Chapter 2: Days Of Waiting
"I am sorry that you should have to be disturbed, dear ladies, but it is no longer safe for you to remain where you were. My soldiers require the ground. But tomorrow you shall be sent in safety to Quebec, under a flag of truce. You will be safer there than at Pointe-aux-Trembles, now that my ships are in the upper river."
Wolfe spoke thus at the conclusion of a supper party, which he had hastily got up for the benefit of the prisoners brought to Point Levi by his fleet of boats. The soldiers had landed along the upper river, and in spite of a faint resistance from Indians and Canadians, had effected a landing. Though they had not found much in the way of stores or cattle, they had taken what they could, and had brought a number of prisoners to Wolfe's camp. These were mostly French-a great number being women and children and old men who had left Quebec during the bombardment, and sought refuge in the outlying village.
The idea of being sent back to town was not exactly palatable, but it was plain that there was now no safety along the upper river; the English troops seemed to be everywhere at once.
"You are such dreadful people, you English!" sighed one lady, looking, not without admiration, towards the youthful General, who was entertaining them at his own table, and who had given the strictest orders that the humbler of the prisoners should be equally well treated elsewhere: "you seem to fly from point to point, to divide your army as you will, and conquer wherever you appear. It is wonderful, but it is terrible, too! And yet with all this, how are you to get into Quebec? For it seems to me you are no nearer that than you were a month ago."
Wolfe smiled his slight, peculiar smile.
"Madame," he answered, "we have a proverb in En gland which says that 'where there's a will there's a way.' I have been sent out by the government of my country to take Quebec, and here I stay till I have carried out that order. How and when it will be accomplished I do not yet know; what I say is that I am here to do it, and that I mean to do it. When you return to the city, present my respects to the Marquis of Montcalm, and tell him what I say."
The ladies looked at one another, and lifted eyes and hands. In the aspect of the young General, despite his physical feebleness, there was an air of such calm, confident power that they were deeply impressed; and one of them, looking earnestly at him, cried:
"You make us admire you as much as we fear you, Monsieur Wolfe. But if you are to have Quebec, pray take it quickly; for this long, cruel war wears us out."
"Madame," he answered, "I would that I could; but Monsieur de Montcalm gives me no chance of fighting. If he were not so cautious, I should greatly rejoice. I give him all sorts of chances to attack me, but he will not avail himself of them. If caution could save Quebec, assuredly it would never fall!"
"If he take not care, his caution will be his undoing," said a Canadian dame of sprightly turn. "As for us of the country, we are weary to death of uncertainty. They tell me that the Canadian militia will not long remain loyal if kept in such inactivity. We Canadians do not understand this sort of warfare. Quick raids, sharp fighting, quick return home is what our men are used to. They can be brave enough in their native forests; but this sitting down in camps for weeks and months together, whilst their harvests are lying uncut in the fields, or left a prey to Indian marauders-no, that they do not understand or appreciate. They are almost ready to welcome English rule sooner than go on like this. I doubt not you have heard as much from your prisoners before."
"Something like it," answered Wolfe, with a slight curl of the lip. "I confess I have no great opinion of the militia of Monsieur de Montcalm. His regular troops are fine soldiers; but for the rest, they would give us little trouble, I take it. Perhaps the Marquis knows that, and therefore will not fight."
"In the woods one Canadian soldier is worth three regulars," remarked the lady, with a shrewd glance at Wolfe, and a smile upon her face; "but in the open one regular is worth half a dozen Canadians. We do not understand standing firm under fire. Give us a tree to run behind, and we will be as valiant as you wish, and shoot down our foes with unerring aim; but we must have cover. We have been used to it, and we do not understand being without it. I am sure I well understand the feeling. I should make a good enough Canadian militiaman, but I should never have the nerve to be a regular soldier."
Wolfe smiled and made a little bow to his guests.
"I believe, Mesdames, that ladies have a higher courage than men when the hour of peril really comes. I had the honour to become acquainted with Madame Drucour at the siege of Louisbourg. I was told, and can well believe, that it was in great part her heroic example which inspired the men there to that courage which they showed, and which gave us such hard work. Courage is by no means the prerogative of the soldier or of man. The women of the world have again and again set the loftiest examples of it to those who come after."
The ladies returned his bow, and drank to his health before they retired to their tents for the night.
"If we see you within Quebec, Monsieur Wolfe, we shall know how generous a victor we have to deal with. Madame Drucour has told us the same; but now we have seen it with our own eyes."
"Pray give my best compliments to Madame Drucour," said Wolfe earnestly, "and tell her that not the least pleasant element in the anticipation of getting into Quebec is the thought that in so doing I shall have the honour and pleasure of renewing acquaintance with her."
