Edge of reason, p.25
Edge of Reason, page 25
“The artillery will keep them at bay,” MacKim said, with false confidence. He flinched as a French shell exploded not far from the entrance to the Rangers’ barracks, and pieces of masonry and shell casings hammered against the walls. “The poor people of Quebec,” he said. “No sooner do they rebuild their houses after one siege than another starts. They must despise us now.”
However, MacKim was proved correct. The preponderance of British artillery overcame that first French attack. By the afternoon of the 12th May, the French artillery fire had slackened to a few shots an hour, and the British guns continued to pound the French siege lines.
“We’re driving them back!” Chisholm said, chewing on MacKim’s short pipe. “The Chevalier de Levis will have to concentrate all his guns at one point, or try an assault with scaling ladders without making a breach in our walls. If he accepts the initial casualties, his numbers will overwhelm us.”
That day, news came that another British frigate had been seen further down the river.
“The Navy’s coming!” The news spread through the garrison, bringing hope to men wearied by a long and hungry winter.
“Now de Levis is in a quandary,” Chisholm puffed. “He will know that the Navy is coming, and that might alter the siege completely. It’s like the queen on a chessboard. The Navy is our queen, the most powerful piece we possess, as the French army is their queen.”
“Our army is powerful, too,” Ramsay complained.
“Is it?” Chisholm indicated a platoon of redcoats that filed past. Half the men were staggering as they marched, riddled with scurvy and weak with starvation. He shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”
The French artillery was quiet the following day, only firing half a dozen rounds. Their solid shot hammered against the walls, while two shells fizzed in the air and exploded inside the city without causing any casualties.
“They’re bombarding their own people,” MacRae said. “Don’t the French have any humanity?”
“No more than we have,” Chisholm said. “De Levis will know we’ve evacuated the civilians.”
All except Claudette and Hugo. I hope they are all right. I’ll look for them the next time I am off-duty.
Ramsay watched as another shell arced overhead. “Maybe the French will give up, now HMS Lowestoft’s arrived.”
“Only one vessel?” MacKim said. “No, one vessel won’t scare the French. They can hold it off easily enough. One vessel might just encourage de Levis to attack all the sooner.”
By the 14th of May, the French had advanced their siege lines to within three hundred yards of the walls.
The British made their final preparations for defence. Again, officers helped haul the artillery into position and sick men staggered to the walls, leaning against the stonework for the support their legs could no longer provide. Murray began to transport some of his stores into his small sloops in Quebec’s harbour, determined to leave as little as possible for the French when they captured the town.
“The French will come tomorrow,” Chisholm said. “De Levis knows the Navy is coming, and how weak we are.” He thrust his pipe into his mouth. “Tomorrow is the day, boys, and Canada is the prize.”
MacKim looked over the battlements, seeing the French lines. Somewhere out there, amidst the regulars and Canadians, Lucas de Langdon was waiting, with Tayanita’s scalp at his belt and murder in his heart.
Tomorrow, MacKim promised. Tomorrow I will kill you, de Langdon, or you will kill me.
25
“Rangers,” Kennedy could hardly hide his smile as he entered the barrack-room, “the Navy is on its way. The general wants us to watch the river to ensure they arrive and report back to him.”
“We can see the river from the battlements, sir,” MacKim pointed out.
“I want a small team to check on the French ships, and then journey downriver,” Kennedy said.
“Yes, sir. How many men?”
“Six,” Kennedy said. “Sufficient to take care of ourselves, but not too many to alert the French. You, me and four volunteers, Chisholm, MacRae, Parnell and Dickert.”
“Do the volunteers know yet, sir?” MacKim asked.
“You can tell them as soon as you like,” Kennedy said generously.
“Thank you, sir. When do we leave?”
“At nightfall.” Kennedy was still smiling. “I hope you had no plans with that French woman I know nothing about.”
“No, sir,” MacKim said.
Kennedy nodded and slipped away.
“That canoe! Stop!” The officer of the watch on HMS Lowestoft was alert.
“Friends!” Kennedy called up to him.
“Who the devil are you?”
