Classic History Books

William Wood - The Winning of Canada: A Chronicle of Wolfe

the sailors as they landed the rest of Monckton's men, and their own eagerness to come to close quarters
at once, the Louisbourg men suddenly lost their heads and charged before everything was ready. The rest

followed them pell-mell; and in less than five minutes the redoubt was swarming with excited grenadiers,

while the French who had held it were clambering up the grassy hill into the safer entrenchments.

The redoubt was certainly no place to stay in. It had no shelter towards its rear; and dozens of French
cannon and thousands of French muskets were firing into it from the heights. An immediate retirement

was the only proper course. But there was no holding the men now. They broke into another mad charge,

straight at the hill. As they reached it, amid a storm of musket balls and grape-shot, the heavens joined in

with a terrific storm of their own. The rain burst in a perfect deluge; and the hill became almost

impossible to climb, even if there had been no enemy pouring death-showers of fire from the top. When

Wolfe saw what was happening he immediately sent officers running after the grenadiers to make them

come back from the redoubt, and these officers now passed the word to retire at once. This time the

grenadiers, all that were left of them, obeyed. Their two mad rushes had not lasted a quarter of an hour.

Yet nearly half of the thousand men they started with were lying dead or wounded on that fatal ground.

Wolfe now saw that he was hopelessly beaten and that there was not a minute to lose in getting away.
The boats could take only Monckton's men; and the rising tide would soon cut off Townshend's and

Murray's from their camp beyond the mouth of the Montmorency. The two stranded transports, from

which he had hoped so much that morning, were set on fire; and, under cover of their smoke and of the

curtain of torrential rain, Monckton's crestfallen men got into their boats once more. Townshend's and

Murray's brigades, enraged at not being brought into action, turned to march back by the way they had

come so eagerly only an hour before. They moved off in perfect order; but, as they left the battlefield,

they waved their hats in defiance at the jeering Frenchmen, challenging them to come down and fight it

out with bayonets hand to hand.

Many gallant deeds were done that afternoon; but none more gallant than those of Captain Ochterloney
and Lieutenant Peyton, both grenadier officers in the Royal Americans. Ochterloney had just been

wounded in a duel; but he said his country's honour came before his own, and, sick and wounded as he

was, he spent those panting hours in the boats without a murmur and did all he could to form his men up

under fire. In the second charge he fell, shot through the lungs, with Peyton beside him, shot through the

leg. When Wolfe called the grenadiers back a rescue party wanted to carry off both officers, to save them

from the scalping-knife. But Ochterloney said he would never leave the field after such a defeat; and

Peyton said he would never leave his captain. Presently a Canadian regular came up with two Indians,

grabbed Ochterloney's watch, sword and money, and left the Indians to finish him. One of these savages

clubbed him with a musket, while the other shot him in the chest and dashed in with a scalping-knife. In

the meantime, Peyton crawled on his hands and knees to a double-barrelled musket and shot one Indian

dead, but missed the other. This savage now left Ochterloney, picked up a bayonet and rushed at Peyton,

who drew his dagger. A terrible life-and-death fight followed; but Peyton at last got a good point well

driven home, straight through the Indian's heart. A whole scalping party now appeared. Ochterloney was

apparently dead, and Peyton was too exhausted to fight any more. But, at this very moment, another

British party came back for the rest of the wounded and carried Peyton off to the boats.

Then the Indians came back to scalp Ochterloney. By this time, however, some French regulars had
come down, and one of them, finding Ochterloney still alive, drove off the Indians at the point of the

bayonet, secured help, and carried him up the hill. Montcalm had him carefully taken into the General

Hospital, where he was tenderly nursed by the nuns. Two days after he had been rescued, a French


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