I
The origin of place-names, and the reason for them, are always matters
of interest. Sometimes we may know both, often only one, and sometimes
neither. Frequently a dead and forgotten old resident survives in the
name of the hill he built his house on, or of the pond or brook by the
side of which he lived, or in the property he once owned, or even in
some event in which he was a prominent actor. Thus, the Brighams of
Essex, in Brigham Hill; the Burlings, in Burlington; Count Fredenburgh,
in Fredenburgh Falls and M. Chasy, nephew of Tracy, in Chazy, have a
kind of immortality. The name of Samuel Champlain is preserved not only
in the Lake which is called after him, but in the River Champlain, the
Town Champlain, the Village Champlain; and who can give the number of
Champlain hotels and streets, in the cities and towns and villages of
the United States and of the British Provinces north of us? Also it is
interesting that many localities in our very midst have had names in
common use for a time, which, later, are lost in oblivion.
For years I have noted place-names and their reputed origin, both
curious and suggestive, in our locality; and am constantly adding to
them. Quite recently a man in our city spoke of Happy Hill, and another,
in a neighboring town, of Pirate’s Hollow. Thus I added two to my list,
and inquiry revealed their origin. I can give, approximately, the
beginning of, and reason for, Providence Island, Gougeville, Molasses
Corner, North and South Hero, Johnnycake Street and North Africa. Even
The Devil’s Half Acre has quite a known history. But I greatly desire
information concerning Whig Hollow, Cumberland Head, Beartown, Valcour,
Suckertown, The Lost Nation, and many others.
On the western border of Lake Champlain, scarce five miles from its
outlet into the Richelieu river, in the town of Champlain, opposite the
lower end of Isle La Motte, is a famous headland called Point au Fer,
freely rendered into English Point of Iron—Iron Point. But its common
and only name now is the French Point au Fer. No iron is found there,
and there is nothing suggestive of the hardness of iron in its shape, or
in the ruggedness of its shores. Hadden, Riedesel, Phillips and many
others called it Point au Fer only, and I think it proper to consider
this to be its real name, in spite of the fact that on a map issued
about 1748, from surveys made in 1732, it is called Point au Feu, or, in
English, Point of Fire—Fire Point. It may be that the transcribers
mistook the final r for u, an easy mistake when we consider the
similarity between r and u as often found in old manuscripts.
I think I have chanced on the origin of and reason for this place-name.
I will present my evidence to you and hope you will agree with me, or
disagree, if you have reason to the contrary.
This evidence is found in and based upon, an account in volume 48, pages
99–107, of “The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents,” edited by Reuben
G. Thwaites, secretary of the Wisconsin Historical Society. This volume,
48, came out in July, 1899. The original was the Relation of 1662–63,
written by Father Jerome Lalemant, and contains a graphic account of a
fierce fight between some Algonquins and a band of Iroquois returning
from a raid on Montreal.
Father Lalemant says:
“The Algonquins living at Sillery, after passing the winter in innocence
and piety, resolved, towards spring, to go and wage a petty warfare.
They were only forty, but their courage exceeded their number. Arriving
at the Richelieu Islands without discovering any foe, they entered the
river of the same name and directed their course to Lake Champlain,
where they lay in ambush. Scarcely had they arrived there when those
victors who had dealt their blow at Montreal, and were conducting their
poor Frenchmen in triumph, were discovered by our Algonquins, who
followed them with their eyes and noted their camping spot. Our
Christian soldiers, under cover of the night, stealthily advanced and
surrounded the place where the enemy were sleeping, in readiness to
attack them at the first dawn of day. But as it is very difficult to
walk in the night time without making a noise, or by hitting some
branch, one of the Iroquois chiefs was awakened in some way or other. He
was a brave man named Garistatsia (“the Iron”), vigilant and greatly
renowned for his exploits performed against us and against our savages.
The chief of the Algonquins, perceiving that the leader of the Iroquois
was this Garistatsia—or in French Le Fer, so famous and renowned by the
many disasters that have so often made us mingle our tears with our
blood, made straight at him and by a hatchet stroke on the head, forced
Garistatsia to fall to the ground, where his courage forbade him to
acknowledge himself vanquished, and he yielded the victory after losing
his life. Ten of the enemy remained dead on the spot, while three were
taken alive, and the rest escaped, completely covered with wounds.”
This was a terrific engagement, though short. It evidently occurred on
the west shore of Lake Champlain, between a band of Iroquois raiders
returning over land from Montreal and a band of Algonquins, who, coming
up the Richelieu, had “scarcely arrived” at Lake Champlain. These latter
proceeded to surround the Iroquois. How much more easily surrounded on a
point than on a continuous shore! The leader of the Iroquois “was famous
and renowned.” He had “so often made us” _i. e._ both French and
Algonquins, “mingle our tears with our blood!” So well known was he that
the leader of the Algonquins, even in the dark, “made straight at
him”—in order to rid the country of this distinguished enemy.
Therefore, I think it not unreasonable to claim that this battle, in the
year 1663, was fought on the cape on the west border of Lake Champlain
opposite the lower portion of Isle La Motte, known now and for so many
years as Point au Fer, and that the cape received its appellation from
that of the mighty Iroquois chief killed there—“Garistatsia, or in
French Le Fer.”