CHAPTER XII.
We must leave Wolfe for a while to take a brief review of the position of affairs in his enemy's camp. Montcalm's difficulties were also great. He knew not where to turn for a ray of hope, except, indeed, to the now rapidly advancing winter. The toils were spread on every side: the stately fleet riding below the town cut off all supplies from France; the fall of Niagara and Fort of Frontenac broke off the chain of communication with the distant West; Amherst, with an overwhelming force, hung over the weakest point of the Canadian frontier; Montreal, with neither army nor fortification, lay exposed to the British advance. But, worst of all, distrust of his colleague, and contempt of the prowess of his militia, paralyzed Montcalm's vigor and destroyed his confidence. "You have sold your country," exclaimed he, in uncontrollable indignation, to M. de Vaudreuil, when the latter opposed his views; "but, while I live, I will not deliver it up." And of the Canadian levies he writes to M. de Berryer, "My Canadians without discipline, deaf to the sound of the drum, and badly armed, nothing remains for them but to fly; and behold me—beaten without resource!" "But," continued he, in the same remarkable letter,[181] "of one thing I can assure you, I shall not survive the probable loss of the colony. There are times when a general's only resource is to die with honor; this is such a time. No stain shall rest on my memory. But in defeat and death there is consolation left. The loss of the colony will one day be of more value to my country than a victory. The conqueror shall here find a tomb; his aggrandizement shall prove his ultimate ruin."
Montcalm's utmost exertions failed to prevent desertion among the Canadians; he scourged some offenders, hanged others, threatened their villages with the vengeance of the savages, but still the unhappy peasantry were with difficulty held together. At the camp they were badly supplied with provisions, while their families almost starved at home. Their harvest, that which the English had not destroyed, remained unreaped. At length the general was obliged to yield to the urgent necessity of the case, and at a most critical period of the campaign he allowed 2000 of the militia to depart for the purpose of getting in their crops.
The Indians, however, still remained faithful: as long as a chance of blood and plunder offered, they were sure to be present; but in a pitched battle they were nearly useless, and the increased experience of the British troops rendered even their forest warfare now less dangerous.
Not only provisions, but even ammunition, were becoming scarce in Montcalm's camp: there was no hope of supplies from any quarter. The Lower Town and a large portion of the Upper Town were laid in ruins by the English artillery: the defenses, it was true, still remained uninjured; but, except in natural advantages, they were by no means formidable. The repulse of the besiegers at Montmorency had for a time raised the spirits of the French, and given them a better opinion of Canadian prowess, for upon that occasion the peasantry had fired with great steadiness from behind their breast-works. But the daring though misdirected valor of the British Grenadiers, and the imposing front of their supports, failed not to confirm Montcalm's deep forebodings of the probable result of a battle. Then the incessant activity of the invaders, their pertinacious retention of any point which offered an apparent advantage, and their seemingly inexhaustible resources, showed that no stone would be left unturned for his destruction.
One only hope remained to the French general: the winter approached. In a few weeks the northern blast would scare away the stubborn enemy, against whom his arms and skill were ineffectual. Could he struggle on a little longer, the fate of Canada might be thrown upon the chances of another campaign, and a turn in European affairs yet preserve the splendid colony of France. "Unless Wolfe lands above the town, and forces me to a battle, I am safe," writes Montcalm. But while, on the night of the 12th of September, he watched in confident expectation the deceitful preparations of the fleet below the town, the ebbing tide silently floated down the British army toward that position the occupation of which he knew must be his ruin.
