How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

"We have a breathing space," said General Wolfe, looking haggard on this early morning as he stood surrounded by his officers. "Let the men lie down and eat their rations. And send for Captain Steve Mainwaring and those gallant friends who helped us last night."

He stood, his glass to his eye, watching the distant city and the men bustling about the walls. Then he turned to his own battalions and inspected them critically.

"They will not fail me," he said, in tones of the utmost confidence. "Though they are but a few more than four thousand, they will beat these French. But I must remember that there are enemies in front and behind."

Wolfe was, in fact, in a precarious position, had the French but known it, for by placing his army on the Plains of Abraham, within little more than half a mile of the city, he had wedged his force in between Montcalm's city garrison and the soldiers holding the Beauport lines, and the force, now amounting to over two thousand, which held Cap Rouge under command of Bougainville. These separate bodies of troops might march to attack him at the same moment, and he would find himself assailed in front and rear, a very serious position for so small a force as he possessed. However, to the brave many things are possible, and it happened that Wolfe's daring tactics on this occasion threw the enemy into hopeless confusion. The guards along that ridge where the Anse du Foulon had been ascended rushed with their information to Quebec, shouted the alarm, and caused Montcalm hastily to gather troops from the city and the Beauport lines, where he had imagined the attack would be delivered. In the flurry of the moment no one thought of Bougainville and his men, and while the fate of Canada lay in the balance, this officer remained within six miles of Wolfe's position, ignorant of what had happened, and expecting hourly an attack in force on his own entrenchments. Not till the cannon roared and the volume of musketry fire reached his ear did he gather what was happening, and then it was too late. Even then it is doubtful whether Bougainville would have been right in leaving the post entrusted to him, for cannon were for ever booming in the neighbourhood of Quebec.

"Gentlemen, at such a time I can say little to show my appreciation of your conduct," said General Wolfe as Steve and his comrades ranged up before him and were closely surrounded by the officers. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for you have given me and these fine fellows of ours our opportunity. You shall see that we will take the fullest advantage of it."

He shook them each warmly by the hand, and then turned to watch the enemy. As for our hero, he went back to the ranks with burning cheeks, feeling that there was nothing he would not do for his commander.

"There's goin' to be some of the old work to-day," said Jim, as he munched at a hunch of bread which he had brought in his pocket. "Cap'n, set an eye over thar to our left. Do yer see?"

"There are Indians and Canadian irregulars filing off into the bush," came the answer. "They will creep closer, and open fire from the cover. Jim, we will collect a few of the rangers, and do our best to hold those men in check."

A number of scouts and trappers attached to the regulars had returned to camp two days before, and these had only now put in an appearance, having crossed the river with the seven hundred troops left just above Point Lévis. Steve at once went to their leader, pointed out that the enemy were massing their irregulars in the bush to the left of our troops, and asked if he would obtain orders to operate against them.

"Certainly," was the answer. "It is just the work for us."

The stalwart leader of backwoodsmen went off at a run to the general, and very soon the trappers, with Steve, his father, Jim, and Mac, were creeping into the bush. By now Montcalm had gathered some troops together, and had massed them just outside the western wall of the city. At ten o'clock he was ready, and advanced with some three thousand five hundred men, to which some fifteen hundred irregulars must be added, these hanging on to his right flank and making for the thickets and bush and cornfields which lay on Wolfe's left flank.

"The men will load with two bullets, and will reserve their fire till the enemy are at close quarters." The order, issued from the cool leader of our men, went down the ranks, and at once there was the ring and tinkle of ramrods as a second ball was pushed into place. Men powdered their pans and looked to their locks carefully, and then all eyes went to the enemy. They were less than half a mile away, and already their cannon, three of which had been hurriedly brought into position, were plying our ranks with their shot, while from the flank came a hail of bullets, sent by unseen marksmen.

