Prologue (Part 2): The Miracle of Québec
April 9, 1865
With an engineer’s degree of precision, Lee had calculated it down to the minute. In the past six days, he had slept exactly 22 hours and 43 minutes, or an average of 227 minutes per day. There was a good reason for this. The British had attacked the positions at all times of the day and night. In fact, they had even come up with a system where when the north bank was attacking while the south bank was resting and vice versa. The south bank had held up reasonably well with the Chaudière serving as a natural defensive line, but in the north, it had been hell for the poor men there. Ewell was dead, and Hancock was wounded, so both corps were now under the second in commands - scratch that – Barksdale was down too, so the XIV Corps was now under Butterfield. They had suffered roughly 40% casualties, many of them coming on April 6th when the darned Scottish division had managed to close to hand to hand fighting. Only a ferocious counter-charge by John Gordon (ironically a member of the Gordon clan he was attacking) against the Highlanders had saved the position from being overwhelmed.
The true heroes of the battle so far were Captain Joseph Smith and his detachment of sailors from the U.S. Navy, who frequently brought fresh troops and supplies across the St. Lawrence and escorted the wounded out – usually under fire. Because of their actions, the incredibly delicate position the Army of the St. John had occupied had managed to hold out for six days.
Lee’s saving grace had been that there was no solid way for Sir Codrington to organize his attacks with the defenders inside of the city. Sure there had been a few sallies every time the British made an advance against the northern beachheads, but these were uncoordinated and easily dispatched by timely reserves from the south. The British had attempted to use a Morse lamp at night, but Butterfield, God bless that man, had realized what was happening and ordered dozens of false signal lamps to be lit and start sending made up messages of their own, thoroughly confusing the defenders. Two days ago though, the British had done a naval equivalent of their famous “Forlorn Hope,” sending dozens of hastily-constructed rafts down the St. Lawrence to get some sort of message to the Québécois. The vast majority of the rafts were blown to the afterlife by Lee’s cannons, but two or three managed to make it through. What worried Lee was that he had no idea what the message was. No prisoners had been taken (Sir Codrington seemed to have intentionally picked men that could NOT swim) and no written message had been found on the corpses that had washed ashore. All Lee could do was guess as to how the next attack, which presumably would be the ultimate one, would be coordinated.
Now everything was quiet. Too quiet. There had consistently been an attack around 8-9 AM ever morning, it was now 9:20. Lee glanced over at Major Taylor, who had probably lost 15 pounds off of his already scrawny frame. Both men were on foot, the horses having been sent to the rear- too tempting of a target. He had the latest figures from the ordinance chief.
“We are down to our last 200 percussion shells for the 6 pounders, as well as 600 solid shot. For the flying artillery, we have roughly 300 solid shot left and less than a hundred shells. We have 400 shells left for the Parrott (there was only one now, the other had developed worrying hairline cracks around the muzzle) and 1200 for the howitzers. Now for the gunpowder, we have 130 barrels at the siege battery, 407 barrels at the Chaudière for Howard and Sedgewick, and 168 barrels across the river.”
“That isn’t enough for them.”
“I agree sir, which is why I took the liberty of asking General Sedgewick how much powder he could part with. His reply was that he could make do with 300 barrels provided he is resupplied tomorrow. I am trying to make arrangements with Captain Smith to transfer the powder as soon as possible across the river. He is not eager to do this task.”
“Well I should imagine not!”
This brought a ghost of a smile to Taylor’s lips. “He thinks that the optimum time would be around noon. The British seem to enjoy their luncheons too much to seriously contest the movement.” Taylor having kept a marvelous straight face while saying that.
“I concur. We are most lucky that our enemies are such gentlemen. Now is there anything else?”
Taylor’s mouth turned into a distinct frown. “Sir, about the powder train… We are not going to get it tomorrow. I was speaking to Colonel Prescott, and he has told me that at the rate of progress they are making, it will be Tuesday at the earliest, maybe even Wednesday or Thursday.”
“That is impossible, I cannot wait six days for powder!”
