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The day after Captain Gilbert's burial, French scouts discovered a sizable British force on the other side of Lake George, near the ruins of Fort William Henry. It took them two days to cross. The French commander was informed that the boats used by General Abercrombie's soldiers covered Lake George.
It was estimated that there were between sixteen and twenty thousand men, including more than six thousand regular soldiers. Upon hearing these alarming numbers, Montcalm turned pale.
France can never field such numbers! The difference in strength is too great!
This force was advancing toward them via the rivers, closely monitored by a few nearby troops. Such a dangerous enemy had to be closely watched to avoid missing any movement. With such a difference in strength, even the slightest mistake could cost the lives of hundreds of men.
On July 5th, on the orders of Colonel François-Charles de Bourlamaque, a veteran of the War of Austrian Succession who had been the commander at Fort Carillon before the arrival of the Marquis de Montcalm, a group of 350 men was sent near the lake. The mission was entrusted to a simple captain named Trépezet, a brave but stubborn man.
The order he received was to observe the enemy and, if possible, prevent them from landing. Colonel Bourlamaque greatly underestimated the recklessness of his captain. Thrice he was ordered to retreat, as the enemy was too powerful, and thrice he refused, leading his Indian guides to abandon him.
To protect the fort and the rest of his army, Montcalm ordered the destruction of the makeshift bridges that Trépezet could have used to retreat.
Alone and without guides, Trépezet and his men wandered through the dense forest between Lake George and Lake Champlain, trying to reach Fort Carillon. It was then that they encountered a small unit led by none other than the second-in-command of the British army, George Howe.
These men had set out to scout enemy positions in preparation for the imminent battle and were returning to inform General Abercrombie of what they had seen when they were ambushed.
The exchange of fire was brief but intense. George Howe, who had not expected to encounter such a large enemy force so far from the French lines, was killed by a musket shot to the chest. It was a true tragedy for the entire British army.
Though Abercrombie was the figurehead commander, Howe had been the de facto leader. The fact that they had managed to assemble and equip such a large force was due to his abilities.
The gunfire quickly attracted other British troops, and half of Trépezet's men were killed in a short time. As for the captain, gravely wounded, he managed to escape by swimming with only fifty men.
Howe's death so early in the campaign forced General Abercrombie to choose a new second-in-command. His choice fell on Colonel Thomas Gage, a man close to forty and experienced, having served as aide-de-camp to the Earl of Albemarle at the Battle of Fontenoy during the War of Austrian Succession and at Culloden when the Scottish rebellion was crushed.
However, he did not remain in this position long, as he was far from Howe's level. Lieutenant Colonel John Bradstreet soon became the second in command of this army.
***
On the evening of July 7th, Major General Abercrombie was confident.
Their camp had been set up in front of the French entrenchments, and even though he did not have his artillery, he knew the enemy was vastly outnumbered. He also knew that his adversary had not had time to finish his preparations.
Tomorrow, our flag will fly above that fort, and within a month, Montreal and Quebec will fall. Pitiful French. Despite all your efforts, you stand no chance against the might of our armies!
A proud smile crossed his rosy lips as he stared at a map of New France. He could already visualize his conquests. If he managed to capture those two great cities, all of New France would fall under British control. Meanwhile, General Amherst would still be stuck before Louisbourg.
I will go down in history as the one who brought down New France. My name will never be forgotten. It will be celebrated for centuries! No one will be able to say I didn't deserve my rank! My detractors will have no choice but to remain silent and fade away!
Although he had suffered losses, they were minimal compared to the size of his army. But more than the few hundred men, the loss of George Howe was the real problem.
Though he did not like having a subordinate so competent that he overshadowed him, Howe's absence was quickly felt. The morale of the men had dropped somewhat, though Abercrombie attributed it more to the previous night they had spent in the woods near Lake George.
"Well, it's time to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."
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July 8th, to his great relief, dawned dry. The sky was partially cloudy, but a gentle breeze blew, soon to scatter the gloom. It was tinged with lovely orange hues as dawn approached.
His army was already waking up and preparing for battle.
In a few hours, everyone was in position facing the entrenchments held firmly by the enemy, whom they could barely see. Despite the little time they had had, he had to admit that the French had done a good job.
