As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
But at last the tide turned. In 1757 William Pitt forced his way to the leadership of the government in England, and at once formed a comprehensive plan for a combined attack on the French forts in America. The first point of attack was Louisburg, which had been ceded back to France in 1748, and in the spring of 1758 a strong expedition under Lord Amherst was dispatched against it. The siege commenced June 8—the very day of the disaster at Ticonderoga—and after a tremendous bombardment which destroyed the town and badly breached the fortress, the garrison, numbering nearly six thousand, surrendered July 26, 1758.
ON THE LATE SUCCESSFUL EXPEDITION AGAINST LOUISBOURG
[July 26, 1758]
At length 'tis done, the glorious conflict's done,
And British valor hath the conquest won:
Success our arms, our heroes, honor crowns,
And Louisbourg an English monarch owns!
Swift, to the scene where late the valiant fought,
Waft me, ye muses, on the wings of thought—
That awful scene where the dread god of war
O'er field of death roll'd his triumphant car:
There yet, with fancy's eye, methinks I view
The pressing throng, the fierce assault renew:
With dauntless front advance, and boldly brave
The cannon's thunder and th' expecting grave.
On yonder cliff, high hanging o'er the deep,
Where trembling joy climbs the darksome steep;
Britannia lonely sitting, from afar
Waits the event, and overlooks the war;
Thence, rolls her eager wand'ring eyes about
In all the dread anxiety of doubt;
Sees her fierce sons, her foes with vengeance smite,
Grasp deathless honors, and maintain the fight.
Whilst thus her breast alternate passions sway,
And hope and fear wear the slow hours away.
See! from the realms of everlasting light,
A radiant form wings her aerial flight.
The palm she carries, and the crown she wears,
Plainly denote 'tis Victory appears;
Her crimson vestment loosely flows behind,
The clouds her chariot, and the wings her wind:
Trumpets shrill sounding all around her play,
And laurell'd honors gild her azure way—
Now she alights—the trumpets cease to sound,
Her presence spreads expecting silence round:—
And thus she speaks; whilst from her heav'nly face
Effulgent glories brighten all the place—
"Britannia, hail! thine is at length the day,
And lasting triumphs shall thy cares repay;
Thy godlike sons, by this, their names shall raise,
And tongues remote shall joy to swell their praise.
I to the list'ning world shall soon proclaim
Of Wolfe's brave deeds, the never-dying fame,
And swell with glory Amherst's patriot name.
Such are the heroes that shall ever bring
Wealth to their country, honor to their king:
Opposing foes, in vain attempt to quell
The native fires that in such bosoms dwell.
To thee, with joy, this laurel I resign,
Smile, smile, Britannia! victory is thine.
Long may it flourish on thy sacred brow!
Long may thy foes a forc'd subjection know!
See, see their pow'r, their boasted pow'r decline!
Rejoice, Britannia! victory is thine."
Give your loose canvas to the breezes free,
Ye floating thund'rers, bulwarks of the sea:
Go, bear the joyful tidings to your king,
And, in the voice of war, declare 'tis victory you bring:
Let the wild crowd that catch the breath of fame,
In mad huzzas their ruder joy proclaim:
Let their loud thanks to heav'n in flames ascend,
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While mingling shouts the azure concave rend.
But let the few, whom reason makes more wise,
With glowing gratitude uplift their eyes:
Oh! let their breasts dilate with sober joy.
Let pious praise their hearts and tongues employ;
To bless our God with me let all unite,
He guides the conq'ring sword, he governs in the fight.
Francis Hopkinson.
The fall of Louisburg was followed a few months later by the capture of Fort Duquesne (November 25, 1758), by General John Forbes. Forbes, at the head of an excellent army, had proceeded slowly and carefully. As the English approached, the French realized that to remain was simply to be captured, so they deserted the hopeless post, and Forbes marched in unmolested. He named his conquest Fort Pitt, after the great minister.
FORT DUQUESNE
A HISTORICAL CENTENNIAL BALLAD
[November 25, 1758-1858]
I
Come, fill the beaker, while we chaunt a pean of old days:
By Mars! no men shall live again more worthy of our praise,
Than they who stormed at Louisburg and Frontenac amain,
And shook the English standard out o'er the ruins of Duquesne.
For glorious were the days they came, the soldiers strong and true,
And glorious were the days, they came for Pennsylvania, too;
When marched the troopers sternly on through forest's autumn brown,
And where St. George's cross was raised, the oriflame went down.
Virginia sent her chivalry and Maryland her brave,
And Pennsylvania to the cause her noblest yeomen gave:
Oh, and proud were they who wore the garb of Indian hunters then,
For every sturdy youth was worth a score of common men!
