How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

Meanwhile Steve, his father, and the two trappers had embarked on a sloop, and having sailed during the night up to Cap Rouge, drifted down river on the following day. Twice in succession they repeated the performance.

"I am satisfied now that we have found the place," said our hero, when sent for by the general. "From the river here the land looks so different that at first we were a little uncertain. But we have picked up our bearings, and there can be no doubt. It remains now only to make sure that the enemy is not above, and if they are there, to get such a hold that they cannot drive us down before reinforcements arrive. May we have a canoe, General? and whenever you select the night for the attack, we will slip ashore, find the path, and signal to the men."

"We are ready now," came the answer, for Wolfe was nothing if not eager and impetuous. "But the weather is against us. It is dull and inclined to rain, and that, in my opinion, would spoil our chances. We want a fine night. Return to the sloop, Steve, and when the hour comes I will send for you."

Steve left the general stalking restlessly backwards and forwards in front of his tent, looking wan and ill after his attack of fever. But Wolfe was full of energy and determination. This coming attempt, he felt, was to be his last. It was to be the one great stroke upon which the success of the whole campaign depended, and nothing should cause failure that care and attention beforehand could obviate. He went aboard the fleet, and himself studied the face of that cliff up which his battalions were to clamber. Then he published his orders, gave his final instructions, and sent a short note to Steve.

"The weather is settled now, and the night will be fine," he wrote on the twelfth of September. "Carry out your plan to-night. As soon as it is dark make for the shore, and find this path. When you are sure that you are near it lie close down by the water and listen. My men leave three hours after it is dark. Show them a lantern as they pass you."

That was all. This General Wolfe, a keen organiser himself, was one of those officers who had the happy knack of rapidly discovering the good points of those who served him. Once assured of an officer's discretion, he could give an order and leave it to the officer in question to carry it out in every detail without interference. And now he sent his final orders to Steve, intimating to him that on his discretion depended the success or failure of the whole expedition.

"Then we will make our preparations," said our hero, when he had read the note. "We already have a canoe, and I advise that we put some provisions into her, for the troops may be delayed. We will go alone, and will take knives and tomahawks. A musket might go off accidentally, and in any case we shall be glad to be free of the weight."

"Another o' Steve's 'cute ideas," cried Jim. "This 'ere game as we've got air the biggest I reckon of any as we've ever tackled, 'cos, yer see, ef we make jest the smallest mistake and the French hear us, waal, what's the good of troops? They'll be down upon us at once."

"But not in force," answered Steve quickly. "Remember, Jim, that Montcalm has the majority of his men either in the city or in the Beauport lines. There are men at Cap Rouge, but only posts along the cliff we are to climb. We will find the path, clamber up it, and leave two at the top to watch. If a French sentry should come along and hear the noise made by the men as they disembark, those two must silence him. After that it will take only a few minutes to get some of our fellows up, and then Montcalm will want an army. Our boys will not be turned off the cliff by anything less. Jim, you and Mac will take that post up at the top. Father and I will descend and give the signal."

Darkness had fallen barely more than a quarter of an hour when the party of four prepared to leave the sloop. Those aboard her now knew what was about to happen. Indeed, the English troops aboard the fleet were aware of the attempt about to take place, and were already silently embarking in the boats secured to the ships' sides. As to the French, they still believed that an attack in force was impending at the mouth of the St. Charles, or against the Beauport lines, for the feints of the fleet at Cap Rouge had ceased entirely, while Montcalm did not even suspect that the bulk of Wolfe's army was aboard. There was a curious calm up the river, where there had been so much energy a few days ago, while down stream, at Point Lévis, the guns thundered even more loudly than before, and there was very obvious activity at the camp on the Isle of Orleans. Indeed, perched as they were high up in Quebec, and the ridge on either hand, the French could see every movement of the English, unless cloaked by the darkness. Montcalm had been an attentive watcher, and on this very night his charger stood ready saddled, so that the commander might gallop along the Beauport lines, wherever circumstances might call him. Little did Montcalm think that it was towards the opposite direction that his horse's hoofs would carry him.