Silently and swiftly, unchallenged by the French sentries,[182] Wolfe's flotilla dropped down the stream in the shade of the overhanging cliffs. The rowers scarcely stirred the waters with their oars; the soldiers sat motionless. Not a word was spoken save by the young general; he, as a midshipman on board his boat afterward related,[183] repeated, in a low voice to the officers by his side, "Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard;" and as he concluded the beautiful verses, said, "Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec!" But while Wolfe thus, in the poet's words, gave vent to the intensity of his feelings, his eye was constantly bent upon the dark outline of the heights under which he hurried past. He recognized at length the appointed spot, and leaped ashore. Some of the leading boats, conveying the light company of the 78th Highlanders, had in the mean time been carried about 200 yards lower down by the strength of the tide. These Highlanders, under Captain Donald M'Donald, were the first to land. Immediately over their heads hung a woody precipice, without path or track upon its rocky face; at the summit a French sentinel marched to and fro, still unconscious of their presence. Without a moment's hesitation, M'Donald and his men dashed at the height. They scrambled up, holding on by rocks and branches of trees, guided only by the stars that shone over the top of the cliff; half the ascent was already won, when for the first time "Qui vive?" broke the silence of the night. "La France," answered the Highland captain, with ready self-possession, and the sentry shouldered his musket and pursued his round. In a few minutes, however, the rustling of the trees close at hand at length alarmed the French guard; they hastily turned out, fired one irregular volley down the precipice, and fled in panic. The captain, M. de Vergor, alone, though wounded, stood his ground. When summoned to surrender, he fired at one of the assailants, but was instantly overpowered; the Highlanders, incensed at his vain valor, tore from his breast a decoration which he bore, and sent him a prisoner to the rear. In the mean time, nearly 500 men landed and made their way up the height; those who had first reached the summit then took possession of the intrenched post at the top of that path which Wolfe had selected for the ascent of his army.
Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray landed with the first division; as fast as each boat was cleared, it put back for re-enforcements to the ships, which had now also floated down with the tide nearly opposite to the point of disembarkation. The battalions formed on the narrow beach at the foot of the winding path, and, as soon as completed, each ascended the cliff, when they again formed upon the plains above. There all was quiet; the Light Infantry, under Lieutenant-colonel Howe, brother of the gallant Lord Howe who fell at Ticonderoga, had driven away the enemy's pickets. The boats plied busily; company after company was quickly landed, and, as soon as the men touched the shore, they swarmed up the steep ascent with ready alacrity. When morning broke, the whole disposable force of Wolfe's army stood in firm array upon the table-land above the cove. Only one gun, however, could be carried up the hill, and even that was not got into position without incredible difficulty.
After a few minutes' anxious observation of the face of the country, Wolfe marched the army by files to the right in the direction of the city, leaving two companies of the 58th Regiment to guard the landing place; he then formed his line of battle upon the Plains of Abraham, and resolved there to cast the die for Canada. The 35th Regiment held the extreme right over the precipice, at the distance of three quarters of a mile from the ramparts, where, to adapt themselves to the shape of a slight elevation which rises from the plains, they were ranged in a semicircle on its slope. Next came the Grenadiers of Louisburg. The 28th prolonged the line to the 43d, which formed the center. The 58th, upon the left, occupied the brow of the ridge which overlooks the Valley of the St. Charles; the 78th Highlanders extended over the plain to the right, and the 47th completed the front to the place where the 43d were formed. Wolfe, with Monckton, commanded the right of the first line, Murray the left.
Townshend took charge of the second line. The 15th Regiment rested their right flank upon the precipice over the river; the two battalions of the 60th or Royal Americans held the plains to the left. Colonel Burton, with the 48th Regiment, in four columns of two companies each, formed the reserve in a third line, and Colonel Howe, with the Light Infantry, some in houses, others in the neighboring coppices, covered the flank and rear.
At about six o'clock some small parties of the enemy appeared upon the slopes under the ramparts of the city; at seven they mustered in greater force, and brought up two field-guns, which caused some annoyance. Shortly afterward they threw a body of Canadians and Indians into the brushwood on the face of the precipice over the river, into a field of corn in front of the 35th Regiment, and into a coppice opposite the British center: those skirmishers caused considerable mischief, but were speedily routed by Colonel Howe, with a detachment of the 47th. The whole line then received orders to lie upon their arms, while Light Infantry videttes covered their position at some distance in advance.
