FOOTNOTES:[175]"That admiral (Saunders) was a pattern of most sturdy bravery, united with the most unaffected modesty. No man said less or deserved more. Simplicity in his manners, generosity, and good nature adorned his genuine love of his country."—Walpole'sMemoirs of George II., p. 394.[176]"The sides of the river began immediately to show a most dismal appearance of fire and smoke; and (as the troops employed on this service were the remains of those who escaped the massacre of Fort William Henry, where they killed and scalped every wounded officer and common man) they spared little or nothing that came in their way."—Gentleman's Magazinevol. xxix., p. 556.
[175]"That admiral (Saunders) was a pattern of most sturdy bravery, united with the most unaffected modesty. No man said less or deserved more. Simplicity in his manners, generosity, and good nature adorned his genuine love of his country."—Walpole'sMemoirs of George II., p. 394.
[175]"That admiral (Saunders) was a pattern of most sturdy bravery, united with the most unaffected modesty. No man said less or deserved more. Simplicity in his manners, generosity, and good nature adorned his genuine love of his country."—Walpole'sMemoirs of George II., p. 394.
[176]"The sides of the river began immediately to show a most dismal appearance of fire and smoke; and (as the troops employed on this service were the remains of those who escaped the massacre of Fort William Henry, where they killed and scalped every wounded officer and common man) they spared little or nothing that came in their way."—Gentleman's Magazinevol. xxix., p. 556.
[176]"The sides of the river began immediately to show a most dismal appearance of fire and smoke; and (as the troops employed on this service were the remains of those who escaped the massacre of Fort William Henry, where they killed and scalped every wounded officer and common man) they spared little or nothing that came in their way."—Gentleman's Magazinevol. xxix., p. 556.
Wolfe had now been five weeks before Quebec; not a few lives had been lost, a vast quantity of ammunition expended, and, above all, the season of action was already half consumed. But, as yet, no important step, in a military point of view, had been gained. The high grounds which he occupied beyond Montmorency and Point Levi had scarcely been disputed by the enemy. From day to day the hostile parapets were strengthened and extended. He had carefully examined the north bank of the Great River above and below the city, and could discover no one spot where either nature or art did not forbid his landing. Whatever discontent or distress might exist in the Canadian camp, there appeared no diminution of numbers or slackening of zeal in the defense. Montcalm had neither suffered himself to be provoked by insult or to be tempted by brilliant but dangerous opportunity. He rendered assurance doubly sure by keeping his superior force in a superior position; his raw provincial levies, when behind breast-works, were far from inefficient, and his numerous savage allies were terrible in their forest warfare; with the first he manned his lines, with the latter he lost no opportunity of harassing the invaders. On the other hand, the state of affairs in the British camp was by no means promising: under Wolfe's circumstances, inaction was almost equivalent to defeat.
It was true that, before leaving England, he was instructed that his expedition was only auxiliary to that of Amherst. To the main army, which was advancing by the inland lakes, England looked for the conquest of the country. Wolfe had already occupied the most important points in the neighborhood of Quebec, and might well be excused had he awaited the arrival of the general-in-chief for an attack upon the great stronghold. In this situation, many a brave and experienced veteran would probably have written "a most eloquent and conclusive apology for being beaten or for standing still."[177]But Wolfe had been happily chosen. He deeply felt that his unusual selection should be justified by unusual achievements, and that it was his duty to risk his reputation, as well as his life, rather than fail the sanguine hopes of his country.
Before narrating Wolfe's determination in this crisis, and the events consequent thereupon, it will, perhaps, be well to recall the reader's attention to the position of the Canadian army. The north shore of the basin of Quebec is a curve of about eight miles long. The waters shoal as they approach this shore, and at low tide a muddy bank is exposed, in some places nearly half a mile in breadth. The long-crested height, mentioned in a former description, at some parts of the line overhangs high-water mark, at others recedes into the country, and leaves some rich alluvial fields between its base and the river's banks. Wherever this height was not sufficiently precipitous to form a natural defense, the face was scarped, the summit crowned with a parapet, and the foot pallisadoed or armed with abattis. The irregular line of this formidable front shaped itself here and there into projections and inclinations, as if traced in flank and ravelin by the skill of the engineer. The extreme left of the French army rested on the rocky banks of the Montmorency. The beautiful cataract, and the foaming rapids for three miles up the stream, forbade the passage of an enemy: there was, indeed, a ford, but it was well defended; beyond that, the tangled bush defied the strength of battalions. Below the falls, however, the waters spread themselves in numerous shallow channels over the sands, and the stream is fordable except at high tide. To strengthen this weak point, Montcalm had thrown up a four-gun redoubt at the foot of the overhanging cliff. Although defiladed from the British artillery, these cliffs were altogether exposed to that of the French, and therefore untenable in case of falling into the assailants' hands.
Toward the right of the French position the crested ridge subsides in a gentle slope upon a valley, through the center of which winds the St. Charles or Little River. The entrance to this stream is deep, and forms a small harbor; here the French had run their ships of war aground, and these powerful wooden batteries, with their heavy guns, swept the slopes on either side, both toward the city walls and the right shoulder of the crested height.
The almost desperate course upon which Wolfe at length determined, was that of attacking the enemy in these intrenchments. He maturely weighed his plans; the skill and caution of the execution could alone justify the temerity of the resolve. The redoubt on the low ground, in front of the French left, and near the Falls of Montmorency, offered the most vulnerable point; detached from the main defenses, and within reach of guns from the shipping, he doubted not that he could easily master it, or bring on a general action for its possession. On the other hand, this redoubt could not be held when taken, for it lay exposed to the artillery of the French. However, there were difficulties on every side; Wolfe chose that which he considered the least. He well knew that, even were he to carry the crested hill over the redoubt, and to force the enemy from their works, the River St. Charles and the inner intrenchments still lay between him and the city; "But," said he, "a victorious army meets with no difficulties."
Wolfe's available force was less by one third than that of the defenders of this almost impregnable position. He had to risk the confusion of a debarkation, the despotism of the tides, and the caprice of the winds. The undertaking was all but desperate, and yet an overweening confidence in their chief and in themselves was more fatal to the British troops than the guns and parapets of the enemy.
Wolfe concerted the plan of attack with the admiral. A small frigate, the Centurion, was to sail toward the shore, as near as the depth of water would permit, and open fire upon the redoubt. Two armed transports received orders to second the frigate, and, if necessary, to run aground in a favorable position. In one of these the general himself embarked. The boats of the fleet were directed to take on board the greater part of Monckton's brigade at Point Levi, with the available troops from Orleans, and to muster at an early hour in the forenoon off the northwestern point of that island. In the mean time, the British batteries from Point Levi, and the heights over Montmorency Falls, were to open upon the city and the intrenchments with every gun and mortar. Townshend's and Murray's brigades were commanded to form in close columns eastward of the ford below the falls, and there to await the general's orders.
At ten o'clock on the morning of the 31st of July, the 15th and 78th Regiments, 200 men of the Royal Americans, and all the Grenadiers of Monckton's brigade, embarked in the boats of the fleet at Point Levi: they made for the northwest point of the island of Orleans, where they were joined by four more companies of Grenadiers. The whole flotilla then pushed out into mid-channel and awaited orders. At eleven o'clock the two armed transports stood in for the Point de Lest, and grounded; one, under Lieutenant Garnier, within musket-shot of the French redoubt. At the same time, Admiral Saunders, in the Centurion, brought to a little further from the shore, opposite the ford, and all three vessels opened fire. This gave the signal to the gunners at Point Levi and on the east bank of the Montmorency: they also began to work; the enemy replied; and in a few minutes the whole of the vast amphitheater resounded with the roar of artillery.