Wolfe was on the strand upon the following morning to see his captives safely off to Quebec, whilst a flag of truce was hoisted, and the batteries ceased to fire.
"Farewell, my dear ladies; I hope soon to meet you all again," said the young General, with playful geniality, as he handed them to their seats. "If Monsieur de Montcalm will but give me the chance of coming to conclusions with him, I will do my utmost to bring this uncomfortable state of affairs to a close."
"Ah, Monsieur, you are very complaisant! but the only way that you want to take is the capture of our poor city."
"Very true, dear ladies; that is the only end I am willing to contemplate. And yet, believe me, in desiring this I desire nothing that shall be for your final discomfiture. I know what the rule of France is in these parts, and what that of England is also. Believe me that beneath English government peace and prosperity such as she has never known before will come to Canada. I believe that the day will speedily come when you will see this for yourselves."
"I should not wonder," answered the Canadian dame, with a light laugh; "I am half disposed to think the same myself. His Majesty of France has not endeared himself to us these many years past. I should not be broken hearted to see a change of monarch."
The boats pushed off, and Wolfe stood watching them on their way across the river. His face was grave and thoughtful, and he turned presently to Fritz with a sigh.
"Poor ladies! I am sorry to send them back to the horrors of the siege; but it is the only safe place for them.
"And now we must think seriously of our next step. The time is flying, and we must not let the grass grow under our feet. It is true what they said last night: we are no nearer taking Quebec than when we sailed from England months ago. We have frightened and harassed the foe, but we are not one step nearer the goal."
"And yet we have one ship and several smaller vessels in the upper river," said Julian; "and where one ship has passed others may do so."
"Yes; I shall try to bring up other vessels. One never knows what the chances of war will be. It is well to have the command of the river both above and below; and if Amherst should form a junction with us, we may find the fleet above the town of great use. But we are now at the end of July, and Ticonderoga, though threatened, has not yet fallen, so far as we know; and even were it to do so quickly, there will be much for Amherst to do there and at Crown Point, and a long, long march before he could reach us. We must face the possibility of having to accomplish this matter with the forces now at command; and we are in the position now that our camp is split up into four, and we have no great muster of troops at any one point. If Montcalm were to make a determined dash at any one of our camps, he could destroy it before the rest of the army could be mustered for its defence. Why he does not avail himself of the chances given him I do not know. But his policy of inaction has its drawbacks too for us, since I would sooner face him in a pitched battle than be kept here inactive, waiting upon chances that never offer."
The army was certainly getting rather weary of this inaction. It was not idle, for Wolfe's manifesto to the Canadians was now being enforced. Supplies were wanted for the troops, and the inimical Canadians were forced to supply them. Indeed, great numbers of these harassed and undecided inhabitants of the disputed territory were glad enough to be made prisoners by the English and sent on board their transports for safety. Their cattle, of course, fell a prey to the invaders; but they were in so much peril of robbery from the Indians that this was a small matter. When once within Wolfe's camp their lives were safe, and no ill treatment was permitted; and to some of the wretched Canadians this had become a boon. It was small wonder they were growing sick and weary of the war, and would have welcomed either nation as conqueror, so that they could only know again the blessings of peace and safety.
Yet something more definite must be attempted; Wolfe was more and more determined upon that. It was difficult to know how best to attack an enemy so strongly intrenched and so well able to repulse attack; yet his men were burning with ardour, and his own spirit was hot within him. He sometimes felt as though his feeble body would not much longer be able to endure the strain put upon it. The cracked pitcher may go once too often to the well. To die in the service of his country was what Wolfe desired and expected for himself; but he wished that death might come to him in the din and excitement of the battle, and in the hour of victory; not by the hand of disease, whilst his aim and object was yet unaccomplished.
"We must fight!" he said to Julian, as he took his way back to his camp at the Montmorency; "we must seek to bring the enemy to close quarters. We shall fight at terrible disadvantage, I well know; we shall suffer heavy loss. But I would back a hundred of our brave fellows against a battalion of Canadian militia. We must try conclusions with them somehow, and by a concerted attack, both from Montmorency and from the strand, seek to effect something, even if it be only to affright and dishearten them."
The soldiers were ready and eager to be allowed a fling at the foe. They were full of ardour and enthusiasm, for so far every attempt made had been vigorously and successfully carried out, and they began to have an idea that Wolfe could not be frustrated in any scheme of his.
