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Old Quebec: The Fortress of New France, a non-fiction book by Gilbert Parker |
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Chapter 15. Murray And De Levis |
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_ CHAPTER XV. MURRAY AND DE LEVIS Within the beleaguered city the sights and sounds of battle caused sickening excitement. An enemy who had gained the heights by such determined valour was destined for victory; and the weary garrison and townsfolk, as they watched and waited anxiously on the ramparts, were more than half prepared for the view presently to meet their eyes. A fresh wind lifting the thick clouds of smoke from the battlefield revealed the scattered legions of France in flight before a conquering army, wildly dashing towards the city gates or the bridge of boats crossing the St. Charles. Montcalm sought in vain to rally his stricken battalions, and was borne backward in the confusion of their mad retreat, until suddenly, pierced by a bullet, he sank in the saddle. Bravely keeping his seat with support from a soldier on either side, he succeeded in entering the city by the St. Louis Gate. Here the excited crowd, which had gathered to hear the latest news from the field, raised a troubled cry at sight of their vanquished chief pale and streaming with blood. "_Mon Dieu, O mon Dieu! le Marquis est tue!_" they wailed. "It is nothing, it is nothing, do not distress yourselves for me, my good friends," responded the broken hero. His black charger slowly bore him down the _Grande Allee_ and along the Rue St. Louis, leading a sad procession to the house of Arnoux the surgeon. Being carried inside, he was told that his wound was mortal. "How long have I to live?" he asked. "Twelve hours perhaps," responded the surgeon. "So much the better," said Montcalm; "I am happy that I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec." Then, turning to Commandant de Ramezay and the colonel of the Regiment of Royal Roussillon, who stood by, he said: "Gentlemen, to your keeping I commend the honour of France. Endeavour to secure the retreat of my army to-night beyond Cap Rouge. As for myself, I shall pass the night with God, and prepare for death." Yet ever mindful of the wretched people who hung upon him, he addressed this note to the commander of the English army--
Here also an interesting tablet, erected by Lord Aylmer in 1835, bears the sympathetic inscription--
Besides Montcalm, the French army lost its second and third in command, De Senezergues having expired on one of the English ships, while M. de Saint-Ours was killed in the same bloody charge in which Wolfe also met his death. The French losses in killed and wounded numbered almost fifteen hundred officers and men, the British record being fifty-eight killed, and five hundred and ninety-seven wounded. When Wolfe was slain the chief command of the British army in Canada had passed to Brigadier Townshend.[31] Expecting every moment to be attacked by Bougainville, Townshend called back his battalions from the charge, and drew them up anew, a movement scarcely accomplished before Bougainville's army was seen advancing from Cap Rouge. Bougainville, however, soon perceived signs of Montcalm's defeat, and unwilling to risk an engagement with a wholly victorious enemy, he retreated without a blow.
This desertion by the army was a cruel blow to those who still manned the ramparts of the city. For more than two months they had mended the breaches and fought the fires kindled by the guns of Point Levi; they had stood by their feeble batteries for weary weeks, toiling night and day on half-rations. And now ignominious abandonment was their reward! Of the total population within the walls, twenty-six hundred were women and children, ten hundred were invalids, while the able-bodied defenders, all told, numbered less than a thousand, and even these were worn out by privations. De Ramezay, the commandant, called a council of war which fourteen officers attended, and all of these but one were in favour of capitulation. The citizens assembled at the house of M. Daine the Mayor, and drew up a petition praying that De Ramezay would not expose the city and its inhabitants to the further horrors of assault. The citizens' memorial recited the tribulations they had already undergone, and pointed out that neither a bombardment continued for sixty-three days, nor ceaseless fatigue and anxiety had sufficed to kill their spirit; that though exhausted by famine, yet in the constant hope of final victory they had forgotten the gnawings of their hunger. But now, deserted by the army, they were not justified in making further sacrifices. Even with the most careful distribution, only eight days' rations remained in the city. Moreover, a conquering army was encamped between Quebec and its source of supply. While there was yet time, they pleaded, honourable terms of capitulation should be demanded. All this time the _milice de la ville_, naturally brave, but unwisely led, were fleeing to their neglected homesteads. Some even crossed over to the enemy's camp; and a sergeant actually deserted with the keys