“Sir? What do you mean six days? Today is Sunday.”
“Is it? I thought it was Friday. The days are running into each…”
‘It’s Sunday, Palm Sunday, and I forgot it. How much work had I done this morning? Why I didn’t even go to services this morning, I…”
The color drained from Lee’s cheeks until it matched his hair. “The British and Québécois are having services. That’s why they’re so quiet.”
“Technically sir, the Québécois are Catholic, so it would be a mass for them.”
“Regardless, we need that powder across the river NOW. Before the city announces they are ready to attack.”
“I… don’t understand sir.”
“Major, academic question for you. If you were their position, and you wanted to send a message to the relief forces but make the besiegers think that everything was normal, how would you do it? You can’t use cannons or rockets, too obvious, and lantern patterns are not visible in daylight. You would need either a flag, a bell, or a very loud horn, and an excuse to use that that isn’t automatically a sign of an all-out attack.”
“I…” Taylor suddenly went white too. “Yes sir… I understand. I’ll inform Captain Smith at once.”
“Major? Pray inform Captain Smith that I understand his reluctance to have the navy move the powder across under fire. But if he doesn’t do it now, I’ll point that Parrott at him!”
Taylor ran off. Lee’s eyes gazed in an arc across the field of battle, ending on the citadel with its stubborn, ragged Union Jack.
‘Bow down from thine heaven, O Lord, and touch the mountains… and they shall smoke! Blessed be the Lord of my strength, who teaches my fingers to fight, and my hands to war!’
The exhaustion left Lee. There was work that needed to be done now.
*******
It was 11:00. Men had been recalled, the siege trenches deepened. Heavy breakfasts from what remained of the commissary larders were shoveled down their throats. They still needed more time though. Lee down by the Chaudière, watching the last couple barrels be ferried across to the north bank when he heard what simultaneously the most beautiful and horrible sound he ever heard in his life…
The carillion of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Québec was one of the oldest in all of North America, modeled on the great cathedrals of France. Now it was sounding forth with its full cacophony of sounds and tones. Normally, it was because the High Mass was concluded on this important feast day of the Church. However, being able to be heard for miles, it was also the perfect signal for an attack, a fact Lee had realized almost too late.
Almost.
Lee looked to his right. Two of the howitzers had just been manhandled down by the river, and the second the guns of Québec opened fire on the boats, they returned it. The artillery duel was deafening, but it was nowhere near as loud as what was going on across the river. Poor Butterfield and Gordon were being attacked in their front by Sir Codrington, in their rear by the Québec garrison, on their right flank by the Québec militia, and the left was being subjected to an artillery bombardment by British guns on the south bank.
Lee looked to his left. Oliver Howard was commanding the left flank on the upstream side. Sedgewick from Howard’s right to the river delta. Both were coming under heavy fire, forcing the men to keep their heads down while three pontoon bridges were being thrown across. American fire was sporadic and ineffective, intentionally. Lee actually was trying to encourage the British to build their bridges quickly, although the darned Royal Engineers were being their usual methodical selves. Taylor came running up, head down, no need to give a target to that darn battalion of rifles that had been picking off sergeants and officers for the past week.
“Sir!” He shouted above the din. “General Howards and Sedgewick have received the orders and passed it on!”
“Good! Make absolutely sure MacPherson gives only token resistance! I want as many of those people on this side of the river before the counterattack!”
Taylor and Lee parted. Lee started walking/crawling over to John Gibbon, his artillery commander. ‘It’s Cerro Gordo all over again, and my knees aren’t any younger’ He thought.
“Colonel Gibbon! Is our artillery alright?!”
“Yes, General! We are accurately shooting inaccurately, as requested!”
“Any problem with guns or ammunition?!”
“No sir! If anything, we are doing splend…”
At that moment, a lucky shell from a Whitworth hit an American caisson 100 yards away. Shrapnel and body parts came raining down on the two men.
“As I was attempting to say, General Lee, we have adequate supplies for this engagement.”
“Excellent, anything else?”
“Well… General Lee, sir… This is kind of awkward, sir…”
“What?!”
