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“Measured by the numbers engaged, the Battle of Quebec was but a heavy skirmish; measured by the results, it was one of the great battles of

the world.” — Francis Parkman.

When the British defeated the French at Quebec in 1759, they not only guaranteed Britainʼs acquisition of Canada but also, unwittingly, paved the way for the American Revolution.But this is a larger story than just the single day of battle on September 13, 1759. The final action was the culmination of a summer-long campaign involving a series of engagements between the British Army, American Rangers and the Royal Navy on one side, and the French regulars, the Canadian militia and Indian allies on the other. As the weeks passed and the British became increasingly frustrated, the campaign degenerated into total war in which civilians and combatants suffered alike.The two commanders – Wolfe and Montcalm – could hardly have been more different in background and personality. Yet they shared an intense professionalism, dedication to duty and, ironically, a similar fate.In this carefully researched novel Terry Mort reconstructs the action of the campaign that climaxed in the dramatic events on the Plains of Abraham.

CHAPTER ONEMontcalm in Quebec

Spring 1759

Montcalm woke from a dream of olive groves, and of his estate at Candiac in the south of France. Letters from his wife, brought by his young subordinate, Louis Antoine de Bougainville on the latest ship from France, had told him that the groves were doing well and that the olive press he had built there was producing fine and delicate oil.

'What I would not give for a taste of it,’ he thought. ‘But not here. No, not here, but under my own trees, on a table spread with white linen, some bread from our ovens, still warm, with olive oil served in a porcelain dish, a little wine, perhaps a Gaillac from Languedoc. And my wife… Yes, my wife, and the children around the table. All of them. There in the sunlight.”

He looked out his bedroom window, through the leaded casements. The wind was moaning through the window seams, and the glass was covered with clear ice on both sides, for though it was spring by the calendar, the Canadian winter was lingering, no longer ferocious but still reluctant to give way. The river was clear of ice except for a few patches along the shoreline. The water was iron colored, and the wind was

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ruffling the surface with small whitecaps. The sky was gray and somber, like his mood.

He had reason to be somber, for Bougainville had brought sad news along with the letters. Just before he sailed from France, Bougainville had heard that one of Montcalm’s daughters had died, although he could not learn which one it had been, before having to leave.

‘I fear it is my poor Mirete,’ thought Montcalm. ‘But per-haps it was another. Which one? I cannot know until another ship arrives, with more letters from my wife, poor woman. But perhaps no ship will ever come. Perhaps the British will come first. What then?’

Not for the first time he wondered how it became his des-tiny to be stationed in this wilderness, this savage country populated by wild men, both Indian and Canadian, unruly, ferocious. To what end? To protect the king’s interests in this remote corner of almost constant winter? A place that half his ministers could not locate on the map?

‘Was it vanity and ambition that brought me here to this benighted place?’ he thought. ‘Some contemptible striving after glory? I hope not. I hope it was the knowledge of my duty as a soldier. But to be away for all these months and years is a bitter price to pay for a few trifling honors and the satisfaction of having done one’s duty. And now this dreadful news.’

Could it be God’s will that he should be on the other side of the world while his child lay dying? Could this possibly be part of some plan? It must be so; otherwise, there was no sense to any of it. Without that hope, there was nothing.

‘And surely my poor child is in the arms of Jesus now. There is comfort in that thought. God has His reasons. I must accept that. It is difficult, but I do believe it. What choice is there? Despair is a denial of God.’

So he thought, hoping such thoughts would keep despair at bay.

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He looked again outside the window and across the wide river to the cliffs and forests on the other side. He knew there were scattered villages and farms on that far shore, but they were not visible. No, it seemed as though the forest went on forever, shadowy, impenetrable, the abode of violence, the abode of darkness, a frightful place, though in its primeval way, beautiful, too. Many of his own troops had come to love it, even some of his officers. He had not, however.

‘It cannot be that all of this has no meaning, no purpose,’ he thought. ‘No, that cannot be. Even this howling wilder-ness is God’s creation -- as well as my bright Candiac. There must be a reason that these opposite things exist, the dark-ness and light.”

He lay there for several more minutes, thinking these thoughts, over and over, all the while hoping that the sun would break through the clouds and add a little warmth to his room. But it did not. Finally, he rang for his servant. De-spite his sadness Montcalm knew he must begin the day, for there was work to be done.

“I would appreciate it, Andre, if you would stoke the fire and then bring me some chocolate.” Now that the supply ships had arrived there would be chocolate, for a while, any-way. That was something, at least. Little enough, though.

*****

In the afternoon Montcalm and Bougainville met with the governor, Vaudreuil, in the governor’s mansion. The walls of his office were covered with large maps of Canada, from Michilimackinac in the western lakes to Acadia, unhappy is-land to the east. Montcalm never entered this room without thinking of the study of Doctor Faustus with its globe that symbolized Faustian ambition. But Vaudreuil was not a Faustus. He did not have the strength of character, although he had the same desire for glory.

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Terry Mort is the author of the Voyage of the Parzival, a highly regarded novel set in the Mexican-French resistance movement following the U.S. Civil War, as well as the award winning Hemingway Patrols. In addition to his novels, he has done a book on his favorite hobby, fly fishing, and has ed-ited works by Mark Twain, Jack London and Zane Grey.

He did his undergraduate work in English literature at Princeton University and graduate work at the University of Michigan. After grad school he served as an officer in the Navy where he specialized in navigation and gunnery. His tour of active duty included a lengthy deployment to Vietnam. He has traveled extensively and spent time in more than thirty five countries. He lives in Sonoita, Arizona and Durango, Colorado with his wife, Sondra Hadley.

Also by Terry MortThe Voyage of the Parzival

The Hemingway PatrolsThe Reasonable Art of Fly Fishing

Showdown at VerityThe Lawless Breed

Mark Twain on TravelJack London on Adventure

Zane Grey on Fishing

About the Author—

Terry Mort