"Good luck, boys. Remember we're waiting. Remember that every man aboard the fleet looks to you to-night, and that every mother's son in Old England will sing your praises if you are successful."

The captain of the sloop, a rough old sea dog, gripped each one of the party by the hand as they prepared to step into the canoe. Then he gave Steve a bag containing a dark lantern, flint, and steel.

"Light it ashore," he said earnestly. "Even the best lamp of this sort might show a glimmer, and the French would see it. Get under cover when you strike the flint, lad. Don't forget. Under cover."

There was a faint murmur from the men as Steve dropped gently into the canoe, while the clatter of booted troops lowering themselves into the boats of the fleet came softly to the ear.

"Push off," he whispered. "Out paddles. Jim, take post in the stern."

It was a silent party which floated down the mighty St. Lawrence, for up above there might be many listening ears. The paddles dipped ever so gently, while at the stern Jim sat stolidly, his nerves strung to high tension, for this was new work again, his paddle deep in the river, and his eyes following the faint line of the ridge.

"Put her in. We have floated far enough, and, I think, are nearly opposite. H-u-u-s-h!"

There was a sound high up above the river, and close at hand, for the canoe was now within a few yards of the bank. Then, startlingly loud on this calm night came the voice of a sentry.

"Qui va là? Who goes there? Reply or I fire."

"Be silent. We are a provision boat. You will show the enemy our position."

Quick as thought Steve gave the answer in French, and at once the figure which had stood dimly silhouetted against the clear sky and the stars above disappeared.

"Paddle back a little," whispered Steve, when the man had gone. "Now lie off the bank for a while, dipping your paddles gently. In a few minutes we will drop down again."

They took their frail craft some two hundred yards up stream again, making out into the river as they did so. Then, having allowed some minutes to pass, they struck for the bank again, floated down without using a paddle, and grounded noiselessly. There was no need now for talking. Steve stepped softly ashore, and was followed by his comrades. Together they lifted the canoe, and laid it on the bank some yards from the brink. Then they turned their faces to the cliff, crept over the grass, and between bushes and brambles till they were at its foot, and then separated. Five minutes later they had gathered again at the same spot.

"Struck it, Cap'n," whispered Jim, a thrill of excitement in his usually even voice. "I jest hit nicely on it. Come."

On hands and knees now the four crept along at the foot of the cliff till Jim stopped them. They turned to the left abruptly, and as Steve felt the ground his fingers detected the hollow track which he had used on former occasions when a prisoner at Quebec. They were on it now, Jim leading still, and Mac in rear, clambering through the darkness.

"H-u-u-u-sh! What in thunder air thet?"

Jim spoke in a whisper, and Steve, who followed closely after him, squeezed up to his side. There was a mass of wood and earth clinging to the face of the cliff, and entirely blocking a portion of the zig-zag Anse du Foulon.

"Get round it," whispered Steve, when he had run his fingers over the obstruction. "Quietly! I think I heard someone moving up above."

Creeping to the right, and making use of every possible stump and rock, Jim clambered round the obstruction, and reached the path again. Another minute and he had gained the summit of the cliff, here some two hundred feet in height, and was stretched on the grass which clad the edge. And there the four lay listening for some few minutes.

"There's a sentry or two 'way over thar," whispered Jim, after a little while. "I can hear the tap of his boots, and what's thet?"

"A song. He is doing what many a sentry does to pass the hours of darkness. Humming a little tune all to himself. It's company to a man posted on such a lonely beat. Well, Jim, we'll go. Keep a bright look-out."

Steve and his father slipped from the edge, past Mac and Jim, and groped their way down the steep path. On any other occasion they would have placed their heels against the earth and slid, for the path gave little holding, while its steepness was lessened by the fact that it ran zig-zag across the face of the cliff. But a slide now would bring the sentries to that quarter, and so the two groped their way down till they reached the bottom. Then Mr. Mainwaring unstrapped a blanket which he had carried attached to his back, and he and Steve sat down beneath it, dragging the edges close to the grass. The rasp of a flint on steel followed, and within a few seconds the candle in their dark lantern was alight.