Meanwhile Montcalm had been completely deceived by the demonstrations of the fleet below the town. Through the whole of that anxious night boats were approaching the shore and again retiring, on various points of the line between the Montmorency and the St. Charles. The English ships of war had worked up as near as they could find depth of water, and their guns played incessantly upon the beach, as if to prepare the way for a debarkation. Day broke before Montcalm even suspected that another struggle awaited him on his eastern lines; then, however, a stray cannon shot, and the distant echo of musketry from above the town, caught his ear; while he yet doubled, a horseman reached him at full speed with tidings that the English had landed on the Plains of Abraham. The news spread like lightning through the Canadian camp. Aids-de-camp galloped to and fro in fiery haste: trumpets and drums aroused the sleeping soldiery. As fast as the battalions could be mustered, they were hurried across the Valley of the St. Charles, over the bridge, and along the front of the northern ramparts of Quebec to the battle ground. M. de Vaudreuil, with some Canadian militia, were left to guard the lines.
Under some mysterious and incomprehensible impulse, Montcalm at once determined to meet his dangerous enemy in the open field.
To account for this extraordinary resolution is impossible. Had the French general thrown himself into Quebec, he might have securely defied his assailants from behind its ramparts till winter drove them away. But a short time before he had recorded his deliberate conviction that he could not face the British army in a general engagement. He was well aware that all the efforts of his indefatigable enemy had been throughout exerted to bring on an action upon any terms; and yet at length, on an open plain, without even waiting for his artillery, unaided by any advantage of position, he threw the rude Canadian militia against the veterans of England. Once, and once only, in a successful and illustrious career, did this gallant Frenchman forget his wisdom and military skill; but that one tremendous error led him to defeat and death.
Even when the alarming news of Wolfe's landing reached Montcalm, he professed confidence—confidence which he could not have felt. When the position of the English army was pointed out to him, he said, "Yes, I see them where they ought not to be;" and he afterward added, "If we must fight, I will crush them." He, however, altogether failed to communicate to the Canadian troops the sanguine spirit which he himself professed.
At eight o'clock the heads of French columns began to appear ascending the hill from the St. Charles to the Plains of Abraham; the only piece of artillery which Wolfe had been able to bring into action then opened with some effect, and caused them slightly to alter their line of march. As they arrived, they formed in three separate masses upon a slope to the northwest of the city, where they were sheltered from the solitary but mischievous gun.
At nine o'clock, Montcalm moved some distance to the front, and developed his line of battle; at the same time, M. de Bougainville, who was hastening down the left bank of the St. Lawrence, made a demonstration with some light cavalry upon Wolfe's extreme left. Townshend checked this movement by throwing the third battalion of the 60th into a line extending from the threatened flank to the post over the landing place.
Montcalm was already worsted as a general; it was, however, still left him to fight as a soldier. His order of battle was steadily and promptly arrayed. The center column, under Montcalm in person, consisted of the regiments of Bearne and Guienne, numbering together no more than 720 bayonets; with them were formed 1200 of the Canadian militia. On the right stood the regiments of La Sarre and Languedoc, and a battalion of the marine or colony troops, in all 1600 veterans; 400 of the militia, with one light field-piece, completed this wing. On the left, the Royal Roussillon and a battalion of the Marine mustered 1300 bayonets, while these disciplined regiments were supported by no less than 2300 of the Canadian levies. The total force, therefore, actually engaged, amounted to 7520 men, besides Indians; of these, however, not more than one half were regular troops: it was on them the brunt of the battle fell, and almost the whole loss. Wolfe's "field state" on the morning of the 13th of September, showed only 4828 men of all ranks from the generals downward, but of these every man was a trained soldier.
The French attacked. At about ten o'clock a crowd of Canadians and Indians emerged from the bush on the slope which falls toward the Valley of the St. Charles; as they advanced they opened fire upon the English pickets of the extreme left, and drove them into their supports. Under cover of the cloud of smoke which rose above the scene of this attack, the French veterans of the right wing passed swiftly round the left of Murray's Brigade, and turned his flank; then, throwing aside their irregulars, they fell upon Howe's Light Infantry. This gallant officer felt the importance of his post: the houses and the line of coppice which he occupied formed almost a right angle with the front of the British army, covering it in flank and rear. He was hardly pressed; his men fell fast under the overpowering fire of the French; but, in a few minutes, Townshend, with the 15th, came to his aid: soon afterward the two battalions of the 60th joined the line, and turned the tide of battle.