Wolfe was in the transport which had first grounded. He promptly observed that the redoubt, if taken, was too distant from the water to allow of effectual support by the guns and the small arms of the shipping. He saw, moreover, that his threatening movements had caused an unusual stir in the French lines; bodies of troops were moving to and fro, between the several points of defense, with that degree of irregularity which usually attends the sudden re-formations of undisciplined men: two battalions of the enemy were observed marching from the roar of their left in the direction of the ford, three miles up the Montmorency River: their object was evidently to cross the stream, and fall upon the British batteries on the left bank, while the mass of Wolfe's army was occupied in the attack upon the intrenchments. This movement was immediately met by a counter-demonstration: the 48th Regiment, which had been left in the works at Point Levi, was ostentatiously pushed up the right bank of the St. Lawrence, as if about to cross and attempt the French position above the city. Montcalm, upon this, gave up his flank attack, and dispatched the two battalions to watch the 48th from the opposite side of the river.
For several hours, during these demonstrations, the firing on all sides had slackened; the flotilla still lay motionless in the center of the northern channel of the St. Lawrence. A great part of the day had thus passed without any thing of importance having been attempted. The clouds gathered heavily over the hills, and the receding tide warned Wolfe that only brief space was left for action. He hesitated for a time; circumstances were very adverse; but, unfortunately, the slight disorder in the enemy's lines confirmed the bolder counsel, always most congenial to his mind. At four o'clock he signaled for a renewal of the cannonade; at five his barge put off from the second transport, and rowed toward the flotilla, and at the same moment a red flag ran up to the mizen peak of the stranded ship: it was the signal to advance.
With a loud cheer the sailors bent to the oar, and the long-motionless flotilla sprung into life. A few strokes somewhat disordered the regularity of the line; some boats were faster, some crews more vigorous than others. As they approached, the French gunners tried the decreasing range; the shot fell near, hissed over head, and at length fell in among the boats. Some few struck with fatal effect, for the weak frames were easily shivered, and then sunk with all on board. While still pressing on through the fire, the leading boats grounded on a ledge of unseen rocks at short musket-shot from the beach. The disorder then became dangerous.
Wolfe was now in action: hesitation was at an end. He gave orders that the flotilla should re-form in rear of the rocks, and, when the boats were again afloat, signaled to Townshend to stop the advance of his brigade, which was already in motion upon the ford; he then sprang into a cutter with some navy officers, and skirted the reef in search of an opening. He soon succeeded. It was now half past five; the storm threatened close at hand; battalion after battalion the French were crowding from right to left; but Wolfe was not to be daunted; he renewed the signal of attack, and himself pointed out the way through the rocks. A few strokes carried the flotilla to the shore; while the eager troops sprang upon land, the French gave a parting volley, and abandoned the redoubt and the detached battery which defended the ford.
The thirteen companies of Grenadiers and the Royal Americans were first ashore; they had received orders to form in four columns on the beach, there to await the support of the remainder of Monckton's brigade from the boats, and Townshend's from beyond the ford. But these chosen men were flushed with an overweening confidence: proud of their post of preference, proud of their individual strength, and exasperated by long delay, they burst like bloodhounds from the leash. Despite the orders of their officers, they raced across the intervening fields, and, without any order or formation, threw themselves against the crested height.
Wolfe soon saw that this rash valor had ruined the fortunes of the day: nothing remained but to make such preparations for retreat as might mitigate the inevitable disaster. Monckton's remaining regiments, the 15th and 78th, were now landed, and formed in admirable order upon the beach, while Townshend and Murray crossed the ford of the Montmorency and advanced to join them. Instead of risking this unbroken array in supporting the unfortunate attack of the advance, Wolfe kept his men in hand, and strove to recall the disordered assailants. Meanwhile the storm burst, and when the Grenadiers reached the steep slope, they found it impossible to keep their footing on the muddy side; their ammunition was soon rendered useless by the teeming rain; but, still trusting to the bayonet, they tried to make good their ground upon the hill. The position was far stronger than they had anticipated; they were out of breath, and exhausted by their hurried advance; by the time they had clambered within reach of the enemy's parapets they were already beaten. One close and steady volley of the French sufficed to roll them back from off the crested hill.
In tumultuous disorder, the Grenadiers fell back upon the abandoned redoubt, and sought shelter under its parapets from the stinging fire of the French. The works had, however, been so constructed that little or no protection was afforded against the neighboring heights. Officers and men were rapidly struck down in vain endeavors to re-form the broken ranks, but still, with sullen tenacity, they held the unprofitable position. At length, in obedience to peremptory orders, they retired, and took post in the rear of Monckton's line.
The slope of the fatal hill now presented a melancholy scene to the British army. More than 200 of the Grenadiers had fallen; the track of the rash advance and disastrous retreat was marked by the dying and the dead. Some red coats lay almost under the enemy's parapets, where a few of these impetuous men had won their way; others were seen dragging their maimed limbs to seek shelter behind rocks or trees from the vindictive fire which the French still poured upon their fallen foes. Among the wounded lay Captain Ochterlony and Ensign Peyton, of the second battalion of the Royal Americans: they had refused the proffered aid of their retreating soldiers, and, being bound by ties of the closest friendship, determined to meet together the desperate chances of the field. They sat down side by side, bade each other farewell, and awaited their fate. In a few minutes a Frenchman and two Indians approached, plundered the wounded officers, and were about to murder Ochterlony, when Peyton shot one of the savages with a double-barreled gun which he still held; the other then rushed upon him, and, although receiving the contents of the second barrel, closed in mortal struggle. The Englishman succeeded, after a moment, in drawing a dagger, and with repeated stabs, brought the Indian to the ground. In the mean time, the French soldier had carried Ochterlony as a prisoner to his lines.[178]
Peyton now started up, and, although his leg was broken, ran for forty yards toward the river; there he sank exhausted. Presently a crowd of Indians, reeking from their work of butchery, approached him from the extreme left. Peyton reloaded his musket, leaned upon his unwounded limb, and faced the savages; the two foremost hesitated before this resolute attitude, when, to the deep disgrace of the French, they opened a fire of musketry and even cannon from their breast-works upon the maimed and solitary officer. However, at this desperate moment relief was nigh; the Indians, who before had hesitated, now turned and fled like scared vultures from their prey. A detachment of the gallant 78th Highlanders, undismayed by the still murderous fire, chased the marauders from the field, and bore the wounded Englishman in safety to the shore. This extraordinary scene occurred in full view of both armies.
The evening was now far advanced; the tide was beginning to flow; the ammunition of the whole army was damaged by the heavy rains; the waters looked angry beneath a threatening gale; the enemy's strength was concentrated; they had suffered little or no loss, while the British were weakened by 33 officers and 410 men. Wolfe had learned by painful experience the prodigious advantage of the French position, which, although nearly invulnerable to attack, yet afforded admirable facilities for retreat. He was baffled; all that now remained was to conduct the re-embarkation with safety and regularity. Such of the wounded as could be yet saved were carried from the field; the stranded transports were abandoned and burned, and the flotilla rowed away from the fatal shore. Townshend and Murray, whose untouched brigades had covered the embarkation, then recrossed the ford without interruption, and resumed their position on the heights east of the Montmorency.
