CHAPTER XVII
THROUGH THE FOREST
It was the 5th of July, 1758. The sun shone forth in all his glory, gilding the mountain tops and lighting up the deepest valleys. The English and Colonial troops had embarked the previous evening on nine hundred troop-boats; a hundred and thirty-five whale-boats and a large number of flat boats carried the artillery.
It was a superb spectacle, never forgotten by those who witnessed it, when the boats filed forth and entered the narrows, a long line extending for six miles. The flash of oars and glitter of weapons, the banners, the varied uniforms, the notes of the bugle, the bagpipes, trumpets, and drums, prolonged by a hundred woodland echoes, enhanced the brightness of the summer day and the romantic beauty of the scenery. The sheen and sparkle of the crystal waters, the countless islets tufted with pine, birch, and fir, the bordering mountains, with their green summits and sunny crags, united to impress this scene upon the minds of all present.
“I never beheld such a delightful prospect,” wrote an eye-witness to his friends at home. There was something triumphant in it; and the spirits of both men and officers responded to the general impression. The boats advanced rapidly down Lake St. George, and it was still daylight when they halted to await the baggage and artillery, which were in the rear. After sunset they started afresh, and by daybreak the next morning had reached the end of the lake.
Here they became aware that they were being watched by an advance party of the French. Roger immediately landed with his company of Rangers, and drove the enemy back into the wood, after which the whole army went on shore. A council of officers was then called, of whom Howe and Roger were the leading spirits.
When the council was over the two men lay side by side on their outstretched bearskins resting. The scene was lovely. A plain covered with forest stretched half a mile or more to the mountains, behind which lay Trout Brook, whilst ruddy in the warm sunrise rose the vast bare face of Roger’s Rock.
“I marvel how you did it!” said Lord Howe to his companion.
“It looks worse than it really is,” answered Roger. “One only needs a steady head, a good eye for distances, and a firm foot. Nevertheless, I should not care to try it again. And now what is to be our next move? Langy and his French have retreated to the woods. He will probably join Montcalm at the Saw Mills up by the falls. My advice is to cross the forest, dislodge the French, and make for Ticonderoga. I know positively that Montcalm’s army only numbers a fourth of ours; of course, Levis may bring up reinforcements, but at present he is at Montreal, and Vaudreuil may, and probably will, think proper to detain him there. It is for us to advance without delay.”
“Then let us do it at once!” said Lord Howe, springing up; and, going to the group of officers, he imparted Roger’s opinion to them.
It was immediately decided that the Royal Rangers should take to the woods under Roger, and that Lord Howe and Major Putman should follow with two hundred Rangers and scouts, the remainder of the army in four separate columns bringing up the rear.
In less than an hour the plan was carried into effect; and soon through the silent primeval forest an army was groping its way, buried in foliage so thick that no sound of waggons or artillery could be heard, only “the cawing of the crows, flapping their black wings over the sea of tree-tops.” The forest was dense; the way was obstructed by undergrowth, and it was impossible to see the fallen trees which lay about in every stage of decay. The sun, even when at its height, could hardly pierce the canopy of boughs. Roger, who was in advance, was himself fairly puzzled; but he knew the direction he had to take, and was able to guide his men, fully believing Howe was on the same track; and so in truth he was, only at a greater distance than Roger had supposed. Suddenly Lord Howe and those nearest to him heard voices close upon them, and recognised that they were French. They checked their advance and listened.
“We are caught in an ambush,” said Lord Howe, “or else it is the advance party under Langy who are in retreat, and have lost their way. One thing is in our favour: in the darkness they cannot recognise friend from foe. We must try to push through them. Let no man speak. If they challenge us the word is ‘Français.’ I’ll give it!”
He was right in his surmise. It was Langy with his three hundred and fifty men who had got lost in the woods, and now found themselves in the very centre of the English army, dividing it, so to speak, Roger and the Royal Rangers in front, Howe and the remainder of the English army behind. For a few minutes the two armies were mingled, until a suspicion of the truth dawned on the French.
