For Honour's Sake

by Mark Zuehlke

  British army surgeon Dr. William “Tiger” Dunlop, on seeing his first French-Canadian militia, was openly impressed. “They … had been pretty well drilled and their arms … were in perfectly good order, nor had they the mobbish appearance that such a levy in any other country would have had. Their capots and trowsers of home-spun stuff, and their blue toques (night caps) were all of the same cut and color, which gave them an air of uniformity that added much to their military look, for I have always remarked that a body of men’s appearance in battalion, depends much less on the fashion of their individual dress and appointments, than on the whole being in strict uniformity.

  “They marched merrily to the music of their voyageur songs, and as they perceived our uniform as we came up, they set up the Indian War-whoop, followed by a shout of Vive le Roi along the whole line. Such a body of men in such a temper, and with so perfect a use of their arms as all of them possessed, if posted on such ground as would preclude the possibility of regular troops out-manoeuvering them, and such positions are not hard to find in Canada, must have been rather a formidable body to have attacked.”23

  The willingness of Lower Canada’s French-Canadian majority to fight for Britain had baffled Americans since the Revolutionary War, when it was expected they would welcome the 1775 invasion of Quebec. After all, were these not the sons and daughters of New France conquered by the British in 1760 and since reduced to a subjugated people? But they failed to grasp that the victorious British had been careful to foster loyalty by allowing the French Canadians to retain their land-ownership system and their Roman Catholic religion, including continuance of the secular role the church played in society. While resentment toward the British for having conquered them might linger, few saw anything in the way the United States had shaped its government and society that made them feel they would be better off under the American flag.

  The formidable ability of the French Canadians was quickly made evident on October 25, when Hampton came up against a thin line of about 300 Provincial regulars and militia alongside the Châteauguay. Hampton had finally pushed off from Four Corners on October 21 and crossed the Canadian border. For the past four days he had advanced cautiously and made little more than 40 miles before scouts discovered a defensive line barred the way.

  Hampton had 4,000 regulars, 200 dragoons, and ten field guns, so was little concerned. Further reconnaissance confirmed that the defences were held by only 350 men, who appeared to be mostly militia commanded by a militia officer. If a flanking force skirted the right bank of the river and passed the defenders on the opposite shore, they would find a ford that could be waded, effectively turning the militia position. Hampton ordered Col. Robert Purdy to take 1,500 men through the woods under cover of darkness to gain the ford and attack in the morning while Hampton would hit the position head-on with the remainder of his force. It should be easily rolled up.

  The Americans had correctly estimated the number of men holding the line, but they were wrong about the identity of its commander and unaware of the presence of reserve forces totalling 980 men and 150 Kahnawake Iroquois warriors. Lt. Col. Charles-Michel d’Irumberry de Salaberry was no militia officer. Just shy of his thirty-fifth birthday, de Salaberry had been born in Lower Canada’s Beauport and was commissioned into the British army at the age of sixteen. He served in Ireland and the West Indies and fought Napoleon’s armies in the Low Countries before returning to his birth colony in 1810 to become de Rottenburg’s aide-de-camp. Short, barrel-chested, powerfully muscled, he was as strict a disciplinarian as Hampton and far more impetuous. “My dear Marquis of cannon powder,” de Rottenburg fondly described him. Technically de Salaberry commanded the Canadian Voltigeurs, of which there were 150 in the front line and another 300 back in reserve, but as senior officer the defence was in his hands.24

  There was nothing about Hampton’s force de Salaberry did not know. Scouts had carefully gathered intelligence on them for weeks, slipping across the American border to spy on the Four Corners camp at will. The position chosen for the fight was selected with this intelligence in mind. Reserve positions were established in a series of ravines cut through the sandy soil by creeks flowing into the Châteauguay from the northwest. A mile ahead of the first of these ravines was a 40-foot-deep coulee that extended about 1,000 yards from the river to swampy woods. Here de Salaberry had erected a massive abatis behind which the 350 front-line troops were positioned. The reserve units were divided among four of the ravines at his back, erecting formidable abatis along the edges facing the American line of advance.