Wolfe knew that the enterprise of the 31st of July was of such a nature that nothing but success could justify its temerity. By failure his military error had been thrown into strong light, and yet it was probable that he would have succeeded but for a strange adversity of circumstances. The officers of the fleet had remained in unaccountable ignorance of the reef of rocks which delayed and disordered the attack. The storm of rain not only injured the ammunition of his men, but rendered the steep ascent of the enemy's position so slippery that they could not find firm footing, and the ill-timed audacity of the Grenadiers had confounded all his calculations. The leading fault of his plan was undoubtedly the attempt of a combined attack by land and water. Had Monckton's brigade been landed beyond the falls, and the whole army crossed the ford together, the fatal embarrassments of the disembarkation would have been avoided. Wolfe suffered intense mental distress from this mishap; his mind preyed upon his feeble frame; his chronic ailment attacked him with unusual violence; fever supervened, and for some weeks he lay absolutely helpless, to the grief of the whole army. In the mean time, however, he issued the following merited rebuke to the corps whose indiscretion had led to results so disastrous:
"The check which the Grenadiers met with will, it is hoped, be a lesson to them for the time to come. Such impetuous, irregular, and unsoldierlike proceedings destroy all order, and put it out of the general's power to execute his plan. The Grenadiers could not suppose that they alone could beat the French army; therefore it was necessary the corps under Brigadiers Townshend and Monckton should have time to join them, that the attack might be general. The very first fire of the enemy was sufficient to have repulsed men who had lost all sense of order and military discipline. Amherst's (the 15th) and the Highland (the 78th) regiment, by the soldier-like and cool manner in which they formed, would undoubtedly have beaten back the whole Canadian army, if they had ventured to attack them. The loss, however, is very inconsiderable, and may be easily repaired when a favorable opportunity offers, if the men will show a proper attention to their officers."
Immediately after the repulse at Montmorency, Wolfe had dispatched 1200 men, under Brigadier Murray, to assist Admiral Holmes in the Upper River, and with orders to attempt the destruction of the French shipping which had passed up the stream. The brigadier was directed, at the same time, to take every favorable opportunity of engaging the enemy, and to endeavor, by all means in his power, to provoke them to attack him. In obedience to these orders, Murray proceeded up the left bank of the river with his detachment, consisting of the 15th Regiment, three companies of the Royal Americans, two of Marines, and one of Light Infantry. At a convenient place above the Chaudière River, he embarked under Admiral Holmes, and the squadron then made sail up the stream. The French ships easily avoided the danger by sending all their guns and stores ashore, and, when thus lightened, taking refuge in the shallows toward Montreal; one brigantine of 200 tons was, however, abandoned and burned in their retreat.
Murray found every place fortified where a landing might be effected, and the enemy always on the alert. After two vain attempts to disembark, he at length only succeeded by a surprise: he then pushed to the village of Dechambault, which was close at hand, carried it with scarcely any resistance, and burned some stores of provisions, clothing, and ammunition. Several prisoners of some note were taken in the onslaught, and a few important letters fell into the hands of the English. Through these letters Murray first heard of the occupation of Crown Point by Amherst, and of Johnson's victory at Niagara. Finding that he could effect nothing further, he hastened to convey this cheering news to his general.
Meanwhile fruitless damage was inflicted by each party upon the other: the Indians frequently surprised and scalped English stragglers, and the English batteries at Montmorency and Point Levi kept up a continued fire upon the lines and upon the city. On the morning of the 10th of August, at one o'clock, a shell pitched upon the vaulted roof of a cellar in the lower town, broke through, and burst; a large quantity of brandy which was there stored instantly ignited, the flames spread rapidly, and nearly the whole of the quarter, including the Church of Nôtre Dame de la Victoire, was burned to the ground. A fire broke out simultaneously in the Upper Town, but was extinguished without having spread to any great extent.
The intelligence of Amherst and Johnson's progress, although satisfactory in itself, gave Wolfe no hope of their assistance before the close of the campaign: defeat could hardly have been more disastrous to the general interests of the war than their inactivity. Almost the whole force of Canada still mustered behind the formidable defenses of Quebec. Nothing, however, could shake the resolution of the British general; while life remained, he determined to persevere in the enterprise. Far from being disheartened, he was only stimulated by increasing difficulties. The fate of the campaign now hung upon him alone: the disaster at Montmorency had endangered his reputation; it only remained to clear away the cloud by success, or to silence censure by a soldier's death.
While Wolfe lay stricken with fever and unable to bear the presence of his officers, he meditated unceasingly upon plans of attack. At length, when somewhat recovered, but still incapable of leaving his bed, he dictated the following letter to the brigadiers under his command:
"That the public service may not suffer by the general's indisposition, he begs the brigadiers will meet and consult together for the public utility and advantage, and consider of the best method to attack the enemy.
"If the French army be attacked and defeated, the general concludes that the town would immediately surrender, because he does not find that they have any provision in that place.
"The general is of opinion that the army should be attacked in preference to the place, because of the difficulties of penetrating from the Lower to the Upper Town; in which attempt neither the guns of the shipping nor of our own batteries could be of much use."
The letter then proceeds to suggest three different modes of attack—all, however, upon the enemy's lines between the city and Montmorency.
The brigadiers assembled in consequence of this communication, and, after having maturely deliberated, agreed in recommending the remarkable plan which Wolfe unreservedly adopted. The merit of this daring and skillful proposition belongs to Colonel George Townshend, although long disputed, or withheld by jealousy or political hostility. This able officer had left every happiness that domestic life could bestow, and every gratification which fortune and position could procure, to face the hardships and seek the honors of his country's service. When the ministry's determination to prepare the expedition against Quebec became known, he successfully exerted his powerful interest to obtain employment, and was appointed to the third post of seniority in Wolfe's army.
The general plan of operations being arranged, preparations were commenced to carry it into execution. The prospect of action revived the drooping spirits of the British troops, and tended considerably to improve their health; fever had been rife among them: a number of men and officers had already died, and the temporary hospitals were still crowded. Supplies had become so scant that horseflesh was frequently served out as rations. The duties were rendered peculiarly harassing by the subtle and dangerous hostility of the savages: although invariably defeated, they seldom failed in the first instance to surprise and massacre some hapless stragglers; and no outpost was ever safe from their attacks. The Canadians were scarcely less dangerous and vindictive; their knowledge of the country, and activity in forest warfare, gave them a great advantage over the British soldiers in irregular encounters; but, whenever they ventured to act in bodies, they were sure to meet with severe chastisement. The invaders, however, were not backward in revenging these injuries; for miles round their camp, and on the banks of the river, they devastated the country without mercy.
Stimulated by the sight of the ruin wrought in neighboring parishes, the unfortunate priest of Château Richer armed some eighty of his flock, and fortified himself in a large stone house, about ten miles eastward of the British camp, at Montmorency; from thence he sent a message, defying to the combat an English detachment posted in his neighborhood. At the same time, however, conveying in a note a polite request for the favor of the commanding officer's company at dinner, with an assurance of a safe-conduct. The strange but simple courtesy was of course rejected. In a short time a detachment of light troops, with a field-piece, was sent against the fortified house; the English took post in an adjoining road, and by a stratagem contrived to draw the little garrison from their defenses, and surrounded thirty of them, who were slain and scalped, including the unhappy priest himself. The excuse pleaded for this atrocious barbarity was, that the victims were disguised as Indians.
