Book: Count Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV

F >> Francis Parkman >> Count Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV




Scouts had brought warning of his approach; and Callières, the local
governor, crossed the St. Lawrence, and encamped at La Prairie with
seven or eight hundred men. [Footnote: _Relation de Bénoe; Relation
de_ 1682-1712.] Here he remained for a week, attacked by fever and
helpless in bed. The fort stood a few rods from the river. Two
battalions of regulars lay on a field at the right; and the Canadians
and Indians were bivouacked on the left, between the fort and a small
stream, near which was a windmill. On the evening of the tenth of
August, a drizzling rain began to fall; and the Canadians thought more
of seeking shelter than of keeping watch. They were, moreover, well
supplied with brandy, and used it freely. [Footnote: "La débauche fut
extrême en toute manière." Belmont.] At an hour before dawn, the
sentry at the mill descried objects like the shadows of men silently
advancing along the borders of the stream. They were Schuyler's
vanguard. The soldier cried, "Qui vive?" There was no answer. He fired
his musket, and ran into the mill. Schuyler's men rushed in a body
upon the Canadian camp, drove its occupants into the fort, and killed
some of the Indian allies, who lay under their canoes on the adjacent
strand.

The regulars on the other side of the fort, roused by the noise,
sprang to arms and hastened to the spot. They were met by a volley,
which laid some fifty of them on the ground, and drove back the rest
in disorder. They rallied and attacked again; on which, Schuyler,
greatly outnumbered, withdrew his men to a neighboring ravine, where
he once more repulsed his assailants, and, as he declares, drove them
into the fort with great loss. By this time it was daylight. The
English, having struck their blow, slowly fell back, hacking down the
corn in the fields, as it was still too green for burning, and pausing
at the edge of the woods, where their Indians were heard for some time
uttering frightful howls, and shouting to the French that they were
not men, but dogs. Why the invaders were left to retreat unmolested,
before a force more than double their own, does not appear. The
helpless condition of Callières and the death of Saint-Cirque, his
second in command, scarcely suffice to explain it. Schuyler retreated
towards his canoes, moving, at his leisure, along the forest path that
led to Chambly. Tried by the standard of partisan war, his raid had
been a success. He had inflicted great harm and suffered little; but
the affair was not yet ended.

A day or two before, Valrenne, an officer of birth and ability, had
been sent to Chambly, with about a hundred and sixty troops and
Canadians, a body of Huron and Iroquois converts, and a band of
Algonquins from the Ottawa. His orders were to let the English pass,
and then place himself in their rear to cut them off from their
canoes. His scouts had discovered their advance; and, on the morning
of the attack, he set his force in motion, and advanced six or seven
miles towards La Prairie, on the path by which Schuyler was
retreating. The country was buried in forests. At about nine o'clock,
the scouts of the hostile parties met each other, and their war-whoops
gave the alarm. Valrenne instantly took possession of a ridge of
ground that crossed the way of the approaching English. Two large
trees had fallen along the crest of the acclivity; and behind these
the French crouched, in a triple row, well hidden by bushes and thick
standing trunks. The English, underrating the strength of their enemy,
and ignorant of his exact position, charged impetuously, and were sent
reeling back by a close and deadly volley. They repeated the attack
with still greater fury, and dislodged the French from their
ambuscade. Then ensued a fight, which Frontenac declares to have been
the most hot and stubborn ever known in Canada. The object of Schuyler
was to break through the French and reach his canoes: the object of
Valrenne was to drive him back upon the superior force at La Prairie.
The cautious tactics of the bush were forgotten. Three times the
combatants became mingled together, firing breast to breast, and
scorching each other's shirts by the flash of their guns. The
Algonquins did themselves no credit; and at first some of the
Canadians gave way, but they were rallied by Le Ber Duchesne, their
commander, and afterwards showed great bravery. On the side of the
English, many of the Mohegan allies ran off; but the whites and the
Mohawks fought with equal desperation. In the midst of the tumult,
Valrenne was perfectly cool, directing his men with admirable vigor
and address, and barring Schuyler's retreat for more than an hour. At
length, the French were driven from the path. "We broke through the
middle of their body," says Schuyler, "until we got into their rear,
trampling upon their dead; then faced about upon them, and fought them
until we made them give way; then drove them, by strength of arm, four
hundred paces before us; and, to say the truth, we were all glad to
see them retreat." [Footnote: _Major Peter Schuyler's Journal of his
Expedition to Canada_, in _N. Y. Col. Docs_., III. 800. "_Les ennemis
enfoncèrent notre embuscade_." Belmont.] He and his followers
continued their march unmolested, carrying their wounded men, and
leaving about forty dead behind them, along with one of their flags,
and all their knapsacks, which they had thrown off when the fray
began. They reached the banks of the Richelieu, found their canoes
safe, and, after waiting several hours for stragglers, embarked for
Albany.

