Chapter 16: The Reckoning

Robert’s belief that the issue was at hand was so strong that it was not shaken at all, while they hovered about the town for a while. He heard through Charteris that Wolfe was again ill, that he had suffered a terrible night, but that day had found him better, and, despite his wasted frame and weakness, he was among the troops, kindling their courage anew, and stimulating them to greater efforts.

“A soul of fire in an invalid’s frame,” said Charteris, and Robert agreed with him.

Through Zeb Crane’s amazing powers as a spy, he heard that the French were in the greatest anxiety over Wolfe’s movements. They had thought at first that he was abandoning the siege, and then that he meditated an attack at some new point. Montcalm below the town and Bougainville above it were watching incessantly. Their doubts were increased by the fierce bombardments of the British fleet, which poured heavy shot into the Lower Town and the French camp. The French cannon replied, and the hills echoed with the roar, while great clouds of smoke drifted along the river.

Then an afternoon came when Robert felt that the next night and day would tell a mighty tale. It was in the air. Everybody showed tense excitement. The army was being stripped for battle. He knew that the troops on the Heights of Levis and at Orleans had been ordered to march along the south shore of the St. Lawrence and join the others. The fleet was ready, as always, and the army was to embark. This concentration could not be for nothing. Before twilight, he saw Charteris and they shook hands, which was both a salute and a farewell.

“We take ship after dark,” said Charteris, “and I know as surely as I’m standing here that we make some great attempt tonight. The omens and presages are all about us.”

“I feel that way, too,” said Robert.

“Tododaho will soon appear on his star,” said Tayoga, who was with Robert, “but, though I cannot see him, I hear his whisper already.”

“What does it say?” asked Robert.

“The whisper of Tododaho tells me that the time has come. We shall meet the enemy in a great battle, but he does not say who will win.”

“I believe that, if we can bring Montcalm to battle, we can gain the victory,” said Charteris. “I for one, Tayoga, thank you for the prophecy.”

“And I,” said Robert. “But we’ll be together to the end.”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, and together we shall see what happens.”

Robert also saw the Philadelphians and the Virginians, and he shook hands with them in turn, every one of them giving a silent toast to victory or death. He found Grosvenor with his regiment, the Grenadiers.

“We may meet somewhere tomorrow, Grosvenor,” he said, “but neither of us knows where, nor under what circumstances.”

“Just so we meet after victory, that’s enough,” said Grosvenor.

“Aye, so it is.”

The boom of a cannon came from down the river, it was followed by another and another and then by many, singularly clear in the September twilight. A powerful British fleet ranged up in front of the Beauport shore and opened a fierce fire on the French redoubts. It seemed as if Wolfe was trying to force a landing there, and the French guns replied. In the distance, with the thunder of the cannonade and the flashes of fire, it looked as if a great battle were raging.

“It is nothing,” said Willet to Robert, “or rather it is only a feint. It will make Montcalm below the town think he is going to be attacked, and it will make Bougainville above it rest more easily. The French are already worn down by their efforts in racing back and forth to meet us. Our command over the water is a wonderful thing, and it alone makes victory possible.”

Robert, Willet, and Tayoga with a dozen rangers went into a long boat, whence they looked up at the tall ships that carried the army, and waited as patiently as they could for the order to move.

“See the big fellow over there,” said Willet, pointing to one of the ships.

Robert nodded.

“That’s the Sutherland, and she carries General Wolfe. Like the boat of Cæsar, she bears our fortunes.”

“Truly ‘tis so,” said Robert.

A good breeze was blowing down the river, and, at that moment, the stars were out.

“I see Tododaho with the wise snakes in his hair,” said Tayoga in an awed whisper, “and he looks directly down at me. His eyes speak more plainly than his whisper that I heard in the twilight. Now, I know that some mighty event is going to happen and that the dawn will be heavy with the fate of men.”

The sullen boom of a cannon came from a point far down the river, and then the sullen boom of another replying. Quebec, on its rock, lay dark and silent. Robert was shaken by a kind of shiver, and a thrill of tremendous anticipation shot through him. He too knew instinctively that they were upon the threshold of some mighty event. Whatever happened, he could say, if he lived, that he was there, and, if he fell, he would at least die a glorious death. His was the thrill of youth, and it was wholly true.

