I did see the men who, within a matter of minutes, killed Captain Hendricks, wounded Lieutenant Steele, and killed my friend, 1st Lt. William Humphrey. They were all hit by fire from the second-story shooters we didn’t even know were there until they opened fire.

William and I were positioning a scaling ladder against the barricade so Captain Morgan could lead yet another Forlorn Hope over the barricade when a British ball fired from just a few feet over our heads struck William in the chest and he dropped into the snow.

I grabbed him and dragged him back about fifty feet where I thought he would be safer and propped him in the shelter of a doorway beneath a weathered sign, “Duquesne Fur Company.”

As I bent over him with my back to the barrier, I was hit from behind, knocking me face down atop William. For an instant it felt like I was hit twice—once under my right arm and by another projectile on the right side of my head. I tried to rise off William and realized my right arm would not work and I was becoming very weak.

As I began to lose consciousness, I remember saying out loud, “Dear Lord Jesus, save me.” And then, black.

I later learned the Quebec “Battle in the Blizzard” was over by 9:00 a.m., New Year’s Eve, 1775. By then 454 of us had been killed or captured. I still thank God I was not among them.

Duquesne Fur Company, Rue du Sault-au-Matelot,
Quebec City, Canada

Sunday, December 31st, 1775

My next conscious moment, I felt the door beside me open and two strong hands roll me off William’s body and begin dragging me inside on my back by the collar of my dead brother’s cloak.

It was dark. A single lantern on the far side of what seems to be a large room is the only light—too little for me to see who has come to my aid. But when my rescuer says in English with a slight French accent, “I am sorry for hurting you,” I realize it is a woman. As she closes the door, I can see William’s body, covered with snow and she asks, “Can you walk?”

“I will try. Please help me up.”

She reaches down, sees all the blood on the right side of my clothing, and uses my left hand to pull me up to a sitting position. She then goes behind me, kneels, puts her head beneath my left arm and gently as possible helps me stand.

As we start shuffling toward the lantern she says, “We must hide you. The British are coming down the street searching for American soldiers who have taken refuge in these buildings.”

When we get to the far side of the large room, she opens another door and I can feel warmth.