"AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM"
If on its material side French colonial policy took account of the
Indian, it did so much more on its religious side. Quebec was the
farthest outpost of Catholicism. New France was for ever to be free
from the taint of heresy, allowing none but Catholic settlers within
her gates; and Huguenots, as we have seen, were specifically excluded.
The Indians were to be rescued from heathen darkness and led into the
sacred light of the Church. Jesuit missions thus became a salient
feature in the early history of Quebec, the nerve centre of the
movement being the palisaded convent on the little St. Charles.
To go back in review. On the retrocession of Quebec by the English,
under the Treaty of St. Germain-en-Laye, in the time of Champlain, the
influence of the Jesuits was sufficient to secure for themselves the
undivided control of the Canadian mission. Returning to Quebec in
1632, Father Le Jeune and his two companions had established
themselves in the half-ruined convent of Notre Dame des Anges, built
by the Récollets sixteen years before. The log stockade enclosed two
buildings, the smaller of which served as storehouse, stable, and
workshop, and the larger as chapel and refectory. Four tiny cells
opened off the latter, and in these the fathers lodged, while the lay
brothers and the workmen found apartments in the garret and the
cellar. The regimen of this crude establishment was severely ascetic.
The day began with early Mass and closed with evening prayers. The
intervening time was spent by the laymen in cultivating the little
clearing, and by the fathers in hearing confessions at the fort a mile
away, or in struggling with the Algonquin idiom, by the vague
assistance of one Pierre, an Indian proselyte, who, in weakness of
flesh, ran away when the season of Lent drew near.
The strength of the Jesuits was increased in the spring of 1633 by the
arrival of four new priests. Of these the most remarkable was Jean de
Brébeuf, the descendant of a noble family in Normandy, and destined to
prove his own nobility by an intrepid zeal and an almost incredible
courage.
Le Jeune's distressful experiment with a band of wandering Algonquins
had convinced the Jesuits that their schemes of mission-conquest could
not bear much fruit if they were confined to the vagrant tribes of
the north. Farther west in the peninsula of the great lakes lived
Indians of fixed habits and domicile, and otherwise further advanced
towards civilisation than the improvident hunting tribes round about
Quebec. Of these the most notable were the Hurons. As long before as
1615 the Récollet Le Caron had gone among them, and several years
later Brébeuf had made the perilous lodges of Ihonatiria his
habitation, but had at length returned to France. On his coming to
Quebec again in the spring of 1633, Brébeuf anxiously turned his
thoughts towards his former mission, awaiting only a favourable
opportunity to forsake the comparative safety of the city of Quebec
for the gloomy shores of Lake Huron and "the greater glory of God."
Midsummer brought the annual swarm of Hurons to the trading fair at
Quebec. For a week the all but naked savages overran the little
settlement, their animal curiosity almost driving the French to
distraction, and their casual peculations causing much annoyance. But
their presence was a necessary evil, if the Fur Company was to declare
its dividends. Hence long-suffering courtesy became essential both to
the peace of the city and to future interests so much at stake.
A powerful consideration with the community was the anxiety of the
Jesuits to go back with the Indians to their villages on Lake Huron.
Champlain, when governor, had espoused this project in the most
seductive of his speeches. "These are our fathers," he had announced
to the sixty chiefs gathered for the nonce in the quadrangle of the
Fort. "We love them more than we love ourselves. The whole French
nation honours them. They do not go among you for your furs. They have
left their friends and their country to show you the way to the happy
hunting-grounds. If you love the French, as you say you do, then love
and honour these our fathers, and care for them in your distant
villages."
But the wind bloweth where it listeth, and the Indian mind was no more
sure. Above all else it lacked definiteness; it was touched by
rhetoric. Champlain's auditors had been thrilled with deep emotion.
They were for embarking at once with the Jesuits. Then they had
faltered, and by the next day they had decided to depart without them.
For another year, therefore, the fathers had remained at Notre Dame
des Anges, studying the Huron language for future use, and caring
meantime for the spiritual welfare of the half-hundred French
residents of Quebec.
The summer of 1634 once more saw the city given over to the visiting
Hurons. The old persuasive palaver was repeated, and this time with
more success. When the trading fair was over, Brébeuf, Daniel, and
Davost set off with the savage fleet, each in a different canoe,
facing a journey of nine hundred miles fraught with many perils, but
with none so ominous as the sullen and menacing mood of their heathen
conductors.
Week after week they pressed toilfully up the St. Lawrence and Ottawa;
barefooted they struggled over the rocky portages, with a pittance of
pounded maize for their daily ration, and mother-earth for their
nightly couch. Davost's guide robbed and abandoned him at an island in
the Upper Ottawa. Daniel was likewise deserted; but the giant Brébeuf
yielded to no hardships, and surpassed even the seasoned savages in
strength and endurance. On the shore of the Georgian Bay, however, his
guide at length abandoned him. But Brébeuf had been here in a former
year, and his instinctive woodcraft guided him twenty miles through
the forest to the palisaded village of Ihonatiria.
