The Veteran's Legacy

7. Louisbourg, July 1758-2

When used correctly, the Highland charge was nearly irresistible. Seeing the kilted Highlanders pounding toward them, yelling their Gaelic slogans and with broadswords raised high, the already-shaken French infantry panicked and broke. Within seconds, the 78th were among them, slashing with the swords, decapitating, slicing off limbs, hacking into defenceless bodies. MacKim charged with the rest, feeling his sword light in his hand. He saw a young Frenchman lifting his musket, bravely standing to face the Fraser’s charge. MacKim raised his sword high, as his father had done at Sheriffmuir, as his great grandfather had done at Killiecrankie and Dunkeld. The Frenchman took a step backwards, his face suddenly white; his mouth dropped open as he turned to run.

MacKim swung his sword. The blade sliced into the Frenchman’s shoulder, taking the arm off cleanly. The Frenchman carried on running with bright blood spurting. After a dozen steps, he halted, stared at his shoulder and screamed once. MacKim stopped in horror at what he had done.

“Oh, God in heaven!”

“Aye, MacKim, you’re a soldier now.” Dingwall pushed him onward. “Don’t stop, lad! The more of them we kill, the less of them there are to kill us.”

As the Frasers’ charge continued, many of the French dropped their weapons and surrendered, although the majority escaped into the dark.

“Come on, 78th! We can take the city ourselves!” Waving his sword in the air, Cumming ran towards the outlying defences of Louisbourg. “Advance the Fraser Highlanders!”

For a moment, MacKim believed Cumming was correct. In the elation of temporary victory, it seemed as if the Frasers could capture Louisbourg without help. The roar of the great French cannon broke the dream as grapeshot and cannonballs hammered down, churning up the ground around them.

“Enough!” Colonel Fraser yelled. “Halt and reform! Drummer! Sound the recall!”

Most of the Highlanders obeyed the order, but a few ran on until they realised they could not break through the outer defences and scale the thirty foot high walls without ladders, especially in the teeth of an alerted French garrison.

“Get back now, Hugh.” Chisholm grabbed hold of MacKim’s sleeve. “You can’t capture Louisbourg on your own.”

MacKim took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. The frenzy of battle had temporarily taken control of him. Now, he looked around at the dead, dying and prisoners.

“MacKim!” Dingwall’s roar proved he had recovered entirely from the effects of the spent musket ball on his throat. “Get back to the ranks!”

Fraser’s Highlanders withdrew in good order, laughing as they shepherded their prisoners.

“These French lads look very young,” MacKim said. “Some are little more than boys.”

“So much the better for us,” Chisholm said. “If all the French soldiers are like them, this campaign will be easy.” When he replaced his broadsword in its scabbard, MacKim noted that the blade was clean. Chisholm, the veteran, had not killed any of the enemy.

* * *

“I hear that some Irish fellow, Lieutenant Colonel O’Donnel, led these French lads,” Chisholm said. “They were going to sortie against us.”

“They’ll have to be quick to catch the 78th,” Cumming said, looking up from sharpening the flints of his musket.

“They were just boys,” MacKim said. “The French must have better than that.”

“They have,” Chisholm said. “I met them at Fontenoy.”

“Were you at Fontenoy, Chisholm?” Urquhart asked. “I didn’t know that.”

MacKim joined in the general laughter. Chisholm was fond of bringing up his Fontenoy experiences at every opportunity.

“Somebody killed O’Donnel with the bayonet,” Chisholm said. “But old Sergeant MacLeodwas wounded. Some Frenchie shot him on the nose.” Drill Sergeant Donald MacLeod was one of the characters of the regiment. Nobody knew how old he was, but some claimed he had fought at Killiecrankie in 1689, while others said he had advised the Marquis of Montrose back in 1644.

“So there are Irishmen on the French side,” MacKim said. “Loyalty appears to be a flexible concept.”

“You swore an oath to the king when you joined the regiment,” Dingwall said. “Keep your oath, boy, and nobody can think ill of you.” He leaned closer to MacKim. “Break your oath, and you’re a traitorous dog who deserves hanging.”

I have taken two oaths in my life, and one is far more important than the other.

I have taken two oaths in my life, and one is far more important than the other.The action against O’Donnel’s force brought the British a few yards closer to Louisbourg, gaining them high ground opposite to the Dauphin Gate. Within hours, General Wolfe had men and horses dragging up the artillery to further pound Louisbourg’s walls and town.

“We’re winning,” Cumming gloated.

