On the 8th the sea subsided into calm, and the fog vanished from the shore. Before daybreak the troops were assembled in boats, formed in three divisions; at dawn Commodore Durell examined the coast, and declared that the landing was now practicable. When his report was received, seven of the smaller vessels at once opened fire, and in about a quarter of an hour the boats of the left division began to row in toward the shore: in them were embarked twelve companies of Grenadiers, 550 Light Infantry men, with the Highlanders and a body of Provincial Rangers: Brigadier-general Wolfe was their chief. The right and center brigades, under Whitmore and Lawrence, moved at the same time toward other parts of the shore, and three sloops were sent past the mouth of the harbor to distract the attention of the enemy.
The left division was the first to reach the beach, at a point a little eastward of Fresh-water Cove, and four miles from the town.[112] The French stood firm, and held their fire till the assailants were close in shore; then, as the boats rose on the dangerous surf, they poured in a rattling volley from every gun and musket that could be brought to bear. Many of the British troops were struck down, but not a shot was returned. Wolfe's flag-staff was shivered by a bar-shot, and many boats badly damaged; still, with ardent valor, the sailors forced their way through the surging waves, and in a very few minutes the whole division was ashore, and the enemy flying in disorder from all his intrenchments. The victors pressed on rapidly in pursuit, and, despite the rugged and difficult country, inflicted a heavy loss on the fugitives, and took seventy prisoners. At length the cannon of the ramparts of Louisburg checked their further advance. In the mean time the remaining British divisions had landed, but not without losing nearly 100 boats and many men from the increasing violence of the sea.
During the two following days the fury of the waves forbade all attempts to land the artillery and the necessary stores for the attack of the hostile stronghold; on the 11th, however, the weather began to clear, and some progress was made in the preparations. Hitherto the troops had suffered much from want of provisions and tents; now their situation was somewhat improved.
Louisburg is a noble harbor: within is ample shelter for the largest fleets England or France have ever sent from their shores. A rugged promontory, on which stood the town and somewhat dilapidated fortifications, protects it from the southwest wind; another far larger arm of the land is its shelter to the southeast. About midway across the entrance of this land-locked bay stands Goat Island, which at that time was defended by some works, with a formidable array of guns; a range of impassable rocks extends thence to the town. From an elevation to the northwest of the harbor, the grand battery showed a threatening front to those who might seek to force the entrance of the Sound. For the defense of this important position, M. de Drucour, the French chief, had at his disposal six line-of-battle ships; five frigates, three of which he sank, to impede the entrance of the harbor; 3000 regular troops and burgher militia, with 350 Canadians and Indians.
On the 12th the French withdrew all their outposts, and even destroyed the grand battery that commanded the entrance of the harbor, concentrating their whole power upon the defense of the town. Wolfe's active light troops soon gave intelligence of these movements, and the following day the brigadier pushed on his advance round the northern and eastern shores of the bay, till they gained the high lands opposite Goat Island with little opposition; there, as soon as the perversity of the weather would permit, he mounted some heavy artillery, but it was not till the 20th that he was enabled to open fire upon the ships and the land defenses. On the 25th the formidable French guns on Goat Island were silenced. Wolfe then left a detachment in his battery, and hastened round with his main force to a position close to the town, where he erected works, and from them assailed the ramparts and the shipping.
For many days the slow and monotonous operations of the siege continued, under great difficulties to the assailants, the marshy nature of the ground rendering the movement of artillery very tedious. The rain poured down in torrents, swamping the labors of the engineers; the surf still foamed furiously upon the shore, embarrassing the landing of the necessary material and impeding the communication with the fleet. On the night of the 9th of July, the progress of the besiegers was somewhat interrupted by a fierce and sudden sally; five companies of light troops, supported by 600 men, burst upon a small English work during the silence of the night, surprising and overwhelming the defenders. The young Earl of Dundonald, commanding the grenadiers of the 17th, who held the post, paid for this want of vigilance with his life; his lieutenant was wounded and taken, and his men struck down, captured, or dispersed. Major Murray, however, with the Grenadiers of the 22d and 28th, arrived ere long, and restored the fight. After a time the French again betook themselves to the shelter of their walls, having left twenty of their men dead upon the scene of strife, and eighty more wounded or prisoners in the hands of the besiegers.
