LOUISBOURG

I found it a far different thing arriving at Louisbourg by land from arriving by sea. In the latter case, one enjoys a rapid coup d’œil from the moment one turns Lighthouse Point, of the harbour, Goat Island, the new village of Louisburg, and the site and ruins of the old town on the left. The first impression is that of a rapid transition from a violent running sea into a spacious harbour strangely quiet, considering what seems to be the exposed state of the entrance. But this exposure is not real, because Louisburg Harbour is protected by a sunken bar, not uncovered even at low tide. After the rugged and precipitous rocks succeed a series of hillocks here and there covered with stunted firs, and the land for a mile inland is poor and barren. An air of desolation broods about the place, which is hardly lessened by the great and grimy scaffoldings which form the wharves of the coal company, or the groups of fishermen’s cottages close to the water’s edge, although the eye catches glimpses of two or three trim white painted churches scattered along the borders of the harbour.

But were the prospect greyer and more morose to the ignorant eye, nothing could destroy the light which the spectacle will ever lend to him who has read Louisbourg’s story, or restrain the thrill it imparts when seen for the first time.

To the visitor by road or rail the surroundings of the modern village of Louisburg are apt to disenchant. Not even the presence of the two French cannon at the railway station, updrawn a few years ago from the depths of the harbour, quite offset the mile long stroll upon a creaking plank side walk through a succession of hideous clap-boarded stores, the bank, the lawyer’s office, the post-office, and eating-house. The older dwellings of the village are already falling into decay, and one old woman, one of the M’Alpines, who had seen better days, complained that the walls of her house, her home for forty years, scarce now sufficed to keep out the weather; and she and her faithful companion trembled lest it should not endure as long as their few remaining years. For it was no longer theirs: it had somehow together with most of the others passed out of their hands into those of the coal company, which like most corporations knew no mercy towards poor tenants.

But there is a great ray of light in New Louisburg, and as for me I shall not easily forget the memory of one plucky English clergyman who, amidst poverty and squalor, and social and spiritual dreariness, for twenty-eight years has fought a cheery battle against these forces, and under conditions in many ways far harder than those which face a Houndsditch curate, has not trampled down his flag, or even allowed himself to be discouraged. His name is the Rev. Fraser Draper—(although I have called him, and I believe he calls himself an Englishman, there is a Scottish element in him), and his parish covers, I think, some forty square miles. To this he ministers either on a bicycle or afoot. Far less affluent is he than the Roman Catholic priest, who would seem to have so many votaries hereabouts, or even of the Presbyterian minister; yet this Anglican is the man for his work and his flock, and has strongly stirring within him that cheery manly something which is more the backbone and support of an Englishman’s religion than the Thirty-nine Articles, and shines more in a selfish world than all the candles on all the altars. My friend is a great authority on the history and topography of Louisbourg (mark the spelling—Louisburg is the modern town), and has himself quite a collection of objects of interest connected with both sieges. He told me of the visits to him of Lord and Lady Minto, Lord Dundonald and others, and of the pleasure it gave him to show them over the site of the famous town. From his parsonage in the very centre of the harbour’s crescent shore there arises, three miles away to the right, a small upstanding column on the horizon. This was my beacon as I set out for Old Louisbourg—the shaft erected by the men of Massachusetts fifteen years ago to commemorate William Pepperell and the first siege of Louisbourg in 1745.