“Qui vive?” shouted Langy.
“Français!” came from the English; but Langy was not deceived. A volley of musketry was the immediate answer. William Parkmann, who was close beside Howe, saw by the flash of the muskets his chief stagger. He caught him in his arms, and carried him out of the ranks. Alas! in that second the noble spirit had winged its flight to another world. Those nearest him had seen him fall, and the ill news spread like wild-fire. A sort of panic seized the soldiers. They believed they had fallen into an ambush, and that Montcalm’s whole force was upon them; but fortunately the Rangers stood firm and fought steadily. The sound of the musketry reached Roger. A faint inkling of the truth dawned upon him, and without hesitation he turned round and took the French in the rear. Thus, between two fires, their position was desperate. Nevertheless, they fought with unrivalled bravery, and of the three hundred and fifty men of Langy’s corps, fifty only escaped: one hundred and sixty were made prisoners; the remainder being killed or drowned in trying to cross the rapids. The English had lost comparatively few men. But Howe’s death was an irreparable disaster. “The death of this one man,” a contemporary observes, “was the ruin of fifteen thousand!” The soul of Abercromby’s army expired with this young officer; an almost general languor crept over the men. Order and discipline became lax. Abercromby himself seemed paralysed. Montcalm had retreated to the base of the peninsula upon which Ticonderoga stands, and had intrenched himself there.
The peninsula of Ticonderoga consists of a rocky plateau, with low grounds on each side, bordering Lake Champlain on the one hand, and the outlet of Lake St. George on the other. A ridge is formed across the plateau. Montcalm decided to defend this ridge by abattis. Men and officers worked together, making a barricade of trees eight or nine feet high; every tree in the neighbourhood was hewn down as if laid flat by a hurricane.
Abercromby, fearing Montcalm’s position would be further strengthened by reinforcements, ordered an immediate attack; but he himself remained at the Mill, a mile and a half away in the rear. The English were therefore virtually without a leader, and nothing was left them in the coming struggle but blind, headlong valour. As they advanced to the attack they could see the top of the breastwork, but not the men who fought behind it; and when they attempted to penetrate through the breastwork, or climb over it, they were stopped by sharpened branches and by a cross fire which poured down upon them. The French fought with intrepid gaiety, shouting, “Long live our King! Long live our General!” Montcalm, with his coat off, was everywhere. Six times the English returned to the attack. Campbell Duncan, laird of Inveraw, belonging to the 42nd regiment, called the “Black Watch,” with others jumped down the abattis into the midst of the French, and were killed, bayoneted.
The English lost nineteen hundred men and forty-four officers; the French three hundred and seventy-seven; but their officers Bourlamaque and Bougainville were both wounded, while Levis, who came up at the end, had his hat twice shot through. Abercromby was at last obliged to retreat, and Ticonderoga remained in the hands of the French. Montcalm, in gratitude to God for having given him the victory over so brave an enemy, erected a cross on the spot.
Roger and his Rangers had taken no active part in the attack upon Ticonderoga; the loss of Howe hung like a heavy cloud over them. Roger, with Putman, had remained in the woods, keeping up a border warfare, pursuing the French and shooting any who came in his way; and they pursued these tactics so persistently and aggressively that the French at last openly attacked the Rangers. With the aid of the Indians, they succeeded in taking Putman prisoner. He was, however, rescued from the hands of the Indians by a French officer, and conveyed under escort to Ticonderoga, where Montcalm received him and treated him with kindness. Here he made friends with Colonel Schuyler, who was also a prisoner, and together they lamented the death of their friend.
This victory was to be the last great success of the French. Slowly but surely they were being pushed back upon their great fortress, the key of Canada: Quebec. Still there was no thought of surrender—Montcalm stood firm at the helm.