in there. But Vergor's fugitives and
the French patrols near Quebec soon told the real story. And then, just
before seven, Montcalm himself caught sight of Wolfe's first redcoats
marching in along the Ste Foy road. Well might he exclaim, after all he
had done and Vaudreuil had undone: 'There they are, where they have no
right to be!'
He at once sent orders, all along his six miles of entrenchments, to
bring up every French regular and all the rest except 2,000 militia.
But Vaudreuil again interfered; and Montcalm got only the French and
Canadian regulars, 2,500, and the same number of Canadian militia with
a few Indians. The French and British totals, actually present on the
field of battle, were, therefore, almost exactly equal, 5,000 each.
Vaudreuil also forgot to order out the field guns, the horses for which
the vile and corrupt Bigot had been using for himself. At nine Montcalm
had formed up his French and colonial regulars between Quebec and the
crest of rising ground across the Plains beyond which lay Wolfe. Riding
forward till he could see the redcoats, he noticed how thin their line
was on its left and in its centre, and that its right, near the St
Lawrence, had apparently not formed at all. But his eye deceived him
about the British right, as the men were lying down there, out of sight,
behind a swell of ground. He galloped back and asked if any one had
further news. Several officers declared they had heard that Wolfe was
entrenching, but that his right brigade had not yet had time to march on
to the field. There was no possible way of finding out anything else
at once. The chance seemed favourable. Montcalm knew he had to fight or
starve, as he was completely cut off by land and water, except for one
bad, swampy road in the valley of the St Charles; and he ordered his
line to advance.
At half-past nine the French reached the crest and halted. The two
armies were now in full view of each other on the Plains and only a
quarter of a mile apart. The French line of battle had eight small
battalions, about 2,500 men, formed six deep. The colonial regulars,
in three battalions, were on the flanks. The five battalions of French
regulars were in the centre. Montcalm, wearing a green and gold uniform,
with the brilliant cross of St Louis over his cuirass, and mounted on a
splendid black charger, rode the whole length of his line, to see if all
were ready to attack. The French regulars--half-fed, sorely harassed,
interfered with by Vaudreuil--were still the victors of Ticonderoga,
against the British odds of four to one. Perhaps they might snatch one
last desperate victory from the fortunes of war? Certainly all would
follow wherever they were led by their beloved Montcalm, the greatest
Frenchman of the whole New World. He said a few stirring words to each
of his well-known regiments as he rode by; and when he laughingly asked
the best of all, the Royal Roussillon, if they were not tired enough to
take a little rest before the battle, they shouted back that they were
never too tired to fight--'Forward, forward!' And their steady blue
ranks, and those of the four white regiments beside them, with bayonets
fixed and colours flying, did indeed look fit and ready for the fray.
Wolfe also had gone along his line of battle, the first of all two-deep
thin red lines, to make sure that every officer understood the order
that there was to be no firing until the French came close up, to within
only forty paces. As soon as he saw Montcalm's line on the crest he
had moved his own a hundred paces forward, according to previous
arrangement; so that the two enemies were now only a long musket-shot
apart. The Canadians and Indians were pressing round the British flanks,
under cover of the bushes, and firing hard. But they were easily held in
check by the light infantry on the left rear of the line and by the 35th
on the right rear. The few French and British skirmishers in the centre
now ran back to their own lines; and before ten the field was quite
clear between the two opposing fronts.
Wolfe had been wounded twice when going along his line; first in the
wrist and then in the groin. Yet he stood up so straight and looked so
cool that when he came back to take post on the right the men there did
not know he had been hit at all. His spirit already soared in triumph
over the weakness of the flesh. Here he was, a sick and doubly wounded
man; but a soldier, a hero, and a conqueror, with the key to half a
continent almost within his eager grasp.
At a signal from Montcalm in the centre the French line advanced about a
hundred yards in perfect formation. Then the Canadian regulars suddenly
began firing without orders, and threw themselves flat on the ground to
reload. By the time they had got up the French regulars had halted some
distance in front of them, fired a volley, and begun advancing again.
This was too much for the Canadians. Though they were regulars they were
not used to fighting in the open, not trained for it, and not armed for
it with bayonets. In a couple of minutes they had all slunk off to
the flanks and joined the Indians and militia, who were attacking the
British from under cover.
This left the French regulars face to face with Wolfe's front: five
French battalions against the British six. These two fronts were now to
decide the fate of Canada between them. The French still came bravely
on; but their six-deep line was much shorter than the British two-deep
line, and they saw that both their flanks were about to be over-lapped
by fire and steel. They inclined outwards to save themselves from this
fatal overlap on both right and left. But that made just as fatal a gap
in their centre. Their whole line wavered, halted oftener to fire, and
fired more wildly at each halt.