It was two hours past midnight and the ebb tide set in. The good wind was still blowing down the river. Two lanterns went aloft in the rigging of the Sutherland, and the signal for one of the great adventures of history was given. All the troops had gone into boats earlier in the evening, and now they pulled silently down the stream, Wolfe in one of the foremost.

Robert sat beside Tayoga, and Willet was just in front of them. Some of the stars were still out, but there was no moon and the night was dark. It seemed that all things had agreed finally to favor Wolfe’s supreme and last effort. The boats carrying the army were invisible from the lofty cliffs and no spying canoes were on the stream to tell that they were there. Robert gazed up at the black heights and wondered where were the French.

“Are we going directly against Quebec?” he whispered to Willet. “‘Tis impossible to storm it upon its heights.”

“Nay, lad, nothing is impossible. As you see, we go toward Quebec and I think we land in the rear of it. ‘Tis young men who lead us, the boldest of young men, and they will dare anything. But I tell you, Robert, our coming to Quebec is very different from what it was when we came here with a message from the Governor of the Province of New York.”

“And our reception is like to be different, too. What was that? It sounded like the splash of a paddle ahead of us.”

“It was only a great fish leaping out of the water and then falling back again,” said Tayoga. “There is no enemy on the stream. Truly Manitou tonight has blinded the French and the warriors, their allies. Montcalm is a great leader, and so is St. Luc, but they do not know what is coming. We shall meet them in the morning. Tododaho has said so to me.”

The boats passed on in their slow drifting with the tide. Once near to a lofty headland, they were hailed by a French sentinel, who heard the creaking of the boats, and who saw dim outlines in the dark, but a Scotch officer, who spoke good French, made a satisfactory reply. The boats drifted on, and the sentinel went back to his dreams, perhaps of the girl that he had left in France.

“Did I not tell you that Manitou had blinded the French and the warriors, their allies, tonight?” whispered Tayoga to Robert. “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the sentinel would have asked more, or he would have insisted upon seeing more in the dark, but Manitou dulled his senses. The good spirits are abroad, and they work for us.”

“Truly, I believe it is so, Tayoga,” said Robert.

“The French don’t lack in vigilance, but they must be worn out,” said Willet. “It’s one thing to sail on ships up and down a river, but it’s quite another for an army racing along lofty, rough, and curving shores to keep pace with it.”

They were challenged from another point of vantage by a sentinel and they saw him running down to the St. Lawrence, pistol in hand, to make good his question. But the same Scotch officer who had answered the first placated him, telling him that theirs were boats loaded with provisions, and not to make a noise or the English would hear him. Again was French vigilance lulled, and they passed on around the headland above Anse du Foulon.

“The omens are ours,” whispered Tayoga, with deep conviction. “Now, I know that we shall arrive at the place to which we want to go. Unless Manitou wishes us to go there, he would not have twice dulled the senses of French sentinels who could have brought a French army down upon us while we are yet in the river. And, lo! here where we are going to land there is no sentinel!”

“Under heaven, I believe you’re right, Tayoga!” exclaimed Willet, with intense earnestness.

The boats swung into the narrow beach at the foot of the lofty cliff and the men disembarked rapidly. Then, hanging to rocks and shrubs, they began to climb. There was still no alarm, and Robert held his breath in suspense, and in amazement too. He did not know just where they were, but they could not be very far from Quebec, and General Wolfe was putting his head in the lion’s mouth. He knew, and everyone around him knew, that it was now victory or death. He felt again that tremendous thrill. Whatever happened, he would be in it. He kept repeating that fact to himself and the thought of death was not with him.

“The dawn will soon be at hand,” he said; “I feel it coming. If we can have only a half hour more! Only a half hour!”

“It will come with clouds,” said Tayoga. “Manitou still favors us. He wills that we shall reach the top.”