“I’ve said before that siege warfare is like chess,” Chisholm said. “We make a move; they make a move. We cancelled the last French move, so they’ll try something else.”

Once again, Chisholm was proved correct, as a French raid on July 9th took the British by surprise. MacKim and the 78th heard the shouting and sporadic firing as the raiding party burst into the entrenchment and used picks and crowbars to reduce a long section of the siege works, pushing back the British efforts by some days. The French withdrew, ushering nearly thirty Grenadiers from the 45th and 22nd Foot back to Louisbourg as prisoners.

“They didn’t attack the 78th.” MacKim was not sure if he was pleased or disappointed.

“They know better,”’ Chisholm said, as Dingwall sharpened his bayonet with a stone.

“They’ve given us work to do,” Dingwall said. “We’ll have to rebuild the siege lines. That will take time we can’t afford.”

Increasing their piquets, the British cursed, spat on their hands and repaired the damage. Every few days, the British guns crept closer to Louisbourg, naval 24- and 32-pounders that hurled their iron shot against Louisbourg’s walls and the buildings inside. But every day they spent outside the walls was more time the French had gained.

MacKim watched the dust rise from another artillery strike on Louisbourg. “I wouldn’t like to be on the other side of these cannon.”

“We’re creeping closer to the Dauphin Gate,” Chisholm said. “That must be the general’s objective.”

Day by day, the bombardment continued, with British cannonballs and mortars hammering at Louisbourg and the shipping in the harbour. Day by day, the British reduced the defending walls, silencing cannon after French cannon. Day by day, the British extended their lines, digging trenches, putting in gabions, inching closer to the walls of Louisbourg.

“Are you volunteering again to go on piquet, MacKim?” Chisholm asked.

“I am,” MacKim said.

“You won’t be happy until you get your fool head blown off or a Frenchy bayonet in your gut.”

“I won’t get either,” MacKim said.

“Why are you so keen?”

“I want to be the best soldier I can be.” MacKim tested the lock of his musket, ensured the flint was sharp, dabbed candle-grease on the inside of his scabbard to ensure his bayonet drew smoothly and joined the piquet.

He did not tell anybody, not even Chisholm, why he had joined the army. That was his affair alone. Every time on piquet duty increased his experience, every minor skirmish with the French hardened him to death and killing, and every day he learned more about the British formations. By the third week of July, MacKim knew exactly where Webb’s 48th Foot was positioned, and he could tell by the tall mitre hats which section of line the Grenadiers usually guarded.

One day, soon, he promised himself. I’m coming for you, Hayes.

One day, soon,I’m coming for you, HayesOn the 21st July, a mortar shell from Lighthouse Point landed on the 64-g*n French vessel Le Célèbre.

Le Célèbre“Look at that!” Chisholm nudged MacKim. They watched as the wind caught the flames, doing Britain’s work by increasing the fire, which quickly spread to two nearby French vessels, Le Capricieux and L’Entreprenant.

Le CapricieuxL’Entreprenant“That’s half the French fleet ablaze,”Chisholm spoke around the stem of his pipe. “Without these ships to defend the harbour, the Frenchies will be hard-pressed, and our navy lads will be c**k-a-hoop.” They watched as L’Entreprenant, the most powerful French ship, slowly sank.

L’Entreprenant“Even although she’s French,” Chisholm said, “it’s sad to see such a beautiful ship go down.” He thumbed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. “You never mention much about beauty, Hugh.”

“No,” MacKim shook his head. “I don’t think about it much.”

“No?” Chisholm applied a light to his tobacco and puffed out blue smoke. “Not even a beautiful woman?”

“I’ve never met one I liked,” MacKim said, truthfully. “I only know soldier’s wives and camp followers.”

“You don’t have to like a woman to bed her,” Chisholm said. “You don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re stoking the fire.”

MacKim looked away. “Maybe someday.”

“It’s not natural, a young man like you not chasing women.” Chisholm took the pipe from his mouth.

“I’ve other things to think about,” MacKim said.

“I know. You think about the Grenadier Company of Webb’s Foot,” Chisholm said. “I’ve seen you watching them, and I’ve heard you asking for them. What’s the attraction, Hugh? Is your father there? Your brother? Or somebody else?”

“Somebody else.” MacKim felt as if he were under interrogation.

“A good friend?”’ Chisholm’s eyes were sharp above his ravaged face.

“No.” MacKim shook his head. “No friend at all.”

“Oh?” Chisholm seemed slightly relieved. “You are looking for somebody who is not a friend but who is important to you. Does this mysterious Grenadier have a name?”

