Bury Your Dead

“Because the English under General Wolfe scaled the cliffs. It’s now considered a brilliant tactic.” The elderly gentleman lowered his voice so that the ghosts and the wooden statue above them wouldn’t hear. “Between us? I think Wolfe was doped up on medicine and didn’t know what in the world he was doing.”

Gamache laughed, surprised. General Wolfe, the Anglo hero of the battle, had indeed been ill in the days leading up to that day.

“You don’t think it was a dazzling strategy?”

“I think he was demented and just got lucky.”

Gamache paused. “Maybe. There is another factor in the English victory, you know.”

“Really? Was Montcalm also doped up?”

“He made some mistakes,” said Gamache. “But that wasn’t one of them. No, I was thinking of something else. When Montcalm realized where the actual attack was coming from, he did two things. He hurried to meet them and he sent a message to his aide-de-camp, Bougainville, to come at once. Then Montcalm engaged the English.”

“Too quickly, if I remember correctly. Don’t people say he should have waited for reinforcements?”

“Yes. One of his mistakes. He rushed into battle without enough men.”

Gamache paused, gathering himself. Watching him, Mr. Blake wondered why this long lost battle should affect his companion so strongly. But it did.

“It cost Montcalm his life,” said Blake.

“Yes, he died, though not on the field. General Wolfe died on the field, but not Montcalm. He was hit several times and was taken to the Ursuline convent inside the walls, not far from here, actually. The nuns tried to save him but he died the next morning and was buried along with some of his men, in their basement.”

Mr. Blake thought for a moment. “What about the aide-de-camp? Bougainville? Where was he?”

“Exactly,” said Gamache. “Where was he? He was waiting for the English further upriver. Everyone expected the first wave to come from there. But when Montcalm sent for Bougainville, desperate for reinforcements, why didn’t he come?”

“Why didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. He came, but slowly, and when he finally arrived he held back. His official explanation was that by that time he judged the battle already lost. He didn’t want to destroy his army in a losing cause.”

“Sensible.”

“I agree, but is it likely? His general had ordered him back. He could see the slaughter. Would he have really stopped? Some historians say if Colonel Bougainville had engaged the enemy he’d almost certainly have won. The English were in disarray, most of their senior commanders dead or wounded.”

“What’s your theory? You do have one?” Mr. Blake’s eyes were sharp.

“It’s not likely to be very popular, probably not very accurate either. But there was someone on the English side also in the battle, someone not often mentioned in the histories and yet he’s the most famous of all those present. World famous.”

“Who?”

“James Cook.”

“Captain Cook?”

“The very same. He went on to map most of South America, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific. He was the most famous cartographer alive and still famous today. But before all that he commanded a ship that let off the soldiers, who scaled the cliffs and took Québec once and for all for the English. Québec would never again be in French hands.”

“So what’s your theory?”

“In my line of work you grow suspicious of coincidences. They happen, but not often. And when you see one you ask questions.”

“And this is a big one,” agreed Mr. Blake. “Two world-famous mapmakers fighting on opposite sides of the same battle in a far-flung colony.”

“And one of them hesitates, perhaps disastrously.”

“You think he did it on purpose, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think it’s possible they knew each other, had communicated. I think it’s possible Captain Cook, who was the more senior of the men, made a promise to Bougainville in exchange for a favor.”

“A hesitation. A pause,” said Mr. Blake. “It wouldn’t seem much, but it cost the colony.”

“And many lives, including Général Montcalm,” said Gamache.

“And in exchange? What would Bougainville get?”

“Perhaps Cook pointed him toward the West Indies. Perhaps Cook turned his own blind eye and let Bougainville map and navigate some important places. I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” He held up his book. “I suspect I’m wrong and it really was just a coincidence.”

“But it passes the time,” said Mr. Blake. “And sometimes that’s a blessing.”

Avec le temps, thought Gamache. “And you?” he asked the elderly man.

Mr. Blake handed him the book on ancient Scottish grasses. “Ironically, now that I’m so near the end of my life I seem to have all the time in the world.”

Gamache looked at the dry volume, trying to feign interest. Reading this would certainly make an hour seem an eternity. It would stretch, if not actually waste, time. He opened it. A first edition he noticed, but water damaged and so obscure it almost certainly wouldn’t be worth anything. It was printed in 1845.

And there was something else, another number partly hidden beneath the library card.