“You sort of have something on your hat and face. Please sir, use my handkerchief.”
Lee accepted the handkerchief, and used it to wipe off the blood splatter, and then gently removed the index finger that had landed on the brim of his hat, and delicately put it down on the ground. “Thank you Colonel.”
“Yes, sir.”
***********
At 1:45, the 2nd Battalion of the King’s Regiment of Foot crossed the middle pontoon bridge, followed shortly afterwards by the 80th Regiment of Foot on the upper bridge and the Oxford Rifles on the lower. As planned, McPherson’s Division shredded the lead companies, forcing the rest of each of regiment’s respective brigades to cross in support. McPherson’s men proceeded to fall back in a controlled state of chaos. The British and Canadians, reflecting their discipline, did not pursue. Instead, they began to consolidate their beachheads.
‘Too bad, too bad...’ thought Lee. ‘I was hoping that at least the Canadians would get their dander up. No plan is perfect, I guess.’ He nodded to Colonel Gibbon, who proceeded to light the fuse on their last Hale Rocket. It arced overhead spectacularly, before landing and exploding about 400 yards beyond the upper bridge.
At once, Sedgewick’s entire corps, along with Johnson’s Division of Howard’s Corps leaped up and fixed bayonets. Bugles everywhere blared “Charge” and a wave of blue-coated infantry barreled at the red-coated rocks in front of them. To the eternal credit of the British Empire, the troops, though utterly caught by surprise, did not break and run across the bridge, but instead met the tide and, absorbing it, methodically fell back. Now the fight transferred to the deck of the pontoon bridges proper, as the Anglo-Canadian forces traded shots, stabs, rifle butts, and plain old punches with the Americans. This worried Lee, who had been hoping to seize the pontoons before some commander on the opposite side came to the conclusion that it was better to cut the ropes and sacrifice their men on the bridges rather than lose the army. Turning towards Gibbon, he began to say:
“Colonel, I need…”
At which point, Lee realized that the poor colonel had been parted with his head by a cannonball, and was now a lifeless corpse, still improbably standing at attention.
‘Damn. May the Lord have mercy on thee.’
Lee ran on his knees over to the nearest howitzer, which was at that moment in the process of being swabbed.
“Captain?!” Addressing the howitzer commander.
“Yes General?!”
“I need fire on the other sides of those bridges! Not on the bridges themselves, but about 50 yards on the other side! Let me know what angle and charge you fire too!”
“Yes, sir!”
The howitzer was loaded, sweating gunners heaving the 32lb shell into the muzzle, the young captain checked the sights, noted the angle, stepped clear and yanked the ramrod. The shell screamed out of the barrel, arcing overhead and landing with a satisfying boom exactly where Lee had wanted.
“Sir! That was a two pound charge at six degrees!”
“WHAT?!” Lee’s ears were still ringing.
“TWO POUND CHARGE AT SIX DEGREES!”
“EXCELLENT!” Lee stopped, slightly blushing, with his hearing returning, he realized how loud he was. “Excellent Captain! Do me a favor and order the other batteries to fire at the same angle and charge!”
“Yes, sir!”
The young captain turned, but Lee had a last minute thought.
“Stop! Captain, what is your name!”
“Sir, Captain Alonso Cushing, sir!”
Lee smiled. “Battery commanders can’t be captains. Congratulations Major Cushing.”
The young brevet major broke out in a huge smile, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Lee thought Cushing might attempt to hug him. Instead, the brevet major saluted and ran off.
********
It was now around 3:00. Judging from the frantic signal flags on the north bank, the situation had become desperate. The American forces had almost claimed the bridges across the Chaudière, but the remaining Anglo-Canadian troops on them were not willing to retreat into the perfect hell that Cushing was creating directly behind them. Lee was with MacPherson and Captain Smith and gesturing wildly at the north bank.
“Captain, General, I know it’s suicide, but we can’t wait any longer! We need to get more troops across now!”