  Hampton was still preparing his attack on October 25 when a courier arrived with puzzling orders from Armstrong directing him to take his men into winter quarters. What did this mean? Was the invasion called off? Was Wilkinson on the march up the St. Lawrence or not? If he carried on against Montreal would his army be sacrificed? These troubling questions swirled through his mind and there was no immediate answer for them. Hampton would fight on the morrow without knowing whether there was any point to giving battle.25

  Meanwhile in the inky darkness Colonel Purdy and 1,500 men struggled to pass the Canadian front line by flanking it on the southern bank. They blundered through a dense hemlock swamp, unable either to find a trail to advance by or to locate the ford. Purdy had expected to go nine miles past the defensive work and find the ford there—a total marching distance of about 15 miles. By daylight he was barely abreast of de Salaberry, well away from the riverbank, and completely lost. To this point he had relied on a couple of Canadian scouts who claimed to be deserters but could as well be spies. Purdy had to trust them, for he would never be able to lead his men out of the confused quagmire into which they stumbled. It was impossible to tell north from south, east from west. Trailing the scouts, he struggled onward.

  By now it was 2:00 in the afternoon and Hampton’s main body, commanded not by the major general but by his second-in-command, Brig. Gen. George Izard, had advanced to face de Salaberry and been waiting impatiently for several hours for Purdy’s signal that he had gained the ford. Deciding he could wait no longer, Izard ordered the attack. Seconds later, de Salaberry started the fight by coolly raising a musket to his shoulder and shooting down a mounted American officer. At about the same moment Purdy suddenly emerged out of the woods directly across from the Canadian position. Jumping onto a stump, which exposed him dangerously to the American fire, de Salaberry shouted encouragement to his men and directed their fire so that they hit the soldiers advancing against their front and also Purdy’s men on the opposite shore.

  For two hours the gunfire crackled. It took this long for two companies of militia and some light cavalry that de Salaberry had positioned on the opposite bank of the river to guard the very ford that Purdy sought to come forward and attack the American colonel’s force. Purdy and his men retreated briskly, abandoning the field. Izard had not been pressing his men forward with any determination, so they were mostly hunkered behind trees and logs sniping at the Canadians without intention to carry the defensive works with a frontal charge. Seeing Purdy’s hasty withdrawal and Izard’s lackadaisical approach, Hampton lost his resolve and ordered a withdrawal all the way to Four Corners. Purdy, still stuck in swamps and being sniped at the entire way by Indians and militiamen, followed. Hampton’s part in the invasion of Canada was over. His army had suffered only 50 casualties in the action. After settling his men into their winter quarters, Hampton tendered his resignation as promised.

  The Canadians lost only 5 men killed, 16 wounded, and reported 4 missing in an action that turned back an entire American army. Almost to a man his troops had been Lower Canadians, most of whom were French-speaking. Their colonel knew this was a battle that should not have been so easily won. That evening in a letter written to his father, de Salaberry reported in near wonder, “I have won a victory mounted on a wooden horse.”26

  EIGHTEEN

  Under Great Danger

  FALL 1813

  October 26 found Maj. Gen. James W
ilkinson and his 300 supply-laden boats protected by a dozen gunboats trapped on Grenadier Island at the head of the St. Lawrence River by a ferocious storm. Icy rain and screaming winds foretold an early onset of winter. Many of the boats were reduced to so much worthless kindling by pounding waves. Marching along the river’s south bank, the thousands of troops, chilled and soaked to the bone, became increasingly despondent. At Ogdensburg they halted to await the boats. Not until November 6 did the weather lift and, under cover of darkness, Wilkinson and the remains of his flotilla quietly drifted past British sentries standing on the ramparts of Fort Wellington.

