FRONTENAC AND LA SALLE
The picturesque figure of Count Frontenac now enters upon the stage of
Canadian history. Broken in health, De Courcelles had asked to be
recalled; and ominous signs of Iroquois hostility showed the need of a
strong man for the dangerous post of governor. This strong man was
Frontenac, whose courageous and vigorous administration in a period of
_Sturm und Drang_ has induced Goldwin Smith to call him "the Clive of
Quebec."
Born in 1620, of ancient Basque family, he was the son of a
distinguished member of the household of Louis XIII., the King himself
being the child's godfather. Frontenac's youthful passion was to be a
soldier, and at the early age of fifteen he went to the war in Holland
to serve under the Prince of Orange. Within the next few years he took
a distinguished part in the sieges of Hesdin, Arras, Aire, Callioure,
and Perpignan. At twenty-three he commanded a Norman regiment in the
Italian wars, and at twenty-six he was raised to the rank of Maréchal
de Camp. This was wonderful progress in the profession of war, even in
an age when war was the sport of kings and soldiers fought for the
mere love of fighting. Frontenac at least was one of these devotees,
and when, in 1669, a Venetian embassy came to France to beg for a
general to aid them against the Turks in Candia, the great Turenne
selected him for this honourable duty.
Returning from the campaign in Candia with increased honour and
distinction, Frontenac was appointed Governor of New France in 1672.
The text of the royal commission indicates the extent of the
activities which Frontenac had crowded into a life of fifty-two years,
giving him his full title as: "_Louis de Buade, Comte de Palluau et
Frontenac, Seigneur de l'Isle Savary, Mestre de camp du régiment de
Normandie, Maréchal de camp dans les armées du Roy, et Gouverneur et
Lieutenant-Général en Canada, Acadia, Isle Terreneuve, et autre pays
de la France septentrionale...._"
There appear, however, to have been reasons other than his eminence
which led to the New World appointment of Frontenac. Far back, in
1646, he had contracted an unfortunate marriage. The dashing
brigadier-general of twenty-eight had won the immature affections of
Anne de la Grange-Trianon, a maid of sixteen. Her father's opposition
to the match made it necessary for the lovers to resort
surreptitiously to the little Church of St. Pierre aux Boeufs, which
had the privilege of uniting couples without the consent of their
parents. But Frontenac and his bride were ill-mated. Both were
possessed of imperious tempers and wayward minds. For a time they held
together, then suddenly they separated--Frontenac to find a soothing
excitement in the clash of arms, and the precocious Comtesse to divert
herself in the brilliant _salons_ of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the
grand-daughter of Henry of Navarre.
The memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon allude with a humorous sympathy
to Frontenac's appointment: "He was a man of excellent parts"--writes
this garrulous chronicler--"living much in society, and completely
ruined. He found it hard to bear the imperious temper of his wife; and
he was given the government of Canada to deliver him from her, and
afford him some means of living." A more scandalous report of the
motive which sent Frontenac to Quebec is to be found in a whimsical
ditty which gained quiet currency in the Louvre--
"Je suis ravi que le roi, notre sire,
Aime la Montespan;
Moi, Frontenac, je me creve de rire,
Sachant ce qui lui pend;
Et je dirai, sans être des plus bestes,
Tu n'as que mon reste,
Roi,
Tu n'as que mon reste."
[Illustration: FRONTENAC]
Be these things as they may, Frontenac came on the scene of his new
dominion with the evident purpose of devoting himself to its best
interests. The city turned out in its best finery to welcome the new
Governor; but to the lifelong courtier, bred in the household of
royalty itself, this display appeared primitive and garish. As he
recalled the usual brilliance of even the provincial courts of France,
the rude and rugged walls of Castle St. Louis loomed before his
critical eye in depressing contrast. And yet in his reception
spectacular features were not entirely wanting. The Hurons from
ancient Lorette flocked to the city to greet their new white chief;
the _coureurs de bois_ in bold effrontery came to take the measure of
their new antagonist; the sombre Jesuits with much misgiving hailed
the arrival of so virile an executive; and the soldiers of the
garrison acclaimed the gallant bearer of such prowess with salvos of
artillery and a _feu de joie_.