Nothing saved them from destruction but the failure of the French at
La Prairie to follow their retreat, and thus enclose them between two
fires. They did so, it is true, at the eleventh hour, but not till the
fight was over and the English were gone. The Christian Mohawks of the
Saut also appeared in the afternoon, and set out to pursue the enemy,
but seem to have taken care not to overtake them; for the English
Mohawks were their relatives, and they had no wish for their scalps.
Frontenac was angry at their conduct; and, as he rarely lost an
opportunity to find fault with the Jesuits, he laid the blame on the
fathers in charge of the mission, whom he sharply upbraided for the
shortcomings of their flock. [1] He was at Three Rivers at a ball when
news of the disaster at La Prairie damped the spirits of the company,
which, however, were soon revived by tidings of the fight under
Valrenne and the retreat of the English, who were reported to have
left two hundred dead on the field. Frontenac wrote an account of the
affair to the minister, with high praise of Valrenne and his band,
followed by an appeal for help. "What with fighting and hardship, our
troops and militia are wasting away." "The enemy is upon us by sea and
land." "Send us a thousand men next spring, if you want the colony to
be saved." "We are perishing by inches; the people are in the depths
of poverty; the war has doubled prices so that nobody can live." "Many
families are without bread. The inhabitants desert the country, and
crowd into the towns." [Footnote: _Lettres de Frontenac et de
Champigny_, 1691, 1692.] A new enemy appeared in the following summer,
almost as destructive as the Iroquois. This was an army of
caterpillars, which set at naught the maledictions of the clergy, and
made great havoc among the crops. It is recorded that along with the
caterpillars came an unprecedented multitude of squirrels, which,
being industriously trapped or shot, proved a great help to many
families.

Alarm followed alarm. It was reported that Phips was bent on revenge
for his late discomfiture, that great armaments were afoot, and that a
mighty host of "Bostonnais" was preparing another descent. Again and
again Frontenac begged that one bold blow should be struck to end
these perils and make King Louis master of the continent, by
despatching a fleet to seize New York. If this were done, he said, it
would be easy to take Boston and the "rebels and old republican leaven
of Cromwell" who harbored there; then burn the place, and utterly
destroy it. [Footnote: Frontenac in _N. Y. Col. Docs._, IX. 496, 506.]
Villebon, governor of Acadia, was of the same mind. "No town," he told
the minister, "could be burned more easily. Most of the houses are
covered with shingles, and the streets are very narrow." [Footnote:
Villebon in _N. Y. Col. Docs_., IX. 507.] But the king could not spare
a squadron equal to the attempt; and Frontenac was told that he must
wait. The troops sent him did not supply his losses. [Footnote: The
returns show 1,313 regulars in 1691, and 1,120 in 1692.] Money came
every summer in sums which now seem small, but were far from being so
in the eyes of the king, who joined to each remittance a lecture on
economy and a warning against extravagance. [Footnote: _Lettres du Roy
et du Ministre_, 1690-1694. In 1691, the amount allowed for
_extraordinaires de guerre_ was 99,000 livres (_francs_). In 1692, it
was 193,000 livres, a part of which was for fortifications. In the
following year, no less than 750,000 livres were drawn for Canada, "ce
qui ne se pourroit pas supporter, si cela continuoit de la mesme
force," writes the minister. (_Le Ministre à Frontenac_, 13 _Mars_,
1694.) This last sum probably included the pay of the troops.]

