THE FOUNDING OF MONTREAL
Of all the great cities of the world you will not find one that has
had so romantic a beginning as Montreal. The stories sent home by
the Jesuits had stirred all France, and made the more pious and
enterprising spirits more than ever resolved to teach the wicked
redskins a lesson in Christianity and plant the fear of God in their
hearts. The French said they did not believe in treating the savages
of the New World in the cruel way the Spaniards had done in Peru and
Mexico; they preferred to win them over to civilised ways by kindness
and the force of good example.
One night a certain Jerome de la Dauversiére had a dream after he had
returned from his office in the little town of La Flèche, in Anjou,
where he was receiver of taxes. In this dream an angel came and told
him that the surest way to win the red-men of Canada over to
Christianity was to set up a great mission on the Island of Mount
Royal. This island in the river St. Lawrence, you remember, Jacques
Cartier had visited one hundred years before, and had been struck not
only by its beauty but by the friendliness of the Indians who lived
there. Their town they {63} called Hochelaga. Since Cartier's time
Hochelaga had mysteriously vanished (probably owing to one of the
frequent redskin feuds), and the French Governor and people of Quebec
had made as yet no settlement there. Dauversiére, who was a very
holy and zealous man, went to Paris, and to Father Olier, a friendly
priest, related his dream. It appeared that the worthy father also
had had a vision, in which Mount Royal was pointed out as the future
scene of pious labours. Whereupon the two set to work and formed a
company of forty persons to build on this island, 3000 miles away, in
the heart of New France, a French town, well fortified and able to
resist the onslaughts of the infidel savages. The Company of the
Hundred Associates agreed to sell them the land, for, of course, the
Hundred Associates at this time controlled all the land of New France
under a charter from King Louis. All that the promoters of the plan
had finally to do was to find a proper person to take charge of the
new settlement, which it was decided to call Ville Marie de Montreal,
or, as we would call it, Marytown of Mount Royal, in honour of the
Holy Virgin. They were fortunate to find just the one they sought in
Paul de Chomedy, Sieur de Maisonneuve, a brave and pious soldier, who
was forthwith appointed the first Governor of Ville Marie.
With Maisonneuve, when he sailed away from France in the spring of
1641, went Mademoiselle Jeanne Mance. This young woman had dedicated
her whole life to nursing the sick and teaching little children, and
was to take charge of a hospital in the new colony.
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Slow sailing it was in those days, and when Maisonneuve's ship
reached Quebec the sweltering heats of August oppressed the city.
Governor de Montmagny bade the pioneers welcome, and, after listening
to their scheme, told them flatly that he thought it was all a
mistake. Instead of venturing their lives so far inland amongst the
treacherous Iroquois, much better was it to choose a spot nearer
Quebec for their town. But Maisonneuve and his companions, although
prevailed upon to spend the winter in Quebec, were resolved to reach
Mount Royal, even though, as Maisonneuve said, "every tree on the
island were an Iroquois." And so in the spring all set off boldly up
the Great River. When they saw the leader's resolution, Governor de
Montmagny, Father Vimont, Superior of the Jesuits, and Madame de la
Peltrie, head of the Ursuline Convent, consented to accompany them in
their ship.
On the 17th May the memorable landing took place. All of the
expedition--some fifty in number--fell upon their knees, and from
their lips fell a prayer of thankfulness to Almighty God. But they
did not deceive themselves as to their danger. They all knew--even
the women--that there was to be more work and fighting than praying.
As yet no treacherous red-man, tomahawk in hand, lurked behind the
tall trees, but the alarm was sure to come, and no time was to be
lost. So to the task of chopping and hewing and hammering they flew
without delay. The site was quickly enclosed with palisades and
several cannon brought from the ship {65} and put in position. As
for the hospital which Mademoiselle de Mance had been given the money
to build, it could safely be reared outside the walls, being of stone
and almost a little fortress of itself. For two centuries and a half
this hospital withstood all the attacks of the Iroquois, until a
mighty city pressing in upon it forced it to a peaceful surrender to
the interests of trade and commerce.
Winter came and went. Spring found Ville Marie quite snug and
comfortable, and the inhabitants wondering where the Iroquois were.
They had not long to wait. A solitary Algonquin one day fled within
the palisades for refuge. He told Maisonneuve that he was being
pursued by the Iroquois, coveting his scalp. In a few hours his
pursuers had discovered Ville Marie, and, shaking their tomahawks at
its inhabitants, vowed vengeance on the bold pale-faces who had
ventured to settle in a part of Canada which they had cruelly decreed
should for ever remain a desert. Thereafter they patrolled the
borders of the town, watching stealthily where they might strike down
man, woman, or child. No longer was it possible in safety to sow or
reap. Nor were the wooden palisades strong enough for protection.