Once duly installed, Frontenac could see no reason why even the
wilderness-colony of New France should forgo the rightful forms and
functions of a royal province. His mind wandered back regretfully to
the old days of the Estates General, which the kings of France were
carefully burying in the cemetery of disuse. Technically they still
existed, although the makers of absolute monarchy gave them no place
in the machinery of government. Loving pomp and circumstance,
Frontenac conceived the idea of reproducing the Estates General in New
France.
The Jesuits were more than ready to constitute the order of the
clergy, the small groups of _gentilhommes_ made eager nobles, while
the Quebec _bourgeoisie_, although they had never played the part
before, called themselves the _Tiers État_, and meekly awaited the
further pleasure of the commanding Frontenac.
By and by all was ready, and heralds posted at the door of the
Jesuits' church, which had been gorgeously decorated for the occasion,
sounded the assembly. Frontenac, brilliantly apparelled, took his
place upon the dais; the gallant _noblesse_, in various attire,
grouped themselves protectingly about his person; the sable Jesuits
looked critically on; while the Third Estate hung breathlessly upon
the gracious motions of his Excellency. A sunbeam from Versailles had
fallen upon the rock in the wilderness, and Quebec once more basked in
the splendour of a royal province.
One person of eminence, however, looked askance at the assembled
"States." The Intendant Talon too well knew the temper of the King to
play with this fire so like to kindle his wrath. A disciple of
Colbert, he knew that all constitutional or traditional forms standing
in the path of absolutism were doomed to destruction.
[Illustration: OLD ST. LOUIS GATE]
As for Frontenac, he went his own unheeding way until a letter came
from Colbert in this strain: "Your assembling of the inhabitants to
take the oath of fidelity, and your division of them into three
estates, may have had a good effect for the moment; but it is well for
you to observe that you are always to follow, in the government of
Canada, the forms in use here; and since our kings have long regarded
it as good for their service not to convoke the States General of the
kingdom, in order, perhaps, to abolish insensibly this ancient usage,
you, on your part, should very rarely, or to speak more correctly,
never, give a corporate form to the inhabitants of Canada. You should
even, as the colony strengthens, suppress gradually the office of the
syndic who presents petitions in the name of the inhabitants; for it
is well that each should speak for himself, and no one for all."
Thus at one fell swoop perished the only chance which ever came to
French Canada of growing into a self-governing colony and of working
out its own destiny. The physical conditions and administrative
necessities of the land were, indeed, from first to last,
misapprehended by its distant rulers.
For a time Frontenac nursed the chagrin natural to a proud and haughty
nature thwarted in its purposes. Straightway he fell foul of Talon,
and the latter withdrew to France. It was natural also that he should
quarrel with the Jesuits and the Bishop, for where there was any
question of mastery, he was always ready to contend. As an instance,
the Bishop had pronounced the sale of brandy to the Indians a sin; and
in view of the fact that the traffic was licensed under royal
authority, Frontenac with his accustomed vehemence pronounced the
prohibition seditious. He accused the Jesuits of keeping the Indians
in perpetual wardship, and of thinking more of beaver-skins than of
souls.
The next conflict was with a foeman well worthy of his steel. An
officer named Perrot had been appointed Governor of Montreal through
the influence of Talon, his uncle by marriage; and as it was a matter
of common knowledge that Perrot was the patron and shared the profits
of the _coureurs de bois_, the enmity of Frontenac was roused against
him, gaining vigour from the fact that Perrot carried his head too
high. Bizard, another officer, was despatched with three guardsmen to
Montreal, to arrest one Lieutenant Carion, who had assisted certain
notable _coureurs de bois_ in their escape from justice; and Perrot,
frenzied by this trespass upon his own domain, seized the Governor's
officers. On hearing of such a reprisal, Frontenac's wrath was kindled
sevenfold. He knew, however, that Perrot was only to be apprehended by
strategy, and accordingly a letter was despatched, inviting him to
come to Quebec to explain the affair. Perrot, already alarmed at his
own boldness in resisting vice-regal authority, obediently set out for
the court of Frontenac, attended by a Sulpitian priest, the Abbé
Salignac de Fénelon.