Meanwhile the British generals pushed on the siege with unwearied zeal, and, at the same time, with prudent caution, secured their own camp by redoubts. Day and night the batteries[113] poured their ruinous shower upon the ramparts, the citadel, and shipping. On the 21st, three large vessels of war took fire in the harbor from a live shell, and the English gunners dealt death to those who sought to extinguish the flames. The next day the citadel was in a blaze; the next, the barracks were burned to the ground, and Wolfe's trenches were pushed up to the very defenses of the town. The French could no longer stand to their guns. On the night of the 25th, two young captains, La Forey and Balfour, with the boats of the fleet, rowed into the harbor under a furious fire, boarded the two remaining vessels of war, and thus destroyed the last serious obstacle to British triumph.[114] The following morning, M. de Drucour surrendered at discretion.
In those days, the taking of Louisburg was a mighty triumph for the British arms: a place of considerable strength, defended with skill and courage, fully manned, and aided by a powerful fleet, had been bravely won; 5600 men, soldiers, sailors, and marines were prisoners; eleven ships of war taken or destroyed; 240 pieces of ordnance, 15,000 stand of arms, and a great amount of ammunition, provisions, and military stores, had fallen into the hands of the victors, and eleven stand of colors were laid at the feet of the British sovereign: they were afterward solemnly deposited in St. Paul's Cathedral.
But while the wisdom and zeal of Amherst, and the daring skill of Wolfe,[115] excite the gratitude and admiration of their countrymen, it must not be forgotten that causes beyond the power and patriotism of man mainly influenced this great event. The brave admiral doubted the practicability of the first landing.[116] Amherst hesitated, and the chivalrous Wolfe himself, as he neared the awful surf, staggered in his resolution, and, purposing to defer the enterprise, waved his hat for the boats to retire. Three young subaltern officers, however, commanding the leading craft, pushed on ashore, having mistaken the signal for what their stout hearts desired—the order to advance; some of their men, as they sprung upon the beach, were dragged back by the receding surge and drowned, but the remainder climbed up the rugged rocks, and formed upon the summit. The brigadier then cheered on the rest of the division to the support of this gallant few, and thus the almost desperate landing was accomplished.
Nor should due record be omitted of that which enhances the glory of the conquerors—the merit of the conquered. To defend the whole line of coast with his garrison was impossible; for nearly eight miles, however, the energetic Drucour had thrown up a chain of works, and occupied salient points with troops; and when at length the besiegers effected a landing, he still left no means untried to uphold the honor of his flag. Hope of relief or succor there was none; beyond the waters of the bay the sea was white with the sails of the hostile fleet. Around him, on every side, the long red line of British infantry closed in from day to day. His light troops were swept from the neighboring woods; his sallies were interrupted or overwhelmed. Well-armed batteries were pushed up to the very ramparts; a murderous fire of musketry struck down his gunners at their work; three gaping breaches lay open to the assailants;[117] his best ships burned or taken; his officers and men worn with fatigue and watching; four fifths of his artillery disabled; then, and not till then, did the brave Frenchman give up the trust which he had nobly and faithfully held. To the honor of the garrison, not a man deserted his colors through all the dangers, privations, and hardships of the siege, with the exception of a few Germans who served as unwilling conscripts. This spirited defense was in so far successful that it occupied the bulk of the British force, while Abercromby was being crushed by the superior genius and power of Montcalm. By thus delaying for seven weeks the progress of the campaign, the season became too far advanced for further operations, and the final catastrophe of French American dominion was deferred for another year.[118]