In the mean time swarms of skirmishers advanced against the right and center of the British army; their stinging fire immediately dislodged the few Light Infantry which Wolfe had posted in his front, and forced them back in confusion upon the main body. This first impression was not without danger: the troops who were in the rear, and could not see the real state of affairs, became alarmed at the somewhat retrograde movements in front. Wolfe perceived this: he hurried along the line, cheered the men by his voice and presence, and admonished them on no account to fire without orders. He succeeded: confidence was restored.
The spirited advance of the skirmishers was but the mask of a more formidable movement. The whole of the French center and left, with loud shouts and arms at the recover, now bore down to the attack. Their light troops then ceased firing and passed to the rear. As the view cleared, their long, unbroken lines were seen rapidly approaching Wolfe's position. When they reached within 150 yards, they advanced obliquely from the left of each formation, so that the lines assumed the appearance of columns, and chiefly threatened the British right. And now from flank to flank of the assailing battalions rolled a murderous and incessant fire. The 35th and the Grenadiers fell fast. Wolfe, at the head of the 28th, was struck in the wrist, but not disabled. Wrapping a handkerchief round the wound, he hastened from one rank to another, exhorting the men to be steady and to reserve their fire. No English soldier pulled a trigger: with matchless endurance they sustained the trial. Not a company wavered; their arms shouldered as if on parade, and motionless, save when they closed up the ghastly gaps, they waited the word of command.
When the head of the French attack had reached within forty yards, Wolfe gave the order to "fire." At once the long row of muskets was leveled, and a volley, distinct as a single shot, flashed from the British line. For a moment the advancing columns still pressed on, shivering like pennons in the fatal storm; but a few paces told how terrible had been the force of the long-suspended blow. Numbers of the French soldiers reeled and fell; some staggered on for a little, then dropped silently aside to die; others burst from the ranks shrieking in agony. The Brigadier de St. Ours was struck dead, and De Senezergues, the second in command, was left mortally wounded upon the field. When the breeze carried away the dense clouds of smoke, the assailing battalions stood reduced to mere groups among the bodies of the slain. Never before or since has a deadlier volley burst from British infantry.
Montcalm commanded the attack in person. Not fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had first moved on his line of battle, and already all was lost! The Canadian militia, with scarcely an exception, broke and fled. The right wing, which had recoiled before Townshend and Howe, was overpowered by a counter attack of the 58th and 78th; his veteran battalions of Bearne and Guienne were shattered before his eyes under the British fire; on the left the Royal Roussillon was shrunk to a mere skeleton, and, deserted by their Provincial allies, could hardly retain the semblance of a formation. But the gallant Frenchman, though ruined, was not dismayed; he rode through the broken ranks, cheered them with his voice, encouraged them by his dauntless bearing, and, aided by a small redoubt, even succeeded in once again presenting a front to his enemy.
Meanwhile Wolfe's troops had reloaded. He seized the opportunity of the hesitation in the hostile ranks, and ordered the whole British line to advance. At first they moved forward in majestic regularity, receiving and paying back with deadly interest the volleys of the French. But soon the ardor of the soldiers broke through the restraints of discipline: they increased their pace to a run, rushing over the dying and the dead, and sweeping the living enemy off their path. On the extreme right, the 35th, under the gallant Colonel Fletcher, carried all before them, and won the white plume which for half a century afterward they proudly bore.[184] Wolfe himself led the 28th and the diminished ranks of the Louisburg Grenadiers, who that day nobly redeemed their error at Montmorency. The 43d, as yet almost untouched, pressed on in admirable order, worthy of their after-fame in that noble Light Division which "never gave a foot of ground but by word of command." On the left, the 58th and 78th overcame a stubborn and bloody resistance; more than 100 of the Highlanders fell dead and wounded; the weak battalion by their side lost a fourth part of their strength in the brief struggle. Just now Wolfe was a second time wounded, in the body; but he dissembled his suffering, for his duty was not yet accomplished. Again a ball from the redoubt struck him on the breast:[185] he reeled on one side, but, at the moment, this was not generally observed. "Support me," said he to a Grenadier officer who was close at hand, "that my brave fellows may not see me fall." In a few seconds, however, he sank, and was borne a little to the rear. Colonel Carleton was desperately wounded in the head at a few paces from Wolfe; the aid-de-camp who hastened for Monckton, to call him to the command, found him also bleeding on the field, beside the 47th Regiment. At length Townshend, now the senior officer, was brought from the left flank to this bloody scene to lead the army.
