by Don Aker
Corporal Grimaud crept toward us as a shot whistled through the air, clipping his tricorne and knocking it from his head. Beside me, Guillaume’s musket rang out, its target the soldier who had fired at the corporal. A cry of pain confirmed that Guillaume’s shot had found its mark.
“Oui?” I responded, hoping Grimaud was bringing word of reinforcements.
“Fall back.”
I blinked at him. “Excusez-moi?”
“We are retreating.”
I could not believe my ears. “Retreating?”
“Are we not keeping them from advancing?” Guillaume demanded, as surprised as I. “Surely with reinforcements —”
Grimaud shook his head. “Saint-Julhien has changed his mind. He fears that more British soldiers may come ashore and block the road to Louisbourg. If that happens —”
Another shot rang out, cutting off his words, but we didn’t need to hear them. We understood the threat. If the British blocked the road and kept our troops at Anse de la Cormorandière from reaching Louisbourg, the town’s garrison would be drastically reduced in number.
I had not served for two years without learning to obey orders, but I was mystified by Saint-Julhien’s thinking. “Our numbers here at the moment are far greater,” I said, amid the burst of more musket fire. “If Saint-Julhien would only send the men he promised —”
“He’s made his decision,” interrupted Grimaud, although something in his voice suggested he, too, questioned Saint-Julhien’s plan of action. “You will return to the town immediately. Is that clear?”
“Oui, caporal,” Guillaume and I replied, then watched Grimaud move off to inform the other members of our company of their new orders.
Moments later as we made our way along the void, skirting enemy fire, I could not help but wonder if Saint-Julhien would come to regret his decision. Yes, it was imperative that the town be fully garrisoned. But had Governor Drucour not stressed the importance of keeping the British from establishing a foothold at Anse de la Cormorandière? Despite the strength of Louisbourg’s fortifications and weaponry, could the garrison repel an assault by land?
More musket fire interrupted my thoughts, and the ground to my left exploded as lead shot punched into it. Ducking our heads, Guillaume and I followed our comrades toward the safety of Louisbourg’s walls.
* * *
Companies that had reached Louisbourg before us had clearly raised the alarm in advance of our arrival. As we approached, the British at our backs, French weapons fired over our heads at the enemy, covering our advance toward the Porte de la Reine on the southwest side. Smoke and the repeated boom of cannons filled the salt air as we made our way forward, many of us helping comrades limping from their wounds.
Between us, Guillaume and I supported the bloody figure of young Jacques Legrand, who had been shot in the belly and now groaned with each step he took. Both Guillaume and I had eluded enemy fire and could have reached the gate sooner, but we would not leave behind an injured comrade. Sadly, we could do nothing for those who had been captured or now lay dead.
Behind us, Captain Boudier continued to shout encouragement. As we all knew, he would be the last of our company to enter the gate.
“I — I can go no farther,” wheezed Legrand, his breathing ragged and wet.
“Oui, Jacques, you can,” I said as I grasped his arm slung over my shoulder. Guillaume and I were all but carrying him now. “We’re nearly there.” I spoke the truth. We were within a hundred paces of the gate and the cannon fire above our heads was keeping British weapons from finding their mark. The enemy force that had been at our heels earlier was now too distant to be a threat.
“Non,” Legrand gasped, “I cannot.” He released a groan that seemed to begin in his toes, and his legs suddenly folded beneath him.
Still supporting our comrade with one arm, Guillaume handed me his musket with the other, then lifted Jacques clear of the ground. Cradling him, he continued forward as I followed, giving silent thanks for the cannons that continued to boom overhead.
It would be much later, however, when we would learn that this defensive action, which had saved our lives, had also sealed our fate.
Chapter 5
June 10, 1758
The rain slapping the barracks windows in watery sheets made it seem as though the Atlantic Ocean had breached its shores and now surged against the garrison walls. Although my comrades and I knew we would be soaked the moment we stepped outside, none of us cursed the miserable weather. The British would not be mounting an assault if they were unable to keep their powder dry.