On the 29th of August the British troops began to evacuate their positions east of the Montmorency, in pursuance of the new plan of operations. The sick, the women, and the heavy baggage were first embarked in the boats of the fleet, and conveyed past the enemy's batteries, at a respectful distance, to the camp at Point Levi: some of the heavy guns followed on the 31st. On the 2d of the following month Wolfe sent home an admirable dispatch, with an account of his operations and failures. By the 3d of September he was prepared to move the whole of his force from the north shore. Montcalm had anticipated this step from the stir in the British lines, and from the activity of the British light troops in burning houses and laying waste the country. He therefore marched two strong columns into the woods to make for the ford of the Montmorency, and, passing by it, to attack Wolfe while in the act of embarkation. From the distant hills of Point Levi, Brigadier Monckton observed the enemy's movements: he immediately ordered his brigade under arms, hurried two regiments on board of boats supplied by the admiral, supported by some sloops and frigates, rowed toward the Beauport shore, and formed within a safe distance, as if preparing to land. This demonstration was successful; the French columns were recalled from the ford, and the British embarked unmolested.
During the 7th, 8th, and 9th, Admiral Holmes maneuvered his fleet in the upper river, harassing the enemy by constant menaces of their different posts. At the same time, Wolfe, now somewhat recovered, was, with his brigadiers, busily occupied in reconnoitering the northern bank of the St. Lawrence. At length he discovered a narrow path winding up the side of the steep precipice from the water's edge: at this spot, about three miles above the city, the lofty banks were slightly carved inward. At that time the place was known by the name of Le Foullon; it now bears a name that may never be forgotten—Wolf's Cove. At the top of the path the enemy had a small post; however, by the number of tents, which did not exceed a dozen, the British general concluded that its strength could not be more than 100 men. For miles on either side there was no other possible access to the heights than by that narrow path; but that narrow path sufficed to lead Wolfe to victory and to death.
As before stated, Quebec stands on the slope of the eastern extremity of that lofty range which here forms the left bank of the St. Lawrence; a table-land extends westward for about nine miles from the defenses of the city, occasionally wooded and undulating, but from the top of the narrow path to the ramparts open and tolerably level: this portion of the heights is called thePlains of Abraham.Wolfe's plan was to ascend this path secretly with his whole army, and make the plains his battle ground. The extraordinary audacity of the enterprise was its safety: the wise and cautious Montcalm had guarded against all the probable chances of war: he was not prepared against an attempt for which the pages of romance can scarcely furnish a parallel.
It was on the 9th of September that Wolfe addressed to the Secretary of State a letter which bears a deep and melancholy interest. His own view of the prospects of the expedition was most gloomy, and he seemed anxious to prepare the public mind in England for his failure.[179]The letter conveys the impression that he only continued his operations to divert the attention of the enemy from other points: it concludes in the following desponding words: "I am so far recovered as 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." But while he wrote almost in despair, he acted as if he had never doubted of success.
On the 11th of September, Wolfe issued general orders to the army, from which the following are extracts:
"The troops on shore, except the Light Infantry and Americans, are to be upon the beach to-morrow morning at five o'clock, in readiness to embark; the Light Infantry and Americans will re-embark at, or about, eight o'clock. The detachment of Artillery to be put on board the armed sloop this day.The army to hold themselves in readiness to land and attack the enemy.
"The troops must go into the boats (from the ships) about nine to-morrow night, or when it is pretty near high water; ... and as there will be a necessity for remaining some part of the night in the boats, the officers will provide accordingly.
"When they (the boats) are to drop away from the Sutherland, she will show two lights in the main-top-mast shrouds, one over the other. The men to be quite silent, and, when they are about to land, must not, upon any account, fire out of the boats."
Great preparations were made throughout the fleet and army for the decisive movement, but the plans were still kept secret; a wise caution was observed in this respect, for the treachery of a single deserter might have imperiled the success of the expedition had its exact object been known. On the morning of the 12th, a soldier of the Royal Americans did desert: happily, he was unable to warn the enemy of their danger. Almost at the same time, one of the French regulars deserted to Wolfe, and brought a clear account of the state of affairs in Montcalm's camp. "The main force is still below the town," said he; "our general will not believe that you meditate an attack any where but on the Montmorency side. The Canadians are dissatisfied, alarmed by the fall of Niagara, and in great distress for provisions. M. de Levi, with a large detachment, has left us for Montreal, to meet Amherst; and M. de Bougainville, with 1500 men, watches the motions of your fleet in the Upper River."
From on board the Sutherland man-of-war, Wolfe issued his last orders to the army on the evening of the 12th of September:
"The enemy's force is now divided, great scarcity of provisions is now in their camp, and universal discontent among the Canadians, which gives us reason to think that General Amherst is advancing into the colony:a vigorous blow struck by the army at this juncture may determine the fate of Canada... the troops will land where the French seem least to expect it. The first body that gets on shore is to march directly to the enemy ... the battalions must form on the upper ground with expedition, and be ready to charge whatever presents itself.... The officers and men will remember what is expected from them, and what a determined body of soldiers, inured to war, is capable of doing, against five weak French battalions, mingled with a disorderly peasantry."
The heavier ships of the line moved this evening toward the Beauport shore, anchoring as near the enemy's lines as the depth of the water would permit. While daylight yet remained, all the boats of that portion of the fleet were lowered, filled with marines and seamen, and ranged in order, threatening a descent upon the shore. At the same time, the remaining ships suddenly hoisted sail; and, with a favoring breeze, swept proudly past the batteries of Quebec, and joined Holmes's squadron at Cape Rouge, eight miles above the city. Monckton and Murray, who, with their brigades, still occupied Point Levi and the village of St. Michael's, now pushed rapidly up the left bank of the St. Lawrence till they arrived opposite the fleet, and there embarked without being observed by the enemy. At nine o'clock at night the first division of the army, 1600 strong, silently removed into flat-bottomed boats; the soldiers were in high spirits; Wolfe led in person. About an hour before daylight the flotilla fell down with the ebb tide. "Weather favorable; a star-light night."
FOOTNOTES:[177]Lord Mahon'sHistory of England from the Peace of Utrecht, vol. v., p. 228.[178]"Captain Ochterlony, who is wounded and a prisoner, had the good fortune to be protected from the savages by a French Grenadier, to whom it is confidently reported that General Wolfe sent twenty guineas as a reward for his humanity. M. Montcalm returned the money, saying the man had not particularly merited such a gratuity, having done no more than his duty, and what he hoped every Frenchman in his army would do under the like circumstances.... A flag of truce came down to-day (August 24th) with an account of the death of the gallant Captain Ochterlony, who was wounded and taken prisoner, July 31st; his baggage, that had been forwarded to him at his request, was faithfully returned."—Knox'sHistorical Journal, vol. ii., p. 31.[179]"In short, you must not be surprised that we have failed at Quebec, as we certainly shall. You may say, if you please, in the style of modern politics, that your court[180]never supposed it could be taken; the attempt was really made to draw off the Russians from the King of Prussia, and leave him at liberty to attack Daun. Two days ago came letters from Wolfe, despairing, as much as heroes can despair. The town is well victualed; Amherst is not arrived, and 15,000 men encamped defend it. We have lost many men by the enemy, and some by our friends—that is, we now call our 9000 only 7000. How this little army will get away from a much larger, and in this season, and in that country, I don't guess—Yes I do."—- Walpole'sLetters to Sir H. Mann, Oct. 16, 1759.[180]Sir Horace Mann was then British envoy to the court of Tuscany.
[177]Lord Mahon'sHistory of England from the Peace of Utrecht, vol. v., p. 228.
[177]Lord Mahon'sHistory of England from the Peace of Utrecht, vol. v., p. 228.
