Sam lifted his chin and stared out at the blue sky. The wind rose a little and his long hair lifted. For a moment he looked as he once had when up in the rigging. The pride of Pembroke. The officer raised a handkerchief he held in his hand. The dropping of it would be the signal to fire.
“Fair winds, Jenkins,” Sam said.
Unwilling to watch, I turned and walked away. Seven shots rang out. I couldn’t block out the thud as Sam’s body hit the ground.
It was with the heaviest of hearts that I walked to the Foulon beach, where I found Baldish among the wounded. Mercifully, he was unconscious. A tourniquet was tied around his left leg, whose calf was shattered and torn. Even if Mrs. Job or one of the surgeons could save his life, he would surely lose the leg. As I joined the men who were being ferried over to the shore at Pointe Lévis, I fell into luck. One of the longboats belonged to Pembroke. And so instead of being taken to the hospital, I was rowed to our ship.
A lump formed in my throat as I watched her draw nearer. Back I went to that day at Halifax when the ferry had taken me across the harbour. It seemed so long ago. But when I was once again on her deck, with King Louis barking like mad as he wound around my legs, the only thing I felt was happiness.
“You are alive!” Tom Pike cried over and over again in wonder.
Davy slapped me across the shoulder every time Tom said it. “Ben Fence said it was so, but we could scarce believe him. Alive!”
“Not for long, if you keep beating him like that,” said Gum. “Come, lad. First we shall clean up that wound and then we shall take you to the captain. Later we will find you a bit of bread and cheese for your supper.”
“And a clean shirt,” said Davy, “for yours is quite bloody.”
Captain Wheelock was below in the great cabin. Next to him stood Mr. Cook, his hands behind his back. Both were as serious as I had ever seen them, their faces set in the most Royal Navy manner. I was asked to give an account of my experiences, and so I did, recounting my capture, Vairon, my release. I even mentioned our old motto — To friendship and adventure. All of it, right up to the long battle and my part in it … the charge … the dying men …
“Long? Well, a battle can seem to go on without end. Fifteen minutes or so,” said Captain Wheelock.
“Which fifteen minutes, sir?” I asked.
“My boy, that is how long we are told it all lasted. There was the skirmishing before and the mop up after, but the battle itself? A mere quarter hour,” the captain told me.
“You may close your mouth, Jenkins,” said Mr. Cook.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good enough, Jenkins,” finished the captain. “Return to your mess.”
“And take this with you.” Mr. Cook held out my journal. “Your possessions were all sold at the mast, of course. I bought this knowing that Mr. Bushell back in Halifax would want to read and perhaps publish it.”
“Mr. Cook believes you have the makings of something more than a seaman, Jenkins,” said Captain Wheelock. “If you ever have the opportunity to take advantage of that possibility, do not miss it.”
“I will not, sir!”
That night I climbed into my hammock in borrowed clothing, which would do until I could make some of my own. It was, in fact, clothing given to me by Boston Ben. He said not a word while doing so, but Tom and Gum nodded in approval.
“We five are all that is left of the old mess,” said Tom, ruffling Davy’s hair.
“Six, if Baldish manages to live through his wounds.”
The journal I placed under the rolled blanket I used as a pillow. King Louis, his belly bulging with a rat supper, grumbled at my feet. I did not suppose I would sleep. Far too much had happened. I closed my eyes to rest them, and when they opened, it was to the sound of holystones scraping on the deck.
By nine the next morning, all the longboats in the fleet were landing artillery. Cannons, howitzers, mortars were all dragged up the Foulon Road to the plains. It took hundreds of us to haul these heavy weapons, something we did in the naval style. Midshipmen from a number of ships marched along with us. When a cannon or mortar would roll too far to the left, they would shout, “Starboard, starboard, my brave boys.” That would help us to haul more to the right. It was something that passing soldiers seemed to find very amusing.
Up on the plains, the French were now firing shells and shot from Québec’s walls down onto our army. I heard that several of our army’s officers had been wounded. General Townsend, who was now in charge, issued orders regarding the siege. Men were fashioning log walls behind which they would fire, or digging trenches and piling earth for the same purpose.
We heard that General Montcalm had been shot on the field of battle during the French retreat. He had died sometime after that and had been buried in the town. As for us, close to 600 had been wounded, and 61 were reported dead. Those bodies must be buried, and buried quickly. Already they were swelling in the heat, drawing clouds of flies and flocks of crows. It was, I supposed, better than doing what the men out in the countryside were doing. Detachments of soldiers and sailors were still burning scores of farmhouses along the river.
With handkerchiefs tied over their noses and mouths, the burial parties laid men to rest in unmarked mass graves. If the battle itself had been hard, this was worse. At least when you were fighting, you had a chance. These fellows — French, Canadian and English — would never see home again. I kept my eyes from it as well as I could. Friend or enemy, it would have been too sad to see Vairon among those remains. Besides, he had spirit and he had luck. I hoped he lived.
Chapter 10
September 14, 1759
For five days after the battle, we Pembrokes joined in the siege work. Each night we returned to the ship. More and more firing came from the French batteries.
Finally, one morning we all squinted at the signal flags that were being hoisted on Stirling Castle. “Signal for a lieutenant,” I mouthed silently. One by one the ships launched boats and over went the required officers. Back they came bearing messages.
“Make ready to sail,” Captain Wheelock ordered. We all rushed to our positions.
Seven of our biggest ships — Pembroke among them — weighed anchor. It was slow, hard labour, as always.
I had watched our warships from the walls of Québec. They were fearful in what they could do. The French would understand that if we came in once again on the night tide, they would be attacked by sea and land.
“They will be reconsidering their stubbornness now,” laughed Tom later, as we prepared to spend the night. He was feeding King Louis a bit of salt pork. “See there! Admiral Saunders is going ashore and the French will give up. If I am wrong about it, may this dog have my dinner for a month.”
When dawn broke the next morning, I knew Tom was correct, and so his rations were safe from Louis. There it was: a flag of truce flying over the town. Later, Captain Palliser from Shrewsbury came on board and gave Captain Wheelock the news.
Mr. Cook passed it to us. “Québec has surrendered. God save the King!”
How we cheered at this news. I joined the Pembrokes in shouting out “Huzzah!” until my throat was raw. An extra ration of rum was issued for all hands, which was downed quickly. Not having the head for such drink, I traded mine for a clean shirt.
Our task would be to take possession of the lower part of town that afternoon at three-thirty, we were told. The army would do the same in the upper town, raising the Union flag. And so, led by Captain Palliser, a large group of sailors and lower-ranking officers loaded into ships’ boats. Each of us was armed. I carried a wickedly sharp axe and prayed I would not hack off my own toes before we landed. Cannon fire that surely was the French boomed out from the direction of the St. Charles River. I wondered if they had not heard that the siege was over.
But there was no resistance. In the cool wind and rain, Québec’s citizens were unsmiling, except for some young women who winked at us prettily. Davy made vomiting noises, Tom winked back, but I igno
red them.
“They say some of our soldiers and sailors have married girls from this town,” said Ben. “Orders have been given forbidding anyone else to do so.” That caused Davy to make even louder vomiting noises, which made us all laugh.
We marched up the shattered, rubble-filled streets to a hill overlooking the lower town. There, where all the ships out in the basin could see it, the British colours were raised. It was a splendid moment, at least for us.
Someone whispered that it was four o’clock, and that we should celebrate this day and hour all our lives. The great guns from our ships of war roared out a salute. There were even more huzzahs than earlier, cheers that barely drowned out the sound of the cannon blasts.
“What would General Wolfe think of all this?” I asked no one.
“Not much,” Ben shouted back, and I knew he would never change. “For he’s dead, ain’t he? After all this carrying on, he’s dead. His corpse is on Royal William now, they say.”
“But he did it. He won the day. Maybe his ghost is huzzahing with us,” Davy suggested. “That would be a fine thing, would it not, William?”
“We won the day, Davy,” I answered. “He lost all the rest of his. But, yes. It would be very fine, indeed.”
That evening I wrote in my journal for the first time in three weeks. The pencil felt a bit strange in my fingers, and my writing looked equally odd. Still, I felt I must put it down.
I cheered when Québec surrendered. Now a melancholy feeling has begun to creep over me. Mr. Bushell talked about how the Romans and Greeks used to march triumphantly into a place when they had conquered it. I am loyal to our cause, but I did not feel very triumphant, I have to say. Mr. Cook says that the terms given to the French were generous and fair. The army will be deported, as will certain prisoners. The citizens must swear an oath to King George, but they may practise their religion, farm their land and conduct themselves as before.
How will they do that, I wonder. How can any of us? It has all been at a very great cost, I fear, and I think that the peace here will be a restless one for a long while. Still, when I consider that men on both sides were willing to pay that price …
I was not certain how to end the sentence, and I considered crossing it out. But then, I wrote the only thing I could.
Huzzah, General Wolfe. Huzzah, General Montcalm.
* * *
If anyone thought that winning the battle would see an end to hard work, he was mistaken. Twenty-five English prisoners were brought on board, all of them deserters. They would be tried and executed back in England, for there was seldom any mercy regarding desertion. We continued to land supplies and bring down French artillery from the upper town. There was the daunting task of bringing on board the ship’s two twenty-four-pound guns that had been at Lévis all these weeks. And almost 700 pounds of fresh beef were loaded onto Pembroke, while we watched four transports set sail for France. On them was the French garrison. It all amounted to several good days’ employment.
On the 23rd of September our mess was given a day of shore leave, and it was with great excitement that we put on clean clothing, braided one another’s hair, and made ready to explore Québec. All except me. I had seen enough of Québec. Still, I wanted to see Vairon. Surely he and Monsieur Fidèle still lived.
“Come on, William,” said Tom. “All work and no play makes for a dull tar.”
“Dull as old paint,” added Gum. “And you know the town. You may give us a tour.”
“Let Ben show you,” I said. “He has been there as well.”
“But, William,” said Davy, “Ben did not see where General Wolfe fell. I must see it myself if I am to tell my grandchildren the glorious tale some day.”
It seemed like a good idea. Now, though, I wonder what Davy will tell his grandchildren. We saw nothing of glory. Instead, the setting of Wolfe’s death was melancholy. Even with the dead buried, crows still haunted the field. And the city itself was a shell of a place. The bishop’s house, the cathedral, the convent — all were in ruins. Hundreds of houses had burned and those that remained had huge holes that you could see right through. The streets were filled with more rubble than ever, and pocked with enormous craters. That did not stop bands of soldiers from looting, though. Davy’s spirits dropped lower and lower. Mine did no better.
Finally Tom said, “I suppose there would not be a tavern left in this forsaken mess? That would be too much to ask.”
“Perhaps there is,” I answered.
And so it was that we came to be standing in front of Monsieur Fidèle’s stable. The door was closed and so were the shutters. I knocked. Nothing. I pounded. Still nothing.
“What is that awful sound?” asked Davy.
It was Monsieur Fidèle’s hurdy-gurdy, which he was slowly playing as he sat behind the stable.
“Have you come to gloat?” he spat. “If you have, go somewhere else and do it. I have taken the oath of allegiance to your king, just as required. May St. Gentian and Le Bon Dieu forgive me.”
“No gloating. We have merely come for your spruce beer,” I told him. “And I hoped for a bit of news of Vairon.”
Fidèle said nothing. He simply led us inside, the hurdy-gurdy cradled in his arms like a baby. Once the beer had been poured into cups, he sat down heavily and said, “Vairon is dead.”
“No,” I said, as if that could stop it from being true. A dull ache spread through my stomach. “You are … certain?”
Monsieur Fidèle nodded. “I did not see the body myself, but others did, and there was no doubt it was him, what with that bone cross around the corpse’s neck. And I cannot tell you just where his grave is. So many were placed there together, you know.” Monsieur Fidèle gave a great sigh. “Vairon was a good fellow, but not a very convincing liar. He always told me how tasty my beer was. We all know otherwise.”
My heart heavy, I hoisted my cup and said, “To Vairon. He was a true friend, and a brave man.”
It had been a terrible day. And yet even a terrible day can have a bit of brightness. We discovered it when we went across to Pointe Lévis, where we found a pale, thin Baldish in a field hospital tent. But he was alive, and the sight of him smiling at us was a great relief.
“They took my leg from the knee down, as you can see,” Baldish said. None of us except Davy cared to look too closely.
“You must miss your leg terribly, Baldish,” said Davy.
“Not too badly,” said Baldish.
“But now you cannot be a topman,” said Davy, and Baldish just laughed.
“However, he can and likely will be a cook,” explained Tom. “It is a fine position often given to wounded men. And better work for a one-legged man cannot be found anywhere.”
Back on board Pembroke, rumours were swirling. It was only a matter of time before the fleet left here. We, like all the other ships, had given up all of our ammunition and powder to the army. It would be their job to hold Québec now that our part was all but done. We would be bound for England, Boston or Halifax, depending on the whim of Admiral Saunders. And Mr. Cook had left Pembroke! Admiral Saunders had appointed him master on Lord Colville’s ship Northumberland. Mr. Cook’s star seemed to be rising.
“Boston,” said Ben that night. He was quite cheerful, since he had received word that his son had regained consciousness. “I hear we New Englanders will be homeward bound by the end of the month. Even if it is just talk, it warms my heart. What a thing it will be to see my boy again.”
Ben once told me that if you want to understand just how much you are missed when you are gone, put your hand in a bucket of water. Then take it out. That is how much of a hole you leave.
But Mr. Cook has left a great hole. I wish I had been able to say farewell and thank you. The new master, Mr. Cleader, is not half so interesting.
But I gave it no more thought. For the next few days, as the end of the month crept closer, we Pembrokes made endless trips from the ships to Foulon. Every bit of gear and food that could be spared was going to
the army. It would be a long, hard winter here, and I did not envy those who had to live through it. At least those monotonous trips kept me from thinking. My thoughts would not have been the most cheerful.
Chapter 11
October 1, 1759
That first day of October, Ben Fence and the other remaining Yankees were ordered to go aboard a transport that was bound for Boston. I believe it was the first time that I ever saw Ben truly happy. He had never been a popular man, but he was our messmate, and so we gathered together to bid him farewell on deck. One by one he shook Davy’s, Tom’s and Gum’s hands. Then he came to me. Although my own hand was extended he did not reach out to clasp it, which I suppose should not have been a surprise. But then he stepped forward and gave me a great hug. Now that was a surprise.
“I owe you a debt, Jenkins,” he said. “If not for you …” He could not finish.
“If not for William you might have stayed at Québec and married one of those French ladies?” suggested Davy. And we all — even Ben — roared with laughter.
Boston Ben Fence was gone. Within two weeks, we were readying to do the same. Porcupine and Racehorse remained anchored in the basin. They would spend the winter here to help support the army. The rest of us prepared to sail down the river. Some ships were destined for England. Pembroke, though, would return to Halifax. Under the command of Lord Colville, she and four other battleships, three frigates and a number of sloops would winter there.
“This should be simple,” I said to Baldish. “We will be going downstream after all.” Baldish was back on Pembroke, limping around the ship assisted by a rough crutch. As Tom had predicted, he was now a cook’s mate, and as happy as a pig in muck.
“Nothing is ever as simple as it should be,” said Baldish.
He was correct. Our voyage began nicely enough. There had been a heavy frost the night before, but the day was fine. As we weighed anchor, Admiral Saunders’s ship saluted the garrison with twenty-one guns. The garrison returned the gesture. Hundreds of people — civilians and military — lined the walls of the upper town and the wharves of the lower to view the spectacle. All ships’ flags were flying at half-mast in honour of General Wolfe. His embalmed remains now rested in a coffin aboard Royal William. He was indeed going home. My thoughts flicked briefly to Vairon, and then I set his memory aside. There was no time for sadness. There was only time for tending to the ship.
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