by Dan Snow
Townshend was in command of the left wing, but since that was now deployed at right angles to the line of battle, Murray, who had been in charge of the centre, now effectively commanded the left wing. The campaign had taken a heavy toll on the regimental commanders who had consistently put themselves at the heart of the action. Lieutenant Colonel Simon Fraser was off the field still recovering from the injuries that he had sustained during a skirmish in July, when he was wounded by a bullet that also hit his second in command, John MacPherson. As a result Fraser’s men were commanded by a captain, John Campbell, who was still in his mid-thirties. Major Paulus Aemilius Irving, a veteran Scottish soldier, had also taken command of his unit, Amherst’s 15th, described by Wolfe earlier in the summer as ‘that excellent regiment’.26 Irving was 44 years old and had seen plenty of action during the War of Austrian Succession in the Caribbean and in Flanders. He had been wounded on 8 August during a skirmish but his cool leadership had apparently warded off a sticky situation. Now he was keeping an eye on the threatening moves of the Native Americans and Canadian irregulars who waited for their chance to fall upon the British flank. The 48th Regiment, in reserve, was spread out and ready to respond to any weakening of the line in front. It was commanded by Colonel Burton. Wolfe’s loyal companion was on the field even though Mackellar noted that he had ‘scarcely recovered from his wound’ which he had received during the attack at Montmorency.27
Wolfe was dressed in a simple red coat. It was faded and almost shabby. A black armband was still wrapped around his left arm in remembrance of his recently deceased father. He moved along the line, checking everything for himself and projecting competence and confidence. In a European battle he would have been mounted, with a raised, clear view of the battlefield and the ability to get from one side of his line to the other in under a minute. Here he was forced to walk the length of the line himself. Wolfe ‘at first moved about everywhere’, said Mackellar, and Townshend reported that ‘General Wolfe came towards the left and finding all secure on there, he returned to the centre.’28 He eventually settled on the higher ground with the Louisbourg Grenadiers that would allow him to survey the entire battlefield. There is a copy of a speech that he is purported to have made although transcripts of speeches by generals before battles are notoriously untrustworthy. It is certain, however, that he would have stopped often and shouted words of encouragement and the sentiments that appear in this surviving text do ring true. The story goes that he congratulated his men on scaling the cliffs and pointed out that Quebec, ‘the object of all our toils’, stood before them. He returned to one of his central themes, that of the cowardice of ‘a perfidious enemy’, who have ‘dared to exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground’. Now they were ‘constrained to face you on the open plain, without ramparts or entrenchments to shelter them’. Wolfe warned his men not to fear their superior numbers; the French regulars were ill and hungry but even when fresh they ‘were unable to withstand British soldiers’. As for the Canadians, as soon as their ‘irregular ardour is damped by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble’. The ‘savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many a bold heart with affright’ were, he told his men, easily dealt with by ‘resolute men upon fair ground’. His hatred for the Native Americans burnt undimmed as he told his men ‘to consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen’. He finished the short speech with stirring words: ‘The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die: and, believe me, my friends if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your general, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country.’29
Wolfe’s men were already paying for his desperate gamble. Native Americans and Canadian skirmishers were taking a steady toll on the British line. Johnson reported that so serious was this threat that Wolfe ‘ordered us to lie flat on the ground on our arms; and which we did, for a considerable time’. This helped to protect him and his comrades from ‘upwards of fifteen hundred of their best marksmen’ who ‘kept a continual fire upon our line for some time…and which killed and wounded several of our officers and men’.30 Knox reported that ‘what galled us most was a body of Indians and other marksmen they had concealed in the corn opposite to the front of our right wing, and a coppice that stood opposite our centre’.31 Townshend later reported that these skirmishers were ‘most of their best marksmen’ who kept up ‘a very galling’ fire. But he wrote that the British troops ‘bore it with the greatest patience and good order’.32
To combat this threat the British deployed skirmishers of their own. All along the line picked groups of men were sent forward to contest no-man’s-land with the French troops and push them back to distances at which their fire would not be as accurate or deadly. The problem, as one British account points out, was that ‘since our light infantry were otherwise disposed of, we were obliged from time to time to advance platoons from the battalions to keep these at a distance’.33 Normally the light infantry from each regiment would deal with the skirmishing but they were grouped together under Howe protecting the rear. It fell to men of the other companies for whom this type of fighting was less familiar.