Robert made another pull and surmounted the crest. Everywhere the soldiers were pouring over the top. A small body of French sentinels was taken by surprise. Some of them were captured, and the others escaped in the dusk to carry the alarm to the city, to Montcalm, and to Bougainville. But Wolfe was on the heights before Quebec. From points farther up the river came the crash of cannon. It was the French batteries firing upon the last of the boats, and upon the ships bringing down the rest of the troops. But it was too late to stop the British army, which included Americans, who were then British too.

“The dawn is here,” said Tayoga.

The east was breaking slowly into dull light. Heavy clouds were floating up from the west, and the air was damp with the promise of rain. The British army was forming rapidly into the line of battle, but no army was in front of it. The daring enterprise of the night was a complete success, and Montcalm had been surprised. He was yet to know that his enemy had scaled the heights and was before Quebec.

“We’ve gained a field of battle for ourselves,” said Willet, “and it’s now for us to win the battle itself.”

The mind of Wolfe was at its supreme activity. A detachment, sent swiftly, seized the battery at Samos that was firing upon the ships and boats. Another battery, farther away at Sillery, was also taken, and the landing of additional troops was covered. A party of Canadians who came out of the town to see who these intrusive strangers might be were driven back in a hurry, and then Wolfe and his officers advanced to choose their ground, the rangers hovering on the flanks of the regulars.

Where the plateau was only a mile wide and before Quebec, the general took his stand with the lofty cliffs of the St. Lawrence on the south and the meadows of the St. Charles on the north. The field, the famous Plains of Abraham were fairly level with corn fields and bushes here and there. A battalion of the Royal Americans was placed to guard the ford of the St. Charles, but Robert saw the others, his friends among them, formed up in the front ranks, where the brunt of the battle would fall. Another regiment was in reserve. The rangers, with Robert, Tayoga and Willet still hovered on the flanks.

Robert felt intense excitement. He always believed afterward that he understood even at that instant the greatness of the cloudy dawn that had come, and the momentous nature of the approaching conflict, holding in its issue results far greater than those of many a battle in which ten times the numbers were engaged.

“How far away is Quebec?” he asked.

“Over there about a mile,” replied Willet. “We can’t see it because the ridge that the French call the Buttes-a-Neveu comes in between.”

“But look!” exclaimed Robert. “See, what is on the ridge!”

The stretch of broken ground was suddenly covered with white uniforms. They were French soldiers, the battalion of Guienne, aroused in their camp near the St. Charles River by the firing, and come swiftly to see what was the matter. There they stood, staring at the scarlet ranks, drawn up in battle before them, unable to credit their eyes at first, many of them believing for the moment that it was some vision of the cloudy dawn.

“I think that Montcalm’s army will soon come,” said Willet to Robert. “You see, we’re literally between three fires. We’re facing the garrison of Quebec, while we have Montcalm on one side of us and Bougainville on the other. The question is which will it be, Bougainville or Montcalm, but I think it will be Montcalm.”

“I know it will be Montcalm,” said Robert, “and I know too that when he comes St. Luc will be with him.”

“Aye, St. Luc will be with him. That’s sure.”

It was even so. Montcalm was already on his way. The valiant general of France, troubled by the hovering armies and fleets of Britain, uncertain where they intended to strike or whether they meant to strike at all, had passed a sleepless night. At dawn the distant boom of the cannon, firing at the English ships above the town had come to his ears. An officer sent for news to the headquarters of the Marquis de Vaudreuil, the Governor-General of New France, much nearer to the town, had not returned, and, mounting, he galloped swiftly with one of his aides to learn the cause of the firing. Near the Governor-General’s house they caught a distant gleam of the scarlet ranks of Wolfe’s army, nearly two miles away.

When Montcalm saw that red flash his agitation and excitement became intense. It is likely that he understood at once the full danger, that he knew the crisis for Canada and France was at hand. But he dispatched immediately the orders that would bring his army upon the scene. The Governor-General, already alarmed, came out of his house and they exchanged a few words. Then Montcalm galloped over the bridge across the St. Charles and toward the British army. It is stated of him that during this ride his face was set and that he never spoke once to his aides.

Behind Montcalm came his army, hurrying to the battle-field, and, taking the quickest course, it passed through Quebec, entering at the Palace Gate and passing out through those of St. Louis and St. John, hastening, always hastening, to join the battalion of Guienne, which already stood in its white uniforms and beneath its banners on the Buttes-a-Neveu.