“Lieutenant Kennedy of the Rangers,” Kennedy replied softly.
“Rangers?” Although the naval officer was invisible in the dark, there was no mistaking the respect in his voice. “Off on some mad escapade, are you?”
“That’s what we do,” Kennedy replied and paddled on.
MacKim concentrated on his canoe-training from eighteen months previously and followed Kennedy out of the harbour into the dark waters of the St Lawrence. The current was more powerful than he had expected, forcing him to dig deep as he paddled upstream, where the French navy waited out of range of Quebec’s artillery.
Kennedy pushed the canoe beside the shore, with the water, still with traces of ice, translucent underneath. MacKim followed, already thankful for a rest. His paddling skills had deteriorated from lack of use.
They stopped where a fallen tree offered a modicum of shelter, and while MacKim positioned the men to watch for the enemy, Kennedy extended his telescope. “Nothing changed here.” He sounded disappointed. “The French have two frigates, two armed ships and a host of smaller craft in the river, but no floating gun batteries.” He smiled.
MacKim nodded. “Aye, and a dozen of them would make all the difference; they’re devilishly hard to sink.”
“Murray can thank the Rangers for that,” Kennedy said. “Now, we’ll look for our Navy. Keep close. Just guide the canoe; let the current do the work.”
They headed downstream, with the city lights glinting over the Basin of Quebec and an occasional cannon firing from the French camp. The L’Île d’Orleans was dark and mysterious to their left, with faint glints of light from the settlements on the river’s south bank.
There was something vaguely unsettling about gliding downstream on the St Lawrence as if they were deserting their comrades in besieged Quebec. MacKim glanced over his shoulder as the British cannon unleashed a volley, with the muzzle-flares orange against the night, momentarily highlighting the shape of the walls. The darkness was all the more intense when it returned, and MacKim cursed and looked forward.
“Look there.” Chisholm tapped MacKim on the shoulder. “I think the Navy has arrived.”
“Either ours or a French patrol,” MacKim said.
The ships were ghosting upriver, with a leadsman in the chains chanting the river depth and only topsails set. The nearest was huge, a two-decker with rows of gunports closed and no visible flag. The second was two cable-lengths astern, barely seen except for the gleam of her sails.
“If they’re French, then Quebec will fall,” Chisholm said.
“Only one way to find out,” Kennedy said, “be prepared to paddle for your lives, boys.” He raised his voice in a roar. “Ship ahoy! Who are you?”
“His Majesty’s Ship Vanguard, Commodore Swanton,” the reply came, in a reassuringly English West Country voice, “and His Majesty’s Frigate Diana, Captain Schomberg. Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Kennedy of the Rangers,” Kennedy shouted, as a mixture of pleasure and relief swept across the Rangers. “Welcome to Quebec, sir!”
In the evening of the 15th May, Commodore Swanton in HMS Vanguard of seventy guns, with Captain Schomberg in HM Frigate Diana, with thirty-two guns, joined Captain Deane in HMS Lowestoft off Port Levis. As soon as the ships arrived, General Murray sent a message requesting the Navy to remove the two French frigates and smaller vessels that were aiding the siege of Quebec.
MacKim and Kennedy watched as Diana and Lowestoft slipped their cables on the morning of the 16th, with a hazy mist rising from the waters of the St Lawrence. The seamen worked with a quiet discipline that impressed MacKim, and the ships were soon moving upstream, with the water hissing under their counters and the blue-uniformed officers on the quarterdeck.
“I’ve never seen a naval battle,” MacKim said.
As the Royal Navy moved off, MacKim saw the gun ports open like a score of staring eyes and heard a sinister rumble as the broadside cannon rolled out. The sight was chilling, and MacKim wondered what it must be like to watch a line-of-battle ship surging closer, with thirty cannon or more waiting to fire and nowhere to run or hide.
The French vessels did not remain to fight. With the two Royal Navy ships bearing down upon them, they cut their anchor chains and tried to flee upstream.
The French retreated at speed, with the more powerful Royal Navy vessels following relentlessly. Lowestoft’s guns drove one of the French frigates, Pomona, on shore just above Cape Diamond, with the French crew tumbling from the vessel in near panic.