  The only positive development Wilkinson could detect so far was that Armstrong no longer looked directly over his shoulder to counter his every plan with one of his own. Just before Wilkinson boarded one of the scows, the war secretary had announced his intention to return to Albany, where he would await word from both generals as to their progress toward Montreal. “I shall forbear my visit to Canada until a future day,” he wrote airily to President Madison.1

  Having arrived in Albany on November 8 and being entirely out of contact with Wilkinson, he wrote Madison again to say that the general and his 8,000 troops should be well along down the St. Lawrence “and I have no doubt but that by today the army will be near Montreal.” As for Hampton’s defeat, of which he had just been informed, Armstrong declared that the general had “wisely declined the invitation” to battle. The following day Armstrong read in a Canadian newspaper that Hampton’s 4,000 had been routed by only 460 French Canadians. He dashed off a pre-emptory note to the president explaining Hampton’s action as necessitated by his facing a heavily fortified fortress that forced his withdrawal to seek a better route to Montreal. He also thought that Prevost’s regulars had bested Hampton at Châteauguay rather than French-Canadian militia—this claim being merely propaganda—and consequently the British commander stood between Hampton and Wilkinson. So positioned, Prevost could be easily dealt with by either army or by both coming together like a hammer striking an anvil with the British smote in the middle.2 This was, of course, all prattle. Prevost was in Montreal. Brilliant general he might not be, but neither was Prevost fool enough to allow his forces to be so trapped.

  At Ogdensburg, Wilkinson dithered and vacillated. He was sick again, racked by dysentery and quaffing hefty doses of laudanum and whisky. Illness, alcohol, and drugs rendered the general at times incoherent; next moment he became “very merry, and sung, and repeated stories.”3 Often he issued orders contradicting those he’d given shortly before.

  Before him lay the 8-mile Long Sault rapids, behind a little pack of about 600 British regulars from Kingston commanded by Lt. Col. Joseph W. Morrison of the 89th Regiment of Foot. These soon picked up about 200 or more Canadian Fencibles, Voltigeurs, Indians, and even some gunners from a militia artillery unit who dragged with them a six-pounder field gun. This force nipped at Wilkinson’s heels, like some nasty terrier that no amount of rearguard forces could shake off. Should he turn and fight them? Or were they best ignored? A nuisance certainly, but surely not a deadly threat. The rapids were another matter. It would be a trick getting all the boats down safely, impossible if the British manned their side of the river. To guard against that he had to put soldiers over there.

  As reported by scouts who had interrogated local farmers, what lay ahead was fearful. Endless savage rapids went all the way to Montreal, batteries of cannon covered every narrows, packs of bloodthirsty Indians lurked in the woods, 5,000 redcoats and 20,000 militia blocked the way. There were also troubling reports that Morrison’s small force would soon be reinforced by gunboats commanded by Capt. William Howe Mulcaster, the British second-in-command of the Lake Ontario fleet. On board the vessels were 1,500 regulars from Kingston. If that proved true, where would Wilkinson be?

  Wilkinson wanted most to turn around and retreat to Sackets Harbor, return to a warm bed and a toasty fire, settle in for the winter. He had no faith in this venture, could not possibly see how they were to get to Montreal. Having received orders about setting up winter quarters, Wilkinson doubted Armstrong seriously thought the operation would succeed. Of Hampton there was no word. Had he crossed the border? Was he even now closing on Montreal?

  Unable to come to any decision, wishing to pass responsibility to others, Wilkinson convened a council of war on the night of November 7. Propped up in his bed, he outlined his many concerns. Wilkinson asked his six most senior officers to vote on whether to proceed or turn back. To his dismay, four voted to continue, more to preserve honour than from expectation of success. Gloomily, Wilkinson commented, “we proceed from this place under great danger … we know of no other alternative.”4

  To cover the movement down the rapids, Wilkinson deployed Brig. Gen. Jacob Brown’s brigade of 2,500 along with some artillery and dragoons to join a detachment of 1,200 sent earlier to the Canadian shore. Rain and sleet fell in unrelenting sheets. Canadian militia sniped at the columns from woods and melted away before American skirmishers could respond. To Wilkinson’s horror, a couple of gunboats closed on the rear of his flotilla and brought it under fire. Although they caused no damage, the general realized that Mulcaster had caught up. Had he landed more troops? The threat to his rear was too serious to ignore. Late on the evening of November 10, Wilkinson sighted the head of the rapids. On the Canadian shore, Brown worried over the slow pace, 80 miles in eight days. His men were drenched, freezing, and already exhausted. He boarded Wilkinson’s cramped passage boat to hurry things along. The general was too ill to see him, issuing written instruction “from my bed.” The flotilla would enter the dangerous rapids in the morning. Brown was to cover the move. But Brig. Gen. John Parker Boyd would put 2,000 regulars across the river and clear the British from off his tail.

