shivering in a north wind and a sharp frost, a part of Monckton’s brigade was ferried over to Beaumont, on the south shore, and the rest followed in the morning.  The rangers had a brush with a party of Canadians, whom they drove off, and the regulars then landed unopposed.  Monckton ordered a proclamation, signed by Wolfe, to be posted on the door of the parish church.  It called on the Canadians, in peremptory terms, to stand neutral in the contest, promised them, if they did so, full protection in property and religion, and threatened that, if they presumed to resist the invaders, their houses, goods, and harvests should be destroyed, and their churches despoiled.  As soon as the troops were out of sight the inhabitants took down the placard and carried it to Vaudreuil.

The brigade marched along the river road to Point Levi, drove off a body of French and Indians posted in the church, and took possession of the houses and the surrounding heights.  In the morning they were intrenching themselves, when they were greeted by a brisk fire from the edge of the woods.  It came from a party of Indians, whom the rangers presently put to flight, and, imitating their own ferocity, scalped nine of them.  Wolfe came over to the camp on the next day, went with an escort to the heights opposite Quebec, examined it with a spy-glass, and chose a position from which to bombard it.  Cannon and mortars were brought ashore, fascines and gabions made, intrenchments thrown up, and batteries planted.  Knox came over from the main camp, and says that he had “a most agreeable view of the city of Quebec.  It is a very fair object for our artillery, particularly the lower town.”  But why did Wolfe wish to bombard it?  Its fortifications were but little exposed to his fire, and to knock its houses, convents, and churches to pieces would bring him no nearer to his object.  His guns at Point Levi could destroy the city, but could not capture it; yet doubtless they would have good moral effect, discourage the French, and cheer his own soldiers with the flattering belief that they were achieving something.

The guns of Quebec showered balls and bombs upon his workmen; but they still toiled on, and the French saw the fatal batteries fast growing to completion.  The citizens, alarmed at the threatened destruction, begged the Governor for leave to cross the river and dislodge their assailants.  At length he consented.  A party of twelve or fifteen hundred was made up of armed burghers, Canadians from the camp, a few Indians, some pupils of the Seminary, and about a hundred volunteers from the regulars.  Dumas, an experienced officer, took command of them; and, going up to Sillery, they crossed the river on the night of the twelfth of July.  They had hardly climbed the heights of the south shore when they grew exceedingly nervous, though the enemy was still three miles off.  The Seminary scholars fired on some of their own party, whom they mistook for English; and the same mishap was repeated a second and a third time.  A panic seized the whole body, and Dumas could not control them.  They turned and made for their canoes, rolling over each other as they rushed down the heights, and reappeared at Quebec at six in the morning, overwhelmed with despair and shame.[716]