"Close the dark slide now, Steve," whispered Mr. Mainwaring. "I will take charge of the lamp while you watch. Then you can sing out when I am to expose the light. Remember, lad, you are in command of this little party."

He took the lamp and sat down close to the edge of the water, his eye fixed on the dark figure of his son. As for Steve, he stood like a rock, listening intently and watching the river. Ah! A voice broke from the summit of the cliff, the sing-song tones of which he recognised. It was the sentry again.

"Who goes there? Halt, or I fire!"

And almost at once, in the most excellent French, came the answer. "Silence, fool, can you not see that we are provision boats floating down to Quebec. Silence, I say!"

The sentry was satisfied. He shouldered his arm and strode off, complimenting himself on his sharpness. As for the boats which he had detected, they were, in fact, the leading craft of the flotilla which bore our troops, and the officer who answered in such excellent French was a Highlander, sent in advance for the very purpose, in case the necessity to reply to a challenge should arise. The time had come. Steve clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a signal which his father instantly followed. There was the low squeak of the moving slide, and then a pencil of light shot out from the bank, to be extinguished in less than five seconds.

One, two, three, Steve counted the boats as they ran in to the bank and grounded. He ran forward, greeted the officer in command, and then turned to lead them. They reached the cliff, gained the track, and commenced to ascend. Hark! Above the faint noise made by the boots of this advance party, above the deep breathing of the men there came a sharp challenge from above.

"Who is there? Ah! I hear men moving down below, and there are boats. Fire!"

Then followed a sudden shriek, there was the sound of a conflict above, and within a few seconds a body crashed on the path some yards beneath the top of the ridge, rebounded, and fell with a sickening thud to the bank below. At the same instant a shot was fired, while shouts arose in the distance.

"Charge. Up with yer, boys. We've got 'em. There ain't more then a score here. Up yer come, every one of yer."

Jim shouted the words, and as Steve clambered to the top, he came across the trapper standing to his full height, jubilant at the success of the leading party.

"Did yer hear that air varmint strike?" he asked coolly. "Yer did. Then you've nothing more to fear. It air that fellow Jules Lapon, who's come up against us this many times. Reckon he won't be troubling no longer."

Steve had barely time in which to grasp his meaning before the first of the men were up. And after them, struggling up the track and at a hundred and more other spots, came the rest of the troops, excited and eager, fiercely determined to win on this occasion. Reckless of danger, staunch to a man, and with childish confidence in their officers, these gallant fellows gained the heights, paused to gather breath, and then fell into their companies. When the daylight came, Montcalm looked with consternation to the Plains of Abraham. For Wolfe was there with four thousand three hundred seasoned and determined men, who stood eagerly awaiting the expected battle.

Chapter XX

The Plains of Abraham

The sun, rising in all its early autumn splendour on that eventful thirteenth of September, 1759, looked down upon an historic scene which England should never forget. The slanting rays pierced the mists overhanging the side reaches of the St. Lawrence, and slowly disclosed to view the promontory on which the city of Quebec was built, now no longer that fairy place which Steve had known it, but a mangled heap of ruins, with debris of fallen houses, convents, and barracks choking the tortuous streets. The lower portions of the city were gone, while above, where the cannon shot from Point Lévis had failed to reach, the batteries and walls stood out prominently on this fair morning, as defiant as ever, frowning upon the English camp on the Isle of Orleans, and upon the two long plateaux on either hand. There was turmoil in this upper city. Soldiers and civilians were rushing aimlessly about, horsemen galloped from the walls with frantic messages, while Montcalm, that gallant soldier, discussed the situation with the Marquis Vaudreuil, governor of Canada.

The news had just reached the city, and as the French commander looked towards the Plains of Abraham, spying them through his glass, he saw that it was only too true.

"At last," he said, "they have outwitted us, these fine Englishmen and their persevering leader. They are waiting for our soldiers. I must go."

In his own heart Montcalm knew in what a desperate plight he and his force were, for he had already learned that the enemy who had for so long faced the city were trained men, veterans, determined to win.