“General Lee.” MacPherson replied “I have full faith in Captain Smith and his men, but I think most of my men would mutiny rather than get on those boats in this mess!”
“If they don’t, Gordon and Butterfield will be forced to surrender!”
“Or die. And most of the men have little stomach to join them.”
‘What! I… youuuu…..’
Lee was about to get temperamental with MacPherson, when a loud cheer went up to his left. Turning, he saw the last of the Canadian forces on the lower bridges break and run, with Sedgewick and his men in pursuit.
“Gentlemen, it looks like the moment we have been waiting for has come. General MacPherson, get your men on those boats. The artillery will be neutralized in a matter of minutes.”
“Yes, sir!”
The two subordinates saluted, and all three men took off running, Smith to the boats, MacPherson to his men, and Lee at the bridge. As Lee expected, all order and cohesion had broken down among the American forces, with most streaming due west after the retreating Canadians, and not north, like Lee wanted. Sedgewick was already making an effort to turn the direction of the men, but he needed help. Lee, being an instantly recognizable and rather tall man, could provide it.
Making his way to the bridge, Lee started yelling: “Follow me, men!” Shocked men turned to him and burst out cheering.
“Lee! Lee! Lee! Lee!”
Thousands of men ran after him, it was glorious. His feet didn’t even feel like they were touching the boards of the bridge. Making his way across, Lee briefly looked eyes with Sedgewick, who raised an eyebrow and smiled. He then turned to the right, hat in hand, waving wildly, the men following him, and directed the energy of it all north. For the objective of this whole assault was not to smash the Canadians, but rather to capture their cannon along the south bank, and to subtly redirect their fire from Gordon’s left into Codrington’s right. Running, always running, he closed with the horrified Canadian gunners. A few valiant ones among them tried to turn the cannons around to fire on the huge blue wave barreling at them, but most ran.
Turning to see who among the horde were senior officers, Lee spied a ragged colonel.
“Colonel! Grab any man you need and turn these cannons (pointing to his left) to fire on the redcoats yonder!” Pointing across the St. Lawrence.
Another colonel came up, Lee dispatched him to take command of the other guns and silence Codrington’s artillery. The next three colonels were ordered to reform their regiments facing south to deter a possible counterattack. A major in the red facings of the artillery came running up with a few of his men, and Lee ordered him to take over from the first colonel and supervise the loading and firing.
It all was a blur for Lee, but he was able to consciously see a few things. The solid shot hurling across the river, hacking through Codrington’s neat red lines like a scythe through winter wheat. The boats, overloaded with blue men, making their way across the river and unloading on the far shore. A half-hearted Canadian counterattack that came and went. Howard coming up with an actually coherent brigade and taking over, driving west. The bridge, which he seems to have walked back to.
“Sir?” It was Major Taylor, with a look of concern on his face. Lee gazed around, taking his surroundings into account. He seemed to be alone, the men moved on. He also seemed to be sitting against one of the posts that the pontoons were anchored to. He was utterly exhausted in every sense of the word. There was also a dull ache in his chest.
“Major Taylor, has General Howard secured our front here?”
“Yes, general, he has.”
“Good, send a message to him and General Sedgewick, I want him to secure a decent line about two miles before the river, and I want General Sedgewick to move the rest of his corps across the river.” A thought occurred to Lee: “Major Taylor, pray tell me, do we still hold the north bank, and if so, what are our casualties?”
“By God’s grace, general, we do. From what we can tell, casualties are over 70%, and Butterfield is dead, leaving Gordon commanding what is left of both corps. However, MacPherson was able to reinforce them in time, causing Codrington to retreat with heavy casualties of his own.”
“Praise be to Him.” Lee paused to catch his breath. “Major Taylor, have pickets placed at each of these bridges, I do not want them sabotaged if Howard needs to fall back. Send a courier south to both let the ammunition train know that it should make all haste to here, and to request that General Stuart come to headquarters as soon as he is able.”
“Yes, sir, anything else?”
Lee looked at him, fought back any appearance of pain from the latest spasm, and said: “Major… help me back to my tent. I think I am having a heart attack.”