“Legrand is still very weak,” said Boudier, who had once again been to the hospital to check on the wounded before addressing the company, “but he remains alive. He lost a great deal of blood, but the surgeon-major believes his youth is in his favour. He may yet survive his wound. We can only wait. And pray,” he added.
I knew the entire company must share my relief. We had been awaiting news of our wounded comrades, especially l’Enfant, and the faces of every man standing with me now mirrored my own. Having seen two of our fellow soldiers cut down at Anse de la Cormorandière, and three more killed during our retreat, we were grateful that one life — especially that of a person so young — might yet be spared.
Christophe Gilbert and Édouard Villeneuve, senior soldiers in our company, seemed especially thankful to learn of Legrand’s condition. They had taken the boy under their wing upon learning that he had come from Lyon, where they too had been born. The concern on their faces was now tempered with relief.
Despite this good news, Boudier’s expression remained grim. Reports from the various regiments indicated that 114 French soldiers had been lost on June 8, most either injured or captured, but many of them killed. It was the deaths that were especially grievous, and not just because lives had been lost. Those soldiers had died in vain. The garrison had failed in its most important mission — to keep the British from making landfall.
Our leaders were clearly stunned by this failure, having watched the victory of that early morning snatched from their hands. During the hours that followed, there had been much talk about where the blame for this failure lay. As my comrades and I carried out new orders following our return, we listened to officers mutter among themselves. Many criticized Saint-Julhien for not having posted a lookout above the cove in advance of the assault, a measure that would have kept us from being caught unawares. Others faulted him for giving a premature order to fire upon the longboats. They believed that, had he waited longer, our guns could have wiped out the entire landing force. Still others blamed him for ordering the retreat so soon. “No more than one hundred fifty British were able to beach in that first wave,” grumbled one officer. “If our thousand soldiers at Anse de la Cormorandière had been given the opportunity, they could have turned the redcoats back easily.”
I silently agreed. However, as the afternoon wore on, we learned that Saint-Julhien was not the only leader to make mistakes. When the French commanders at Pointe Platte and Pointe Blanche heard what was happening at Anse de la Cormorandière, they, too, had ordered their men back to the town. However, only the commander at Pointe Blanche had ensured that the arms at his location — with the exception of the cannons — were destroyed beforehand. In ordering a hastier retreat, the commander at Pointe Platte had left behind swivel guns, cannons and stores of ammunition that the British could now use against us — further arming an enemy that already outnumbered us.
To counteract their error in judgment, Governor Drucour had sent fifty soldiers of the Volontaires Étrangers regiment to destroy the twenty-four-pounder left behind at Pointe Blanche. But they had turned back when they discovered the British already occupied that position. Drucour then took steps to increase the garrison, ordering the men at two locations outside the town to abandon those posts and regroup within its walls. Now that the British had breached the shores of Île Royale, Drucour reasoned it would be only a matter of days before they attacked those po
sitions from the rear, and he had no desire to lose more soldiers. He was confident that the island battery and the one at Pointe à Rochefort, along with our warships, would still be able to keep enemy ships from entering the harbour.
The garrison was also increased by the arrival of the other half of the Cambis Regiment, who had marched into Louisbourg shortly after our retreat. This good news, however, did not make it easier for our company to carry out the orders we had received that afternoon. Several buildings stood outside the wall, many of them houses, and Drucour feared that those buildings would soon provide cover for enemy soldiers. He ordered them all destroyed, and Guillaume and I were among the men given that duty.
Guillaume was as disheartened as I by our task. As he put a torch to the first building, he winced as if the flames licking over the boards were scorching him, too. I winced as well. After all, we had spent much of the past two years in Louisbourg working as builders — the limestone in this part of Île Royale contained sandstone, which weakened the mortar in the stone walls and required frequent repairs. Yet we had been tasked with destroying what others had so carefully constructed. Even now as we stood before Captain Boudier two days later, smoke from those smouldering piles of wet rubble still hung heavy in the air.