of the city gates in his pockets. Meantime Townshend, fully aware of the danger of his position, determined to force the city without delay if the enemy should show a resolute face. In a few weeks at the most, the approach of winter would compel the fleet to leave the river, and should the English army then find itself outside the walls, the fruits of the Battle of the Plains would be entirely lost. Accordingly, he was ready to grant almost any terms of capitulation. The English trenches drew closer and closer to the walls, and on the evening of the 17th the fleet made a movement as if to bombard the Lower Town, while a column of troops threatened Palace Gate. The drums of the garrison beat the alarm; but the citizens failed to rally, and in despair De Ramezay at last resolved to surrender. A white flag showed upon the ramparts, and as the stars came out, an envoy appeared in the English camp to ask for terms. At eight o'clock the next morning, September 18th, the articles of capitulation had been signed by De Ramezay, Townshend, and Admiral Saunders. Their provisions were, in brief: That the garrison should be accorded the honours of war, and march out bearing their arms and baggage, with flying colours and beating drums; that the troops should be conveyed to France; that the inhabitants, on laying down their arms, should retain their houses, property, and privileges, at least until the treaty of peace should be signed by the sovereigns of England and France. Artillery and military stores were to be surrendered; the sick were to be cared for, and guards were to be posted to protect the convents and churches against possible outrage. The general orders for the 18th of September describe, prospectively, the formal cession of the fortress town--
On the 19th of September, the day after the capitulation, a fast frigate left for England, bearing the news of victory, together with the embalmed body of the gallant general to whom it was due. Though the event was celebrated there with bonfires and shouts of triumph, yet the nation's tears could not be restrained. "The incidents of dramatic fiction," writes Walpole in his _Memoirs of George II._, "could not be conducted with more address to lead an audience from despondency to sudden exultation, than accident prepared to excite the passions of a whole people. They despaired, they triumphed, and they wept; for Wolfe had fallen in the hour of conquest. Joy, curiosity, astonishment was painted on every countenance. The more they inquired, the more their admiration rose. Not an incident but was heroic and affecting." Wolfe's body was laid beside that of his father in Greenwich church; and Parliament erected a monument to his honour in Westminster Abbey. On the Plains of Abraham, also, a large stone was set up to mark the spot where he had fallen; but in 1835 this primitive memorial was superseded by a beautiful pillar, upon which Lord Aylmer, then Governor-General, caused to be inscribed the simple legend--
Eight years before, in 1827, Lord Dalhousie laid the first stone of the beautiful obelisk overlooking what is now known as Dufferin Terrace, to commemorate the heroism of Wolfe and Montcalm, and bearing this impartial inscription--
But to return to the newly conquered city. It was indeed a scene of desolation. The Lower Town was a heap of ruins, and the streets were all but impassable. In the Upper Town, the Bishop's Palace was in ruins, and of the Cathedral only the shattered walls remained. The Church of the Recollets, which faced upon the Place d'Armes, was a wreck of masonry, while that of the Jesuits was battered beyond repair. The three convents, Ursuline, Hotel-Dieu, and Hospital General, although further removed, had not escaped the terrific cannonade. The Jesuit College, situated in the midst of the town, seemed to have suffered least. As for the inhabitants, they had seen their possessions dissolve in smoke, and were now for the most part dependent upon the English garrison for provisions; in truth, it is difficult to exaggerate the misery and ruin which became the care of the new garrison. Nor were the French the only sufferers. At the first sign of winter the English fleet departed for home, Admiral Saunders and General Townshend sailing away on the 22nd of October, followed four days later by the wounded Brigadier Monckton with the remaining ships. All available stores had been landed, but General Murray was compelled to limit the number of his garrison owing to the scarcity of supplies; and now, with about seven thousand men on short rations, he must hold Quebec until English ships could return to his relief in spring. Such was the doubtful situation in which Murray stood in November; and to add to his danger, De Levis and Bougainville lay encamped only a few leagues away, with a force far more numerous than his own, and untroubled by anxiety as to supplies. The hardships of that winter are detailed in the journals of General Murray and Captain Knox. The first distress was a famine of firewood, to meet which detachments of soldiers were detailed to fell trees in the woods of Ste. Foye. They harnessed themselves to the timber like