[178]"Captain Ochterlony, who is wounded and a prisoner, had the good fortune to be protected from the savages by a French Grenadier, to whom it is confidently reported that General Wolfe sent twenty guineas as a reward for his humanity. M. Montcalm returned the money, saying the man had not particularly merited such a gratuity, having done no more than his duty, and what he hoped every Frenchman in his army would do under the like circumstances.... A flag of truce came down to-day (August 24th) with an account of the death of the gallant Captain Ochterlony, who was wounded and taken prisoner, July 31st; his baggage, that had been forwarded to him at his request, was faithfully returned."—Knox'sHistorical Journal, vol. ii., p. 31.
[178]"Captain Ochterlony, who is wounded and a prisoner, had the good fortune to be protected from the savages by a French Grenadier, to whom it is confidently reported that General Wolfe sent twenty guineas as a reward for his humanity. M. Montcalm returned the money, saying the man had not particularly merited such a gratuity, having done no more than his duty, and what he hoped every Frenchman in his army would do under the like circumstances.... A flag of truce came down to-day (August 24th) with an account of the death of the gallant Captain Ochterlony, who was wounded and taken prisoner, July 31st; his baggage, that had been forwarded to him at his request, was faithfully returned."—Knox'sHistorical Journal, vol. ii., p. 31.
[179]"In short, you must not be surprised that we have failed at Quebec, as we certainly shall. You may say, if you please, in the style of modern politics, that your court[180]never supposed it could be taken; the attempt was really made to draw off the Russians from the King of Prussia, and leave him at liberty to attack Daun. Two days ago came letters from Wolfe, despairing, as much as heroes can despair. The town is well victualed; Amherst is not arrived, and 15,000 men encamped defend it. We have lost many men by the enemy, and some by our friends—that is, we now call our 9000 only 7000. How this little army will get away from a much larger, and in this season, and in that country, I don't guess—Yes I do."—- Walpole'sLetters to Sir H. Mann, Oct. 16, 1759.
[179]"In short, you must not be surprised that we have failed at Quebec, as we certainly shall. You may say, if you please, in the style of modern politics, that your court[180]never supposed it could be taken; the attempt was really made to draw off the Russians from the King of Prussia, and leave him at liberty to attack Daun. Two days ago came letters from Wolfe, despairing, as much as heroes can despair. The town is well victualed; Amherst is not arrived, and 15,000 men encamped defend it. We have lost many men by the enemy, and some by our friends—that is, we now call our 9000 only 7000. How this little army will get away from a much larger, and in this season, and in that country, I don't guess—Yes I do."—- Walpole'sLetters to Sir H. Mann, Oct. 16, 1759.
[180]Sir Horace Mann was then British envoy to the court of Tuscany.
[180]Sir Horace Mann was then British envoy to the court of Tuscany.
We must leave Wolfe for a while to take a brief review of the position of affairs in his enemy's camp. Montcalm's difficulties were also great. He knew not where to turn for a ray of hope, except, indeed, to the now rapidly advancing winter. The toils were spread on every side: the stately fleet riding below the town cut off all supplies from France; the fall of Niagara and Fort of Frontenac broke off the chain of communication with the distant West; Amherst, with an overwhelming force, hung over the weakest point of the Canadian frontier; Montreal, with neither army nor fortification, lay exposed to the British advance. But, worst of all, distrust of his colleague, and contempt of the prowess of his militia, paralyzed Montcalm's vigor and destroyed his confidence. "You have sold your country," exclaimed he, in uncontrollable indignation, to M. de Vaudreuil, when the latter opposed his views; "but, while I live, I will not deliver it up." And of the Canadian levies he writes to M. de Berryer, "My Canadians without discipline, deaf to the sound of the drum, and badly armed, nothing remains for them but to fly; and behold me—beaten without resource!" "But," continued he, in the same remarkable letter,[181]"of one thing I can assure you, I shall not survive the probable loss of the colony. There are times when a general's only resource is to die with honor; this is such a time. No stain shall rest on my memory. But in defeat and death there is consolation left. The loss of the colony will one day be of more value to my country than a victory. The conqueror shall here find a tomb; his aggrandizement shall prove his ultimate ruin."
Montcalm's utmost exertions failed to prevent desertion among the Canadians; he scourged some offenders, hanged others, threatened their villages with the vengeance of the savages, but still the unhappy peasantry were with difficulty held together. At the camp they were badly supplied with provisions, while their families almost starved at home. Their harvest, that which the English had not destroyed, remained unreaped. At length the general was obliged to yield to the urgent necessity of the case, and at a most critical period of the campaign he allowed 2000 of the militia to depart for the purpose of getting in their crops.
The Indians, however, still remained faithful: as long as a chance of blood and plunder offered, they were sure to be present; but in a pitched battle they were nearly useless, and the increased experience of the British troops rendered even their forest warfare now less dangerous.
Not only provisions, but even ammunition, were becoming scarce in Montcalm's camp: there was no hope of supplies from any quarter. The Lower Town and a large portion of the Upper Town were laid in ruins by the English artillery: the defenses, it was true, still remained uninjured; but, except in natural advantages, they were by no means formidable. The repulse of the besiegers at Montmorency had for a time raised the spirits of the French, and given them a better opinion of Canadian prowess, for upon that occasion the peasantry had fired with great steadiness from behind their breast-works. But the daring though misdirected valor of the British Grenadiers, and the imposing front of their supports, failed not to confirm Montcalm's deep forebodings of the probable result of a battle. Then the incessant activity of the invaders, their pertinacious retention of any point which offered an apparent advantage, and their seemingly inexhaustible resources, showed that no stone would be left unturned for his destruction.
One only hope remained to the French general: the winter approached. In a few weeks the northern blast would scare away the stubborn enemy, against whom his arms and skill were ineffectual. Could he struggle on a little longer, the fate of Canada might be thrown upon the chances of another campaign, and a turn in European affairs yet preserve the splendid colony of France. "Unless Wolfe lands above the town, and forces me to a battle, I am safe," writes Montcalm. But while, on the night of the 12th of September, he watched in confident expectation the deceitful preparations of the fleet below the town, the ebbing tide silently floated down the British army toward that position the occupation of which he knew must be his ruin.
Silently and swiftly, unchallenged by the French sentries,[182]Wolfe's flotilla dropped down the stream in the shade of the overhanging cliffs. The rowers scarcely stirred the waters with their oars; the soldiers sat motionless. Not a word was spoken save by the young general; he, as a midshipman on board his boat afterward related,[183]repeated, in a low voice to the officers by his side, "Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard;" and as he concluded the beautiful verses, said, "Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec!" But while Wolfe thus, in the poet's words, gave vent to the intensity of his feelings, his eye was constantly bent upon the dark outline of the heights under which he hurried past. He recognized at length the appointed spot, and leaped ashore. Some of the leading boats, conveying the light company of the 78th Highlanders, had in the mean time been carried about 200 yards lower down by the strength of the tide. These Highlanders, under Captain Donald M'Donald, were the first to land. Immediately over their heads hung a woody precipice, without path or track upon its rocky face; at the summit a French sentinel marched to and fro, still unconscious of their presence. Without a moment's hesitation, M'Donald and his men dashed at the height. They scrambled up, holding on by rocks and branches of trees, guided only by the stars that shone over the top of the cliff; half the ascent was already won, when for the first time "Qui vive?" broke the silence of the night. "La France," answered the Highland captain, with ready self-possession, and the sentry shouldered his musket and pursued his round. In a few minutes, however, the rustling of the trees close at hand at length alarmed the French guard; they hastily turned out, fired one irregular volley down the precipice, and fled in panic. The captain, M. de Vergor, alone, though wounded, stood his ground. When summoned to surrender, he fired at one of the assailants, but was instantly overpowered; the Highlanders, incensed at his vain valor, tore from his breast a decoration which he bore, and sent him a prisoner to the rear. In the mean time, nearly 500 men landed and made their way up the height; those who had first reached the summit then took possession of the intrenched post at the top of that path which Wolfe had selected for the ascent of his army.
Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray landed with the first division; as fast as each boat was cleared, it put back for re-enforcements to the ships, which had now also floated down with the tide nearly opposite to the point of disembarkation. The battalions formed on the narrow beach at the foot of the winding path, and, as soon as completed, each ascended the cliff, when they again formed upon the plains above. There all was quiet; the Light Infantry, under Lieutenant-colonel Howe, brother of the gallant Lord Howe who fell at Ticonderoga, had driven away the enemy's pickets. The boats plied busily; company after company was quickly landed, and, as soon as the men touched the shore, they swarmed up the steep ascent with ready alacrity. When morning broke, the whole disposable force of Wolfe's army stood in firm array upon the table-land above the cove. Only one gun, however, could be carried up the hill, and even that was not got into position without incredible difficulty.
After a few minutes' anxious observation of the face of the country, Wolfe marched the army by files to the right in the direction of the city, leaving two companies of the 58th Regiment to guard the landing place; he then formed his line of battle upon the Plains of Abraham, and resolved there to cast the die for Canada. The 35th Regiment held the extreme right over the precipice, at the distance of three quarters of a mile from the ramparts, where, to adapt themselves to the shape of a slight elevation which rises from the plains, they were ranged in a semicircle on its slope. Next came the Grenadiers of Louisburg. The 28th prolonged the line to the 43d, which formed the center. The 58th, upon the left, occupied the brow of the ridge which overlooks the Valley of the St. Charles; the 78th Highlanders extended over the plain to the right, and the 47th completed the front to the place where the 43d were formed. Wolfe, with Monckton, commanded the right of the first line, Murray the left.
Townshend took charge of the second line. The 15th Regiment rested their right flank upon the precipice over the river; the two battalions of the 60th or Royal Americans held the plains to the left. Colonel Burton, with the 48th Regiment, in four columns of two companies each, formed the reserve in a third line, and Colonel Howe, with the Light Infantry, some in houses, others in the neighboring coppices, covered the flank and rear.
At about six o'clock some small parties of the enemy appeared upon the slopes under the ramparts of the city; at seven they mustered in greater force, and brought up two field-guns, which caused some annoyance. Shortly afterward they threw a body of Canadians and Indians into the brushwood on the face of the precipice over the river, into a field of corn in front of the 35th Regiment, and into a coppice opposite the British center: those skirmishers caused considerable mischief, but were speedily routed by Colonel Howe, with a detachment of the 47th. The whole line then received orders to lie upon their arms, while Light Infantry videttes covered their position at some distance in advance.
Meanwhile Montcalm had been completely deceived by the demonstrations of the fleet below the town. Through the whole of that anxious night boats were approaching the shore and again retiring, on various points of the line between the Montmorency and the St. Charles. The English ships of war had worked up as near as they could find depth of water, and their guns played incessantly upon the beach, as if to prepare the way for a debarkation. Day broke before Montcalm even suspected that another struggle awaited him on his eastern lines; then, however, a stray cannon shot, and the distant echo of musketry from above the town, caught his ear; while he yet doubled, a horseman reached him at full speed with tidings that the English had landed on the Plains of Abraham. The news spread like lightning through the Canadian camp. Aids-de-camp galloped to and fro in fiery haste: trumpets and drums aroused the sleeping soldiery. As fast as the battalions could be mustered, they were hurried across the Valley of the St. Charles, over the bridge, and along the front of the northern ramparts of Quebec to the battle ground. M. de Vaudreuil, with some Canadian militia, were left to guard the lines.
Under some mysterious and incomprehensible impulse, Montcalm at once determined to meet his dangerous enemy in the open field.
To account for this extraordinary resolution is impossible. Had the French general thrown himself into Quebec, he might have securely defied his assailants from behind its ramparts till winter drove them away. But a short time before he had recorded his deliberate conviction that he could not face the British army in a general engagement. He was well aware that all the efforts of his indefatigable enemy had been throughout exerted to bring on an action upon any terms; and yet at length, on an open plain, without even waiting for his artillery, unaided by any advantage of position, he threw the rude Canadian militia against the veterans of England. Once, and once only, in a successful and illustrious career, did this gallant Frenchman forget his wisdom and military skill; but that one tremendous error led him to defeat and death.
Even when the alarming news of Wolfe's landing reached Montcalm, he professed confidence—confidence which he could not have felt. When the position of the English army was pointed out to him, he said, "Yes, I see them where they ought not to be;" and he afterward added, "If we must fight, I will crush them." He, however, altogether failed to communicate to the Canadian troops the sanguine spirit which he himself professed.
At eight o'clock the heads of French columns began to appear ascending the hill from the St. Charles to the Plains of Abraham; the only piece of artillery which Wolfe had been able to bring into action then opened with some effect, and caused them slightly to alter their line of march. As they arrived, they formed in three separate masses upon a slope to the northwest of the city, where they were sheltered from the solitary but mischievous gun.
At nine o'clock, Montcalm moved some distance to the front, and developed his line of battle; at the same time, M. de Bougainville, who was hastening down the left bank of the St. Lawrence, made a demonstration with some light cavalry upon Wolfe's extreme left. Townshend checked this movement by throwing the third battalion of the 60th into a line extending from the threatened flank to the post over the landing place.
Montcalm was already worsted as a general; it was, however, still left him to fight as a soldier. His order of battle was steadily and promptly arrayed. The center column, under Montcalm in person, consisted of the regiments of Bearne and Guienne, numbering together no more than 720 bayonets; with them were formed 1200 of the Canadian militia. On the right stood the regiments of La Sarre and Languedoc, and a battalion of the marine or colony troops, in all 1600 veterans; 400 of the militia, with one light field-piece, completed this wing. On the left, the Royal Roussillon and a battalion of the Marine mustered 1300 bayonets, while these disciplined regiments were supported by no less than 2300 of the Canadian levies. The total force, therefore, actually engaged, amounted to 7520 men, besides Indians; of these, however, not more than one half were regular troops: it was on them the brunt of the battle fell, and almost the whole loss. Wolfe's "field state" on the morning of the 13th of September, showed only 4828 men of all ranks from the generals downward, but of these every man was a trained soldier.
The French attacked. At about ten o'clock a crowd of Canadians and Indians emerged from the bush on the slope which falls toward the Valley of the St. Charles; as they advanced they opened fire upon the English pickets of the extreme left, and drove them into their supports. Under cover of the cloud of smoke which rose above the scene of this attack, the French veterans of the right wing passed swiftly round the left of Murray's Brigade, and turned his flank; then, throwing aside their irregulars, they fell upon Howe's Light Infantry. This gallant officer felt the importance of his post: the houses and the line of coppice which he occupied formed almost a right angle with the front of the British army, covering it in flank and rear. He was hardly pressed; his men fell fast under the overpowering fire of the French; but, in a few minutes, Townshend, with the 15th, came to his aid: soon afterward the two battalions of the 60th joined the line, and turned the tide of battle.
In the mean time swarms of skirmishers advanced against the right and center of the British army; their stinging fire immediately dislodged the few Light Infantry which Wolfe had posted in his front, and forced them back in confusion upon the main body. This first impression was not without danger: the troops who were in the rear, and could not see the real state of affairs, became alarmed at the somewhat retrograde movements in front. Wolfe perceived this: he hurried along the line, cheered the men by his voice and presence, and admonished them on no account to fire without orders. He succeeded: confidence was restored.