High words marked the interview of Frontenac and Perrot, and as a
result the latter found himself a prisoner in Château St. Louis. In
due time he was brought before the sovereign council and convicted of
obstructing the King's justice. He was confined for almost a year, and
then, as the priests also joined in protest against the autocratic
governance of Frontenac, it was judged prudent to refer the matter to
the King. Perrot was accordingly taken from prison and shipped to
France for a new trial. The result, however, was the vindication of
Frontenac, both Louis and Colbert being determined to uphold the royal
authority. Perrot was sentenced to three weeks in the Bastile, after
which he tendered submission to Frontenac, and was again commissioned
Governor of Montreal.
Henceforth friendship took the place of enmity, and the two governors
now conspired to patronise the _coureurs de bois_. These were halcyon
days for the picturesque banditti, whose periodical visits disturbed
the wonted calm of the saintly city. The inhabitants shut themselves
up in their houses while these bacchanals ran riot in the streets,
bedecked in French and Indian finery, and making hideous both day and
night with their ribald _chansons_. Yet even these roystering forest
rovers were destined to bear a part in building up French empire in
the West.
The _coureurs de bois_ were in fact the most intrepid explorers of New
France, and their rovings were turned to account under the tactful
guidance of Talon. Talon's aim was to occupy the interior of the
continent, control the rivers which watered it, and hold this vast
forest domain for France against all other nations; and for this
Imperial work he enrolled the daring Jesuit priests and the
adventurous fur-traders. His chief reliance, however, was upon those
Frenchmen whose civilised _ennui_ had driven them to the restless life
of the woods.
In the pursuit of this "forward" policy, the Jesuits had already
established missions on Manatoulin Island, at Sault Ste. Marie, at
Michillimackinac, at La Pointe on the western end of Lake Superior,
and at Green Bay near the foot of Lake Michigan. These remote posts
were visited from time to time by Indians from the far west, who
brought news of a great river flowing southwards. Talon's enthusiasm
for enterprise in the unknown west was doubled by the report, and he
forthwith despatched an expedition under the leadership of Joliet and
Père Marquette to take possession of the Father of Waters.
Louis Joliet was a native French Canadian, born at Quebec in 1645. His
exceptional brilliancy while a student at the Jesuits' College
attracted the attention of Talon; but at the age of seventeen, the
forest proved more alluring than the priesthood, and he became an
adventurous fur-trader. His companion, the Père Marquette, was a
fearless Jesuit, who in 1670 had undertaken a mission at the western
end of Lake Superior. The destruction of this post, however, sent him
back to Michillimackinac, where he was working when ordered westward
with Joliet.
Leaving St. Ignace in the middle of May, 1673, the two voyageurs
proceeded to the head of Lake Michigan, ascended the Fox River,
portaged to the Wisconsin, and on the 17th of June reached the
Mississippi. They descended this broad and rapid stream as far as the
mouth of the Arkansas. It now seemed clear that the great river
emptied, not into the Vermilion Sea[11] as was currently conjectured,
but into the Gulf of Mexico; and fearing to fall into the hands of the
Spaniards, the explorers decided to retrace their steps. They reached
Green Bay before the end of September, and here the Jesuit remained to
recruit his failing strength, while Joliet kept on his way to Quebec.
Nine years were to pass by before the navigation of the Mississippi,
thus begun, was to be completed by the greatest of all Canadian
adventurers.
[Footnote 11: Gulf of California.]