Between them and the long barricade of wood and earth, there wasn't a single tree left standing. The terrain was clear, ideal for allowing the defenders to hold their position. However, they had left numerous obstacles in the way, especially thick branches.
Well, well. It looks like they're ready to fight to the death. That's fine with me, but it's pointless. There can't be more than a few thousand of them. Even if the Chevalier de Lévis arrived with reinforcements, nothing will change.
He knew that the opposing commander, the infamous Montcalm, had asked for his help a few days earlier. He thought Lévis would arrive the next day or the day after with three thousand men, but he had come with only four hundred regulars. It was so ridiculous he wanted to laugh.
Since they want to die here, so be it.
"Lieutenant Clerk?"
"General?" the military engineer responded, stepping forward.
"You confirm that our infantry alone will be enough to take down this barricade?"
"Absolutely, sir! I've done new reconnaissance! Even though our artillery would certainly save us time, this barricade can definitely be taken by the brute force of our soldiers!"
"Good, that's all I needed to know. Lieutenant Colonel Bradstreet?"
"General?" the officer replied, also stepping forward, hesitating to share his concerns with his superior.
"Contact Mr. Gage and the Rogers' Rangers and tell them to launch the assault as planned, along with the New York and Massachusetts provincials. Let our regulars wait a bit before acting."
"At your orders."
In the end, he decided to remain silent, at least for now, not wanting to get on his commander's bad side right after being promoted.
***
Montcalm, at the center of the defensive line, watched the redcoats start moving to the sound of flutes and drums. Long lines of men advanced step by step across the open terrain, doing their best to ignore the obstacles in their path.
He had expected nothing less from such a disciplined army. The only thing that surprised him was the enemy commander's decision to attack head-on. If it had been him, he would have tried to flank this barricade by any means necessary. That's why, in recent days, he had had additional lines built.
"Fire!"
The marquis's order rang out along the defensive line, and several thousand musket shots echoed at the same time. Immediately, a long wall of smoke formed above the roughly hewn log barricade.
In front of them, nearly two hundred meters away, a few redcoats, tangled in the branches, fell.
The enemy attack was not all-out, because with such a large number of soldiers, they would get in each other's way. Abercrombie had thus only sent a wave of soldiers against them, more to test the enemy than to crush them in one blow.
Mr. Montcalm, armed with his spyglass, observed his enemy doing the same. Despite the first losses, the general didn't seem particularly shaken.
He doesn't seem surprised by the quality of our defenses. Let's see what state he'll be in an hour from now… if we're still standing.
Adam and his men, now reduced to thirty-three due to the losses they had suffered at Louisbourg, were positioned slightly to the left, between the companies of André Louis and Albert Fontaine. The other companies that had followed Captain Gilbert were all gathered there, between the Languedoc Regiment and the Royal Roussillon.
Albert Fontaine, being the most senior captain, took command of the eight companies of the Picardy Regiment.
Since it wasn't possible to form ranks as in a traditional battle, he organized his troops differently. He asked each captain to organize three teams: one was tasked solely with firing while the other two were responsible for reloading the muskets.
Adam placed himself in the first team and traded his pistol for the standard soldier's weapon, as it had three times the effective range. Everything was set up so that he only had to reach out to grab a loaded musket. That way, he and his comrades never had to stop firing to reload.
Since firing was exhausting and very repetitive, the teams rotated regularly. After an hour of relentless firing, Albert Fontaine blew a whistle, and the first team switched to reloading.
Adam quickly glanced down. Many bodies lay in the tall grass and between the broken branches. From a distance, one might have thought it was a field of poppies.
My God! It's a massacre! I... I think we can do it! We can win!
***
Montcalm and Abercrombie were both very surprised by such heavy fire from where the soldiers of the Picardy Regiment were stationed. The redcoats were falling like flies, covering the ground.
Major General Abercrombie, more disappointed than angry, gave the order around two in the afternoon for his men to charge in a second wave, still convinced that no matter the quality of the defenses, sheer numbers would eventually prevail. This second assault was even larger than the first.
The English soldiers had to show courage while avoiding stepping on the bodies of their comrades. Some, merely wounded, anxiously waited for the firing to ease up so they could emerge from their hiding spots and receive aid.