Ideally skirmishers moved forward in pairs, one man reloading his musket, or in a few cases a rifle, the other keeping his head up looking for targets and threats. The ground between the two armies became the scene of a bloody, yet private battle as small groups of men wrestled for control. Mackellar reported that ‘there were some clumps of high brush, which afforded good cover and brought on a skirmishing which was warmly kept up on both sides’. Bushes, hollows, shacks, and other buildings were vital cover. The wider context of battle was forgotten as these skirmishers focused exclusively on every friend, every enemy, and every fold of the ground in one 400-yard circle centred on themselves. The British efforts were successful. Mackellar comments on the far left of the line where Townshend ordered ‘two pickets of the 15th to advance by turn and fire upon them, they hastily retired to a safe distance, from whence they kept up an intermittent and desultory fire’.34 Johnson agreed that ‘by keeping up a constant fire amongst them, their fire was greatly slackened’.35 Knox wrote that a few rounds from the skirmishers ‘obliged these skulkers to retire’.36 Towards the left of the battlefield there was a fierce battle to control a few outlying houses. Possession of these buildings was useful to the defending side when the other attacked. The solid walls would protect those inside while they fired at close range on any troops that advanced past them, a harbinger of the concrete pillboxes of later conflicts. A French source records that Wolfe had ‘ordered a company of highlanders to take possession of the house de Borgia’. French troops were sent to dislodge them, ‘which brought on a brisk and obstinate attack; but all our efforts were to no purpose; as it was absolutely necessary to bring the cannon to drive them out’.37
As this source suggests, the popping of musketry in no-man’s-land was soon joined by the louder boom of artillery. By mid-morning, both sides had managed to get a few cannon into action. Despite a good deal of confusion in reports of the day it is pretty certain that the British had manhandled two six pounder guns up the treacherous path from Foulon and onto the battlefield. Townshend wrote in his journal that the British guns were ‘admirably well served’ and ‘galled their column exceedingly’ as it formed up below the walls of the town.38 Although he had incurred the artilleryman Williamson’s displeasure by suggesting initially that only one gun had been brought into action. Williamson, in charge of the cannon during the battle, wrote to his superiors at the Board of Ordnance saying that, ‘Brigadier Townshend acknowledged to me he was wrong informed in the account of field pieces at the battle…and agrees to mine which is candid enough of him to confirm.’39 He confirms that he had two guns on the battlefield and another four which the sailors were dragging up but did not reach him
in time for the crisis. A French officer remembered that both sides ‘were cannonading one another for about an hour, our artillery consisted only of three small field pieces’.40
With the armies hundreds of yards apart solid, round shot was used. Lighter brass cannon weighing about three-quarters of a ton were easier to get up the slope but could not withstand as much explosive force as heavier iron guns. As a result they had a more limited range. Even so a charge of a pound and a half of powder could fire a six-pound ball over half a mile, which was easily far enough to reach the French ranks. Cannonballs could also skim off the ground and were still deadly after the second or third bounce. The gunners were practised at the ‘laying’ of guns. No artilleryman could buy the rank above him or rely on patronage to speed his promotion. Only time and experience could advance his career. As a result Williamson’s gun layers were some of the most professional men on the battlefield. They only had crude sights and yet they could achieve impressive accuracy. They knew the precise performance of their gun from countless test firings and they took into account the atmospheric conditions and windspeed. On the barrel were various carved notches to help them lay the gun properly as well as a series of markings that gave the observer a great deal of information about the cannon at one glance. A broad arrow, usually carved near the vent, denoted British government ownership. Beyond that, between the stubby trunions, which were the fulcrum on which the barrel rested on the gun carriage, was the initial of the Master General of the Ordnance. Depending on how old the gun was it might have been ‘M’ for the Duke of Montagu who was Master General from 1740 to 1749 (with a short gap), or the same letter denoting the Duke of Marlborough, who held the post after 1755. In the most conspicuous position near the front of the barrel was the royal badge, ‘GR2’ surmounted by a crown and enclosed in a garter. The cannon might also have had the name of the founder, the man who made the gun, inscribed, usually around the base ring at the very back of the barrel.