Looking away, MacKim took out his bayonet and began to sharpen it. “I’ll tell you sometime.”

“Yes,” Chisholm said. “Tell me when you feel you can trust me.”

“It’s not that.” MacKim searched for words. “I do trust you.”

Chisholm gave a slow smile. “Even with a face like mine? A face like the devil’s brother?”

“I don’t care about your face,” MacKim said.

“I know you don’t,” Chisholm said softly, “and do you think I’d care about your reason? We’ve fought side by side, Hugh. You can trust me with your secret.”

“Someday,” MacKim said. Maybe.

Maybe.* * *

Heated shot was one of the most feared weapons in any arsenal. On the 23rd July 1758, a red hot cannonball landed on the King’s Bastion in Louisbourg and started a fire. MacKim watched the flames grow and a column of smoke spiral skyward.

“That place is said to be the largest building in North America.” Chisholm puffed on his pipe. “Its destruction will dishearten the Frenchies.” He glanced over to MacKim. “Whether the French surrender or not, when we occupy Louisbourg, the lads will go a bit wild.”

“Will they?” MacKim could not see how such an occasion would affect him.

“There’ll be hundreds of men reeling drunk in the streets,” Chisholm said. “All the regiments mixed together.” He paused, puffing slowly. “Including us, and Webb’s 48th Foot, I shouldn’t wonder.”

MacKim took a deep breath to quieten his suddenly racing heart. “I shouldn’t wonder,” he agreed.

Chisholm eyed him for a long moment before leaning back to enjoy his pipe. “Aye,” he said. “I shouldn’t wonder at all. Us and Webb’s 48th.”

* * *

By the 25th of July, the French had only two vessels remaining in the harbour, and the fog returned, slithering in above the water to cover every ship and each secret cove and beach.

“It’s a night for the lads,” Chisholm sucked on his pipe. “Mark my words, Hugh, my boy, there will be movement tonight. Keep a sharp lookout, now. It had to happen when we were on piquet duty.”

Staring into the rolling white blanket, MacKim gripped his musket. Somewhere in that fog, French soldiers were peering out, imagining the very same things as he was. They might be creeping towards him now, muskets in hand, hoping to kill and m**m British soldiers. Because he expected trouble, MacKim was not surprised by the echoing of voices distorted by the mist, the clatter of steel on steel, the sudden c***k of pistol and musket.

“What’s happening?”

“Sounds like a raiding party.” Chisholm lifted his musket, checking the rag he had laid over the pan to keep his powder dry. “I can’t tell where in this muck.”

The glow was next, ruddy through the night as it rose from beyond Louisbourg.

“It’s coming from the harbour,” MacKim said. “The Navy is busy.”

MacKim was correct. Using the fog as cover, Admiral Boscawen sent six hundred seamen in two divisions of small boats to attack the two remaining French ships.

“I wish we could go and watch.” MacKim waved a hand in front of his face in a vain attempt to clear away some of the fog.

“If we do, Dingwall will have us at the halberds in a minute,” Chisholm said, “and quite rightly. If the French come and there’s no piquet, they could take the army in the flank, with God only knows what results.”

The firing lasted some time, interspersed with wild cheering and a growing glow of flames. It was not until next morning that MacKim learned the Navy had captured the French warship Bienfaisant outright and set fire to Prudent.

BienfaisantPrudent“That means the Frenchies have no ships left in Louisbourg harbour,” MacKim pointed out.

“They can’t hold out for long now,” Chisholm said. “You wait. They could come out fighting, or they could surrender. By removing their ships, we’ve taken an important piece off their chessboard,” he jabbed his pipe in the direction of Louisbourg, “and we’ve also made a breach in the walls.”

“That beach is our key,” Dingwall said. “Sharpen your bayonets, lads, and get ready. Unless the French surrender, we’ll be storming the town before they have time to shore up the wall and bring in artillery to blast us when we attack.” He grinned. ‘Remember, we’ve knocked out all their artillery on the walls. If Amherst knows his stuff, he’ll call on the French to lower the flag.”

Chisholm looked at MacKim. “Here we are, Hugh. It’s death or glory now, unless the French do the sensible thing.” He thrust out his hand. “Good luck, my boy.”

“Good luck, James.” MacKim took Chisholm’s hand. They looked at each other for a second before letting go. “If I fall,” Chisholm said, “take my things.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’ve no family.”

“The same goes for me,” MacKim said. “I have a mother back in Glen Cailleach, but she won’t want my few pennies.”

They said no more. MacKim knew he had made another oath; he had bound himself to Chisholm.