Having shared his news about Legrand, Boudier let his gaze slide over the company before speaking again. “No one can know what the future holds, but we are soldiers who serve at the pleasure of King Louis. Our sole duty is to keep Louisbourg from falling into British hands. You fought well at Anse de la Cormorandière, and I know you will continue to do so in the days ahead. When you resume your positions at the bastions today, remember your fallen brothers. Their sacrifice will give you strength.”
He hesitated and an odd expression rippled across his face, making me wonder if he had more to say. But then he simply nodded and strode off.
No sooner had I stepped outside the barracks than I was drenched by driving rain. Grimacing, I tugged down my tricorne to keep the torrent from my eyes. Guillaume did the same. As we made our way toward the Bastion Brouillan, he asked, “Do you think the captain had more to tell us?”
“Oui,” I replied, wondering how he knew I had been mulling that very thing. Apparently, our bond as friends and brothers in arms had grown even stronger since the British had appeared off our shores. “Do you suppose it was something more about our comrades in hospital?”
Guillaume shrugged.
“I th-th-think I kn-know,” said a voice behind us.
It had to be Renard Gaston. Having stuttered since he was a child, he seldom spoke, and in the two years I had known him, he had never once begun a conversation. I was astonished to hear him speak now.
“What do you know, Renard?” I asked as he came abreast of us.
Beneath his sopping tricorne, Renard’s face flushed. He spoke haltingly, every word clearly a challenge. But by the time we reached the Bastion Brouillan, he’d shared with us what he had learned the previous night.
Renard had been assigned guard duty just outside the governor’s apartments, where the war council discussed Louisbourg’s plight, planning our defence. While at his post, he had overheard voices raised behind the closed door, and it was clear that tempers were high. A short time later, two senior officers had come out, shaking their heads and muttering about what had unfolded inside.
Because Renard most often communicated with hand gestures and facial expressions, some of the officers mistakenly assumed he was deaf. As a result, many spoke loosely around him, wrongly believing him incapable of overhearing what they said. Those two officers had spoken heatedly to each other about Drucour’s decision regarding three of the warships at anchor in the harbour.
Renard told us that, following our retreat the previous day, our naval commanders had sent Drucour a letter requesting his permission to sail out of the harbour after dark. Believing that Louisbourg was now doomed, they wanted to ensure the safety of their ships and sailors so they might fight for King Louis another day. The members of the war council rejected the idea of naval officers abandoning Louisbourg’s soldiers and civilians, but Drucour had agreed to allow three of the warships, Comète, Bizarre and Echo, to leave.
Upon hearing Renard’s account, Guillaume and I immediately turned toward the harbour. It was true. Those three ships were gone.
“Can it be?” asked Guillaume, dumbfounded. “Are we truly doomed?”
I thought of the odd expression I had seen on Captain Boudier’s face. Was it anger at those naval officers for having abandoned the colony? Or was it despair because he, too, felt our situation was now hopeless?
I shrugged. “Didn’t Boudier tell us that no one can know what the future holds?” I asked. “And did he not remind us that our sole duty is to keep Louisbourg from falling into British hands? That’s the only truth we need concern ourselves with now.”
Nodding, Guillaume gripped my shoulder. “You’re right, my friend.” And then he grinned. “Those redcoats will quiver in their boots —”
“— when they see Guillaume Rousseau firing at them,” I finished for him, grinning in return.
But the smile on my face was merely a mask, the routine response of a friend and brother in arms. In my heart I felt none of that certainty. I had only to imagine those three ships hauling anchor and slipping away in the dead of night to accept what I believed Boudier already knew. We were doomed. But I also knew that this did not change what was required of me. I would do everything in my power to halt the British invasion. If need be, I would lay down my life in defence of the town because the lives of the civilians who had made their home in Louisbourg depended on me.
Marie-Claire depended on me.