They came from Carolina's pines, from fruitful Delaware—
The staunchest and the stoutest of the chivalrous were there;
And calm and tall above them all, i' the red November sun,
Like Saul above his brethren, rode Colonel Washington.
O'er leagues of wild and waste they passed, they forded stream and fen,
Where danger lurked in every glade, and death in every glen;
They heard the Indian ranger's cry, the Frenchman's far-off hail,
From purple distance echoed back through the hollows of the vale.
And ever and anon they came, along their dangerous way,
Where, ghastly, 'mid the yellow leaves, their slaughtered comrades lay;
The tartans of Grant's Highlanders were sodden yet and red,
As routed in the rash assault, they perished as they fled.
—Ah! many a lass ayont the Tweed shall rue the fatal fray,
And high Virginian dames shall mourn the ruin of that day,
When gallant lad and cavalier i' the wilderness were slain,
'Twixt laurelled Loyalhanna and the outposts of Duquesne.
And there before them was the field of massacre and blood,
Of panic, rout and shameful flight, in that disastrous wood
Where Halket fell and Braddock died, with many a noble one
Whose white bones glistened through the leaves i' the pale November sun.
Then spoke the men of Braddock's Field, and hung their heads in shame,
For England's tarnished honor and for England's sullied fame;
"And, by St. George!" the soldiers swore, "we'll wipe away the stain
Before to-morrow's sunset, at the trenches of Duquesne."
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II
'Twas night along the autumn hills, the sun's November gleam
Had left its crimson on the leaves, its tinge upon the stream;
And Hermit Silence kept his watch 'mid ancient rocks and trees,
And placed his finger on the lip of babbling brook and breeze.
The bivouac's set by Turtle Creek; and while the soldiers sleep,
The swarthy chiefs around the fires an anxious council keep;
Some spoke of murmurs in the camp, scarce whispered to the air,
But tokens of discouragement, the presage of despair.
Some a retreat advised; 'twas late; the winter drawing on;
The forage and provision, too,—so Ormsby said,—were gone.
Men could not feed on air and fight; whatever Pitt might say;
In praise or censure, still, they thought, 'twere wiser to delay.
Then up spoke iron-headed Forbes, and through his feeble frame
There ran the lightning of a will that put them all to shame!
"I'll hear no more," he roundly swore; "we'll storm the fort amain!
I'll sleep in hell to-morrow night, or sleep in Fort Duquesne!"
So said: and each to sleep addressed his wearied limbs and mind,
And all was hushed i' the forest, save the sobbing of the wind,
And the tramp, tramp, tramp of the sentinel, who started oft in fright
At the shadows wrought 'mid the giant trees by the fitful camp-fire light.
Good Lord! what sudden glare is that that reddens all the sky,
As though hell's legions rode the air and tossed their torches high!
Up, men! the alarm drum beats to arms! and the solid ground seems riven
By the shock of warring thunderbolts in the lurid depth of heaven!
O there was clattering of steel, and mustering in array,
And shouts and wild huzzas of men, impatient of delay,
As came the scouts swift-footed in—"They fly! the foe! they fly!
They've fired the powder magazine and blown it to the sky!"
III
Now morning o'er the frosty hills in autumn splendor came,
And touched the rolling mists with gold, and flecked the clouds with flame;
And through the brown woods on the hills—those altars of the world—
The blue smoke from the settler's hut and Indian's wigwam curled.
Yet never, here, had morning dawned on such a glorious din
Of twanging trump, and rattling drum, and clanging culverin,
And glittering arms and sabre gleams and serried ranks of men,
Who marched with banners high advanced along the river glen.
Oh, and royally they bore themselves who knew that o'er the seas
Would speed the glorious tidings from the loyal colonies,
Of the fall of French dominion with the fall of Fort Duquesne,
And the triumph of the English arms from Erie to Champlain.
Before high noon they halted; and while they stood at rest,
They saw, unfolded gloriously, the "Gateway of the West,"
There flashed the Allegheny, like a scimetar of gold,
And king-like in its majesty, Monongahela rolled.
Beyond, the River Beautiful swept down the woody vales,
Where Commerce, ere a century passed, should spread her thousand sails;
Between the hazy hills they saw Contrecœur's armed batteaux,
And the flying, flashing, feathery oars of the Ottawa's canoes.
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Then, on from rank to rank of men, a shout of triumph ran,
And while the cannon thundered, the leader of the van,
The tall Virginian, mounted on the walls that smouldered yet,
And shook the English standard out, and named the place Fort Pitt.
Again with wild huzzas the hills and river valleys ring,
And they swing their loyal caps in air, and shout—"Long live the King!
Long life unto King George!" they cry, "and glorious be the reign
That adds to English statesmen Pitt, to English arms Duquesne!"
Florus B. Plimpton.
Nuff Said
agtG
