As soon as Montgomery saw the disposition of the garrison to flee, he dispatched Colonel Easton with Continental troops, cannon, and armed gondolas to the mouth of the Sorel. This force was so advantageously posted that the British fleet could not pass, and General Prescott, several officers, members of the Canadian Council, and one hundred and twenty private soldiers, with all the vessels, surrendered by capitulation. * At the midnight preceding Governor Carleton was conveyed in a boat, with muffled oars, past the American post to Three Rivers, and arrived safely at Quebec. The Americans were very anxious to secure Governor Carleton, for his talents, judgment, and influence formed the basis of strength against the invaders. They were watchful in their guard-boats, but a dark night and a secret way favored his escape, and they secured a far inferior captive in Prescott, whose conduct, on many occasions, made him a disgrace to the British army.
Notwithstanding all officers, and it required all the address the general was master of to induce a respectable force to march to Quebec, after garrisoning Montreal. But amid all these discouragements *
* There were eleven sail of vessels. Their contents were 760 barrels of flour, 675 barrels of beef, 376 firkins of butter, 3 barrels of powder, 4 nine and six pounders, cartridges and ball, 2380 musket cartridges, 8 chests of arms, 200 pairs of shoes, and a quantity of intrenching tools.
** Guy Carleton, afterward Lord Dorchester, was Wolfe's quartermaster at the storming of Quebec, and was appointed a major in the British army in 1772. In 1774 he was constituted Captain-general and Governor of Quebec or Canada. He successfully commanded the British at Quebec when attacked by Montgomery in 1775, compelled the Americans to raise the siege in 1776, and drove them out of the province. In October he recaptured Crown Point. He was unjustly superseded in military command by Burgoyne in 1777. He was appointed to succeed Sir Henry Clinton in 1782, and was in command of the British troops when they evacuated New York on the 25th of November, 1783. He died in England at the close of 1808, aged 83 years the important posts in Canada except Quebec were now in possession of the Americans, Montgomery justly asserted, in a letter to Congress, that, "till Quebec is taken, Canada is unconquered." Impressed with this idea, he determined to push forward to the capital despite the inclemency of the season and the desertion of his troops. The term of service of many had expired, and others absolutely refused to proceed further. Insubordination manifested itself among the
Return Home of the Disaffected.—Visit to Longueuil.—The Village Oracle.—Fruitless Historical Research.
the hopeful general did not despair. He knew that Arnold was traversing the wilderness along the Kennebeck and the Chaudière to join him, and was then, perhaps, menacing Quebec; and he knew also that the troops under Carleton and M'Lean were hardly adequate to defend the city, even against a smaller force than his own. He winnowed his army of the recusant and mutinous, and then pushed onward down the St. Lawrence. *
I remarked that I left my pleasant company at Montreal, and went down to Longueuil. My object was to ascertain, if possible, the place where Warner planted his battery and repulsed the boats of Carleton. Longueuil is an old town, chiefly composed of small stone houses with steep roofs. It has a spacious French church, of antique appearance, though not more than thirty years old. The people all speak bad French, and for more than an hour I sought the "oldest inhabitant." That mysterious creature was an old woman of unknown age, and so deaf that she could not hear half I said, or understand a word. I reciprocated the latter infirmity, and now confess profound ignorance of all she attempted to say. An intelligent lad came to the rescue, and silenced our jargon batteries by referring me to his uncle, who lived near the beach, and "knew every thing." He was a man about fifty, and spoke English pretty well. I made my business known, and he at once assumed the patronizing air of Sir Oraele, said he knew it all, and pointed to the shore a little above as the very spot where "the cavalry horses were stabled," and where "the English dragoons drank a health to King George and vowed death to the Yankees." He knew Sir George Prévost, and praised the veterans of Wellington who accompanied him. As British dragoons and Wellington's veterans were not with Carleton, and as my mentor's first birth-day doubtless occurred twenty years after the time in question, I properly doubted his knowledge of the facts I was in search of. I told him that it was the American Revolution I was inquiring about. He did not seem to understand me, and I called it rebellion. "Oh oui yes, yes, I know," he exclaimed. "Two hundred crossed here for St. John's. Captain Glasgow was a fine fellow. Pity Lord Elgin wasn't as great a man as Sir John Colborne." With exhausted patience, I explained to him the time and nature of the revolution of the last century, but he had never heard of it! He knew nothing behind his own "life and times." As he represented the "collective wisdom" of the village, I despaired of better success, and returned to Montreal with the fruit of a three hours' expedition under a hot sun—a Yankee's postulate—a shrewd guess. I was as little successful in my search at Montreal for the battle-ground where Ethan Allen and his men were made prisoners. An intelligent gentleman, who was one of the leaders in the rebellion there in 1837, assured me that the spot was unknown to the inhabitants, for tradition has but little interest in keeping its finger upon the locality, and not a man was living who had personal knowledge of the event. It is probable that the northern suburbs of the city now cover the locality, and that the place is not far from the present Longueuil ferry-landing.
Having accomplished my errand at Montreal, we departed for Quebec toward evening, in the fine steamer John Munn, accompanied by our Burlington friends of the morning. The magnificent stone quays were crowded with people, and our boat had a full complement of passengers. At the lower end of St. Helen's we entered the St. Mary's Rapids, and, darting past Longueuil, were soon out of sight of the spires of Montreal. The banks of the river are low, and on either side villages and cultivated fields exhibited an ever-changing and pleasing panorama. Beloeil Mountain loomed up eastward of us, and the white chapel, the pedestal of the bishop's huge eross upon the loftiest summit, sparkled like a star in the beams of the setting sun. It was twilight when we arrived at William Henry, or Sorel, an old town, forty-five miles below Montreal, at the mouth of the Richelieu or Sorel River. A