[Illustration: ROBERT CAVELIER DE LA SALLE]
Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle, was born at Rouen, of a family of
wealthy merchants, on the 2nd of November, 1643. As a child he was
sent to a Jesuits' school; and although, like Joliet, he soon
abandoned all idea of entering the priesthood, he nevertheless
retained a pious enthusiasm which gave a mediæval colouring to the
stirring romance of his after-life. With a small allowance from his
family, La Salle embarked for Canada in 1666. Through his brother, a
priest of St. Sulpice, he was granted a feudal fief at Lachine, and
under his resolute occupation the hitherto dangerous seigneury became
a strong bulwark for the trembling settlement of Montreal. Young,
gallant, and winning, La Salle drew the Indians about him by his
dashing courage and by the magnetism of his person; and, whether
through weakness of flesh or strength of spirit, he disappeared among
them and withdrew from civilisation for the space of three years, a
term which he employed in achieving mastery of Indian dialects and
gaining knowledge of their character. On his return to Quebec in 1673,
he found favour in the eyes of Frontenac, and an inexplicable sympathy
united the proud veteran of a hundred fights and the debonair
_coureur de bois_, beneath whose dreamy countenance the Governor read
reckless valour and invincible determination.
In 1677 La Salle was despatched to France to procure royal authority
for following up the explorations of Joliet and Marquette. He also
applied for a patent of nobility; and as this request was strongly
supported by Frontenac, he was made seigneur over a large tract of
land, including the fort of Cataraqui,[12] and was empowered to build
and occupy other forts in furtherance of exploration. The opening
sentences of this instrument show the King's anxiety to extend his
vast dominions in the New World: "Louis, by the grace of God, King of
France and Navarre, to our dear and well-beloved Robert Cavelier,
Sieur de la Salle, greeting. We have received with favour the very
humble petition made us in your name, to permit you to labour at the
discovery of the western parts of New France; and we have the more
willingly entertained this proposal since we have nothing more at
heart than the exploration of this country, through which, to all
appearances, a way may be found to Mexico...."
[Footnote 12: Later called Fort Frontenac, and the site of the present
city of Kingston.]
To La Salle the commission was full of promise, for his ardent mind
was filled with bold designs. He foresaw a time when French
enterprise, leaving the rugged civilisation on the banks of the St.
Lawrence, would seize upon the rich valley of the Mississippi; a
fortified post at the mouth of the Father of Waters would hold the
interior of the continent against the Spaniards; and the peltries and
buffalo hides of the great West would fill his forts with gold. With
Henri de Tonty, La Motte de Lussière, Father Hennepin, and thirty men,
La Salle hastened to Quebec in the summer of 1678, and without loss of
time he organised his first expedition to the distant Mississippi.
The story of that enterprise is a tale of disaster which has few
parallels in history. A perilous passage over Lake Ontario in a
ten-ton vessel brought them to Niagara. Above the falls they built
_The Griffin_, a schooner of forty-five tons, to carry the necessities
of the Mississippi settlement westward by way of the Great Lakes. This
vessel was lost by some obscure calamity, and the conjecture is that
she foundered in Lake Michigan. La Salle now found himself at the head
of a mutinous company stranded at Fort Crèvecoeur on the Illinois,
facing a winter with practically no provisions. Six of his men
deserted, and on two occasions treachery all but deprived him of his
life.
In the circumstances La Salle saw only one possible course before him:
to return to Fort Frontenac for fresh supplies and material for
further progress. Leaving Tonty his trusted lieutenant in charge of
Fort Crèvecoeur, he set out with an Indian guide and four Frenchmen.
