CHAPTER XIII
SCALING THE HEIGHTS OF QUEBEC
Both Henry and Silvers were much interested in the inspection of the camp General Wolfe had established near the Falls of Montmorenci and along the St. Lawrence River.
The falls at this point were a grand sight, tumbling over the rough rocks that lined the gorge with a thunder which to the young soldier seemed a second Niagara. Below the falls was a stretch of smooth water, and here was a succession of shoals, dry, or nearly so, during low tide.
The French camp was within sight between the trees, and it is said that the English and French guards occasionally spoke to each other further up the small stream, where the noise was not so loud. But men as well as officers had to be careful, for each army had its sharpshooters posted, ready to bring down any enemy who showed himself.
During the time spent near the falls General Wolfe had not been idle. He had tried his best to draw General Montcalm from his secure position by making moves up and down the St. Lawrence and by sending detachments hither and thither, to attack and destroy various villages, towns, and isolated chateaux and farmhouses. All were given over to the flames, and night after night the sky was lit up by the conflagrations.
All of these deeds made the Marquis de Montcalm very angry, but he was too wily a general to be drawn into any trap. “Wolfe cannot dislodge me,” he said. “And soon his supplies will give out, winter will be on him, and he and his fleet will have to sail for home.”
His remarks were not mere guesswork. From various sources he learned that the English supplies were running low, and that many of the British soldiers were sick. Those on the fleet were growing tired of drifting up and down the river, and the admiral in charge knew that winter came early around Quebec.
“Something will have to be done between now and the first of October,” said the admiral. “To remain in these waters after that would be a hardship.”
“Something shall be done,” said General Wolfe, and, still weak from his spell of sickness, he began to lay new plans to force Montcalm into a battle.
Several days slipped by, and Henry was glad enough to take the rest thus afforded. On the fourth day a messenger appeared bringing in news from Fort Oswego.
“Hurrah!” shouted Henry, as he ran up to where Silvers sat smoking on a rock. “Dave is safe, and so are Shamer and Raymond. Oh, how glad I am!”
“That is good news!” returned the sharpshooter. “Wonder how they managed to escape?”
“The messenger didn’t know the full particulars. He says each was hurt a little, but not of any account. I can tell you, I feel much relieved”
“I don’t doubt it, Henry. I know you think a good deal of your cousin.”
“And why shouldn’t I? We have been playmates for years, and we have hunted and fished and fought together for ever so long, too. Dave is as close as a brother to me.”
“Well, now you know he is safe, I reckon you won’t be so anxious to get to Fort Oswego as you was.”
“No, I am going to send word to him that I am here, and then stay a while.”
“So am I going to stay,” went on Silvers. “I feel it in my bones that there will be a big fight here before this campaign closes.”
General Wolfe had under him three brigadiers, Murray, Monckton, and Townshend. He now called them to him for consultation and submitted several propositions. A debate lasting a long time followed, and at last it was decided to attack the French at a point some distance above the city of Quebec. By doing this, Montcalm would be cut off from his base of supplies and compelled to either fight or surrender.
The task which General Wolfe had set for himself and his men was an exceedingly difficult one. As already mentioned, the river was fronted by a high wall of rocks, and to scale these seemed next to impossible. Besides, the French were on constant guard, and would be sure to sound the alarm quickly and pour a hot fire into the advancing British.
In order to carry out the plan decided upon General Wolfe had first to abandon the camp at the falls. He knew the French would harass him as much as possible, and so sent Monckton from Point Levi with a number of soldiers, under pretense of attacking Beauport, midway between the falls and the city. Montcalm looked on this with new alarm and sent his troops in that direction; and Wolfe withdrew without further trouble.
Henry and Silvers were with the soldiers who abandoned the Montmorenci and soon found themselves at Point Levi, where they joined a handful of other Colonial English mixed in with the Royal Grenadiers. This was early in September, and a few days later the troops were transferred to the ships under Admiral Holmes, and here General Wolfe joined the expedition.
To the French it looked as if the English were going to give up the campaign, and Wolfe and his officers, as well as the admiral of the squadrons, did all in their power to make the deception more real. Cannon were taken up and placed aboard the vessels in the most open manner, and soldiers were made to pack away the camp outfits as if getting ready for a long voyage. “The English are going to sail!” cried the people of Quebec and vicinity, and their hopes arose, to think that they would at last be free from the grim terror which had hung over them so long.