"Echom has come again," cried the inhabitants, as they recognised the
towering figure of the Jesuit who had departed from them five years
before; and they opened again their lodges to the missionary.
[Illustration: MONUMENT TO THE FIRST CANADIAN MISSIONARY]
After days of anxious waiting, Brébeuf had the joy of seeing Daniel
and Davost arrive at Ihonatiria. The hardships and dangers they had
endured, and the indignities they had suffered from their brutal
guides, were only outweighed by their zealous delight in reaching at
length the scene of their devoted labours. The Hurons aided them in
the construction of a log mission-house; and when the fathers had
decorated the interior with highly-coloured pictures of the saints and
the glittering regalia of the Church, the red men filled it to
overflowing. A striking clock and a magnifying glass, however, were
the chief objects of wonderment, and the credulous Indians regarded
the priests as the workers of miracles. This awe and respect the
fathers turned to good account, gathering the children into the
mission-house for daily instruction. With a mind also to the physical
welfare of their flock, they succeeded in reconstructing the palisades
and fort of the Huron village.
Yet with all the outward respect in which the Jesuits were held, their
doctrines made little or no impression upon the Indian mind. The adult
Hurons had a superstitious fear of baptism, and shunned the sign of
the cross as a spell. Under these difficulties the Jesuits laboured,
saving stricken children from a dark hereafter by the furtive
administration of the dreaded sacrament.
With what boldness they dared to assume, Brébeuf and his companions
condemned the infernal practices of the so-called medicine-men, whose
accomplishments ranged from the curing of snake-bites to the casting
out of devils. To them all diseases of the body called for much the
same treatment, varied only in the proportion of vehemence allowed in
their incantations and at medicine-feasts. The disgraceful orgies
attending these "cures" led the priests to interfere: a policy which
enraged the sorcerers of the tribe, and presently put the lives of the
missionaries in jeopardy.
The summer of 1635 was marked by a great drought. The maize and beans
withered in the sun; and in spite of the hoarse invocations of the
medicine-men and the fierce efforts of the tribal rain-maker the sky
stayed cloudless. Thereupon the Jesuits were accused. The cross upon
the mission-house had frightened the bird of thunder[6] away from
Ihonatiria. Such were the charges which the sorcerers brought against
the Jesuits; and the superstitious Hurons believed that they were
true. However, a timely vow was made to St. Joseph, the chosen
protector of the Hurons, and in answer to their ardent prayers the
rain fell in welcome torrents--so Brébeuf writes--and calamity was
averted for a time.
Meanwhile the work of the Jesuits extended. With headquarters still at
Ihonatiria, they made visits to the neighbouring villages; and for the
greater success of the mission, new priests were drawn from Quebec. By
1640 those labouring among the Hurons and the neutral nation further
south numbered thirteen.
[Footnote 6: The Indian belief regarding thunder was as follows: "It
is a man in the form of a turkey-cock. The sky is his palace, and he
remains in it when the air is clear. When the clouds begin to grumble,
he descends to the earth to gather up snakes and other objects which
the Indians call _okies_. The lightning flashes wherever he opens or
closes his wings. If the storm is more violent than usual, it is
because his young are with him and aiding in the noise as well as they
can."--_Relation des Jesuits_, 1636.]
[Illustration: BRÉBEUF]
It is not possible within the limits of a single chapter to portray
the character and follow the fortunes of all those heroic souls, who
gave up home and country and worldly ambition to bury themselves in
the unknown wilds of the West, and to walk with their lives in their
hands among the cannibal tribes of New France. The motto which
Ignatius Loyola had adopted for his order was, "Ad Majorem Dei
Gloriam," and in their perilous missions its members practised
absolute obedience to quasi-military discipline. To name but four,
Brébeuf, Lalement, Garnier, and Jogues were all destined to tragic
deaths, and the story of their martyrdom is one of the most sorrowful
in the history of the land.
[Illustration: LALEMENT]
The suffering caused by the pestilence of 1637 was much more severe
than those periodical afflictions by which the Indians were visited.
Virulent smallpox was a feature of the plague, and the pious offices
of priests and the incantations of the medicine-men alike proved
unavailing. Clearly, some black spell had been cast upon the nation.
First it was ascribed to a serpent, then to a spotted frog, then to a
demon in the muskets of the French. The Jesuits were accused of
compassing death by magic. The striking clock, which aforetime had
merely astonished them, was now an engine of calamity; and the
litanies floating out through the windows of the mission-house were
fatal incantations. Yet the Indians were afraid to lay hands upon
these dealers in death. Awe held them back from wreaking their
sinister designs upon the fearless men who went as ever into the
pestilential tepees, that through the mystic drop and sign they might
rescue the poor victims from an eternity of woe.