A French officer reported that Louisbourg was so strong that it might be held against any assault by an army of women. Yet English prisoners who had dwelt in the fortress believed Louisbourg might be taken, and their hopes were eagerly seized upon and shared by Governor Shirley of Massachusetts, a lawyer by profession, full of energy and enterprise, who now resolved upon the capture of Louisbourg. Unless the English had control of the whole coast from Cape Sable to the mouth of the St. Lawrence, the safety, nay, the very existence of New England was in constant jeopardy. The discontent and bad discipline of the Louisbourg garrison, which consisted of 1300 men, was a promising factor. The ramparts were, moreover, said to be defective in more than one place, and, besides this, if the French ships which came over sea with provisions and reinforcements could be intercepted, Shirley felt there was no small chance of success. He wrote instantly to London asking the Government to help him with ships. Without waiting for a reply a little fleet was raised, and a land force of 4000 men, chiefly composed of artisans, farmers, fishermen, and labourers, commanded by a merchant named Pepperell, was mustered for the expedition. Although lacking military experience, Pepperell possessed courage and good judgment, and was anxious to distinguish himself. On the 24th March 1745 the ships left Boston, reaching Canso ten days later. Here they remained three weeks, waiting for the ice to melt in the bays and harbours. Here, too, they were joined by the English commodore, Warren, whom King George had sent to assist in the capture of Louisbourg.

The command of Louisbourg was in the hands of M. Duchambon. One night, just after a public ball, a captain, attired in his night-clothes, came rushing into the Governor’s chamber to report that a strange fleet had been sighted by the sentries entering Gabarus Bay, five miles distant. Soon the cannons were booming loudly from the walls, and a peal of bells rang through the town. Pepperell made a pretence of landing his troops at a certain point so as to deceive the French. A skirmish took place, in which the French were beaten back and some of them taken prisoners. Before nightfall 2000 of the New Englanders had planted foot on the shore, and the next day the siege of Louisbourg was begun. A hard and dangerous task was the landing of the artillery and stores, owing to the rolling surf. There being no wharf, the men had to wade through the sea to bring the guns, ammunition, and provisions on shore. This alone consumed an entire fortnight. Batteries were thrown up, in spite of sallies made from the town by French and Indians to prevent them. An outside battery was captured, mounted with twenty-eight heavy guns, which now belched forth shot and shell amongst the besieged. Warehouses and other places took fire, and great columns of smoke hid the fort from view for days at a time. The walls were at last seen to crumble, and when the guns of the Americans began to close up on the fortress, Duchambon summoned to surrender, replied that he would when forced to do so by the cannon of the foe. Upon the island battery being silenced, the English fleet entered the harbour and turned upon him its 500 guns. Duchambon’s supply of gunpowder being now exhausted, Louisbourg surrendered after a siege lasting forty-nine days.

The fall of Louisbourg, the key to French power in North America, seemed almost incredible to the French. It was resolved at Versailles that an expedition should be sent out to Cape Breton to recapture it at all hazards. One of the finest fleets that ever left the shores of France sailed from Rochelle the following year, commanded by the Duc d’Anville, consisting of thirty-nine ships of war, with orders to recapture Louisbourg and Cape Breton, and to ravage Boston and the New England coasts. But a fierce tempest dispersed the whole squadron. When, at Chebucto, D’Anville arrived with the remnants of his fleet, his mortification was so great as to induce an apoplectic stroke, from which he died, and on an island in what is to-day known as Halifax Harbour, his body was buried. On the afternoon of the very day on which the French commander died, his Vice-admiral, Destournelles, arrived with three more ships. More than 2000 men of the fleet were stricken with fever and perished. Destournelles, seeing no hope for success, proposed that the expedition should be abandoned and that the fleet should return to France, a proposal which most of his officers resisted. They desired to attack Annapolis, which was weak and had a small garrison. Once it was captured, Acadia was regained for France. Admiral Destournelles, thinking his action reflected on his character and honour, retired, and next morning they found him stabbed by his own hand through the breast.

Ere the French fleet could reach Annapolis, another great storm arose, scattering the ships, and after 2500 brave Frenchmen had been lost in this ill-fated expedition, the only course remaining was to return.

In 1748 was signed the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and Louisbourg was handed back to France. Ten years later Pitt resolved upon its final destruction, and the story of the second siege is known to every schoolboy. In the interval between the two sieges the fortress had been considerably strengthened, and its new commandant, M. Drucour, was a man of great ability.