The intendant received his share of blame on these occasions, and he
usually defended himself vigorously. He tells his master that
"war-parties are necessary, but very expensive. We rarely pay money;
but we must give presents to our Indians, and fit out the Canadians
with provisions, arms, ammunition, moccasons, snow-shoes, sledges,
canoes, capotes, breeches, stockings, and blankets. This costs a great
deal, but without it we should have to abandon Canada." The king
complained that, while the great sums he was spending in the colony
turned to the profit of the inhabitants, they contributed nothing to
their own defence. The complaint was scarcely just; for, if they gave
no money, they gave their blood with sufficient readiness. Excepting a
few merchants, they had nothing else to give; and, in the years when
the fur trade was cut off, they lived chiefly on the pay they received
for supplying the troops and other public services. Far from being
able to support the war, they looked to the war to support them.
[Footnote: "Sa Majesté fait depuis plusieurs années des sacrifices
immenses en Canada. L'avantage en demeure presque tout entier au
profit des habitans et des marchands qui y resident. Ces dépenses se
font pour leur seureté et pour leur conservation. Il est juste que
ceux qui sont en estat secourent le public." _Mémoire du Roy_, 1693.
"Les habitans de la colonie ne contribuent en rien à tout ce que Sa
Majesté fait pour leur conservation, pendant que ses sujets du Royaume
donnent tout ce qu'ils ont pour son service." _Le Ministre a
Frontenac_, 13 _Mars_, 1694.]

The work of fortifying the vital points of the colony, Quebec, Three
Rivers, and Montreal, received constant stimulus from the alarms of
attack, and, above all, from a groundless report that ten thousand
"Bostonnais" had sailed for Quebec. The sessions of the council were
suspended, and the councillors seized pick and spade. The old defences
of the place were reconstructed on a new plan, made by the great
engineer Vauban. The settlers were mustered together from a distance
of twenty leagues, and compelled to labor, with little or no pay, till
a line of solid earthworks enclosed Quebec from Cape Diamond to the
St. Charles. Three Rivers and Montreal were also strengthened. The
cost exceeded the estimates, and drew upon Frontenac and Champigny
fresh admonitions from Versailles. [2]

The bounties on scalps and prisoners were another occasion of royal
complaint. Twenty crowns had been offered for each male white
prisoner, ten crowns for each female, and ten crowns for each scalp,
whether Indian or English. [Footnote: _Champigny au Ministre_, 21
_Sept_., 1692.] The bounty on prisoners produced an excellent result,
since instead of killing them the Indian allies learned to bring them
to Quebec. If children, they were placed in the convents; and, if
adults, they were distributed to labor among the settlers. Thus,
though the royal letters show that the measure was one of policy, it
acted in the interest of humanity. It was not so with the bounty on
scalps. The Abenaki, Huron, and Iroquois converts brought in many of
them; but grave doubts arose whether they all came from the heads of
enemies. [Footnote: _Relation de_ 1682-1712.] The scalp of a Frenchman
was not distinguishable from the scalp of an Englishman, and could be
had with less trouble. Partly for this reason, and partly out of
economy, the king gave it as his belief that a bounty of one crown was
enough; though the governor and the intendant united in declaring that
the scalps of the whole Iroquois confederacy would be a good bargain
for his Majesty at ten crowns apiece. [Footnote: _Mémoire du Roy aux
Sieurs Frontenac et Champigny_, 1693; _Frontenac et Champigny au
Ministre_, 4 _Nov_., 1693. The bounty on prisoners was reduced in the
same proportion, showing that economy was the chief object of the
change.]

The river Ottawa was the main artery of Canada, and to stop it was to
stop the flow of her life blood. The Iroquois knew this; and their
constant effort was to close it so completely that the annual supply
of beaver skins would be prevented from passing, and the colony be
compelled to live on credit. It was their habit to spend the latter
part of the winter in hunting among the forests between the Ottawa and
the upper St. Lawrence, and then, when the ice broke up, to move in
large bands to the banks of the former stream, and lie in ambush at
the Chaudière, the Long Saut, or other favorable points, to waylay the
passing canoes. On the other hand, it was the constant effort of
Frontenac to drive them off and keep the river open; an almost
impossible task. Many conflicts, great and small, took place with
various results; but, in spite of every effort, the Iroquois blockade
was maintained more than two years. The story of one of the
expeditions made by the French in this quarter will show the hardship
of the service, and the moral and physical vigor which it demanded.