“That’s one French ship less,” Chisholm said.
“Still one frigate left,” MacKim pointed out.
The second French frigate, Atalanta, did not last much longer. MacKim could not see the action but saw a column of smoke and heard the news from the returning Royal Navy.
“We got her,” a grinning seaman on Diana responded to Chisholm’s enquiry. “We ran her ashore at Pointe-aux-Trembles and set fire to her.”
“Three cheers for the Navy!” Ramsay shouted, and other regiments joined the Rangers’ hurrahs, with even the most straight-faced officers allowing some leeway.
The shore between Quebec and Point au Tremble was littered with minor French vessels and pieces of French equipment. The Royal Navy simply drove the smaller enemy vessels ashore and left them there, blasting holes in their hulls to ensure the French could not quickly refloat them.
“The French have no answer to the Navy,” MacKim said with satisfaction.
The news came downstream later that the Navy did not have things all their own way, as Lowestoft ran onto a hidden rock. She was lost, although there were no casualties.
Chisholm puffed at his pipe. “And that was that,” he said. “We have brought our queen into play and removed the French knights. Now de Levis has to counter. If he attacks quickly and captures Quebec, he can still win this game. Wooden-walled ships won’t defeat the stone walls of a city, and we don’t have sufficient men here to mount a siege.”
“Listen, boys.” Kennedy appeared at the door of the barracks. “General Murray intends to make a sortie tomorrow.”
The Rangers gave a small, ironic cheer. “Better than sitting behind stone walls waiting for them to come to us,” Parnell said. “Are we involved?”
“We’re going in front to reconnoitre,” Kennedy said, “with a Lieutenant McAlpin.” Kennedy gave a small smile that might have meant anything. “General Murray has ordered McAlpin, and I quote, to ‘amuse the enemy with small sallies’, so that seems to give us free rein to do as we wish.”
“Small sallies, sir?” Parnell repeated the phrase. “Small sallies against twelve thousand Frenchmen?” He shook his head. “That will send de Levis running back to Montreal.”
“Your sarcasm is noted, Parnell,” Kennedy said. “We’ll get out there and amuse them as best we can, and, more importantly, we’ll gather intelligence and see if they’re massing for an assault.”
Lieutenant McAlpin was a slim young man with an eager smile despite the deep lines of hardship etched on his face. He led a mixed force of lights and Royal Americans, who nodded to the Rangers as both units slipped out of Quebec.
“Here we go, men.” McAlpin twitched nervously as a cannon barked from Quebec. “Let’s hope the gunners don’t think we’re French, eh?”
MacKim felt the atmosphere alter as soon as he stepped into no-man’s-land beyond the wall. He curled a hand around the stock of his musket, drawing strength from the smooth wood.
“Come on, lads, and keep your heads down.” He knew that Murray intended these raids to slow the French advance and lower their morale, but he also knew they could have the opposite effect if they failed. A constant trickle of casualties on an already weak garrison would not help the defender’s cause.
“I’ll take the French left flank if you take the right, Kennedy,” McAlpin said and led his men away.
Kennedy kept his head down as his Rangers followed, each man silent, knowing the Indians and Canadians could be hunting for them in the dark. MacKim was unsure if moving in the open spaces was preferable to operating in the forests. He was used to the confinement of the trees now and felt more exposed in this bleaker environment.
With only a few hundred yards to cover before they reached the French third parallel, the Rangers moved cautiously, then dropped to a crawl. MacKim listened, expecting to hear the murmur of sentries talking to each other, a subdued cough, or the rattle of a musket on the parapet.
There was nothing. There was not a whisper of sound in the still air.
Kennedy looked sideways to catch MacKim’s eye and shook his head. MacKim nodded and crawled forward, inching over the still-frost-hard ground. Somewhere a bird called, the sound lonely in the night. Keeping his head down, MacKim slid onward, holding his musket so the metal barrel did not clatter against a stone.
There was still no sound. Taking a deep breath and prepared for a sudden eruption of Indians or Canadians, MacKim moved again, very slowly, feeling the tension knot his stomach. His harsh breathing seemed to echo in the dark, announcing his presence like the Brigade of Guard’s band.