The brief struggle fell heavily upon the British, but was ruinous to the French. They wavered under the carnage; the columns which death had disordered were soon broken and scattered. Montcalm, with a courage that rose above the wreck of hope, galloped through the groups of his stubborn veterans, who still made head against the advancing enemy, and strove to show a front of battle. His efforts were vain; the head of every formation was swept away before that terrible musketry; in a few minutes, the French gave way in all directions. Just then their gallant general fell with a mortal wound: from that time all was utter rout.
The English followed fiercely in the pursuit; the 47th and 58th, with fixed bayonets, pressed on close to the St. Louis and St. John's gates, till the first were checked by grape-shot from the ramparts, and the latter by the artillery of the hulks which were grounded in the river. But foremost in the advance, and most terrible to the flying enemy, were the 78th Highlanders; active and impetuous in their movements, and armed with the broadsword, they supplied in this case the want of cavalry to the British army. Numbers of the French fell beneath their vigorous blows;[186] others saved themselves by timely surrender, piteously craving mercy, and declaring that they had not been at Fort William Henry.[187] The remainder of Montcalm's right wing only found shelter beyond the bridge over the St. Charles. The survivors of the right and center soon placed the ramparts of Quebec between themselves and their pursuers.
While some of the British battalions were disordered in the rapid advance, a body of about 800 French and Canadians collected in a coppice near the St. Charles, and assumed a somewhat threatening appearance on the left flank of the pursuers. Perceiving this, Townshend ordered Colonel Hunt Walsh, with the 28th and 43d, to crush the new resistance. These two battalions were well in hand; Walsh wheeled them promptly to the left, and, after a sharp struggle, cleared the coppice.
The battle was now over, but the general of the victorious army had still to guard against another antagonist, as yet untouched and unbroken. It has been related, that, before the commencement of the action, the extreme left of the British position had been threatened by some light cavalry—the advance guard of De Bougainville's formidable corps. The main body and their chief had now arrived upon the scene; but, so rapid and complete had been the ruin of Montcalm's army, that his lieutenant found not a single unbroken company remaining in the field with which to co-operate. He himself, however, was still strong; besides 350 cavalry—an arm in which the invaders were altogether deficient—he had with him nearly 1500 men, a large proportion of whom were Grenadiers and Light Infantry.
Townshend hastened to recall his disordered battalions, but he determined not to imperil the victory by seeking another engagement with fresh troops. His arrangements were strictly defensive; while re-forming a line of battle, he dispatched the 35th and the 48th with two field-pieces to meet De Bougainville, and, if possible, check his advance. The demonstration sufficed; the French soldiers, demoralized by the defeat of their general-in-chief, were in no condition to meet a victorious enemy; they recoiled before the resolute front of the British force, and retreated with precipitation up the left bank of the St. Lawrence. There Townshend did not deem it prudent to follow; the ground was swampy, and, for the most part, still covered with the primeval forest, affording every advantage to a retreating enemy.
As soon as the action was over, Townshend began to intrench his camp, and to widen the road up the cliff for the convenience of the artillery and stores. De Bougainville did not halt till he reached Cape Rouge, and M. de Vaudreuil,[188] with his 1500 Canadians, deserted the lines west of the Montmorency, left all his artillery, ammunition, tents, and stores behind him, and made a hurried retreat toward Jacques Cartier.