Never in all his after-life could Steve forget that morning and the scene upon which he looked, for he lay at the edge of a scrap of cover replying to the fire of the French irregulars. The French line, consisting of regulars and militia, advanced steadily, firing when they came into range. They were mixed together in a heterogeneous mass, and their shouts and the clatter of their pieces filled the air. Steve watched them closely, and noted that already they were thrown into some confusion, though our troops had not yet fired a shot, for their militia backwoodsmen, once they had fired, threw themselves down on the ground to reload, causing gaps in the ranks. But still they were coming, looking formidable, and as if determined to succeed. Then he gazed at the English troops, and a glow of enthusiasm suffused his cheeks. For our men have won the unstinted praise of everyone for their action on that morning. They were formed in a triple line, and lay on the ground, waiting, while the cannon shot and bullets plunged in amongst them, killing and maiming many. Here and there stood an officer, talking quietly to his men, joking, laughing, keeping their temper in hand, as our officers have always known how to do. But the time for action had come. Wolfe, calm and patient, yet itching to commence operations, walked to the front of the Louisbourg Grenadiers and lifted his cane.

They were up. As one man the English regiments scrambled to their feet, lined up, and brought their pieces down to the charge.

"Remember orders. Men, hold your fire till the word is given."

The officers could be heard calling to the men while they dressed the lines for the coming charge. Ah! Wolfe was advancing. Steve saw him wrapping a handkerchief about his wrist, which had been shattered by a ball. The French were close at hand now. Men could catch the gleam of bayonets, and could see into one another's eyes. But there was not a sound from the English. They still advanced, silent and awe-inspiring. They were within forty yards when the signal was given, officers stepped to the flanks of their companies, a loud command was heard, and in an instant a line of flame spouted from the ranks, while the crash of the muskets sounded more like the discharge of cannon than of smaller weapons. Then, indeed, did our men shout. Their voices deafened the air, for they cheered enthusiastically. As for the French, they were thrown into instant confusion. Huge gaps were torn in their ranks, while men fell in all directions. They stood spellbound for the most part, while some of their militia fled, for this was almost the first time in this momentous campaign that they had stood face to face with our men.

"Load again. Ready. Present! Fire!"

The order went rolling down our thin ranks, and again Steve heard the clink and ring of the ramrods. Then came a second rattling volley, the bullets crashing into the French ranks. Hurrah! Our men were advancing again. The bayonets were breast high, while the broadswords of the Highlanders flashed in the sun. Another shout went down the ranks, and then there was heard the clatter of bayonet on bayonet, the hoarse cheers of Highlanders, and the frantic shouts of New England lads, and men from Old England. The French held their ground for a moment, bravely contesting the path. Then they turned, broke into small parties, and for the most part fled, a few veterans here and there standing shoulder to shoulder to the last.

But where was Wolfe? The Indians and Canadians were flying with their comrades now, and Steve was no longer required on the flank. He slung his musket over his shoulder, and went off at a run till a small gathering of officers attracted his attention. Wolfe, the gallant, lion-hearted officer had been hit in the wrist at the commencement of the action, and afterwards in the groin and through the lung. He was mortally wounded, and called to Lieutenant Browne. "Support me," he cried, "lest my gallant fellows should see me fall."

The officer was too late, and arrived at the general's side to find him on the ground. Then a Mr. Henderson and Colonel Williamson arrived, while Steve came on the scene a second or so later. Together they lifted the poor general and carried him to the rear, where they laid him gently down again, for he was in great pain and almost unconscious.

"They run! See how they run!" cried an officer.

The words seemed to rouse the dying man. "Who run?" he asked eagerly, but with feeble voice.

"The enemy, sir. Egad, they give way everywhere!"

"Go one of you, my lads," said Wolfe, "with all speed to Colonel Burton, and tell him to march down to the St. Charles river and cut off the retreat of the fugitives to the bridge."

Those were almost his last words. Even as he lay dying this fine officer thought of his duty and of his country. He turned on his side, exclaimed, "God be praised, I now die in peace," and becoming unconscious, he died within a few minutes. Wolfe had won fame indeed. His last hours of life had been devoted to the welfare of his country, and this crowning stroke had won Quebec, had wrecked the French power, and given to England another colony, a gem which shines in our crown as brightly as do any. Many and many a winter has come and gone since Wolfe laid down his life on those Plains of Abraham, the maple leaf has gladdened the eye with its wonderful autumn tints on many an occasion, while thousands of our population have blessed the man who helped to win us this fine province. Let England and her sons not forget. It is to devoted heroes such as Wolfe and his officers and soldiers that she owes in great part this flourishing empire over the seas.

Montcalm, the brave commander of the French, was also wounded on this field, and died on the following morning. An obelisk stands now on the heights of Quebec in honour of these two men who won renown on the Plains of Abraham, and pays its tribute to their bravery in the following lines:

Mortem Virtus, Communem

Famam Historia,

Monumentum Posteritas

Dedit.

