The Capture of Quebec

M ORE than seventy years before Captain John Smith came to Virginia, a French explorer crossed the ocean and sailed up a river to which he gave the name Saint Lawrence. He took possession of the land in the name of France.

After many years another French explorer, named Champlain, sailed up the Saint Lawrence River to the spot where Quebec now stands. He made a settlement and became the founder of the French empire in Canada.

Champlain was a noble and brave man, and one of the most famous Frenchmen of his time. He explored the northeastern part of our country, and gave names to many places. He discovered Lake Champlain, which was named after him. He discovered Lake Ontario and Lake Huron also. He was governor of the colony of Canada many years. He was called the Father of New France.

At this time French missionaries came to teach the Indians. These missionaries were noble men too. They and the fur traders went farther and farther to the west, into the dense wilderness.

The most famous of all the French explorers was La Salle. His life was filled with adventures and hardships. He built forts, traded with the Indians, and went into the wilderness where no white man had ever been before.

He sailed down the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico. He claimed for France the land drained by the Mississippi River and by the rivers flowing into the Mississippi. This meant all the land between the Alleghenies and the Rocky Mountains.

To this vast region he gave the name of Louisiana, in honor of his king, Louis the Fourteenth. The narrow strip of land held by the English along the Atlantic coast was a small settlement compared with the great territory of Louisiana.

Now began a long and hard struggle between France and England for the possession of America. If the French won, the land would belong to France. The people and language and customs would be French. If the English won, all these things would be English.

The struggle went on for seventy-five years. There were many fierce and bloody fights, in which the Indians took part. The English lost their battles at first, and then they began to win. But the French still held the great fort of Quebec.

Quebec was perched on a cliff two hundred feet high. It was one of the strongest fortresses in the world. For nine miles above the city, and for eight miles below, there were lines of batteries on the steep banks of the Saint Lawrence. Thus Quebec, rising above the mighty river, stood like a giant sentinel at the gateway to Canada and the lands of the far west.

"If the French hold Quebec, we can never conquer Canada," said a great English statesman to the king. "We must capture Quebec. I know of one man who can do it, if anybody can. That man is General James Wolfe."

"That young general is crazy," exclaimed one of the noblemen.

"Mad, is he?" answered the old king; "then I hope he will bite some others of my generals."

Wolfe was chosen to lead the expedition to America. He knew what he was expected to do. He was to end the rule of France over America, and to raise the flag of Great Britain over Canada.

With his fleet and army he sailed up the Saint Lawrence River and landed on an island nearly opposite Quebec. He gazed at the city perched on the bluff. In full view below he saw the far-extended camps of the French. The steep banks of the river were covered with earthworks.

Above the city the river was walled in by a range of steep hills. A few men on the top of those heights could easily defend the great fortress. General Montcalm, who was in command of Quebec, was one of the best soldiers of his time. He had an army of sixteen thousand men.

General Montcalm believed that the fortress was safe. "The English cannot land within ten miles of the city," he said. "Their provisions will soon be gone, and then they will have to go home. In a few weeks winter will be here, and their warships will be frozen up in the river."

The French general, however, was not idle. He filled old ships with tar and all kinds of things that would burn easily, and one dark night set them afire and floated them down the river among the English fleet.

The vessels sent up sheets of flame, which lighted the city and the long red line of the English army. English sailors sprang into their boats, threw their grappling irons on the burning ships, and towed them to the shore, where they burned till sunrise.

Meanwhile Wolfe had been making his plans. A few miles up the Saint Lawrence was a broad, level field, called the Plains of Abraham. On this plain there was room enough to draw up an army. At this place the bank of the river was high and steep, but the brave English general planned to climb to the field above and storm the fortress.

"I have found a zigzag trail that leads to the Plains of Abraham," he said to the English admiral. "I will take one hundred and fifty picked men who can climb the steep bank. If they do it, other men can follow."

Most of the time Wolfe was sick in bed. His only fear was that he might not be well enough to lead his troops.

"You cannot cure me," he said to his doctor, "but patch me up so that I may be without pain for a few days and able to do my duty. That is all I ask."

He first tried to mislead the French. He sent his troops here and there along the shore as if to attack the city. He sent his warships up the river with the flood tide, and had them come back with the ebb.

The French followed the ships to and fro until they were tired out.

"They mean to land somewhere," wrote the French general. "Surely no army would try to climb the steep banks near the city. I swear to you that one thousand men posted there would stop a whole army. We must not suppose the enemy have wings. I have not taken off my clothes since the twenty-third of June."

At last Wolfe was ready for action. It was two o'clock on the night of the twelfth of September. Lanterns were raised on board a warship. Boats loaded with picked troops started down the Saint Lawrence with the current. Other troops were soon to follow.

General Wolfe, with some of his officers, was in one of the first boats. As they drifted in the silence of the night down the river, he repeated in a low voice some lines from Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard":

"Gentlemen," he added, "I had rather be the author of that poem than have the glory of taking Quebec."

The boats drifted in near the shore.

The stillness was broken by the cry of a French sentinel. "Who goes there?"

"France," replied a Scotch officer who could speak French.

"What is your regiment?"

"The Queen's."

The sentinel, who was expecting some boats with supplies, did not ask for the password.

"Who goes there?" called another sentinel.

"Provision boats," answered the same officer. "Don't make a noise; the English will hear you."

The sentry let them pass.

The boats reached a little bay, now known as Wolfe's Cove. Twenty-four men, with their guns slung on their backs, led the way. One by one, taking hold of the bushes, they pulled themselves up the steep bank. Feeble as he was, Wolfe dragged himself up with the rest.

At daybreak the French were astonished to see the long lines of redcoats on the Plains of Abraham. It was a critical hour for France.

Wolfe put himself at the head of his grenadiers and gave the order to charge. A bullet hit him in the arm, but he pressed forward. Another bullet struck him. He still kept on. A third bullet pierced his breast. He would have fallen, but was caught in the arms of an officer.

"Support me," he cried; "do not let my brave fellows see me fall."

They carried him to the rear.

"Will you have a surgeon?" asked an officer.

"There is no need; it is all over with me."

A moment later another officer cried, "They run, they run; see how they run."

"Who run?" asked the dying general.

"The French, sir. They give way everywhere."

"Now, God be praised, I die in peace."

Montcalm also was borne from the field mortally wounded.

"How long have I to live?" asked the gallant general.

"Twelve hours, or less."

"Thank God, I shall not live to see Quebec surrendered."

The fight at Quebec took place in the year 1759. It was not a great battle, but it was of great importance. By the fall of this stronghold France lost all her lands in the New World. "With the triumph of Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham," says the historian John Fiske, "began the history of the United States."

To-day, in the city of Quebec, stands a single monument to the memory of the two noble generals who fought for the possession of the great fortress. The monument bears a beautiful inscription in Latin, which may be translated as follows: