by Don Aker
Our ears still ringing, Christophe and I waited beneath the cart a moment longer to see if the British would continue targeting our area, and I suddenly found myself grinning at the absurdity of our supposed safety. The cart could offer no protection whatsoever from the bombs. Christophe grinned sheepishly in return, and the two of us crawled out from under it, pulled ourselves to our feet and continued on our way.
We had gotten no farther than Rue Dauphine when we heard drummers beating the générale, signalling an immediate call to arms. Scant moments later, several men ran past us down the hill toward the harbour crying, “Aux armes! Aux armes!” Without speaking, Christophe and I dropped the handles of the cart and raced toward the waterfront, our progress hindered by deep holes and debris everywhere.
We saw it long before we reached the quay.
“Sébastien!” moaned Christophe beside me, his voice hollow. Prudent was in flames.
“How —?” Christophe began again, but there was no need for him to finish his thought.
The same question burned across my own mind. How could this have happened? Had not the loss of Célèbre, Entreprenant and Capricieux shown our officers the need to protect our remaining warships? Surely Prudent had been anchored far enough beyond the range of British guns to avoid being struck by cannon fire. And no British ships had ventured into the harbour to fire upon her. Only the outline of Bienfaisant could be seen nearby.
I peered through the swirling fog toward Prudent, now illuminated by the soaring flames. Several longboats floated beside her, each filled with British sailors. How could they possibly have rowed into the harbour and taken the ship without being detected?
But the answer was simple. The fog had offered them the cover they needed, and their land forces had kept our attention focused on the western approach to the town, providing exactly the distraction they required to execute such a daring move beneath our very noses.
Yet why had Bienfaisant not given aid? Her crew would have seen the assault, would they not? And why weren’t they firing upon the enemy even now? Once more, I peered through the fog, trying to understand.
“Mon Dieu!” Christophe exclaimed, just as my eyes found what I had missed before in the fog. British colours now flew above Bienfaisant.
Curses and cries of frustration rose along the waterfront as the men who’d reached the harbour before us arrived at the same realization. Each drew his musket and began firing upon the vessel. Christophe joined them, his oaths mingling with theirs, but the enemy aboard Bienfaisant persevered. They had cut the anchor lines, and already the ship was moving into deeper water. Bienfaisant now belonged to the British.
I did not lift my own musket to fire upon her. There was no point.
Our naval support was gone, the harbour now defenceless. At first light, any number of British warships would sail unhindered into the anchorage and aim their guns on the town. The noose had at last been cinched tight. The siege was over.
Bloody and headless, the creature that was Louisbourg now had no choice but to acknowledge its own death.
Epilogue
July 26, 1758
9:47 a.m.
As Major Loppinot and I continue along what remains of Rue Toulouse, a sudden breeze off the water catches the flag I carry, making the heavy cotton flutter and snap above my head. For some reason, this unexpected movement lifts my heart. There has been so much death within these walls, and so much more yet to come, that even the semblance of life in the flag seems heaven-sent.
We reach the quay and turn left to follow the water. I try to keep my eyes forward, try to keep them from scanning the many warships now anchored at the mouth of the harbour. Aboard one of those ships is a mortar bomb that will no doubt end my life, but I care not. I will die in the service of my king because that is my lot, the end of the path I chose in joining the Compagnies Franches de la Marine. What rends my heart now is that somewhere aboard one of those vessels is the gun that will target the Bastion du Roi and bring its casemate stones crashing down, crushing the life from the woman I love. My fervent prayers that Marie-Claire might somehow be spared have gone unanswered. I yearn to see her face once more, but the only faces before me now are those of the battle-weary soldiers who have shared with me the horror and the futility of these past weeks.
We approach the ruin that is the Porte Dauphine. Beyond it lies the makeshift encampment where Major Loppinot will meet Major General Amherst and Admiral Boscawen a final time. Britain’s cursed Great Union flag hoisted above it seems to mock us, its crosses of Saint George and Saint Andrew further proclaiming our enemy’s victory and our loss.
I wonder how Amherst and Boscawen will respond to Governor Drucour’s refusal to submit to their unreasonable demands. Will they show surprise? Disappointment? Anger? None of this matters, of course, but these idle thoughts keep my mind from returning to Marie-Claire and the life we will never have together.
I wonder if I will be permitted a final opportunity to see her. Will those British warships begin to make their way into the harbour today to let loose their barrage, or will the enemy wait until tomorrow, giving families and loved ones time to say goodbye before the guns begin to fire? I long for that chance, but is this fair to Marie-Claire? As strong as she has proven herself to be, can she withstand one more night with the knowledge that certain death awaits her? Am I so selfish that I would want her to endure that? I consider this question, turning my answers over in my head as each step takes us closer to our doom.
“Major Loppinot! Wait!”
Both the major and I turn to see the Chevalier de Courserac, the former captain of the Bienfaisant, hurrying toward us. His face is red and he gasps for breath. When he finally reaches us, he bends over and places his hands on his knees, panting. “Merci,” he says at last. “I have important news from Drucour.”
“Quelles sont les nouvelles?” asks Loppinot.
Catching his breath, the chevalier says the one thing that I have fervently prayed for since realizing our defeat was unavoidable. “We are to surrender.”
Major Loppinot seems as relieved as I, but still he asks the question: “On the enemy’s terms?”
The chevalier nods. “The war council has accepted all of them.”
I listen dumbfounded as the chevalier explains that it is Jacques Prévost, the town’s financial administrator, to whom we owe this change of heart. As expected, he had argued for the lives of Louisbourg’s civilians, but it was the economic value those lives represented that held sway in the minds of the war council members. If our civilians were slaughtered, said Prévost, the world might think that King Louis was unable to protect his citizens. And if King Louis lost the confidence of the merchants he relied on to help him broaden his holdings, no financier in the future would agree to sponsor another venture.
The reason for the war council’s change of heart is of no consequence to me. What matters is that my prayers have been answered after all. Marie-Claire will live, and the British will return her and her family to France. I and my comrades, of course, will be taken to Britain and held as prisoners of war, but even this does not trouble me. God has answered my prayers that Marie-Claire be spared, and I know He will answer my prayers to be reunited with her. At some point, I, too, will be released and returned to France. This war will not last forever. It cannot. With Louisbourg now fallen, there is nothing to keep the British from invading the rest of New France. These past few weeks were the beginning of the end of French rule in the New World. I am certain of it.
Another breeze off the harbour lifts and ripples the flag I carry, making it snap overhead, and I am suddenly filled with an emotion that, at first, I do not recognize. It seems foreign to me because it has been so long since I have felt it.
Hope.
Historical Note
The Seven Years War, which officially began in 1756 and continued until 1763, was the first global conflict because it involved multiple countries: Great Britain and the German states of Prussia and Hanover were a
llied against France, Austria, Sweden, Russia and the German state of Saxony. In North America, the Seven Years War involved only two of those nations, Great Britain and France, as each tried to enforce its claim to the continent. The siege of Louisbourg in 1758 was a significant chapter in that struggle because France’s loss of its Île Royale (Cape Breton Island) fortification weakened the country’s ability to protect its holdings in New France. Even more important than its defence of the entrance to the Gulf of St. Lawrence was the fact that Louisbourg was a key fishing base and export centre for the cod fishery. Besides being invaluable to French merchants, the fishery also provided France with a pool of experienced sailors who could be called into naval service if needed. The French would never recover from Louisbourg’s loss, which signalled the beginning of the end of French control in North America.
Throughout history, the primary force that has driven countries to expand their domination of new lands is commerce. Nations longed to increase their wealth by acquiring new sources of goods that they could trade. When explorer Giovanni Caboto, better known as John Cabot, first sailed to the New World in 1497 and returned with reports of rich fishing grounds off its coast, several countries took action to colonize the region. England, France and Scotland were among them.
In 1713 the French settled at Louisbourg on Île Royale, a location that provided a fine harbour from which men could fish the nearby waters for cod. Plans were developed in 1717 for a fortified town, and in 1719 King Louis XV ordered the construction of Louisbourg to begin. It would have three functions: as a fortress, it would guard the entrance to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, helping protect New France from enemy invasion; as a seaport, it would offer excellent anchorage for ships that brought much-needed supplies and left with their cargo holds filled with salted cod; finally, it would provide a community for its citizens — both military and civilian — who came from a variety of countries and cultural backgrounds.
The construction of the fortifications took twenty-eight years to complete, making Louisbourg one of the largest and most impressive fortresses in North America. It was also one of the most expensive, costing King Louis XV more than seven times the original budget.
The fortifications surrounding Louisbourg were, without question, an imposing sight. A wall 4 kilometres long surrounded the entire town, its seaward side nearly 5 metres high and nearly 2 metres across. Its western wall, however, was close to 10 metres high and nearly 11 metres across, its additional size and strength necessary because of the geography of the area — Louisbourg was overlooked by higher ground to the west, so increased protection from enemy attack was needed on that flank. One hundred cannons were mounted in embrasures along the wall, but these were not the only guns protecting the town. A small island in the harbour was fortified with walls 3 metres high and nearly 2.5 metres across. Thirty-one cannons defended the harbour from that position.
Each year between the 1720s and 1750s, France allotted part of its budget to developing and defending Louisbourg because Île Royale’s fishery was so valuable. By the 1740s, up to seven hundred soldiers served at Louisbourg, and when the British made landfall on June 8, 1758, that number had grown to 3520 soldiers along with 2606 naval officers and sailors, making a total force of 6126 men. It is unknown exactly how many civilians made Louisbourg their home during that period, but historians believe that close to three thousand men, women and children lived within its walls.
Because of the cod fishery, Louisbourg experienced remarkable growth, and its harbour became one of the busiest in North America. Unfortunately, not all was ideal. Its citizens were not able to provide everything they required to survive. The poor soil and cool, damp climate on Cape Breton’s eastern coast made agriculture difficult, so they had to import much of their food. This lack of independence would become a serious disadvantage if the town were under siege for an extended period.
Long before King Louis XV’s impressive fortifications rose along the harbour, the British predicted that Louisbourg would pose a threat to them. When the fortifications were completed, those predictions became fact. As a result, in 1745 the British supported New England in an attack on the town that went on for weeks, eventually defeating the French and expelling them. However, when England and France signed the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748, ending the War of the Austrian Succession, France regained control of Louisbourg, and its military and citizens returned once more to the fortified town.
Of course, Louisbourg remained the threat it had been before, which ultimately led the British to attack it again. Besides Major General Jeffery Amherst and Admiral Edward Boscawen, another notable British officer involved in the 1758 siege was Brigade Commander James Wolfe, who, a year later, led the force that captured Quebec City.
When the British set their ships to take Louisbourg in 1758, approximately twenty-eight thousand British soldiers and sailors attacked. In the face of such overwhelming numbers, the French had no hope of victory. Other factors also doomed them to failure. Because they had to import much of what they required to survive, a British blockade of Louisbourg’s harbour prevented them from receiving the provisions they needed to continue their defence. And while Louisbourg’s fortifications were impressive, they were best suited to repelling an attack from the sea. However, poor leadership on the part of some of the French officers enabled the British to come ashore at Anse de la Cormorandière, and the rest, as they say, is history. By July 27, 1758, the day after their surrender, 3847 French soldiers and sailors remained fit for duty at Louisbourg. They had lost 2279 brothers in arms to injury, death or desertion.
A sad truth about colonialism is that leaders in faraway countries rarely spent time thinking about the people who made those colonies their home. Monarchs were far more likely to consider economic returns than human lives when they made decisions affecting the regions they controlled. It is interesting to note that, when Louisbourg’s leaders rejected the terms the British offered them for their surrender, they were willing to condemn every man, woman and child in the fortress to possible death for the sake of honour. It was only when the town’s financial administrator, Jacques Prévost, put that loss in economic terms that they reconsidered. Prévost pointed out that King Louis XV would surely find it difficult — if not impossible — to attract financiers to invest in future enterprises if he could not ensure the safety of the civilians who would be a part of those enterprises. Commerce, apparently, will always be king.
After surrendering, Louisbourg’s surviving soldiers and sailors were sent to England as prisoners of war. In addition, French troops on Île Saint-Jean (present-day Prince Edward Island) were also required to surrender as prisoners of war. Civilians who did not bear arms against the British were sent to France.
After capturing Louisbourg and expelling the French a second time, the British were unwilling to see the fortification return to their enemy’s hands, as had happened in the past. Therefore, British engineers systematically destroyed the town’s defences so they could never be used again.
Although the fortification functioned as a French base on Cape Breton Island for a relatively short period, it played an extremely important role in the defence and development of the area. Its loss following the siege of 1758 was a major turning point in North American history. Recognizing the strong historical significance of the fortress, the Government of Canada designated Louisbourg a National Historic Site in 1928 and, in 1961, began a faithful reconstruction of one-quarter of the fortified town. This popular attraction now allows visitors to experience what it would have been like to live and work in an eighteenth-century French colonial settlement.
Images and Documents
Image 1: There were over a thousand members of the Compagnies Franches de la Marine in Louisbourg by 1758. An officer is pictured at the right, a soldier at the left.
Image 2: Brigade Commander James Wolfe wades ashore through the surf at Louisbourg as the British make landfall.
Image 3: Louisbourg is besieged by British ship
s, 1758.
Image 4: One of the cannons at Fortress Louisbourg overlooks the waterfront along the quay wall. The fortress is now a National Historic Site.
Image 5: The Prudent burns as Bienfaisant is captured. The loss of the ships was a major blow to Louisbourg’s defenders.
Image 6: In this woodcut illustration, French forces at Louisbourg surrender to the British (marching in with the Great Union flag) under the command of Major General Jeffery Amherst and Admiral Edward Boscawen.
Image 7: The Seven Years War (1756–1763) pitted the navies and armies of New France against those of Britain. The lands of Acadia had long been claimed by both nations. Beginning in 1755, the British deported thousands of Acadians as far away as the Anglo-American colonies along the eastern seaboard, as well as to England and France.
Image 8: Louisbourg was exceptionally well defended, yet vulnerable to attack from higher ground to the west, and to a naval blockade that prevented supplies from reaching her.
Credits
Cover cameo (detail): Portrait of William Locke aged seventeen, c.1783/4 (oil on canvas), John Hoppner, Private Collection © Philip Mould Ltd., London; Bridgeman Images, MOU289019.
Cover scene: Capture of “The Prudent” and “Bienfaisant” in Louisbourg Harbour, 26th July 1758, Copyright © Royal Ontario Museum, 956.94, ROM2004_1409_1.
Journal Details: supertramp88/Shutterstock, Inc.; belly band © ranplett/istockphoto; back cover label © Thomas Bethge/Shutterstock, Inc.