Canada was won, but was not altogether in our hands, for Vaudreuil, the French governor, still had many troops and irregulars, not to mention the murdering Christian-Indians, at his beck and call, while there were garrisons on Lake St. George, and at Niagara and other forts during this summer. However, Prideaux marched against the last, and the place was taken, while Amherst, ascending Lake St. George, found Ticonderoga deserted and blown up, and Crown Point destitute of troops. The following year brought an attack on Quebec, then garrisoned by English, who were for a time in desperate plight. But a fleet ascended the river, and relieved them, while Amherst appeared upon the scene, took his troops to Montreal, and so overawed the French that they capitulated.

To describe all these actions, to tell of the gallant doings of our soldiers and the daring enterprises of Rogers and many another backwoods hero would be to occupy more space than is available. We are more concerned with the doings of Steve Mainwaring, now a captain in the British army, a post he had won by his gallantry. He fought his way with his old comrades right through this eventful campaign, and in the end returned to that settlement from which Jules Lapon had driven him. As to Lapon, his strange enmity was explained by Mr. Mainwaring on that very morning after Jim had struggled with the Frenchman and had tossed him to the bottom of the famous Anse du Foulon.

"He is gone, Steve," he said. "Let us speak well of the dead, whatever his faults. This misguided young man had a grudge against you and me, a grudge which must have caused him many an hour of bitterness. He was a connection of yours."

"A connection?" Steve lifted his head in astonishment. He knew well that his mother had been French, but to hear that through her he was related to this Jules Lapon was astounding.

"Yes, a connection," said Mr. Mainwaring. "Listen, lad. Your father is the eldest son of a wealthy man living in England, a proud gentleman who had his own aims and views for his son. He had arranged, when I was only a boy, that I should marry the daughter of his old friend. I travelled, and in due course spent some months in France. There I met your mother and married her, much to my father's indignation. He disowned me after settling a sum of money on me so that I should not starve. As to your mother's parents, they were pleased with our union, I believe, but not so a Monsieur Lapon, your mother's cousin, and father of this unfortunate Jules. He was older than I, and for years had been the accepted suitor. My marriage to your mother raised his hate and anger, and for years he attempted to do me an injury. He sailed for Canada, for he was a poor man, while I made for America. There he discovered me, and before he died he set his son on my track. There, my boy, the mystery is explained. Had this Monsieur Lapon been wedded to your mother he would have been a rich man. Yes, rich, for her father left her a big property. That will be yours, Steve, when I am gone."

Steve took his pipe and went away to think over the matter. His father's conversation had cleared up a mystery which had often troubled him. Now he understood why at times his father found need to absent himself. He had to go to France to look to the welfare of this property which had come to him through his wife. And now, too, he gathered why this unfortunate young Jules had followed him so often, and with such bitterness. He was a disappointed man, who considered that this English family had filched wealth from his own.

"And in the end his strange bitterness brought about his downfall," thought Steve. "He would have done better had he left us alone, and settled peacefully in the country. But there. I know now why he had a spite against me, and I forgive him."

In the course of years Mr. Mainwaring died, and Steve found himself a rich man, the owner of many broad acres in America, and of more in France and in England. But he never left his native country. The charm of the backwoods held him a prisoner, while he could never forsake Jim and Mac and Pete and many another trapper, now grown old and feeble and dependent upon him. The storm of the American revolution, which lost us one of our finest possessions, passed over his head like a huge rumbling cloud, leaving him unharmed. For he remained a neutral, in spite of threats and fines, declining to fight against his old comrades-in-arms, though he was conscious that his fellow-colonists had many grievances. When that struggle was ended, Steve made his way up those historic lakes, St. George and Champlain, found the hillock which he and Jim and their comrades had defended, and fought his battles over again. That zig-zag path up the face of the ridge at Quebec attracted his attention, and he clambered to the summit of the Anse du Foulon. His steps took him to that spot where the gallant soul of Wolfe had departed, and once again he saw the triple line of the English, heard the roar of their double-shotted weapons, and watched the charge of those gallant fellows. He was a lad again. The years which had flown past since those momentous times were bridged for the moment, and once again he was Captain Steve Mainwaring, fighting for a noble cause, the friend and leader of a gallant band of trappers and redskins.