horses, and dragged it thence over the snow to the city. The storms and keen frosts of a Canadian winter were a painful experience for the ill-clothed soldiery, who adopted the most eccentric devices to keep themselves from freezing. "Our guards at the grand parade," writes Knox, "make a most grotesque appearance in their different dresses; and our inventions to guard us against the extreme rigours of this climate are various beyond imagination. The uniformity, as well as the nicety, of the clean, methodical soldiers is buried in the rough, fur-wrought garb of the frozen Laplander; and we rather resemble a masquerade than a body of regular troops, insomuch that I have frequently been accosted by my acquaintances, whom, though their voices were familiar to me, I could not discover, or conceive who they were." So long as the troops relied upon their regimental uniforms, the Highlanders necessarily suffered most of all from cold, until the nuns of the Hospital took pity upon them and fell to knitting long woollen hose. By the first week in December it became necessary to relieve the guard every hour instead of every two hours; but even then frozen ears and fingers and toes were common casualties. Discipline relaxed, and the soldiers began to solace themselves by debauch. Drunkenness became so frequent that Murray cancelled the tavern licenses; and any man convicted of that offence received twenty lashes every morning until he divulged the name of the liquor-seller. Theft and pillage were strenuously dealt with, one man expiating his offence upon the citadel gibbet. Finding that many of his soldiers were deserting, the General banished from the city certain priests whom he suspected of intrigue. On the other hand, he proved a generous friend to those well-disposed Canadians who had laid down their arms and maintained their neutrality, allowing them all the liberty and freedom consistent with the dangers of his own predicament. No French inhabitants, however, were allowed to work upon the batteries or fortifications, to walk upon the ramparts, or to frequent the streets after dark without a lantern; and if found abroad after tattoo-beating they were arrested. So great was the fear of treason and surprise that a strong force constantly held the gates, the guard-houses always containing about a thousand men, who permitted none to pass without a permit from the General. To protect the approaches of the town, strong outposts were maintained at Ste. Foye and Lorette; and on the other side of the river, at Point Levi, a detachment of two hundred men held the south shore against surprises. As the winter wore away, it became increasingly evident that an attempt to recapture Quebec would not long be delayed. But although more than a thousand of the garrison were on the sick list, owing mainly to the tainted water of the wells, the laborious commandant kept good heart for the struggle, being in temperament cheerful, generous, and full of resource. Events proved, moreover, that he was daring even to the point of indiscretion. It was now March, and the campaign opened with a series of skirmishes round the newly-fortified English outposts. Sharp fights took place at Point Levi and at Lorette; and Captain M'Donald, with five hundred men, even ventured as far up the river as St. Augustin to attack the strong post which Bougainville had established at Le Calvaire. Within the walls of Quebec, fever, dysentery, and scurvy grew so malignant that by the middle of April hardly more than three thousand men were fit for duty; and all the while evidence of the concentration of the French forces grew more apparent. So long before as the 26th of January, Lieutenant Montresor had been despatched over the snow with twelve rangers to apprise General Amherst of the plight of the city; and on the 21st of April the battered schooner _Lawrence_, the only craft upon which Murray could lay hands, was sent eastward to hasten Lord Colville's fleet when it should arrive in the river. Still, the vigilant defenders of Quebec were only half aware of the threatening danger; and even as the _Lawrence_ raced down the stream to bring help, the French army was advancing upon the city. Starting at Montreal in a fleet of bateaux, the forces of De Levis and Vaudreuil had picked up the river garrisons as they advanced; and by the time they arrived at Pointe-aux-Trembles, their numbers had swelled to nine thousand men, while no word of their approach had as yet reached Quebec. On the night of the 26th of April, however, a remarkable incident brought timely warning. Darkness lay upon the river, and as they saw the creaking ice-floes sweeping up and down with stream or tide--a condition of the river known in Quebec as "the chariot,"--the watchmen shivered, and thanked the fates which kept them on dry land on such a night. Suddenly a cry of distress blew up from the river--the moaning of the wind, thought the guard who paced the quay of the Cul-de-sac. But again the plaint fell upon his ears; and as he peered through the darkness, holding his breath to listen, he knew it was a human voice. A boat put out amid the drifting ice, and guided by the cries, the sailors found a man half dead upon a tiny floe. With difficulty he was rescued and carried ashore; and when cordials had revived him he told his story. He was a sergeant of artillery in the army come to retake Quebec. In attempting to land at Cap Rouge his boat had come to grief; all his companions had been drowned before his eyes; but he had contrived to drag himself upon the drifting ice.