Early in February, three hundred men under Dorvilliers were sent by
Frontenac to surprise the Iroquois in their hunting-grounds. When they
were a few days out, their leader scalded his foot by the upsetting of
a kettle at their encampment near Lake St. Francis; and the command
fell on a youth named Beaucour, an officer of regulars, accomplished
as an engineer, and known for his polished wit. The march through the
snow-clogged forest was so terrible that the men lost heart. Hands and
feet were frozen; some of the Indians refused to proceed, and many of
the Canadians lagged behind. Shots were heard, showing that the enemy
were not far off; but cold, hunger, and fatigue had overcome the
courage of the pursuers, and the young commander saw his followers on
the point of deserting him. He called them together, and harangued
them in terms so animating that they caught his spirit, and again
pushed on. For four hours more they followed the tracks of the
Iroquois snow-shoes, till they found the savages in their bivouac, set
upon them, and killed or captured nearly all. There was a French slave
among them, scarcely distinguishable from his owners. It was an
officer named La Plante, taken at La Chine three years before. "He
would have been killed like his masters," says La Hontan, "if he had
not cried out with all his might, _'Miséricorde, sauvez-moi, je suis
Français'_" [Footnote: La Potherie, III. 156; _Relation de ce qui
s'est passé de plus considérable en Canada_, 1691, 1692; La Hontan, I.
233.] Beaucour brought his prisoners to Quebec, where Frontenac
ordered that two of them should be burned. One stabbed himself in
prison; the other was tortured by the Christian Hurons on Cape
Diamond, defying them to the last. Nor was this the only instance of
such fearful reprisal. In the same year, a number of Iroquois captured
by Vaudreuil were burned at Montreal at the demand of the Canadians
and the mission Indians, who insisted that their cruelties should be
paid back in kind. It is said that the purpose was answered, and the
Iroquois deterred for a while from torturing their captives.
[Footnote: _Relation_, 1682-1712.]

The brunt of the war fell on the upper half of the colony. The country
about Montreal, and for nearly a hundred miles below it, was easily
accessible to the Iroquois by the routes of Lake Champlain and the
upper St. Lawrence; while below Three Rivers the settlements were
tolerably safe from their incursions, and were exposed to attack
solely from the English of New England, who could molest them only by
sailing up from the Gulf in force. Hence the settlers remained on
their farms, and followed their usual occupations, except when
Frontenac drafted them for war-parties. Above Three Rivers, their
condition was wholly different. A traveller passing through this part
of Canada would have found the houses empty. Here and there he would
have seen all the inhabitants of a parish laboring in a field
together, watched by sentinels, and generally guarded by a squad of
regulars. When one field was tilled, they passed to the next; and this
communal process was repeated when the harvest was ripe. At night,
they took refuge in the fort; that is to say, in a cluster of log
cabins, surrounded by a palisade. Sometimes, when long exemption from
attack had emboldened them, they ventured back to their farm-houses,
an experiment always critical and sometimes fatal. Thus the people of
La Chesnaye, forgetting a sharp lesson they had received a year or two
before, returned to their homes in fancied security. One evening a
bachelor of the parish made a visit to a neighboring widow, bringing
with him his gun and a small dog. As he was taking his leave, his
hostess, whose husband had been killed the year before, told him that
she was afraid to be left alone, and begged him to remain with her, an
invitation which he accepted. Towards morning, the barking of his dog
roused him; when, going out, he saw the night lighted up by the blaze
of burning houses, and heard the usual firing and screeching of an
Iroquois attack. He went back to his frightened companion, who also
had a gun. Placing himself at a corner of the house, he told her to
stand behind him. A number of Iroquois soon appeared, on which he
fired at them, and, taking her gun, repeated the shot, giving her his
own to load. The warriors returned his fire from a safe distance, and
in the morning withdrew altogether, on which the pair emerged from
their shelter, and succeeded in reaching the fort. The other
inhabitants were all killed or captured. [Footnote: _Relation_,
1682-1712.] Many incidents of this troubled time are preserved, but
none of them are so well worth the record as the defence of the fort
at Verchères by the young daughter of the seignior. Many years later,
the Marquis de Beauharnais, governor of Canada, caused the story to be
written down from the recital of the heroine herself. Verchères was on
the south shore of the St. Lawrence, about twenty miles below
Montreal. A strong blockhouse stood outside the fort, and was
connected with it by a covered way. On the morning of the twenty-second
of October, the inhabitants were at work in the fields, and nobody was
left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, an old man of eighty,
and a number of women and children. The seignior, formerly an officer
of the regiment of Carignan, was on duty at Quebec; his wife was at
Montreal; and their daughter Madeleine, fourteen years of age, was at
the landing-place not far from the gate of the fort, with a hired man
named Laviolette. Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where
the settlers were at work, and an instant after Laviolette cried out,
"Run, Mademoiselle, run! here come the Iroquois!" She turned and saw
forty or fifty of them at the distance of a pistol-shot. "I ran for
the fort, commending myself to the Holy Virgin. The Iroquois who
chased after me, seeing that they could not catch me alive before I
reached the gate, stopped and fired at me. The bullets whistled about
my ears, and made the time seem very long. As soon as I was near
enough to be heard, I cried out, _To arms! to arms!_ hoping that
somebody would come out and help me; but it was of no use. The two
soldiers in the fort were so scared that they had hidden in the
blockhouse. At the gate, I found two women crying for their husbands,
who had just been killed. I made them go in, and then shut the gate. I
next thought what I could do to save myself and the few people with
me. I went to inspect the fort, and found that several palisades had
fallen down, and left openings by which the enemy could easily get in.
I ordered them to be set up again, and helped to carry them myself.
When the breaches were stopped, I went to the blockhouse where the
ammunition is kept, and here I found the two soldiers, one hiding in a
corner, and the other with a lighted match in his hand. 'What are you
going to do with that match?' I asked. He answered, 'Light the powder,
and blow us all up.' 'You are a miserable coward,' said I, 'go out of
this place.' I spoke so resolutely that he obeyed. I then threw off my
bonnet; and, after putting on a hat and taking a gun, I said to my two
brothers: 'Let us fight to the death. We are fighting for our country
and our religion. Remember that our father has taught you that
gentlemen are born to shed their blood for the service of God and the
king.'"