The loss of the English in this memorable battle amounted to 55 killed and 607 wounded of all ranks; that of the French has never been clearly ascertained, but it was not probably less than 1500 in killed and wounded and prisoners. Moreover, a very large proportion of the Canadian militia dispersed and never rejoined their colors. On the British side, the Louisburg Grenadiers upon the right, and the 58th and 78th upon the left, suffered the most severely. The five regular French battalions were almost destroyed, and one of the two pieces of artillery which they had brought into action was captured by the victors.[189]
While the British troops were carrying all before them, their young general's life was ebbing fast away. When struck for the third time, he sank down; he then supported himself for a few minutes in a sitting posture, with the assistance of Lieutenant Brown, Mr. Henderson, a volunteer, and a private soldier, all of the Grenadier company of the 22d; Colonel Williamson, of the Royal Artillery, afterward went to his aid. From time to time, Wolfe tried, with his faint hand, to clear away the death-mist that gathered on his sight; but the effort seemed vain; for presently he lay back, and gave no signs of life beyond a heavy breathing and an occasional groan. Meantime the French had given way, and were flying in all directions. The grenadier officers, seeing this, called out to those around him, "See, they run." The words caught the ear of the dying man; he raised himself, like one aroused from sleep, and asked eagerly, "Who runs?" "The enemy, sir," answered the officer: "they give way every where." "Go one of you to Colonel Burton," said Wolfe: "tell him to march Webbe's (the 48th) regiment with all speed down to the St. Charles River, to cut off the retreat." His voice grew faint as he spoke, and he turned as if seeking an easier position on his side; when he had given this last order, he seemed to feel that he had done his duty, and added feebly, but distinctly, "Now, God be praised, I die happy." His eyes then closed, and, after a few convulsive movements, he became still.[190] Despite the anguish of his wounds, he died happy; for through the mortal shades that fell upon his soul, there rose, over the unknown world's horizon, the dawn of an eternal morning.
"GENERAL ORDERS.
"14th of September, 1759. Plains of Abraham.
"Parole—Wolfe. Countersign—England.
"The remaining general officers fit to act take the earliest opportunity to express the praise which is due to the conduct and bravery of the troops; and the victory, which attended it, sufficiently proves the superiority which this army has over any number of such troops as they engaged yesterday. They wish that the person who lately commanded them had survived so glorious a day, and had this day been able to give the troops their just encomiums. The fatigues which the troops will be obliged to undergo, to reap the advantage of this victory, will be supported with a true spirit, as this seems to be the period which will determine, in all probability, our American labors."
Deep and sincere was the sorrow of the English army for the loss of their chief; they almost grieved over their dearly-purchased victory.
Late on the evening of the 14th of September Montcalm also died. When his wound was first examined, he asked the surgeon if it was mortal; and being answered that it was, he said, "I am glad of it: how long can I survive?" "Perhaps a day, perhaps less," replied the surgeon. "So much the better," rejoined Montcalm; "I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec." When his wound was dressed, M. de Ramsay, the governor of the city, visited him, and desired to receive his commands for the defense; but he refused to occupy himself any longer with worldly affairs: "My time is very short," continued he, "so pray leave me. I wish you all comfort, and to be happily extricated from your present perplexities." He then called for his chaplain, who, with the bishop of the colony, administered the last offices of religion, and remained with him till he expired.
An officer of the 43d regiment, whose carefully-kept journal furnishes much valuable information on the subject of this campaign, states that Montcalm paid the English army the following compliment after the battle: "Since it was my misfortune to be discomfited and mortally wounded, it is a great consolation to me to be vanquished by so great and generous an enemy. If I could survive this wound, I would engage to beat three times the number of such forces as I commanded this morning with a third of their number of British troops."