The spirited advance of the skirmishers was but the mask of a more formidable movement. The whole of the French center and left, with loud shouts and arms at the recover, now bore down to the attack. Their light troops then ceased firing and passed to the rear. As the view cleared, their long, unbroken lines were seen rapidly approaching Wolfe's position. When they reached within 150 yards, they advanced obliquely from the left of each formation, so that the lines assumed the appearance of columns, and chiefly threatened the British right. And now from flank to flank of the assailing battalions rolled a murderous and incessant fire. The 35th and the Grenadiers fell fast. Wolfe, at the head of the 28th, was struck in the wrist, but not disabled. Wrapping a handkerchief round the wound, he hastened from one rank to another, exhorting the men to be steady and to reserve their fire. No English soldier pulled a trigger: with matchless endurance they sustained the trial. Not a company wavered; their arms shouldered as if on parade, and motionless, save when they closed up the ghastly gaps, they waited the word of command.
When the head of the French attack had reached within forty yards, Wolfe gave the order to "fire." At once the long row of muskets was leveled, and a volley, distinct as a single shot, flashed from the British line. For a moment the advancing columns still pressed on, shivering like pennons in the fatal storm; but a few paces told how terrible had been the force of the long-suspended blow. Numbers of the French soldiers reeled and fell; some staggered on for a little, then dropped silently aside to die; others burst from the ranks shrieking in agony. The Brigadier de St. Ours was struck dead, and De Senezergues, the second in command, was left mortally wounded upon the field. When the breeze carried away the dense clouds of smoke, the assailing battalions stood reduced to mere groups among the bodies of the slain. Never before or since has a deadlier volley burst from British infantry.
Montcalm commanded the attack in person. Not fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had first moved on his line of battle, and already all was lost! The Canadian militia, with scarcely an exception, broke and fled. The right wing, which had recoiled before Townshend and Howe, was overpowered by a counter attack of the 58th and 78th; his veteran battalions of Bearne and Guienne were shattered before his eyes under the British fire; on the left the Royal Roussillon was shrunk to a mere skeleton, and, deserted by their Provincial allies, could hardly retain the semblance of a formation. But the gallant Frenchman, though ruined, was not dismayed; he rode through the broken ranks, cheered them with his voice, encouraged them by his dauntless bearing, and, aided by a small redoubt, even succeeded in once again presenting a front to his enemy.
Meanwhile Wolfe's troops had reloaded. He seized the opportunity of the hesitation in the hostile ranks, and ordered the whole British line to advance. At first they moved forward in majestic regularity, receiving and paying back with deadly interest the volleys of the French. But soon the ardor of the soldiers broke through the restraints of discipline: they increased their pace to a run, rushing over the dying and the dead, and sweeping the living enemy off their path. On the extreme right, the 35th, under the gallant Colonel Fletcher, carried all before them, and won the white plume which for half a century afterward they proudly bore.[184]Wolfe himself led the 28th and the diminished ranks of the Louisburg Grenadiers, who that day nobly redeemed their error at Montmorency. The 43d, as yet almost untouched, pressed on in admirable order, worthy of their after-fame in that noble Light Division which "never gave a foot of ground but by word of command." On the left, the 58th and 78th overcame a stubborn and bloody resistance; more than 100 of the Highlanders fell dead and wounded; the weak battalion by their side lost a fourth part of their strength in the brief struggle. Just now Wolfe was a second time wounded, in the body; but he dissembled his suffering, for his duty was not yet accomplished. Again a ball from the redoubt struck him on the breast:[185]he reeled on one side, but, at the moment, this was not generally observed. "Support me," said he to a Grenadier officer who was close at hand, "that my brave fellows may not see me fall." In a few seconds, however, he sank, and was borne a little to the rear. Colonel Carleton was desperately wounded in the head at a few paces from Wolfe; the aid-de-camp who hastened for Monckton, to call him to the command, found him also bleeding on the field, beside the 47th Regiment. At length Townshend, now the senior officer, was brought from the left flank to this bloody scene to lead the army.
The brief struggle fell heavily upon the British, but was ruinous to the French. They wavered under the carnage; the columns which death had disordered were soon broken and scattered. Montcalm, with a courage that rose above the wreck of hope, galloped through the groups of his stubborn veterans, who still made head against the advancing enemy, and strove to show a front of battle. His efforts were vain; the head of every formation was swept away before that terrible musketry; in a few minutes, the French gave way in all directions. Just then their gallant general fell with a mortal wound: from that time all was utter rout.
The English followed fiercely in the pursuit; the 47th and 58th, with fixed bayonets, pressed on close to the St. Louis and St. John's gates, till the first were checked by grape-shot from the ramparts, and the latter by the artillery of the hulks which were grounded in the river. But foremost in the advance, and most terrible to the flying enemy, were the 78th Highlanders; active and impetuous in their movements, and armed with the broadsword, they supplied in this case the want of cavalry to the British army. Numbers of the French fell beneath their vigorous blows;[186]others saved themselves by timely surrender, piteously craving mercy, and declaring that they had not been at Fort William Henry.[187]The remainder of Montcalm's right wing only found shelter beyond the bridge over the St. Charles. The survivors of the right and center soon placed the ramparts of Quebec between themselves and their pursuers.
While some of the British battalions were disordered in the rapid advance, a body of about 800 French and Canadians collected in a coppice near the St. Charles, and assumed a somewhat threatening appearance on the left flank of the pursuers. Perceiving this, Townshend ordered Colonel Hunt Walsh, with the 28th and 43d, to crush the new resistance. These two battalions were well in hand; Walsh wheeled them promptly to the left, and, after a sharp struggle, cleared the coppice.
The battle was now over, but the general of the victorious army had still to guard against another antagonist, as yet untouched and unbroken. It has been related, that, before the commencement of the action, the extreme left of the British position had been threatened by some light cavalry—the advance guard of De Bougainville's formidable corps. The main body and their chief had now arrived upon the scene; but, so rapid and complete had been the ruin of Montcalm's army, that his lieutenant found not a single unbroken company remaining in the field with which to co-operate. He himself, however, was still strong; besides 350 cavalry—an arm in which the invaders were altogether deficient—he had with him nearly 1500 men, a large proportion of whom were Grenadiers and Light Infantry.
Townshend hastened to recall his disordered battalions, but he determined not to imperil the victory by seeking another engagement with fresh troops. His arrangements were strictly defensive; while re-forming a line of battle, he dispatched the 35th and the 48th with two field-pieces to meet De Bougainville, and, if possible, check his advance. The demonstration sufficed; the French soldiers, demoralized by the defeat of their general-in-chief, were in no condition to meet a victorious enemy; they recoiled before the resolute front of the British force, and retreated with precipitation up the left bank of the St. Lawrence. There Townshend did not deem it prudent to follow; the ground was swampy, and, for the most part, still covered with the primeval forest, affording every advantage to a retreating enemy.
As soon as the action was over, Townshend began to intrench his camp, and to widen the road up the cliff for the convenience of the artillery and stores. De Bougainville did not halt till he reached Cape Rouge, and M. de Vaudreuil,[188]with his 1500 Canadians, deserted the lines west of the Montmorency, left all his artillery, ammunition, tents, and stores behind him, and made a hurried retreat toward Jacques Cartier.