At length it became clear to the Jesuits that fear alone would not
much longer stay the hatchets of the now hopeless Hurons. Daily they
expected to meet a violent death, and a letter, still extant, drawn up
by five priests in the form of a last testament, shows the unfaltering
fortitude of men whose dearest ambition was a martyr's death. The
intervention of a squaw saved Du Peron from the tomahawk uplifted to
brain him; an unseen hand delivered Ragueneau; Le Mercier and Brébeuf
confounded their assailants with the courage of their demeanour; and
only Chaumont suffered, being assaulted and severely wounded. Knowing,
however, that their death had been finally decided upon, the Jesuits
gave a _festin d'adieu_--one of those farewell feasts which Huron
custom enjoined on those about to die; and the courageous resignation
of this band of martyrs filled even the tents of the ungodly with a
superstitious awe. Once more the annihilating blow was averted; and
from this time forward the peril threatening the Jesuit mission came
not from the Hurons themselves, but from their implacable enemies, the
Iroquois.
The year 1640 was drawing to a close when, after a few years' respite,
the terrible war-whoop of the Five Nation Indians again rang through
Canadian woods. Quebec was continually threatened by the Mohawks,
whose highway of attack was the river Richelieu; and the Hurons were
assailed by the Western tribe of the Iroquois confederacy. The
pestilence of 1637 had ruined Ihonatiria, and for greater security the
Jesuits resolved upon a large central establishment, in lieu of small
missions in the several Huron villages. They chose for a site the
mouth of the river Wye, which empties into Matchedash Bay. Here, in
1639, they built the mission of Ste. Marie. In the extreme peril of
Indian warfare, the Hurons fled thither for food and baptism; and the
hunger of three thousand neophytes and refugees soon put the fortified
mission on short rations.
Isaac Jogues and a score of Huron warriors were despatched to Quebec
for food and clothing. They reached the city in safety, although the
St. Lawrence was closely beset by hostile Iroquois. Returning in
twelve canoes laden with necessaries for the destitute Ste. Marie,
Father Jogues and his companions fell into the hands of a Mohawk
war-party. Some were killed on the spot, and the others were carried
up the Richelieu and across Lake Champlain to a more awful fate. First
they were made to run a gauntlet of Mohawk war-clubs; then they were
placed upon a scaffold, where the women lacerated them with knives and
clam-shells, and the children applied fire-brands to their naked
bodies. This torture was repeated in each of the three Mohawk
villages. Goupil, a lay brother, was soon afterwards murdered, and
Jogues lived the life of a slave until some Dutch settlers on the
Hudson effected his ransom and put him on board a ship bound for
France.
In the following year, however, Jogues came back to Quebec, and on
behalf of the suffering city he undertook to negotiate a peace with
the Mohawks. Armed with gifts and belts of wampum, he set out
fearlessly to face his former tormentors. For a short time the wampum
saved him, but he was soon obliged to return to Quebec. The French,
however, were determined to win the Iroquois, politically and
religiously, and no danger was great enough to check them.
Accordingly, in the late summer of 1646, Jogues was again despatched
to the post which by this time had come to be known as the Mission of
the Martyrs; and at last, on the 18th of October, he was foully
murdered in the lodge of a Mohawk chief.
In the preceding winter Anne de Nouë, a Jesuit of noble descent and
frail physique, set off from Quebec to minister to the garrison at
Fort Richelieu. In spite of his sixty-three years, he did not shrink
from the perils of frost and snow which lay before him. On his
snow-shoes and with a few days' provisions he set forth upon the path
of sacrifice. A blizzard overtook him on the frozen river, he lost his
way, and some days later his martyred body was discovered kneeling in
the snow.
Meanwhile the dangers farther west were not decreasing. Iroquois
attacks and Huron reprisals were ever threatening the Jesuit missions,
and the last great blow was soon to fall. In the summer of 1648 an
Iroquois war-party crept up to the gates of St. Joseph. Most of the
warriors had gone to Quebec, but the palisade still contained Father
Daniel and close upon a thousand women and children and old men. An
early Mass had crowded the chapel, and the priest, clothed in full
vestments, was exhorting the neophytes to be strong in the faith, when
the dreaded war-cry rang through the village. The panic-stricken
Hurons sought in vain to save themselves from stark slaughter, but
Daniel met his death calmly at the door of his burning church. Seven
hundred prisoners were taken, and the retiring Iroquois left of St.
Joseph only a heap of ruins.
The destruction of the mission was, however, but the prelude to the
final extinction of the Huron nation. Terror-stricken they awaited the
blow, in spite of the efforts of the Jesuits to rouse them to strong
defence. All winter a formidable war-party of the Mohawks and Senecas
roved through the Huron woods, and in early spring they fell upon St.