I had often heard people say there is no such thing as love at first sight, but I would argue they had never laid eyes on Marie-Claire Desbarats. More than two years ago, Guillaume and I had arrived at Louisbourg after a very difficult winter crossing aboard the ship Rhinocéros. I should have been grateful to see land on that cold March day, but I continued to suffer from crushing homesickness. I missed my family more than I thought possible, and I wanted nothing more than to return to France, despite there being no future for me there. The best opportunity available to commoners like Guillaume and me was in the service of King Louis XV in this untamed land, but still I longed for home. That is, until my eyes fell on the beautiful girl standing on the quay watching Rhinocéros navigate the ice in the harbour. By the time Guillaume and I disembarked, she had vanished. It would be days before I saw her again, this time with her family in the garrison church. And it would take me several weeks more to muster the courage to speak to her.
Guillaume tormented me mercilessly the few times my path crossed hers and I was unable to do more than stand dumbstruck. It was, in fact, she who eventually spoke first. Guillaume and I had entered a shop one spring day in search of a hunting knife and found her there assisting the owner, who we later learned was her father. When she greeted us I could do little more than stammer. Fortunately, Guillaume’s good humour and easy manner helped lessen my nervousness, and I was eventually able to make conversation with her. That was our beginning.
Looking now at the void where those three warships had once anchored, I could not help but fear that the British invasion heralded our ending.
Chapter 6
June 11, 1758
“But how could Capitaine Boudier order you to do something so dangerous?” Marie-Claire demanded, her face creased with worry.
In the ten days since I had asked her father for her hand in marriage, I had been given leave to see her only twice. And because of the growing threat of the British, I’d been able to spend only moments with her each time. I had no desire to upset her this evening, yet that’s exactly what I had done when I told her the task I was to undertake. I cleared my throat. “Capitaine Boudier didn’t order us to do this,” I replied. “Guillaume and I volunteered.”
“But why?” Sitting beside me in her father’s parlour, she reached for my h
ands, her fingers entwining my own as though trying to hold me to that spot.
I suddenly felt like Renard Gaston as I struggled to voice my thoughts. Since our retreat on June 8, the entire garrison had been functioning in thirds: one-third at the ready, one-third in their rooms fully clothed and prepared for action at a moment’s notice, and one-third allowed to sleep. I was fortunate that Boudier had granted me permission to see Marie-Claire before my departure, and I had no wish to waste our precious time together quarrelling. “You know the British are pressing their attack on the town by land,” I told her, trying to keep my voice even. I had no wish to alarm her more than she already was. “If we’re to be prepared for it, there is much that our leaders need to know. The exact numbers of the enemy’s forces, how they’re planning their approach, when they seek to —”
“But surely there are scouts who can provide this information,” she interrupted, a pleading note in her voice.
I nodded. “Yes, but the sheer size of the British force makes it likely that —” I paused, silently cursing my tactlessness. I let my thought hang in the air.
Marie-Claire was not fooled. “It makes it likely,” she began, her voice little more than a whisper, “that some scouts will be captured or …” She looked away, her hands gripping mine even tighter.
“Nothing will stop me from returning to you,” I said softly. “I promise.”
“But why must you do this?” she asked, her eyes glistening.
I had no need to remind her that Guillaume and I knew the area as well as anyone. Besides rebuilding the town’s crumbling walls to supplement our modest income, we had hunted for game throughout the surrounding countryside to use as barter for the things we needed. In fact, the circumstance that had brought me to her father’s shop the day we met was to replace the hunting knife I had broken while cleaning the carcass of a stag.
What I needed her to understand was that I could do nothing less than use that knowledge in Louisbourg’s defence because it would be in her defence as well. When I learned about those three ships abandoning our town, I suddenly realized that I must do more than wait for the enemy to come to us. Some of our leaders might have accepted that Louisbourg was doomed, but I could not. I would not. When my sentry duty had ended the previous day, I’d gone to Boudier with my offer to scout the area and bring back information about British troops and their movements. And when Guillaume later learned what I had done, he immediately did the same. I tried to change his mind, but he shrugged and reminded me that he knew the area as well as I. He said nothing more, did not try to explain what I already knew — that he was my brother in arms and, where I went, he would follow. Some things did not have to be put into words.