To attack the city itself was obviously impossible under present conditions, They could never get a footing near those solid walls and ramparts. But the camp along the Beauport shore was more vulnerable. If they could effect a landing there, they might rush one or more of the batteries, and bring about a general engagement. It was impossible, as it happened, for Wolfe to estimate the full strength of the French position; but he knew that the task would be no light one, even though he could not see that there were batteries upon the heights above.
It was near to the Montmorency that he designed to make the attack. The shores of the river were, for the most part, very steep here; but at one place there was at low water a strand of muddy ground about half a mile wide, protected at the edge by a French redoubt. From there the ground rose steep and slippery to the higher land above. If the men could land and take the redoubt, Wolfe had hopes of bringing men over by the Montmorency ford-the one above the cataract-and effecting a junction there, and by combining the actions of these two detachments, succeed in dislodging a portion of the French army, and effecting a firm foothold upon the north bank of the St. Lawrence.
It was a rather desperate scheme; but it was received with enthusiasm by the soldiers and sailors, both of whom would be needed for the attempt. The vessels and boats for the transport of the men were quickly made ready, whilst others were told off to hover about the basin in order to perplex the French, and keep them ignorant of the real point of attack.
Wolfe himself took up his position in the battleship Centurion, which anchored near to the Montmorency, and opened fire upon the redoubts just beyond the strand. Julian was with him, watching intently, and noting every movement made by enemy or friend. But Fritz and< Humphrey could not be denied their share in the fight. They were upon an armed transport that was standing in shore to further harass and batter the redoubt, and to be left stranded by the ebb tide, as near to her as might be.
It was at low water that the attack must be made. Boats from Point Levi were hovering around the strand all the afternoon, sometimes making for one point, sometimes for another, keeping the French always on the alert, uncertain and wondering. But Montcalm was too acute a general to be long deceived. He saw where the real attack must be made, and there he concentrated his chief force. Had Wolfe been able to see how his batteries could sweep with a crossfire the whole of the steep ascent from the redoubt to the heights above, where the men from the Montmorency camp might be able to join with them, he might have withheld his men from the bold attack. And yet English soldiers have won the victory even against such odds as these!
He stood in a commanding place upon the ship, and his eyes anxiously scanned the scene. The hot sun had gone in now beneath banks of heavy cloud. A few splashes of rain seemed to herald an approaching storm; there was a rumble as of thunder away to the right.
The tide was out; the bank of mud lay bare. Wolfe gave a long look round him and waved his hand.
It was the signal waited for. The moment after, the Centurion's guns opened their iron mouths, and a storm of shot rattled around the redoubt. The batteries from the Montmorency blazed forth, and so did the more distant ones from Point Levi. The fire of all three was concentrated upon the redoubts and batteries and forces at this portion of the Beauport camp; and the French gave answer back from their well-placed batteries.
Under cover of this heavy fire the boats rowed to shore, and the men in waiting upon the stranded transports leaped out and joined their comrades. The grenadiers were the first to land; and though Moncton's brigade and Fraser's Highlanders were close behind, the eagerness of the men could not be restrained. They did not wait for their companions; they did not even wait to form up in very orderly fashion themselves. They made a gallant dash upon the redoubt, and so strong was the onrush that the French, after a very brief resistance, fled; and with a shout and cheer of triumph the English gained their prize.
Julian, standing beside Wolfe on the vessel, could not refrain from a shout of triumph; but the face of the General was grave and stern.
"They are wrong-they are wrong!" he said; "they are too impetuous. Their rash gallantry will cost them dear. See, they are not even waiting now for their companions to join them; they are trying to rush the heights alone! Folly-madness! They will lose everything by such rashness! There! did I not say so?"
At that moment the batteries on the brink of the height opened their murderous crossfire. The men were mown down like grass before the scythe; but so full were they of fury and desire of victory that they heeded nothing, and pressed onward and upward, as though resolved to carry everything before them.
Had they been able to see the heights above, they would have noted that across the ford above the Montmorency a compact body of men was passing in perfect order, to fall upon the French from behind, and effect a junction with them. But at that moment, whilst the fortunes of the day seemed hanging in the balance, the very floodgates of heaven seemed to open, and a deluge of rain descended, whilst the blackness of a terrific thunderstorm fell upon the combatants.
The slippery grass no longer gave foothold, and the men rolled down the steep heights-dead, wounded, and unhurt in one medley. The ammunition grew soaked, and the guns refused their task. The glare of the lightning lit up a scene of utter confusion.
Wolfe saw all, standing with grave face and stern, watchful eyes. At last he spoke.
"Sound the retreat," he said, and then bit his lip; and Julian, by a glance into his face, knew what it had cost him to speak those words.