A well-trained crew could clean out the barrel, load, and fire in a matter of seconds but all accuracy would have been sacrificed. It took much longer if the crew wanted to ‘run up’ the carriage after the gun had recoiled. On firing the cannon would typically jump back a couple of yards. It would have to be ‘relaid’ or re-aimed. Manuals from the time suggested that while eight rounds a minute might be possible, two rounds a minute was a safer, more accurate way. Overhasty sponging would leave traces of red-hot residue which would ignite the next charge as it was being rammed down. The stress of constant firing threatened to blast the barrel apart which would kill or horribly injure the crew. Safety was not the only concern, the rate of burn of gunpowder varied according to the amount of compression that it was put under. Consistency depended on ramming the charge in a deliberate fashion. Finally the gun layer had to wait for the substantial cloud of smoke from the previous discharge to clear before he could get a view of the target and lay the gun with any accuracy.
A steady well-aimed fire would do far more to the enemy than a random frenzy, however impressive that might sound. Soldiers hated being forced to stand still under an artillery bombardment. The terrified men could see the balls coming towards them; some Austrian veterans at Dettingen, Wolfe’s first battle, impressed the British troops by dodging out of the way. They were wise to do so. Cannonballs did terrible damage if an expert crew could bounce one right through a densely packed group of men. At Waterloo, where identical cannon were used, there is a report that one ball killed or disabled an officer and twenty-five men of the 40th Regiment of Foot.41
As both armies formed, Montcalm was wrestling the greatest decision of his life. He had a bewildering array of options. He could attack immediately or stay on the defensive. He could wait for Bougainville to arrive before attacking or even march to meet his subordinate and join forces. If he attacked without delay he risked throwing his less well-trained army into expert British musket volleys and seeing them decimated. However, his other options were hardly better. Just as at Orléans and Montmorency he knew the British could land large numbers of cannon and fortify themselves in an impregnable base. From it they could begin siege operations against Quebec, the landward defences of which he thought worthless. It was late in the season but Wolfe would probably have enough time to push his trenches, snaking forward until his heavy guns could threaten the walls and open a breach. A French journal had recorded earlier in the summer that such was his low opinion of the fortifications that he had no confidence at all in the course of a siege. He believed, it reported, ‘that the event of a battle alone could favourably decide the fate of Quebec’.42
His inclination not to let the British force settle in was reinforced by its position. The British now sat astride one of the main supply routes to the centre of the colony and his carefully husbanded reserve of food and gunpowder. There were three main roads running parallel to the St Lawrence. A couple ran close to the shore. These Wolfe now controlled. Another road ran three or four miles inland from Charlesbourg via Ancienne Lorette joining the coastal one two miles east of Pointe aux Trembles. This road was still open to the French. But while the British were not actually blockading all routes to the centre of the colony they were certainly in a position to threaten any communication or stop supply convoys along both these roads. Having blocked off the river, Wolfe was now tightening the noose around Montcalm’s forces in and around the city.