The hardships and disasters of the journey deprived him of his
companions, one by one, but he pressed on alone. "During sixty-five
days he had toiled almost incessantly, travelling about a thousand
miles through a country beset with every form of peril and
obstruction.... In him an unconquerable mind held at its service a
frame of iron, and taxed it to its utmost endurance. The pioneer of
Western pioneers was no rude son of toil, but a man of thought,
trained amid arts and letters."[13]
This first chapter of his reverses, however, was not yet completed;
for even while La Salle was getting succour for his company on the
Illinois, a letter arrived from Tonty telling him of the mutiny of the
garrison and the wilful destruction of Fort Crèvecoeur with all it
held. The calamitous news would have killed the spirit of any one less
courageous than La Salle; but the bold explorer, whose whole life was
a long grapple with adversity, prepared with all haste to return to
the rescue of Tonty, who, he hoped forlornly, had survived the
mutinous treachery. By the 10th of August he was ready, and with a new
outfit and twenty-five men he set out once more for the distant
Illinois.
[Footnote 13: Parkman, _La Salle and the Discovery of the Great West_,
chap. xiv.]
After three months of toil and hardship he came again to Fort
Crèvecoeur. Anxiety for Tonty and his faithful companions had
consumed him all the way. Yet he was unprepared for the shocking sight
that met his eyes. The once populous town of the Illinois was now a
valley of dry bones; the bodies of women and children strewed the
plain, and the charred trophies of Illinois warriors hung tragically
upon blackened stakes. Such were the terrible marks of an Iroquois
visitation.
Wolves ran howling away as the Frenchmen drew near, and voracious
buzzards wheeled overhead. Anxiously La Salle sought among the
revolting remnants for any sign of Tonty; but none was to be found,
and although the relief expedition continued for weeks and months to
search for their missing comrades, it was spring before the explorer
heard with joy that his lieutenant had found refuge among the
Pottawattamies. Meanwhile, his resources for the Mississippi
expedition had been again dissipated, and once more he returned to
Fort Frontenac for fresh supplies.
Soon, for the third time, the persistent adventurer set his face
towards the west. His company now included twenty-three Frenchmen and
eighteen Indians, equipped with all the care his former experiences
could suggest. Summer had gone before his plans were completed; but
all seasons were alike to La Salle, and in the early autumn his
expedition began. Lake Huron was reached in October, Fort Miami a few
weeks later, and on the 6th of February their canoes glided out of the
Illinois into the eddying current of the Mississippi.
Down past the turbid Missouri they swept, and beyond the mouth of the
Ohio. Every day brought them newer signs of spring, and every day saw
the spirits of La Salle rising at the happy consciousness of fulfilled
ambition. On the 13th of March they encamped near the mouth of the
Arkansas, and three hundred miles below they were well received by the
Natchez Indians. On the 6th of April the great river divided before
them into three wide channels: La Salle followed that of the west;
Tonty took the middle course; and D'Autray descended the eastern
passage. On the 19th of April the three parties met on the Gulf of
Mexico. A cross bearing the arms of France was set up, and the country
was named Louisiana after the Grand Monarch.
The Louisiana of to-day conveys no idea of the vast tract of country
defined by La Salle's proclamation of 1682. To the explorer it meant
the extent of the mighty continent, stretching westward from the
Alleghanies to the Rockies, and north and south from Lake Superior to
the Gulf of Mexico. All former accessions of territory were small
beside it, and to his eyes it seemed the fertile Canaan of French
enterprise. Yet the very magnitude of this new success made for the
undoing of New France, by scattering her feeble forces over the length
and breadth of a continent and distending her line of defence so far
that it could be easily pierced. La Salle, however, was driven
irresistibly forward by the hot ambition which ruled him. His romantic
vision pictured a greater New France in the valley of the Mississippi,
governed by himself--a prosperous trading colony shipping cargoes of
beaver-skins directly to Europe by way of the Gulf of Mexico. Quebec,
however, was the home of his enemies. His former reverses had
shattered the faith of creditors, while the Canadian merchants envied
him the monopoly of the Western trade. They heaped calumny upon his
enterprises, labelled him a _coureur de bois_, and persistently
wrecked his schemes. Final success enabled La Salle in a measure to
disregard these annoyances; but when the new Governor, La Barre, went
the length of seizing Fort Frontenac--thus cutting off the far west
from its supplies--and even declared him an outlaw, La Salle, although
he had but lately recovered from a fever, made up his mind to carry
his cause to France.
In the spring of 1684, therefore, the weatherbeaten woodsman of the
New World stood before the throne of the Grand Monarch; and although
the Court had greater terrors for him than the Canadian forests, yet
he was able to set forth the rights of his case with the honest
boldness of a frontiersman and the force of a cultured intellect.
Louis followed his words with deepest interest, and was moved to carry
out a purpose which for some time had possessed his mind. Within three
months four armed vessels, bearing nearly four hundred men, set sail
from Rochelle for the Gulf of Mexico. A new commission empowered the
explorer to establish a fort on the southern gulf, from which to
harass the Spaniards, and to fortify a base near the mouth of the
Mississippi for the effective control of Louisiana.
But the story of this, the final enterprise of La Salle, is a
sickening record of disaster. After a stormy passage three of the four
vessels reached St. Domingo, the _St. Francois_ having fallen a prey
to Spanish buccaneers. At St. Domingo a violent fever threatened the
leader's life and mind, and delayed further progress for almost two
months. At length, near the end of December, they entered the Gulf of
Mexico; but the uncertainties of its navigation were further increased
by dense fogs; and when, after days of anxious searching, the fleet
came to anchor off a low-lying marshy coast, La Salle had sailed four
hundred miles beyond the mouth of the river he sought. Unaware of his
mistake, he determined to land and build a temporary fort; but the
frigate _Aimable_, laden with stores, was wrecked upon a reef;
Beaujeu, the recreant commander of the _Joly_, deserted his leader and
made sail for France, and presently La Salle was left with only the
little frigate _Belle_. Soon afterwards this vessel also sank beneath
the stormy waters of the forbidden sea.
Thus, by accident and by disease the imposing expedition which had
left Rochelle in the midsummer of 1684 was now reduced to a wretched
band of starvelings, huddled together on the malarial sands of the
Mexican gulf. In this last extremity La Salle saw one hope of
salvation, and the magnitude of his new project was characteristic of
the invincible adventurer whom fate had so often buffeted in vain. At
the head of half his followers he boldly set out for Canada overland,
hoping to bring back succour to the desolate maroons who still
remained at Matagorda Bay.
Throughout his undertakings the virile mind of La Salle had always
held his fellows in willing or unwilling subjection. The weak were
glad to lean upon his strength, and to these he was the "guardian
angel."[14] To others, however, his fine reserve and distinguished
manner were causes of gnawing discontent. This evident lack of
frankness in dealing with his companions contrasted strangely with
that keen appreciation of the character of the Indians which had
brought him such success in his intercourse with them. The handful of
men with whom he set out from Matagorda Bay on the 7th of June, 1687,
besides a few whose admiration for their leader knew no bounds, also
included others who, like the children of Israel, thirsted for the
life of him who had led them out into the wilderness to die.
[Footnote 14: "...Notre Ange tutélaire, le Sieur de la
Salle."--Douay.]
Week after week the little band of Frenchmen struggled on, now through
a sea of prairie grass, now wading through deep savannahs, and
presently swimming or fording streams which blocked their progress.
Despair invaded the camp, and hostile murmurings arose against La
Salle and the little group who remained true to him. A terrible plot
was on foot. Presently the blow fell. Moranget, La Salle's nephew, was
despatched with an axe; Nika, the faithful Shawanoe, and Saget, the
leader's servant, were murdered as they slept. As for La Salle, a
wanton bullet pierced his brain. Thus the man who had braved the
poisoned arrows of the Iroquois and the hatchets of Indians without
number, against whose iron strength deadly fevers had stormed in vain,
whose fortitude had been unbroken by the almost incredible
perversities of fortune--this paladin of the wilderness was at last
laid low by the hand of a traitor. The New World has no more piteous
tale than that of the unabated sufferings of La Salle, who knew no
fear and acknowledged no defeat, even at the hands of a relentless
destiny. It has no nobler record than the tale of his life.