  Morrison, meanwhile, passed the night in the spacious comfort of John Crysler’s farmhouse hard by the river and King’s Highway that ran from Kingston to Montreal while his men huddled under whatever shelter they could find. A good night’s rest gave the fifty-year-old officer heart. Half his life had been spent as a soldier. Morrison had marched to battle in Holland, the Caribbean, and now Canada. This was his first time at the head of a battalion-sized unit, though, and every moment passed added confidence. Just after dawn, Morrison was considering whether it was likely they would fight today or continue the wearying pursuit when his scouts reported the Americans approaching.

  Although they were soon revealed as only a small reconnaissance party, Morrison decided to deploy for battle. If the Americans came in force he would be outnumbered, so best use the ground to advantage. On his right lay the river with Mulcaster’s gunboats just behind the front line, to his left a dense wood of black ash grew out of swampy ground. A rutted track from the farmhouses to the forest was at his back. A stout fence built of cedar logs paralleled the track and presented a formidable wall behind which his men faced east toward the Americans. In that direction a half-mile of open field extended to a ravine cut by a small stream that stretched from the woods to the river. Half of the muddy field closest to the British sprouted winter wheat while the rest was ploughed. Two small gullies thrust westward like crooking fingers into the field from the river’s edge but petered out a third of the way to the woods.

  Morrison had 600 regulars of the 49th and 89th regiments behind the fenceline, with the 89th standing closest to the woods. Between the two gullies, by the King’s Highway, 240 men commanded by Lt. Col. Thomas Pearson were positioned. This was a mixed force of two companies of the 49th, three companies of Canadian Voltigeurs, a detachment of Canadian Fencibles, and the score of militia gunners who served the six-pounder gun. Out as far as the ravine more Voltigeurs and some Indian warriors formed a thin skirmish line. They were not to stand and fight. Rather, Morrison’s instruction to the skirmishers was that they draw the Americans toward his centre by luring them into a running fight.5

  It was not until two that wet, dreary Thursday afternoon that the Voltigeurs—almost invisible in a grey light
coloured much like their uniforms—spotted advancing infantry. When the Americans were in range the Voltigeurs popped up from behind shrubs and out of folds in the ground to loose a light volley of balls. Quickly another volley followed and then the men fired at will. The Americans hesitated, those in the lead turning to withdraw, those behind pressing forward. Officers shouted, the line stiffened, came on. The Canadian skirmishers gave ground quickly, pausing to fire, reloading on the run at times, turning again to fire, until they were back inside the British lines.

  The Americans put a brace of cannon close by the river so that they could pound Pearson’s men, knock out the little six-pounder, and force this forward group back. Boyd then massed his infantry by brigades into three columns about 250 feet apart with the leftward column following a line that would turn Pearson’s flank. Each column moved toward Morrison’s regulars at the fence, coming on in a deep, closely grouped formation with one line of men treading closely behind the next. This was a formation favoured by Napoleon’s Grande Armée, one that required great discipline and fearlessness under fire. Stumbling through the mud, it was also hard for each man to maintain his interval.

  And then Morrison’s regulars opened fire with a continuous rain of volleys, while Pearson’s men opened from closer range. The Americans pushed into the hail of balls until they were almost parallel with the first gully, close to Pearson’s flank, but then halted and each column widened out. Standing in the field, the Americans returned the British volleys with their own. The cannon were dragged up alongside the column closest to the river and the Americans engaged the six-pounder at a range of less than 1,000 feet.

  Boyd, realizing his infantry could not gain the British main line unaided, ordered Brig. Gen. Robert Swartwout’s brigade to cut alongside the edge of the woods and turn the flank of the regulars holding the fenceline. Once in the British rear the column would roll the redcoats up by driving them toward the river.