Montcalm’s army included the veterans of many victories. Through long years they had fought valiantly for France in North America. At Ticonderoga had shown how they could triumph over great odds, over men as brave as themselves, and, as they pressed through the narrow streets of the quaint old town, they did not doubt that they were going to another victory. With them, too, were the swart Canadians fighting for their homes, their flag, and, as they believed then, for their religion, animated, too, by confidence in their courage, and belief in the skill of their leaders who had so seldom failed.

Behind the French and the Canadians were the Indians who had been drawn so freely to Montcalm’s banner by his success, thinking anew of slaughter and untold spoil, such as they had known at William Henry and such as they might have had at Ticonderoga. The gigantic Tandakora, painted hideously, led them, and in all that motley array there was no soul more eager than his for the battle.

On that eventful morning, which the vast numbers of later wars cannot dim, the councils of France were divided. Vaudreuil, fearing an attack on the Beauport shore, did not give the valiant Montcalm all the help that he could spare, nor did De Ramesay, commanding the garrison of Quebec, send the artillery that the Marquis asked for.

But Montcalm was resolute. His soul was full of fire. He looked at the ranks of Wolfe’s army drawn up before him on the Plains of Abraham, and he did not hesitate to attack. He would not wait for Bougainville, nor would he hold back for the garrison of Quebec. He saw that the gauge of battle had been flung down to him and he knew that he must march at once upon the British--and the Americans. Mounted on a black horse, he rode up and down the lines, waving or pointing his sword, his dark face alive with energy.

Montcalm now formed his men into three divisions. M. de Senezergues led the left wing made up of the regiments of Guienne and Royal Roussillon, supported by Canadian militia. M. de Saint-Ours took the right wing with the battalion of La Sarre and more Canadian militia. Montcalm was in the center with the regiment of Languedoc and the battalion of Béarn. On both flanks were Canadians and numerous Indians.

Robert from his position on a little knoll with Willet and Tayoga watched all these movements, and he was scarcely conscious of the passage of time. There was a shifting in the British army also, as it perfected its alignment, and the bagpipes of the Scotchmen were already screaming defiance, but his eyes were mainly for the French before him. He recognized Montcalm as he rode up and down the lines, raising his sword, and presently he saw another gallant figure on horseback that he knew. It was St. Luc, and the old thrill shot through him: St. Luc for whom the ancient M. de Chatillard had taken him, St. Luc with whom he must have some blood tie.

Though it was now far beyond the time for the rising of the sun, the day was still dark, heavy with clouds, and now and then a puff of rain was blown in the faces of the waiting men, though few took notice. The wait and the preparations had to Robert all the aspects of a duel, and the incessant shrill screaming of the Scotch bagpipes put a fever in his blood, setting all the little pulses in his head and body to beating. Even after he maintained that the call of the bagpipes was the most martial music in the world.

The crackle of firing broke out on the flanks. The Canadian and Indian sharpshooters, from the shelter of houses, bushes, and knolls, had opened fire. Now and then a man in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe neither moved nor replied, though some of the New England rangers, stealing forward, began to send bullets at their targets.

“I see Tandakora,” said Tayoga, “and, in an hour, the score between us will be settled. Tododaho told me so last night, but it is still uncertain which shall be the victor.”

“Can’t you get a shot at him?” asked Robert.

“It is not yet time, Dagaeoga. Tododaho will say when the moment comes for me to pull trigger on the Ojibway.”

Then Robert’s gaze shifted back to the figure of St. Luc. The chevalier rode a white horse, and he was helping Montcalm to form the lines in the best order for the attack. He too held in his hand a sword, the small sword that Robert had seen before, but he seldom waved it.

“Are they ever coming?” asked Robert, who felt as if he had been standing on the field many hours.

“We’ve not long to wait now, lad,” replied Willet. “Our own army is ready and I think the fate of America will soon be decided here on this cloudy morning.”