Ignace and St. Louis. The first village was burned with no show of
resistance, and its four hundred inhabitants were either tomahawked or
kept for torture. Only three escaped, and these fled to St. Louis,
about a league away. Here Brébeuf and Lalement endeavoured to rally
the panic-stricken villagers. By sunrise the invaders were upon them.
Brought to bay, the Hurons fought bravely. The giant Brébeuf stood in
the breach and cheered them by his hopeful courage. Twice the Iroquois
fell back, but at their third advance drove in the shattered palisade.
Those of the Hurons who still lived were made prisoners; the two
Jesuits were bound together, and the clustering cabins of St. Louis
were given to the flames.
Returning to the ruins of St. Ignace, the Iroquois made preparations
for the despatch of their prisoners. Brébeuf and Lalement were
stricken to the soul by the carnival of blood; yet their own
martyrdom was to be made the most cruel of all. Brébeuf was first
bound to a stake, all the while continuing to speak words of comfort
to his fellow-captives. Enraged by this behaviour, the Iroquois tore
away his lower lip and thrust a hot iron into his throat. No sound or
sign of pain escaped the tortured priest. Then Lalement was also led
out, that each might witness the other's pangs. Strips of bark smeared
with pitch enveloped the naked body of Lalement, and after making him
fast to a stake they set the bark on fire. Round Brébeuf's neck a
collar of red-hot hatchets was hung; and in mockery of baptism the
savages poured kettles of scalding water upon the heads of both.
Brébeuf was scalped, his tormentors drinking the blood, thus to endow
themselves with his unflinching courage. After four hours the noblest
Jesuit of all was dead; but Lalement was kept alive for seventeen
hours, until a pitiful hatchet ended his voiceless misery. So died two
men whose memory has ennobled the history of the land for which they
laboured, and adds to the fame and honour of their race.
At Ste. Marie, Bressani, Ragueneau, and their French companions
awaited the Iroquois onslaught. But the fugitive Hurons, gathering for
a last resistance, had checked the Iroquois' further advance, and
after a fierce battle the latter withdrew southward with an army of
wretched captives.
That day the Hurons as a nation ceased to exist. Abandoning their
remaining villages, they dispersed in small bands to roam northward
and eastward, while a few established themselves at Isle St. Joseph,
thinking to protect themselves here from their inveterate foes. As for
the Jesuits, Garnier and Chabanel still laboured among the Tobacco
nation farther to the south; but they too became the victims of the
Iroquois before this fatal year was over.
Famine and the rigours of winter presently worked sad havoc upon the
little band to whom Ragueneau now ministered at Isle St. Joseph, and
in the spring renewed attacks of the Iroquois led the Hurons to decide
upon a remarkable enterprise. This was to migrate to Quebec and take
refuge under the guns of Fort St. Louis.
On the 10th of June all was ready for the departure, the sorrowing
Hurons bidding good-bye to the home of their fathers, and the Jesuits
to the country consecrated by the blood of their martyrs. Proceeding
by the Georgian Bay, Lake Nipissing, the Ottawa and the St. Lawrence,
the fleet of canoes reached Quebec before the end of July, 1650. And
while Quebec was ready to open her gates to the sorrowful remnant of a
once great nation, her own position was sorely beset. Food was scarce
and lodgings scarcer in the palisaded city. However, the Ursulines and
the nuns of the Hospital made every effort to provide shelter for the
exiled race, and the Jesuits themselves bore the chief burden of their
converts. In the following year, 1651, four hundred more Hurons found
their way to Quebec, and together they established a settlement on the
Island of Orleans. Here, in sight of the protecting ramparts of the
city, this decimated people lived for a time secure. But the Iroquois
were set upon nothing less than their annihilation, and in 1656 they
made a descent upon the quiet island and carried off many captives.
The terrified Hurons were then removed to the city itself and lodged
in a square enclosure almost adjoining Fort St. Louis. A map of 1660
places the "Fort des Sauvages" on the site of the present _Place
d'Armes_. Here they dwelt for about ten years in the same uncertain
security enjoyed by Quebec itself. Then they removed to Ste. Foye,
four miles west of the city, and again changing their abode six years
later, they founded the village of Old Lorette.
Standing to-day on Dufferin Terrace, the observer sees spread beneath
him the picturesque Côte de Beaupré, a graceful upland losing itself
in the Laurentian foot-hills. A shining spire in the middle distance
arrests the eye. It marks the village of Ancient Lorette, a nine
miles' drive from Quebec, where a pitiful moiety of Canada's noblest
Indian tribe ekes out an existence by the making of baskets and beaded
moccasins, and by that nonchalant culture of the soil which still
marks the primitive man.