A voice floated from behind them as a nervous sentry on Quebec’s walls shouted a challenge: “Pikestaff!”
MacKim froze, hoping the sound did not alert the French. He lay still, hugging the ground, trying to appear part of the night. The sentry called again and fired his musket, the single report shattering the night.
A sergeant growled a reprimand, and then silence returned, pressing on the Rangers as they lay only yards outside the French trenches.
MacKim slid forward another few inches, stifled a curse as a fickle wind shifted the clouds and allowed starlight to illuminate the Heights. Taking a chance, MacKim looked up; he could not see any sentries. He would expect to see the gleam of a white French uniform caught in the starlight, the reflection of a musket barrel or even a white face as a wary sentry peered towards the British positions.
There was nothing except the shape of heaped earth and the serrated edge of a fascine.
Taking a final deep breath, MacKim crawled the last few feet to the lip of the French trench and peered inside. He looked right and left, seeing a litter of equipment, a scaling ladder, fixed fascines but no sentries.
Kennedy joined him, his face puzzled. On Kennedy’s nod, MacKim dropped inside the trench with his musket held ready for an ambush. The ground was hard underfoot, with the trench beautifully squared off but empty of people.
“This is strange.” Kennedy mouthed the words and pointed left. MacKim moved that way, with his musket pointing ahead of him. He heard the soft slither of bodies behind him and knew the other Rangers were following. At least he was not alone in this hostile trench.
“God be with me,” Ramsay muttered and added, “there’s nobody here. The French have abandoned the attack.”
“Quiet, Ramsay!” MacKim rebuked in a savage whisper. “They might be waiting for us.” He remembered the ambush when Lindsay’s Rangers lost half their men.
The third parallel was deserted. The Rangers traversed it from end to end, checking the saps for ambushes; there was nobody here.
“Move on,” Kennedy whispered and entered a sap that led to the second parallel.
MacKim located another sap, forty yards away and probed in, very wary of an ambush, his heart pounding as he moved forward, expecting a Canadian to lunge from the dark.
The second parallel was as empty as the first, and MacKim and Kennedy exchanged stares with Lieutenant McAlpin and the Royal Americans.
“Is this a gigantic trap?” Kennedy asked. “Where the devil are they?”
“Listen,” MacKim said. “Can you hear that?”
The tapping of the drum was faint, yet the more MacKim listened, the more he heard. The regular tramp of marching feet, the rumble of wheels and even a single barked order.
“The French are withdrawing,” Kennedy said in astonishment. “They’ve lifted the siege.”
26
Exploring the French lines had taken longer than MacKim thought, so the night was already fading when the Rangers merged with McAlpin’s men and hurried back to Quebec.
“Who goes?” The Rangers expected the challenge.
“Friend!” Kennedy shouted.
“Aye, right. What’s the parole?” The voice was distinctly Highland as it demanded the password.
“Pikestaff!” Kennedy shouted.
“Wolfe!” The sentry gave the countersign. “Pass, friend,” and the gate opened a moment later.
When the Rangers scrambled through the gate, they found that General Murray had assembled most of the garrison. Amherst’s, Lascelles, Townshend’s and Anstruther’s regiments, together with the Highlanders, the grenadiers and the light infantry, all stood ready to file out and attack the French.
“Sir!” Lieutenants McAlpin and Kennedy approached Murray.
“You look pleased with yourselves.” Murray adjusted his wig. “Yet I did not hear any firing.”
“No, sir,” McAlpin said. “There was nobody to fire at. The French have abandoned their trenches, sir.”
“They’re pulling out, sir,” Kennedy added. “We heard them marching in the distance.”
Murray snapped his fingers. “They’ve pulled out, by God! Then we have them!” He raised his voice to carry past the knot of officers that surrounded him to the mustered regiments. “I intended a sally to disrupt their attack, but now we can inflict such a defeat on them that we’ll forget our reverse of the 28th April. With these brave men, we’ll give the French a bloody nose and a kick up the breeches!”