Another light puff of rain struck Robert in the face, but as before he did not notice it. The crackling fire of the sharpshooters increased. They were stinging the British flanks and more men in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe remained immovable, waiting, always waiting. It was for Montcalm now to act. French field pieces added their roar to the crackle of rifles and muskets, and now and then the fierce yell of the Indians rose above both. Robert thought he saw a general movement in the French lines and his thought was Willet’s also.

“The moment has come! Steady, lads! Steady!” said the hunter.

The whole French army suddenly began to advance, the veterans and the militia together, uttering great shouts, while the Indians on the flanks gave forth the war-whoop without ceasing. Robert remained motionless. The steadfastness of soul that he had acquired on the island controlled him now. Inwardly he was in a fever, but outwardly he showed no emotion. He glanced at Montcalm on the black horse, and St. Luc on the white, and then at the scarlet and silent ranks of Wolfe’s army. But the French were coming fast, and he knew that silence would soon burst into sudden and terrible action.

“The French lines are being thrown into confusion by the unevenness of the ground and the rapidity of their advance,” said Willet. “Their surprise at our being here is so great that it has unsteadied them. Now they are about to open fire!”

The front of the charging French burst into flame and the bullets sang in the scarlet ranks. Wolfe’s army suddenly began to move forward, but still, it did not fire, although the battle of the skirmishers on the flanks was rapidly increasing in ferocity. The rangers were busy now, replying to the Indians and Canadians, but Robert still took rapid glances and he looked more often toward the Americans, where his friends stood. The advance of the French became almost a run, and he saw all the muskets and rifles of his own army go up.

A tremendous volley burst from the scarlet ranks, so loud and so close together that it sounded like one vast cannon shot. It was succeeded presently by another, and then by an irregular but fierce fire, which died in its turn to let the smoke lift.

Robert saw a terrible sight. The ground where the French army had stood was literally covered with dead and wounded. The two volleys fired at close range had mowed them down like grain. The French army, smitten unto death, was reeling back, and the British, seizing the moment, rushed forward with bayonets and drawn swords. The Highlanders, as they charged with the broadsword, uttered a tremendous yell, and Robert saw his own Americans in the front of the rush. He caught one glimpse of the tall figure of Charteris and he saw Colden near him. Then they were all lost in the smoke as they attacked.

But Wolfe had fallen. Struck by three bullets, the last time in the breast, he staggered and sat down. Men rushed to his aid, but he lived just long enough to know that he had won the victory. Before the firing died away, he was dead. Montcalm, still on horseback, was shot through the body, but he was taken into the city, where he died the night of the next day. Senezergues, his second in command, was also mortally wounded, and Monckton, who was second to Wolfe, fell badly wounded too.

But Robert did not yet know any of these facts. He was conscious only of victory. He heard the triumphant cheers of Wolfe’s army and he saw that the French had stopped, then that they were breaking. He felt again that powerful thrill, but now it was the thrill of victory.

“We win! We win!” he cried.

“Aye, so we do,” said Willet, “but here are the Canadians and Indians trying to wipe out us rangers.”

The fire in front of them from the knolls and bushes redoubled, but the rangers, adept at such combats, pressed forward, pouring in their bullets. The Canadians and Indians gave ground and the rangers, circling about, attacked them on the flank. Tayoga suddenly uttered a fierce shout and, dropping his rifle, leaped into the open.

“Now, O Tandakora!” he cried. “The time has come and thou hast given me the chance!”

The gigantic figure of Tandakora emerged from the smoke, and the two, tomahawk in hand, faced each other.

“It is you, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the league of the Hodenosaunee,” said the chief. “So you have come at last that I may spit upon your dead body. I have long sought this moment.”

“Not longer than I, Ojibway savage!” replied Tayoga. “Now you shall know what it is to strike an Onondaga in the mouth when he is bound and helpless.”

The huge warrior threw back his head and laughed.

“Look your last at the skies, Onondaga,” he said, “because you will soon pass into silence and darkness. It is not for a great chief to be slain by a mere boy.”

Tayoga said no more but gazed steadily into the eyes of the Ojibway. Then the two circled slowly, each intently watching every movement of the other. The great body of Tandakora was poised like that of a panther, the huge muscles rippling under his bronze skin. But the slender figure of Tayoga was instinct also with strength, and with incomparable grace and lightness. He seemed to move without effort, like a beam of light.