Meanwhile, Montcalm, still at his post, a sword in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other, shouted orders to encourage his troops, assuring them that reinforcements were on the way, that they had to hold at all costs, and that they must not let a single Englishman through.
"Hold on! Stay strong! We are the bulwark protecting Quebec, Trois-Rivières, and Montreal!"
He had not stopped rallying his men, and yet he showed no sign of fatigue. This greatly inspired the regular soldiers. The militiamen were doing very well too, as they were fighting to defend their homes and families. As for the Indians stationed at the barricade, Montcalm couldn't find fault with them either, as they were fighting like lions.
Every man who managed to scale the defensive line quickly died under their merciless blows.
It was at that moment that word came the English had finally brought their artillery up the river to speed their advance. But they had made a grave mistake: they were now within range of their own cannons, perched on the solid walls of Fort Carillon.
"Idiots! To our gunners, aim for the enemy artillery!"
Quickly, heavy detonations echoed through the air thick with gunpowder, and large splashes disturbed the surface of the water. One barge was hit, and several men sank along with the cannon aboard. Shortly after, a second boat went down.
This horrific sight forced the remaining barges to retreat.
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Around 3:30 p.m., it was Adam's team's turn to fire again. The enemy kept coming despite the losses. The opposing general persisted in believing that sooner or later, the French would break, and then everything would fall apart quickly. But hours passed, and the barricade still held strong.
Adam quickly grabbed a musket handed to him the second he needed it, aiming at a British soldier trying to climb the palisade by leaning on a stake. He hit him between the eyes, and the man fell backward, joining the others.
The young man had lost count of how many people he had killed, but he was convinced that here, more deaths were happening than anywhere else. Montcalm had noticed this too, as he came to congratulate them and urge them to keep going.
Everyone grew increasingly confident in their chances of victory. No matter the strength of the waves, they always inevitably broke against the defenses.
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At five in the afternoon, Major General Abercrombie lost his patience and sent in the 42nd Highland Regiment, the famous Black Watch. Half an hour later, they finally began to breach this obstacle that seemed increasingly insurmountable.
They were so fierce that the French could only fall back. They fought like demons! With musket and saber, these enraged men in kilts cut down everyone in their path. Often, they managed to hold off two or even three adversaries at once!
Unfortunately for them—and for the major general—this small victory was short-lived, as they were massacred by the bayonets of the Berry Regiment, which was no less formidable than this regiment filled with Scotsmen.
***
The losses were becoming too great for the British. Thomas Gage, wounded, returned to the general, one hand bloody and limping on one leg.
"Sir, it's a massacre! I beg you, order a retreat!"
"Not yet! Look! We're almost there!"
"Our men are dying in too great numbers! This is dangerous!"
"I know, but if we take this barricade, it won't be in vain!"
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It wasn't until around 7 p.m. that the general realized there was no hope left for victory. He had underestimated the strength of the French and mistakenly believed that the reports he had received were exaggerated.
Demoralized, he gave the order to fall back as the sun quickly disappeared behind the tall trees of the region. In reality, his men had not waited for him and had already begun retreating in complete disarray.
***
As soon as the redcoats began retreating en masse, loud cries of joy echoed along the defensive line while the last Scots of the Black Watch were finished off.
Adam, trembling with exhaustion, began laughing like a madman, relieved to have survived another day. He raised his tricorne in the air, just like all his men, showing how overjoyed he was to be alive.
Immediately, the Marquis de Montcalm had large barrels of beer and wine brought out. All the soldiers, as tired as Adam, rushed to the barrels and drained them in an instant.
It was a tremendous victory, even though it was too early to estimate the losses. Strangely, there had been almost no deaths at the barricade. Most of the French who had lost their lives here were from the Berry Regiment, as they were the ones who had faced the terrible 42nd Highlanders.
What was certain was that the redcoats had paid a heavy price without achieving anything. The bodies lying and writhing in agony in front of the long wooden wall were so numerous that their number could only be roughly estimated.
For the British officers, it had certainly been a terrible day, but it wasn't over yet, as they still had to find a safe place to rest.
Monsieur de Montcalm would have liked to pursue them, but he was aware of his own forces. He knew his men no longer had the energy to fight. Most importantly, he had achieved such a result because he had the advantage of the terrain.
Beyond his shelter, he wasn't certain he could crush his enemy without suffering heavy losses.