Townshend, on the day succeeding the battle, busied himself incessantly in pushing on works against the city, and cutting off from the besieged all communication with the country. On the 17th, Admiral Saunders moved the whole of the British fleet into the basin, and prepared to attack the Lower Town; and by that evening no less than sixty-one pieces of heavy, and fifty-seven of light ordnance, were mounted on the British batteries and ready to open fire. The besieged had endeavored to retard these proceedings by constantly plying all their available guns, but did not succeed in inflicting any annoyance of importance. Before nightfall, an officer, bearing a flag of truce, approached the English camp, and was conducted to the general; to him he gave the governor, M. de Ramsay's, proposition to surrender if not relieved by the following morning.
In the mean time, M. de Vaudreuil, who had, with his disorganized followers, joined De Bougainville at Cape Rouge on the evening of the 13th, dispatched a courier to M. de Levi,[191] at Montreal, with tidings of the disaster, and to require his immediate presence to command the army in Montcalm's room. This done, the marquis summoned his principal officers to a council of war, and gave his opinion "that they should take their revenge on the morrow, and endeavor to wipe off the disgrace of that fatal day." But this bold proposition met with no more support in the council than it really possessed in De Vaudreuil's own mind. The officers were unanimously of opinion "that there was an absolute necessity for the army to retire to Jacques Cartier, and that no time should be lost." In consequence of this decision, the French immediately resumed their retreat, leaving every thing behind them, and marched all night to gain Point aux Trembles, which was fixed as the rendezvous of the whole remaining force.
On the receipt of the disastrous news of Montcalm's defeat and death, M. de Levi instantly departed from Montreal to take the command of the shattered army. On the 16th he arrived; after a few hours' conference with the Marquis de Vaudreuil, it was agreed to send the following message to M. de Ramsay: "We exhort you, by all means, to hold out to the last extremity. On the 18th the whole army shall be in motion: a disposition is made to throw in a large supply of provisions, and to relieve the town." The courier reached the besieged early on the 18th, but it was too late; the governor was already in treaty with Townshend, and on that morning, the 18th day of September, 1759, Quebec surrendered.[192] In the evening the keys of the city were delivered up, and the Louisburg Grenadiers marched in, preceded by a detachment of artillery and one gun, with the British flag hoisted on a staff upon the carriage: this flag was then placed upon the highest point of the citadel. Captain Palliser, of the navy, with a body of seamen, at the same time took possession of the Lower Town.
The news of these great events reached England but two days later than Wolfe's discouraging dispatch of the 9th of September;[193] an extraordinary Gazette was immediately published and circulated throughout the country, and a day of thanksgiving was appointed by proclamation through all the dominions of Great Britain.
"Then the sounds of joy and grief from her people wildly rose:"
never, perhaps, have triumph and lamentation been so strangely intermingled. Astonishment and admiration at the splendid victory, with sorrow for the loss of the gallant victor, filled every breast. Throughout all the land were illuminations and public rejoicings, except in the little Kentish village of Westerham, where Wolfe was born, and where his widowed mother[194] now mourned her only child.
Wolfe's body was embalmed, and borne to the river for conveyance to England. The army escorted it in solemn state to the beach: they mourned their young general's death as sincerely as they had followed him in battle bravely. Their attachment to him had softened their toils, their confidence in him had cheered them in disasters, and his loss now turned their triumph into sadness. When his remains arrived at Plymouth they were landed with the highest honors; minute guns were fired; the flags were hoisted half-mast high, and an escort, with arms reversed, received the coffin on the shore. He was then conveyed to Greenwich, and buried beside his father, who had died but a few months before.
The House of Commons, on the motion of Mr. Pitt, unanimously voted that a monument should be erected to Wolfe's memory in Westminster Abbey[195] at the public expense. The monument was accordingly executed, and inscribed with a eulogistic memorial in Latin. Not many years since, a pillar was erected by Lord Dalhousie, on a lofty situation in the city of Quebec, to Wolfe and Montcalm, bearing a remarkably graceful Latin inscription by Dr. Fisher, of Quebec. Lord Aylmer has also placed a small and simple monument on the Plains of Abraham, on which the date and the following words only are engraved:
"HERE WOLFE DIED VICTORIOUS."