Tandakora crouched as he moved slowly toward the right. Then his arm suddenly shot back and he hurled his tomahawk with incredible force. The Onondaga threw his head to one side and the glittering blade, flying on, clove a ranger to the chin. Then Tayoga threw his own weapon, but Tandakora, with a quick shift evading it, drew his knife and, rushing in, cried:

“Now I have you, dog of an Onondaga!”

Not in vain was Tayoga as swift as a beam of light. Not in vain was that light figure made of wrought steel. Leaping to one side, he drew his own knife and struck with all his might at the heart of that huge, rushing figure. The blade went true, and so tremendous was the blow that Tandakora, falling in a heap, gave up his fierce and savage soul.

“They run! They run!” cried Robert. “The whole French army is running!”

It was true. The entire French force was pouring back toward the gates of the city, their leaders vainly trying to rally the soldiers. The skirmishers fell back with them. A figure, darting from a bush, turned to pull trigger on Robert and then uttered a cry of terror.

“A ghost! It is a ghost!” he exclaimed in French.

But a second look told Achille Garay that it was no ghost. It may have been a miracle, but it was Robert Lennox who come back in the flesh, and his finger returned to the trigger. Another was quicker. The hunter saw him.

“That for you, Garay!” he cried, and sent a bullet through the spy’s heart. Then, drawing the two lads with him, he rushed forward in pursuit.

The confusion in the French army was increasing. Its defeat was fast becoming a rout, but some of the officers still strove to stay the panic. Robert saw one on a white horse gallop before a huddle of fleeing men. But the soldiers, swerving, ran on. A bullet struck the horse and he fell. The man leaped clear but looked around in a dazed manner. Then a bullet struck him too, and he staggered. Robert with a cry rushed forward and received into his arms the falling figure of St. Luc.

He eased the Chevalier to the ground and rested his head upon his knee.

“He isn’t dead!” he exclaimed. “He’s only shot through the shoulder!”

“Now, this is in truth the hand of Providence,” said Willet gravely, “when you are here in the height of a great battle to break the fall of your own uncle!”

“My uncle!” exclaimed Robert.

The Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc smiled wanly.

“Yes, my nephew,” he said, “your own uncle, though wounded grievously, on this the saddest of all days for France, son of my dear, dead sister, Gabrielle.”

Then he fainted dead away from loss of blood, and the Canadian, Dubois, appearing suddenly, helped them to revive him. Robert hung over him with irrepressible anxiety.

“The brother of my mother!” he exclaimed. “I always felt there was a powerful tie, a blood tie, uniting us! That was why he spared me so often! That was why he told me how to escape at Ticonderoga! He will not die, Dave? He will not die?”

“No, he will not die,” replied Willet. “The Marquis de Clermont can receive a greater wound than that, and yet live and flourish.”

“The Marquis de Clermont!”

“Aye, the Chevalier de St. Luc is head of one of the greatest families of France and you’re his next of kin.”

“And so I’m half a Frenchman!”

“Aye, half a Frenchman, half an Englishman, and all an American.”

“And so I am!” said Robert.

“Truly it is a great morning,” said Tayoga gravely. “Tododaho has given to me, the triumph, and Tandakora has gone to his hereafter, wherever it may be; the soul of Garay is sped too, France has lost Canada, and Dagaeoga has found the brother of his mother.”

“It’s true,” said Willet in a whimsical tone. “When things begin to happen they happen fast. The battle is almost over.”

But the victorious army, as it advanced, was subjected to a severe fire on the flank from ambushed Canadians. Many of the French threw themselves into the thickets on the Coté Ste.-Genevieve, and poured a hail of bullets into the ranks of the advancing Highlanders. Vaudreuil came up from Beauport and was all in terror, but Bougainville and others, arriving, showed a firmer spirit. The gates of Quebec were shut, and it seemed to show defiance, while the English and Americans, still in the presence of forces greater than their own, entrenched on the field where they had won the victory, a victory that remains one of the decisive battles of the world, mighty and far-reaching in its consequences.