The retreat was made in good order, and was distinguished by a few acts of personal gallantry; for the Indians swooped down, as they always did when they saw their chance, to scalp the wounded and the dead. Soldiers risked their lives to save their fallen comrades from this fate, dragging the wounded with them, at risk of their own lives. The guns of the captured redoubt did some service in beating off the savages; and the boats were launched once more, though their load was a far lighter one than when they had brought up their eager crews an hour before. The strand and the height above were covered with the dead who had paid for their rash gallantry with their lives. It was a scene upon which Wolfe's eyes dwelt with sadness and pain, as he ordered a boat to be got ready for him, that he might address the men on their return to quarters.
It was with stern words that Wolfe met his soldiers. He was not a man to condone a lack of discipline because it had been coupled with personal bravery.
"Do you grenadiers suppose that you can beat the French single-handed?" he asked, eying the thinned ranks with stern displeasure in his eyes. "Such impetuous, irregular, and unsoldierlike proceedings as those witnessed today destroy all order, and make it impossible for a commander to form any disposition for an attack, and put it out of the General's power to execute his plans. The death of those five hundred brave men who lie on the strand yonder is due, in the main, to your rashness and insubordination."
The men were shamefaced and contrite. They recognized their error, and were the more grieved inasmuch as they saw how the check had affected their brave young General. They heard, too, that the French were full of triumphant rejoicings; that they declared this repulse to be the end of the English attempt upon Quebec. They looked upon the game as already in their hands; and although the English were fond of declaring that but for the storm they would yet have won the heights, and with the aid of their other contingent have routed the French gunners and got a footing there, they knew that, as facts were now, they had rather suffered than benefited by the action, for it had put fresh hope into the hearts of their foes; and it was possible that the disappointment had something to do with the access of violent illness and suffering which at this juncture prostrated their General.
Wolfe was indeed dangerously ill. He had long been putting the strongest pressure upon himself, and Julian had been struck upon the day of the assault with the look of suffering upon his worn face. He kept up during the next few days, but looked so ghastly that his friends were deeply concerned; and Julian, together with Fritz and Humphrey, scoured the neighbourhood in order to find a place of greater comfort where their commander could lie. Presently they came upon a little farmhouse near to the camp at Montmorency, sheltered from the wind, and pleasantly situated. It had been deserted by its occupants, who had, however, left behind furniture enough to enable them to get one room at least fit for the habitation of the sufferer. And none too soon.
That very day Wolfe, after trying to make a survey of the lines, was found in his tent half fainting with pain. He looked up at Julian with heavy eyes, and stretching out his hand to him, he said:
"I fear me I shall never live to enter Quebec. I have fought till I can fight no more. Take me somewhere that I can rest. I can do no more-yet."
They took him to the little farmhouse, and laid him upon the bed they had prepared. The doctors came, and looked grave; for the fever was high, the suffering keen, and the wasted frame seemed little able to withstand the ravages of disease. Yet never a murmur passed his lips; and when there came intervals of comparative ease, he would ask of those about him how affairs without were proceeding, giving orders from time to time with all his old acumen and force, and never forgetting to inquire for the wounded who had been brought off from the ill-starred assault, and had been given the best quarters which the camp afforded. He had never any pity for himself, but always plenty to spare for others.
Great gloom hung over the camp. Not only were the soldiers depressed by their repulse, and by the apparent impossibility of getting into the city, but they were in fear and trembling lest they should also lose their brave General.
"If Wolfe goes, hope goes," was a common saying in the camp. They seemed to know by intuition that with him would expire all hope of achieving an almost impossible victory.
Fritz and Julian nursed the sick man; and never were nurses more skilful and tender. Humphrey constituted himself messenger and forager, bringing everything he could get that the invalid was likely to need, and keeping them informed of everything that went on at the different camps.
Other vessels had passed the guns of Quebec. Scouts from the interior reported disaffection toward the French cause all through Canada. English soldiers were carrying the terror of the British arms through large tracts of country. The French were becoming anxious and dispirited.
So much they learned during those days of waiting; but they could rejoice but little whilst Wolfe lay low, racked with pain which no medicine could alleviate, and in danger of sinking through the wearing exhaustion which followed.
"How will it end? how will it end?" spoke Fritz to himself one day late in August, as he stepped outside the house to obtain a breath of air. The next moment he gave a great start, and held out his hands in a gesture of amazement,
"What-who-how-is it a ghost I see?"
A hearty laugh was the answer, and his hands were gripped in a clasp that was very certainly one of flesh and blood, to say nothing of bone and muscle.
"Ghost indeed! Nay, Fritz, you know better than that! It is John Stark himself, come to fulfil his promise, and to bring to General Wolfe the news that Ticonderoga has fallen!"