But Montcalm knew that Wolfe’s position was still deeply precarious. Bougainville was somewhere beyond the British with the finest troops in Montcalm’s army. Later in the day Vaudreuil wrote to de Lévis, now in Montreal, telling him that he had sent a message to Bougainville as soon as he realized the scale of the threat on the Plains of Abraham.43 If Bougainville could attack at the same time as Montcalm they would have Wolfe trapped between them with a cordon of Native Americans and Canadians to the north finishing the encirclement. One of his greatest frustrations was having no idea about where Bougainville was. One of Montcalm’s staff officers wrote that ‘the Marquis de Montcalm, not seeing him [Bougainville] arrive, could not but think he had not been notified at all’.44
If Bougainville had not even heard the news, he would not be on the battlefield for hours. Yet with every minute that passed, however, Montcalm believed Wolfe was getting stronger. He would have guessed that artillery was being hauled up the Foulon path. He would have seen troops arriving, deploying, and securing their position. He imagined shovels, fascines, and gabions being unloaded from the ships. Within hours the British army would be digging in and invulnerable to attack. His staff officer wrote that Montcalm saw ‘his destruction certain, if he waited any longer’, because of the ‘impossibility of dislodging the enemy, should they once become masters of the height called the Cčte d’Abraham, half a gun shot from Quebec’.45 Another officer wrote that Montcalm was dismayed by a ‘report he had received, which had not a shadow of a foundation, that the English were busy entrenching themselves’.46 He did not have a clear picture of the enemy. He could see groups of men shuffling around while large numbers of troops were invisible to him thanks to Wolfe’s order that they should lie down. Montcalm could not tell how many troops he faced or what state they were in. He could never have guessed at the stunning efficiency of the amphibious operation, which in around four hours had delivered every single available soldier in Wolfe’s army to the Anse au Foulon. Admiral Holmes later wrote that Montcalm ‘was deceived to the last; for he could not believe it was possible that we had so suddenly thrown over so large a body of forces: and the inequalities of the ground covered numbers of our men, and kept him from forming a just opinion of their strength’.47 Montcalm no doubt believed that assembling his entire army on the Plains of Abraham would take a day at least. By waiting for Bougainville he probably suspected that he would only be increasing the men at Wolfe’s disposal too.
Attacking sides had an advantage. They could choose where to strike and attempt to bring overwhelming numbers to bear on a weak part of the enemy’s line. Soldie
rs liked to be moving forward, morale soared during a charge. The dead and wounded were left behind by the advance. Defenders stood beside piles of their own casualties; men were forced to go on fighting even with their lifeless or screaming comrade beside them. Taking the offensive was embedded deep in the professional DNA of a French officer. Montcalm’s aide-de-camp, the Chevalier Johnstone, wrote that while they should perhaps in retrospect have marched around the British to Ancienne Lorette and joined with Bougainville, ‘in short there was not a single member of the war council who was not of the opinion to charge…immediately’.48
Montcalm had to make his decision in the face of a constantly shifting stream of information. He had suffered night after night of broken, insufficient sleep. He was unable to go to a quiet, private place to think, to separate himself from the minutiae of getting his men into formation and talk through his options with trusted staff and advisers. In fact, he had no trusted staff or advisers. Bougainville, his intimate protégé was miles away, de Lévis and Bourlamaque, the second and third most senior officers in the French army of North America, were on different fronts. He was, if possible, more isolated than Wolfe. An artillery officer, Montbelliard, afterwards wrote that he snatched a moment of conversation with Montcalm who said, ‘We cannot avoid action; the enemy is digging in, he already has two pieces of cannon. If we give him time to establish himself, we shall never be able to attack him with the troops we have.’ He apparently added ‘with a shiver of disbelief’, ‘is it possible that Bougainville is not hearing this?’49
The eyes of the army were all focused on him. There is always a crushing expectation that commanders appear decisive. Pausing to reflect, to assess one’s options, may be wise but it does not inspire confidence in men looking for leadership. There is an indefinable impulsion towards battle when two armies gather in sight of each other. Fighting this urge is the hallmark of only the very greatest commanders, men supremely confident in their standing. Other men, without mighty reputations for themselves, feel the tug of combat. Cowardice was the label most feared, worse even than incompetence and certainly worse than defeat.