[32] It was three o'clock in the morning when General Murray was awakened to receive this disturbing news. At once the reveille was sounded, and while it was yet dark the troops stood under arms. At dawn a strong detachment marched out through the St. John and St. Louis gates, skirted along the plains, and came to the declivity in which, at Ste. Foye, the plateau of Quebec falls away to the lowlands. Here, in a strong position, they awaited the enemy. On swept De Levis to the city he had sworn to recapture; and as his army emerged from the wood, the strengthened outpost of Ste. Foye opened its guns upon them. Discouraged by the brisk cannonade and musketry fire, De Levis, who was ignorant of the comparative weakness of the English force, made no attempt to storm the heights, but ordered his men to fall back, his new plan being to outflank the enemy by a night march. As for the English, seeing how impossible it was to hold the outpost against so large an army, they spiked their guns, destroyed their works, and finally withdrew to the city.
It was the 28th of April, and the snow still lay upon the ground. Murray's army marched out through the gates in two columns, and took up a strong position on that rolling mound upon the Plains which was known as _Les Buttes-a-Neveu_. The force was disposed as follows: The right wing, consisting of the divisions of Amherst, Anstruther, and Webb, with the second battalion Royal Americans, was commanded by Colonel Burton; Colonel Fraser was in charge of the left, which comprised Kennedy's and Bragg's divisions, and Lascelles' Highlanders; while Otway's and the third battalion Royal Americans, commanded by Colonel Young, formed a corps of reserve. Major Dalling, with the Light Infantry, covered the right; and Hazen's Rangers and a company of volunteers, under Captain Donald M'Donald, were on the left. Each battalion had two field-pieces. As the English troops were thus forming, Murray rode ahead to reconnoitre the enemy's position. Their vanguard had already reached the brink of the cliff above the _Anse du Foulon_, where they were hastily engaged in throwing up redoubts; and further away, the main body was moving along the road from Ste. Foye. Even as he looked, the two foremost brigades swung across the plateau towards Sillery woods. Now, thought Murray, was the most favourable moment for attack, De Levis being still on the march; and hurrying back, he ordered his columns to the attack. With a cheer the red lines swept forward, dragging their howitzers and field-pieces through the heavy slush of mud and snow; and when at length they halted and opened fire at short range, their artillery caused such disorder in the forming French lines, that De Levis was forced to withdraw the brigades composing the left wing to the cover of the woods upon their flank. The English mistook this movement for a retreat, and pressing forward Murray soon found himself on less advantageous ground. His right division stood knee-deep in a meadow of melting snow, where the guns could only be served with the greatest difficulty, and upon this disabled wing the French left once more swept out of the woods. Before their impetuous rush the Light Infantry gave way, and so great was the disorder of this brigade that it could take no further part in the action. The English left was meeting a similar repulse, and from Sillery wood, where the French had taken temporary cover, there issued such a storm of musketry, that Fraser's column recoiled before it. Murray was outnumbered all along the line, and when De Levis overlapped both left and right and threatened his enemy's flank, the English General gave the order to retire. The guns, however, being immovably fixed in the snow and mud, had to be spiked and abandoned. With muttered curses the grisly veterans retreated unwillingly towards the city walls; but they had inflicted on De Levis so decided a check that he judged it prudent to refrain from pursuit. Such was the battle of Ste. Foye, without doubt the most severe of the campaign. The English lost more than a thousand, or more than a third of the whole army; the losses of the French have been variously estimated, but they were probably as heavy as those of their foe. Officially reported by De Levis, they numbered eight hundred and thirty-three. It is a pretty walk to-day, out through St. John's Gate and along the Ste. Foye road. For a mile or two the leafy avenue is lined with villas till the picturesque heights are reached, overlooking the valley of the St. Charles, where Murray and De Levis met in fateful conflict. Here, where the April snow was dyed by the blood of two valorous armies, is set up a tall pillar of iron, surmounted by a statue of Bellona, the gift of Prince Napoleon Bonaparte in 1855.
This is its simple inscription--to the brave of both nations whose sons contended for the mastery of a wide dominion. The heroes of Quebec, French and English, have shared more than one common monument, and this community of interest and tradition, nursed from wise beginnings, and accepted as a matter of course for a century and a half of good understanding, has with a subtle and gracious alchemy helped to solve a national problem.
At last, on the 9th of May, a ship of war was descried in the river. The gaunt and toil-worn garrison were almost prostrate with excitement. Slowly the frigate beat up into the basin before the town, not yet displaying her ensign. Through a mishap to the halyards, no flag floated over the high bastion of Cape Diamond; but to make the stranger declare herself, Murray ordered a sailor to climb up the citadel flag-staff with the colours. Immediately the Union Jack ran up to the frigate's masthead, and the pent-up feelings of the garrison found relief. It was the _Leostaff_, no stranger, indeed, to Quebec; and she brought news that Colville's fleet was already in the river. "The gladness of the troops," writes Captain Knox, "is not to be expressed. Both officers and soldiers mounted the parapets in the face of the enemy, and huzzaed with their hats in the air for almost an hour. The garrison, the enemy's camp, the bay, and circumjacent country resounded with our shouts and the thunder of our artillery, for the gunners were so elated that they did nothing but fire and load for a considerable time." The French commander, however, was not the man to abandon the siege on account of a single warship, for as yet he did not know that the _Leostaff_ was but the herald of further arrivals; and his guns continued to hurl grenades and roundshot into the city. The English batteries returned their fire with so much violence that De Levis again determined to try and carry the place by direct assault. Scaling-ladders and battering-rams were made ready, but no opportunity came to use them. Another week of vigorous siege passed; and at nightfall, on the 15th of May, to the unspeakable joy of the harassed garrison, the _Vanguard_ and the _Diana_, British ships of war, came to anchor in the basin. Next morning the three vessels made their way up the river past Quebec, and attacked the French squadron which had brought the army of De Levis from Montreal. These were the ships, it will be remembered, which withdrew up the river on the approach of Holmes's fleet in the summer of 1759. The naval engagement was fierce but decisive, the French commander Vauquelin behaving with the utmost gallantry, and refusing to strike his flag even when his powder was spent and his ship a wreck. "Our ships," says Knox, in describing the battle, "forced _La Pomone_ ashore and burned her, then pursued the others; drove _l'Atalanta_ ashore near Pointe-aux-Trembles, and set her on fire; took and destroyed all the rest, except a small sloop of war which escaped to Lake St. Peter." On the English side, the _Leostaff_ wrecked on the rocks. To De Levis the destruction of the French squadron was the greatest possible catastrophe, for the ships carried his supplies. No alternative but retreat remained; and next morning, when Murray marched out for a sortie, he found the French camp deserted by all save the sick and wounded, whom in a letter left behind De Levis had commended to his care. Their tents still stood upon the Plains, and their guns and mortars gaped silently in the trenches; but the French army had already passed over the Cap Rouge, and the fourth siege of Quebec had come to an end. So, too, had the _ancien regime_: for although Bougainville still held his strong position at Isle-aux-Noix, and Montreal, whither Vaudreuil had transferred his government, was not subdued till the 8th of September, 1760, when three British columns under Amherst, Murray, and Haviland compelled Vaudreuil to make a formal surrender of that city and of the whole of Canada; still, the key of New France had passed into English hands. Quebec, the Gibraltar of America, was never more to salute the Bourbon lilies, and French empire in the Western world had ceased to be. _ |
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