But Wolfe was not yet ready to force the attack. The plan of action was still in the rough. There was a high stone bluff, or cliff, to scale, and how to do it in comparative safety was a delicate problem to solve. The general listened patiently to what several who were acquainted with the locality had to say, and then surveyed the north shore with a telescope. Near what was then Anse du Foulon, and now called Wolfe’s Cove, he discovered a narrow path running between rocks and bushes from the water’s edge to the top of the bluff.
“That is our course,” he said, quietly but firmly. On the bluff at this point were but a dozen soldiers’ tents, so he concluded that the French guard there could not be a heavy one.
But to have given the French an inkling of what was in his mind would have ruined everything, so once again Wolfe set to work to fool the enemy. His ships sailed still further up the river, as if looking for a landing, and the French batteries opened with vigor, but without doing any harm.
A heavy downpour of rain now made further operations impossible for two days. It was a cold, raw storm, and the soldiers in the transports could not stand it, and had to be landed once more on the south shore, where they built camp-fires, sought such shelters as were handy, and did what they could to make themselves comfortable. The weather was very trying on General Wolfe, but he refused to take again to his bed, declaring that he was now going to see the campaign to a finish.
On the 12th of September all seemed in readiness for the attack. The French soldiers were worn out through following the passage of the English ships up and down the river, while the stay on the south shore had rested the grenadiers and others in the English ranks.
For the daring expedition Wolfe selected forty-eight hundred men. He knew that the enemy must be at least twice as strong, and to engage Montcalm’s attention once again in a different direction, he had Admiral Saunders make a move as if to land at Beauport. This deception was carried on in grand style, with signals flashing from ship to ship, cannons roaring, and boatload after boatload of sailors and marines putting off as if to dash upon the mud flats. In great haste Montcalm massed his men at the Beauport batteries, satisfied at last that this was to be the real point of attack, while the movement up the river was only a blind.
Fortune now seemed to be at last in Wolfe’s favor. He was ten miles away from the din at Beauport, with nearly five thousand of his soldiers, and creeping upon the north shore of the river with the silence of a shadow. There was no moon, but otherwise the night was clear. Wolfe occupied a place in one of the foremost boats. Behind him came a long procession, containing the Highlanders and grenadiers and also a handful of Colonials, including Henry and Silvers, who had been armed, and who were just as anxious to aid in the taking of Quebec as anybody.
Once or twice from out of the darkness came a challenge.
“Who comes?” was the question, put in French.
“France!” was the answer, of one who could speak the language well.
“What boats are those?”
“The provision boats. Hush, or the English will hear. They are not far away.”
The sentry knew that some provision boats were expected along that night, so said no more. As a matter of fact, the order to send the provisions down the river had been countermanded but a few hours before, but without the sentry’s knowledge. Thus fortune again favored the English.
At last the headland above Anse du Foulon was gained. Here the tide swept along rapidly and some boats were carried partly past the cove.
“No guard in sight,” whispered one of the lookouts.
“It is well,” murmured Wolfe.
Only the sound of a gurgling brook as it rushed into the St. Lawrence broke the stillness of the night. Before the boats lay the dark, frowning bluff, with its loose rocks, and its straggling cedars, other trees, and brushwood. The path was there, doubly uncertain in the darkness.
Twenty-four volunteers, picked men, good shots, and with nerves of iron, led the way. In the meantime those in the other boats waited by the shore, for the signal to land if it proved safe, or to pull away with might and main should the French have led them into a trap.
“Tell you what, Henry, this is a ticklish task,” whispered Silvers, as he examined the new firearm he had received.
“It certainly is that,” answered the young soldier. “But I reckon General Wolfe knows what he is doing.”
“Silence there,” came the low command, and the two said no more.
A painful period of waiting followed. Far up the bluff they could hear the volunteers climbing along. Then came a shot, followed by others, and then a ringing English cheer.
“We have them! We have them!” was the cry. “Come up!”
“Hurrah!” came a mighty cry. “Up we go!” And in a twinkle the soldiers were out of the boats and scaling the rocks as best they could, some by way of the path and others by rocks and bushes.
It was a climb that Henry never forgot. The path was choked with grenadiers, each with his gun slung over his back and each loaded down with knapsack and blanket.
“We can get up this way just as well,” said Silvers, and up they went, side by side, over some rough stones, and then hauling, pushing, and pulling themselves from one point of vantage to another, until, fairly panting for breath, they reached the top and joined the forces gathering on the field above, known as the Plains of Abraham.