In the meantime Wolfe's front stood firm as a rock and silent as the
grave, one long, straight, living wall of red, with the double line
of deadly keen bayonets glittering above it. Nothing stirred along
its whole length, except the Union Jacks, waving defiance at the
fleurs-de-lis, and those patient men who fell before a fire to which
they could not yet reply. Bayonet after bayonet would suddenly flash out
of line and fall forward, as the stricken redcoat, standing there with
shouldered arms, quivered and sank to the ground.
Captain York had brought up a single gun in time for the battle, the
sailors having dragged it up the cliff and run it the whole way across
the Plains. He had been handling it most gallantly during the French
advance, firing showers of grape-shot into their ranks from a position
right out in the open in front of Wolfe's line. But now that the French
were closing he had to retire. The sailors then picked up the drag-ropes
and romped in with this most effective six-pounder at full speed, as if
they were having the greatest fun of their lives.
Wolfe was standing next to the Louisbourg Grenadiers, who, this time,
were determined not to begin before they were told. He was to give their
colonel the signal to fire the first volley; which then was itself to
be the signal for a volley from each of the other five battalions,
one after another, all down the line. Every musket was loaded with two
bullets, and the moment a battalion had fired it was to advance twenty
paces, loading as it went, and then fire a 'general,' that is, each man
for himself, as hard as he could, till the bugles sounded the charge.
Wolfe now watched every step the French line made. Nearer and nearer it
came. A hundred paces!--seventy-five!--fifty!--forty!!--_Fire!!!_ Crash!
came the volley from the grenadiers. Five volleys more rang out in quick
succession, all so perfectly delivered that they sounded more like six
great guns than six battalions with hundreds of muskets in each. Under
cover of the smoke Wolfe's men advanced their twenty paces and halted
to fire the 'general.' The dense, six-deep lines of Frenchmen reeled,
staggered, and seemed to melt away under this awful deluge of lead.
In five minutes their right was shaken out of all formation. All that
remained of it turned and fled, a wild, mad mob of panic-stricken
fugitives. The centre followed at once. But the Royal Roussillon
stood fast a little longer; and when it also turned it had only three
unwounded officers left, and they were trying to rally it.
Montcalm, who had led the centre and had been wounded in the advance,
galloped over to the Royal Roussillon as it was making this last stand.
But even he could not stem the rush that followed and that carried him
along with it. Over the crest and down to the valley of the St Charles
his army fled, the Canadians and Indians scurrying away through the
bushes as hard as they could run. While making one more effort to rally
enough men to cover the retreat he was struck again, this time by a
dozen grape-shot from York's gun. He reeled in the saddle. But two of
his grenadiers caught him and held him up while he rode into Quebec. As
he passed through St Louis Gate a terrified woman called out, 'Oh! look
at the marquis, he's killed, he's killed!' But Montcalm, by a supreme
effort, sat up straight for a moment and said: 'It is nothing at all, my
kind friend; you must not be so much alarmed!' and, saying this, passed
on to die, a hero to the very last.
In the thick of the short, fierce fire-fight the bagpipes began to
skirl, the Highlanders dashed down their muskets, drew their claymores,
and gave a yell that might have been heard across the river. In a moment
every British bugle was sounding the 'Charge' and the whole red, living
wall was rushing forward with a roaring cheer.
But it charged without Wolfe. He had been mortally wounded just after
giving the signal for those famous volleys. Two officers sprang to his
side. 'Hold me up!' he implored them, 'don't let my gallant fellows see
me fall!' With the help of a couple of men he was carried back to the
far side of a little knoll and seated on a grenadier's folded coat,
while the grenadier who had taken it off ran over to a spring to get
some water. Wolfe knew at once that he was dying. But he did not yet
know how the battle had gone. His head had sunk on his breast, and his
eyes were already glazing, when an officer on the knoll called out,
'They run! They run! 'Egad, they give way everywhere!' Rousing himself,
as if from sleep, Wolfe asked, 'Who run?'--'The French, sir!'--'Then I
die content!'--and, almost as he said it, he breathed his last.
He was not buried on the field he won, nor even in the country that he
conquered. All that was mortal of him--his poor, sick, wounded body--was
borne back across the sea, and carried in mourning triumph through
his native land. And there, in the family vault at Greenwich, near the
school he had left for his first war, half his short life ago, he was
laid to rest on November 20--at the very time when his own great victory
before Quebec was being confirmed by Hawke's magnificently daring attack
on the French fleet amid all the dangers of that wild night in Quiberon
Bay.
Canada has none of his mortality. But could she have anything more
sacred than the spot from which his soaring spirit took its flight into
immortal fame? And could this sacred spot be marked by any words more
winged than these:
HERE DIED
WOLFE
VICTORIOUS