The loss of the English in this memorable battle amounted to 55 killed and 607 wounded of all ranks; that of the French has never been clearly ascertained, but it was not probably less than 1500 in killed and wounded and prisoners. Moreover, a very large proportion of the Canadian militia dispersed and never rejoined their colors. On the British side, the Louisburg Grenadiers upon the right, and the 58th and 78th upon the left, suffered the most severely. The five regular French battalions were almost destroyed, and one of the two pieces of artillery which they had brought into action was captured by the victors.[189]
While the British troops were carrying all before them, their young general's life was ebbing fast away. When struck for the third time, he sank down; he then supported himself for a few minutes in a sitting posture, with the assistance of Lieutenant Brown, Mr. Henderson, a volunteer, and a private soldier, all of the Grenadier company of the 22d; Colonel Williamson, of the Royal Artillery, afterward went to his aid. From time to time, Wolfe tried, with his faint hand, to clear away the death-mist that gathered on his sight; but the effort seemed vain; for presently he lay back, and gave no signs of life beyond a heavy breathing and an occasional groan. Meantime the French had given way, and were flying in all directions. The grenadier officers, seeing this, called out to those around him, "See, they run." The words caught the ear of the dying man; he raised himself, like one aroused from sleep, and asked eagerly, "Who runs?" "The enemy, sir," answered the officer: "they give way every where." "Go one of you to Colonel Burton," said Wolfe: "tell him to march Webbe's (the 48th) regiment with all speed down to the St. Charles River, to cut off the retreat." His voice grew faint as he spoke, and he turned as if seeking an easier position on his side; when he had given this last order, he seemed to feel that he had done his duty, and added feebly, but distinctly, "Now, God be praised, I die happy." His eyes then closed, and, after a few convulsive movements, he became still.[190]Despite the anguish of his wounds, he died happy; for through the mortal shades that fell upon his soul, there rose, over the unknown world's horizon, the dawn of an eternal morning.
"GENERAL ORDERS."14th of September, 1759. Plains of Abraham."Parole—Wolfe. Countersign—England.
"The remaining general officers fit to act take the earliest opportunity to express the praise which is due to the conduct and bravery of the troops; and the victory, which attended it, sufficiently proves the superiority which this army has over any number of such troops as they engaged yesterday. They wish that the person who lately commanded them had survived so glorious a day, and had this day been able to give the troops their just encomiums. The fatigues which the troops will be obliged to undergo, to reap the advantage of this victory, will be supported with a true spirit, as this seems to be the period which will determine, in all probability, our American labors."
Deep and sincere was the sorrow of the English army for the loss of their chief; they almost grieved over their dearly-purchased victory.
Late on the evening of the 14th of September Montcalm also died. When his wound was first examined, he asked the surgeon if it was mortal; and being answered that it was, he said, "I am glad of it: how long can I survive?" "Perhaps a day, perhaps less," replied the surgeon. "So much the better," rejoined Montcalm; "I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec." When his wound was dressed, M. de Ramsay, the governor of the city, visited him, and desired to receive his commands for the defense; but he refused to occupy himself any longer with worldly affairs: "My time is very short," continued he, "so pray leave me. I wish you all comfort, and to be happily extricated from your present perplexities." He then called for his chaplain, who, with the bishop of the colony, administered the last offices of religion, and remained with him till he expired.
An officer of the 43d regiment, whose carefully-kept journal furnishes much valuable information on the subject of this campaign, states that Montcalm paid the English army the following compliment after the battle: "Since it was my misfortune to be discomfited and mortally wounded, it is a great consolation to me to be vanquished by so great and generous an enemy. If I could survive this wound, I would engage to beat three times the number of such forces as I commanded this morning with a third of their number of British troops."
Townshend, on the day succeeding the battle, busied himself incessantly in pushing on works against the city, and cutting off from the besieged all communication with the country. On the 17th, Admiral Saunders moved the whole of the British fleet into the basin, and prepared to attack the Lower Town; and by that evening no less than sixty-one pieces of heavy, and fifty-seven of light ordnance, were mounted on the British batteries and ready to open fire. The besieged had endeavored to retard these proceedings by constantly plying all their available guns, but did not succeed in inflicting any annoyance of importance. Before nightfall, an officer, bearing a flag of truce, approached the English camp, and was conducted to the general; to him he gave the governor, M. de Ramsay's, proposition to surrender if not relieved by the following morning.
In the mean time, M. de Vaudreuil, who had, with his disorganized followers, joined De Bougainville at Cape Rouge on the evening of the 13th, dispatched a courier to M. de Levi,[191]at Montreal, with tidings of the disaster, and to require his immediate presence to command the army in Montcalm's room. This done, the marquis summoned his principal officers to a council of war, and gave his opinion "that they should take their revenge on the morrow, and endeavor to wipe off the disgrace of that fatal day." But this bold proposition met with no more support in the council than it really possessed in De Vaudreuil's own mind. The officers were unanimously of opinion "that there was an absolute necessity for the army to retire to Jacques Cartier, and that no time should be lost." In consequence of this decision, the French immediately resumed their retreat, leaving every thing behind them, and marched all night to gain Point aux Trembles, which was fixed as the rendezvous of the whole remaining force.
On the receipt of the disastrous news of Montcalm's defeat and death, M. de Levi instantly departed from Montreal to take the command of the shattered army. On the 16th he arrived; after a few hours' conference with the Marquis de Vaudreuil, it was agreed to send the following message to M. de Ramsay: "We exhort you, by all means, to hold out to the last extremity. On the 18th the whole army shall be in motion: a disposition is made to throw in a large supply of provisions, and to relieve the town." The courier reached the besieged early on the 18th, but it was too late; the governor was already in treaty with Townshend, and on that morning, the 18th day of September, 1759,Quebec surrendered.[192]In the evening the keys of the city were delivered up, and the Louisburg Grenadiers marched in, preceded by a detachment of artillery and one gun, with the British flag hoisted on a staff upon the carriage: this flag was then placed upon the highest point of the citadel. Captain Palliser, of the navy, with a body of seamen, at the same time took possession of the Lower Town.
The news of these great events reached England but two days later than Wolfe's discouraging dispatch of the 9th of September;[193]an extraordinary Gazette was immediately published and circulated throughout the country, and a day of thanksgiving was appointed by proclamation through all the dominions of Great Britain.
"Then the sounds of joy and grief from her people wildly rose:"
never, perhaps, have triumph and lamentation been so strangely intermingled. Astonishment and admiration at the splendid victory, with sorrow for the loss of the gallant victor, filled every breast. Throughout all the land were illuminations and public rejoicings, except in the little Kentish village of Westerham, where Wolfe was born, and where his widowed mother[194]now mourned her only child.
Wolfe's body was embalmed, and borne to the river for conveyance to England. The army escorted it in solemn state to the beach: they mourned their young general's death as sincerely as they had followed him in battle bravely. Their attachment to him had softened their toils, their confidence in him had cheered them in disasters, and his loss now turned their triumph into sadness. When his remains arrived at Plymouth they were landed with the highest honors; minute guns were fired; the flags were hoisted half-mast high, and an escort, with arms reversed, received the coffin on the shore. He was then conveyed to Greenwich, and buried beside his father, who had died but a few months before.
The House of Commons, on the motion of Mr. Pitt, unanimously voted that a monument should be erected to Wolfe's memory in Westminster Abbey[195]at the public expense. The monument was accordingly executed, and inscribed with a eulogistic memorial in Latin. Not many years since, a pillar was erected by Lord Dalhousie, on a lofty situation in the city of Quebec, to Wolfe and Montcalm, bearing a remarkably graceful Latin inscription by Dr. Fisher, of Quebec. Lord Aylmer has also placed a small and simple monument on the Plains of Abraham, on which the date and the following words only are engraved:
"HERE WOLFE DIED VICTORIOUS."