The boys, who were twelve and ten years old, aided by the soldiers,
whom her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire
from the loopholes upon the Iroquois, who, ignorant of the weakness of
the garrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified
place, and occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people
in the neighboring fields. Madeleine ordered a cannon to be fired,
partly to deter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of
the soldiers, who were hunting at a distance. The women and children
in the fort cried and screamed without ceasing. She ordered them to
stop, lest their terror should encourage the Indians. A canoe was
presently seen approaching the landing-place. It was a settler named
Fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his family. The Iroquois were
still near; and Madeleine feared that the new comers would be killed,
if something were not done to aid them. She appealed to the soldiers,
but their courage was not equal to the attempt; on which, as she
declares, after leaving Laviolette to keep watch at the gate, she
herself went alone to the landing-place. "I thought that the savages
would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in order
to make a sortie upon them. They did suppose so, and thus I was able
to save the Fontaine family. When they were all landed, I made them
march before me in full sight of the enemy. We put so bold a face on
it, that they thought they had more to fear than we. Strengthened by
this reinforcement, I ordered that the enemy should be fired on
whenever they showed themselves. After sunset, a violent north-east
wind began to blow, accompanied with snow and hail, which told us that
we should have a terrible night. The Iroquois were all this time
lurking about us; and I judged by their movements that, instead of
being deterred by the storm, they would climb into the fort under
cover of the darkness. I assembled all my troops, that is to say, six
persons, and spoke to them thus: 'God has saved us to-day from the
hands of our enemies, but we must take care not to fall into their
snares to-night. As for me, I want you to see that I am not afraid. I
will take charge of the fort with an old man of eighty and another who
never fired a gun; and you, Pierre Fontaine, with La Bonté and Gachet
(our two soldiers), will go to the blockhouse with the women and
children, because that is the strongest place; and, if I am taken,
don't surrender, even if I am cut to pieces and burned before your
eyes. The enemy cannot hurt you in the blockhouse, if you make the
least show of fight.' I placed my young brothers on two of the
bastions, the old man on the third, and I took the fourth; and all
night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cries of 'All's well'
were kept up from the blockhouse to the fort, and from the fort to the
blockhouse. One would have thought that the place was full of
soldiers. The Iroquois thought so, and were completely deceived, as
they confessed afterwards to Monsieur de Callières, whom they told
that they had held a council to make a plan for capturing the fort in
the night but had done nothing because such a constant watch was kept.

"About one in the morning, the sentinel on the bastion by the gate
called out, 'Mademoiselle, I hear something.' I went to him to find
what it was; and by the help of the snow, which covered the ground, I
could see through the darkness a number of cattle, the miserable
remnant that the Iroquois had left us. The others wanted to open the
gate and let them in, but I answered: 'God forbid. You don't know all
the tricks of the savages. They are no doubt following the cattle,
covered with skins of beasts, so as to get into the fort, if we are
simple enough to open the gate for them.' Nevertheless, after taking
every precaution, I thought that we might open it without risk. I made
my two brothers stand ready with their guns cocked in case of
surprise, and so we let in the cattle.

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