New England grew rapidly in population and wealth. New France also prospered, though in a lesser degree. Its progress was hindered by constant warfare with the Indians, by the trading enterprise of the British, and by the interference of the home government. The two white races constantly advanced their frontiers, and their outposts drew nearer and nearer to each other every year. Border strife between the rival nations soon became frequent. In 1690, for example, the British settlers invaded New France to revenge themselves for the plunder of certain frontier stations. The invaders were driven back, but for years afterwards the French and the British kept up an irregular warfare. During the War of the Spanish Succession a powerful British fleet which was protecting the colonies seized that part of Acadia now known as Nova Scotia.
Though Britain had colonized the whole Atlantic seaboard from Florida to Nova Scotia, her territories had not advanced inland beyond the great barrier of the Alleghany Mountains. France, in addition to Canada, possessed the colony of Louisiana at the mouth of the Mississippi. She claimed that Louisiana stretched to the head-waters of the Mississippi and its tributary the Ohio. Had this claim been allowed, the British seaboard colonies would have been shut in on the west, and prevented from extending to the rich plains of the interior. Already the British needed elbow-room, for they numbered some 2,000,000, while the French in all the vast territory which they claimed could only muster 180,000.
The French now proposed to link Louisiana with Canada by a chain of forts along the Mississippi and the Ohio. The three northern links in the chain were Fort Ticonderoga, at the end of Lake Champlain; Fort Niagara, near the great falls; and Fort Duquesne, on the Ohio River, where the great manufacturing town of Pittsburg now stands. The first and last of these forts were close to the English back settlements, which were constantly ravaged by Indians in the pay of France. In 1754, while Britain was ringing with the fame of Clive fresh from his great defence of Arcot, a party of Virginian militia made a dash at Fort Duquesne under the leadership of George Washington, soon to be the greatest name in American history. The attack, however, was unsuccessful. This was the beginning of the great struggle between the French and the British for the possession of North America.
Next year General Braddock, who had been sent out to be commander-in-chief in America, marched against the French at the head of 2,200 British regulars and American settlers. He cut his way through almost impenetrable forest, but when eight miles from the fort fell into an ambuscade. The Indians and French were hidden in bushes and behind trees, and they poured volley after volley into the British ranks. The settlers wished to fight in the Indian fashion, and take cover behind the trees; but Braddock thought this mode of warfare cowardly, and so they fought in the open until so many of the British were killed that a retreat had to be sounded. Soon the retreat became a flight, and but for Washington and his Virginians, Braddock’s little army would probably have been cut off to a man. The consequences of this defeat were terrible. The French let loose the Indians on the outlying British settlements, and the woods rang with the screams of tortured victims. For a time France was supreme on the American continent.
In 1758 the British outlook was black indeed, and at home men trembled in hourly expectation of a French invasion. England was in a very bad way indeed; but the hour found the man, and that man was William Pitt. He sketched out a bold plan of campaign in America. Simultaneous attacks were to be made on Fort Ticonderoga and Fort Niagara, and on Quebec, the key to New France. Pitt looked around for a general after his own heart. He found him in James Wolfe, a young soldier with the daring, skill, and determination to accomplish what the great statesman planned. Merit and merit alone decided Pitt’s choice, and a better choice was never made.
Wolfe had just returned from the capture of the chief fort in Acadia, where as brigadier under General Amherst he had covered himself with glory, and had earned the proud title of “hero of Louisbourg.” When Pitt offered the command of the new expedition to Wolfe he jumped at the chance. “Mr. Pitt,” he said, “may dispose of my slight carcass as he pleases.” The Duke of Newcastle, then Prime Minister, was shocked at Pitt’s choice. He told the king that Wolfe was mad. “Mad is he?” said George; “then I hope he will bite some others of my generals.”
On February 17, 1759, Wolfe sailed for Canada with a strong fleet and 9,000 troops. During the voyage he suffered tortures from sea-sickness. In May he was in the harbour of Louisbourg, and on the sixteenth of June he weighed anchor for Quebec, the troops cheering and the officers drinking this toast, “British colours on every French fort, port, and garrison in America.”
Quebec, the most historic spot in all the New World, has not inaptly been called the Gibraltar of America. It stands on the nose of a rocky peninsula shaped like a bull’s head and facing eastward. On the south and east sides it rises by steep cliffs to a rocky summit. On south, east, and north it is defended by rivers: to the south flows the great St. Lawrence River, which expands on the east into a broad basin upon which the navies of the world might ride; while on the north the peninsula is protected by the estuary of the river St. Charles. The town itself consists of two parts—a lower town, which huddles by the water side, and an upper town, which climbs the cliffs. High on the summit is the grim and frowning citadel. Let us ascend to this historic fortress and gaze in admiration on the scene which unfolds itself. The lower town, with its steep streets, its old gabled houses, its public buildings, and numerous churches with their tin-covered cupolas and minarets, rises sharply from the water’s edge. Opposite to us, on the other side of the river, is Point Levis, and to the east is the beautiful Isle of Orleans. On our left, across the basin, is the Montmorency River, which hurls itself over a precipice to mingle its waters with those of the great river. To our right extend the famous Plains of Abraham, now purchased and preserved as a national park consecrated to great historical memories. Such is the Quebec of to-day. In the year 1759 it presented a much ruder aspect, though it was then lively and important, and had been made almost impregnable by walls, bastions, and fortified gates.
Within this city Vaudreuil, its bombastic, corrupt governor, and his gang of unscrupulous officials kept up a feeble imitation of the luxurious court of France. They robbed the king, their master, and they robbed the Canadians committed to their protection. “Are the walls of Quebec made of gold?” asked Lewis when official after official returned to France bloated with wealth. New France was honeycombed with peculation and fraud, and there was but one honest, incorruptible man amongst the greedy horde. He was Lewis Joseph, Marquis of Montcalm, a soldier of unblemished repute and no mean scholar. His life was one long struggle with the governor, who thwarted him in every possible way, and arrogated to himself all the credit and honour which his noble colleague managed to win.
Montcalm had early news of Wolfe’s errand, and he hastily collected every able-bodied man and every boy who could hold a gun within the walls of the town. “Never,” said he, “was Canada in a state so critical and full of peril.” Quebec was already strong by nature, and Montcalm proceeded to make it stronger still by art. Redoubts, batteries, and lines of entrenchment were thrown up along the lofty, curving shores from the St. Charles River to the Montmorency, and a boom of logs and hulks mounted with cannon barricaded the former river. Fourteen thousand men lined the earthworks, and one or two thousand more manned the guns of the fortress. When Wolfe arrived on the 21st of June, Quebec was well-nigh impregnable.