Montcalm spent the 3d of August in reconnoitering the fort and neighborhood,[96] and in erecting batteries; but the Indians scorned the delays of regular warfare, and urged an immediate attack without waiting for the aid of artillery. The chief listened not unwillingly to this daring counsel; first, however, he determined to try the virtue of negotiation, and dispatched a peremptory summons to Colonel Monro, demanding an immediate surrender. The English chief, although but too well aware of his own weakness, returned a spirited answer to this haughty message: "I will defend my trust," said he, "to the last extremity."
This bold reply quickened the ardor of the French: during the 4th and 5th, day and night, their labors ceased not; they dug and delved into the earth with vindictive and untiring zeal, pushing on the trenches of the attack close to the ramparts of the fort. At daybreak on the 6th, ten guns and a large mortar broke the silence of the morning with a salvo upon the beleaguered garrison. The British paid back the deadly salute vigorously, but with far inferior power. Meanwhile, the Indians and some Canadian sharp-shooters swarmed around at every point; some hiding behind the stumps of the forest trees, others finding shelter in an adjoining garden, from their covert swept the works of the defenders with a murderous fire. The odds were great, but in a vain hope that Webb would not see him lost without an effort, Monro held out with stubborn courage. His loss was heavy, his defenses rapidly giving way under the crashing artillery of the French, yet still he resisted the threats and promises of the enemy. At length ammunition failed; the savages soon perceived this, and redoubled their fire, crowding closer round the failing defenders. While yet they strove to hold their ground, an intercepted letter from Webb to Monro was sent in by the French general; this destroyed the last remaining hope, for it stated that no timely relief could reach them, and advised that they should make the best terms in their power. Monro then no longer hesitated, and a capitulation was signed, with conditions such as a chivalrous conqueror should give to those who had nobly but unsuccessfully performed their duty.
The sequel of this gallant defense is as sad as it is unaccountable. The Indians despised the rights of the conquered. When they saw the garrison march out on the following day with arms and baggage, and protected by a French escort, their rage knew no bounds; but with savage cunning they suffered their victims to proceed uninterruptedly till a place was reached favorable to their murderous designs, when suddenly, with horrible yells, they burst from the woods, upon the English column. This unexpected onslaught paralyzed with terror the men who but the day before had fought with dauntless bravery; few attempted to resist, some were instantly struck down by the tomahawks of the savages, others found tardy protection from the French escort, and about 600 dispersed among the woods, and finally reached Fort Edward in miserable plight.
The endeavor to clear the memory of the illustrious Montcalm from the dark stain of connivance with this ferocious treachery is now a grateful task. While the dreadful story was fresh on the English ear, few voices were raised in his defense; the blood of the murdered men was laid at his door; the traitor to a soldier's faith was held in scornful detestation. But time, "that reverses the sentence of unrighteous judges,"[97] has served to clear away the cloud that shaded the brightness of the gallant Frenchman's fame. He may, indeed, still be censured for not having provided a sufficient escort for the surrendered garrison. Surely, however, he may well have deemed 2000 men, such as those who had before defended themselves with becoming bravery against his host, might hold their own against an inferior number of savages. When the onslaught began, he used his utmost endeavor to arrest it; he rushed into the bloody scene, and strove earnestly to stop its progress. Baring his breast, he called upon the savages to slay him, their father, but to spare the English for whom his honor was plighted. Then, finding his interference useless, he called upon the prisoners to defend themselves, and fire upon their pursuers; it was in vain, however, so overpowering were the terrors of the Indian tomahawk.[98] Montcalm's officers also threw themselves in the way of the vindictive savages, and some were even wounded in the attempt.[99]
Immediately after the victory Montcalm demolished the fort, destroyed all the English vessels and boats upon the lake, triumphantly carried off the artillery, warlike stores, and baggage, 100 live oxen, and provisions for six months for a garrison of 5000 men. They did not endeavor to push further their important advantages, but once again retired within their own territories.[100]
The Marquis de Vaudreuil took the earliest opportunity to inform the court of France that his gallant general's expedition had been thus eminently successful. He moreover accompanied the cheering news by earnest demands for aid in troops, artillery, and warlike stores, and prayed that he might be speedily informed of the intentions of the ministry, and their plans for the defense of the still endangered colony.[101]
Meanwhile, peculation and corruption had frightfully increased among those intrusted with the Provincial administration. The Associates' Company cast aside all decent seeming of honesty, and robbed the government, the settlers, and the Indians with unblushing effrontery. The officers in command of outposts followed this infectious example. Under pretext of supplying the savages, they made frequent and large demands for goods, which, when obtained, were applied to their own use; and, not even content with this wholesale plunder, they gave certificates, amounting to large sums of money, for articles never furnished: from this source arose that immense amount of paper currency which deluged the colony at the time of the conquest, leaving no less than eighty millions of livres then unprovided for. This enormous dishonesty brought down its own punishment; agriculture and trade were paralyzed, loyalty shaken, while diminished resources and a discontented people hastened the inevitable catastrophe of British triumph.
Immediately on Lord Loudon's return from the disgraceful expedition to Halifax,[102] he repaired to Fort Edward, which was the English advanced post in the direction of Canada since the loss of Fort William Henry.[103] As soon as he had given directions for its defense, he took up his winter quarters at Albany: thence he dispatched Captain Rogers, with a small party, to capture stragglers of the enemy, and gain intelligence of their movements. This officer succeeded in ascertaining that the important posts of Ticonderoga and Crown Point had been left insufficiently garrisoned. The English general formed designs, and even made extensive preparations to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered, but, with vacillating weakness, soon abandoned the project. In Acadia some ineffectual marching and counter-marching was performed by his orders, and the troops suffered considerably from privation and from the harassing enmity of the French and Indians.
The feeble conduct and the contemptible results of this campaign demonstrated the inability of the English chief for military command; but Lord Loudon's merits in council should not be overlooked, while he stands condemned as a general. He aroused the different colonial governments from a dangerous apathy, induced them to unite, in some measure, their great but disjointed power, and exert for the general good the means which Providence had abundantly supplied. These favorable conditions were improved by the politic wisdom of his successors in the post of commander-in-chief in North America.
The return of Holborne's shattered fleet and the news of the resultless maneuvers of Lord Loudon aroused a storm of indignation in England. Enormous preparations had proved fruitless, a vast force had warred only against the hardships of the wilderness or the dangers of the ocean. Twenty thousand regular troops, with a large Provincial army, had wasted the precious season of action in embarkations and disembarkations, disgraceful retreats, and advances almost equally disgraceful. Twenty magnificent ships of the line had left the British ports for the American shore in the pride of irresistible power, and, without firing a gun for the honor of their flag, returned to whence they came, or, maimed and dismantled, sought refuge in friendly ports. England had to lament her gallant children, her stately ships, her hard-earned treasures, and, above all, her military glory, lost in the Western deserts or swallowed up in the waters of the Atlantic.