Stout walls and bastions were needed, and accordingly stone was
quarried across the river, and willing hands toiled night and day to
build what was henceforth little more than a prison. When the colony
was two years old, the Iroquois summoned all their braves.
"Let us destroy these insolent Frenchmen," {66} said their chief;
"let us carry off their white girls to drudge for us in our lodges."
[Illustration: Maisonneuve covering the Retreat of his Followers,
1644]
Maisonneuve, hearing that they had collected a large force, unwisely
sallied out to give them battle. It was springtime, but the deep
snow had not yet melted. The little company of French settlers,
their hearts beating high with valour and courage, looked about for
the foe. Not finding him at first, they were drawn farther and
farther into the surrounding forest. Then it was that the redskins,
hidden behind trees, darted forth a volley of arrows, and the
founders of Ville Marie became an easy target and fell by the dozen.
They were unused to this kind of warfare, the only kind the red-men
really knew. Maisonneuve, shocked but undaunted, gave the signal for
retreat, and the French drew back to the walls of Ville Marie,
dragging their dead and wounded with them. Close followed the enemy
with ear-splitting yells and flourishing their blood-stained
tomahawks. Maisonneuve, pistol in hand, was the last man to enter
the gate. Just as he was crossing the threshold an Iroquois chief
sprang forward to drag him back, but quick as the savage was, not
quick enough was he. The Governor's pistol rang out, and the chief
dropped in his tracks. His baffled companions, shrieking in anger
and dismay, saw the gates of the little town shut, and for that day
the rest of its defenders were safe. To-day, if you should chance to
visit the great city of Montreal, you may see the very spot where
this encounter took place. It is called the Place d'Armes, and in
the middle is a bronze statue of the brave {67} Maisonneuve, on whose
pedestal is a representation of his narrow escape from death.
Such terrible experiences were not confined to Montreal alone, or
even to Quebec and Three Rivers. About the whole country the
Iroquois prowled like wild beasts. Especially did they frequent the
northern outlets of the Ottawa River to waylay the friendly Hurons in
their passage to the St. Lawrence, bringing furs for barter to the
French. Observing this, Governor Montmagny set about building a fort
at the mouth of the Richelieu River, and notwithstanding the attempts
of 700 Iroquois to destroy it and kill the workmen, it was completed
in a short time and christened Fort Richelieu. Forced to retreat,
the savages managed to carry off with them a Jesuit priest, Father
Isaac Jogues, and two young students named Goupil and Couture, who
were coming down the river with a party of fur-hunters. They did not
kill their prisoners at once, as they expected, but, after putting
them through a course of dreadful tortures, carried them to the home
of one of their tribes, the Mohawks. After cutting off Goupil's
thumb with a clam-shell, so as to prolong the pain, they scalped him
and flung his body down a steep waterfall. Couture, adopted into the
tribe, turned Mohawk in order to save his life.
After a time Father Jogues was taken by the Iroquois in one of their
trading visits to the Dutch of New Netherlands, now called New York.
This is the first time any of the French in Canada had any
communication with the European settlers to {68} the south of them,
in what are now known as the United States. The Dutch Governor of
Albany took pity on the poor Jesuit priest and helped him to escape.
Ultimately he was sent back in a ship to France, where he thrilled
the King and Court by the sight of his wounds and the story of his
wonderful adventures. Never once had he lost courage, but went on
baptizing Indian children and giving the sacrament to the dying.
Once when no water was forthcoming to baptize a Huron prisoner in the
throes of death, Jogues shook off a few scant drops of dew which
still clung to an ear of maize that had been thrown to him for food.
After all the intrepid father's starvation and sufferings you would
think he had had enough of mission work amongst the red-men and would
remain in a peaceful French curacy for the rest of his days. But
that is because you do not understand what kind of men these Jesuit
priests were. Undaunted by pains or privations, they wished nothing
better than to be martyred in the cause of their religion. Isaac
Jogues went back again to Canada a year later. In his absence the
Mohawks had made peace with the French, and the intrepid priest took
up his residence in one of their villages. When it became necessary
to visit the Governor of Quebec on business, Jogues left behind him a
small box containing a few medicine bottles and other simple things.
No sooner was the priest's back turned than the medicine-man or
sorcerer of the tribe, who hated the missionaries because they
exposed their foolish practices, told the Mohawks that this innocent
box contained magic, which would {69} bring all of them ill-luck,
disease, and death. Some believed this story, others were
incredulous; so that when Father Jogues came back, he found the
village divided on the question of killing him or sparing his life.
He was invited to a feast, which he dared not refuse. As he entered,
a tomahawk clove its way to his brain, and the priest was made a
martyr at last. Poor brave Father Jogues was the first to suffer
martyrdom in New France. The savages cut off his head and fastened
it to a long pole, and the savage children threw pebbles at it in
sport.
Alas, the fate of Jogues was destined to be that of the other priests
who had established missions in the Huron country.
"Do not imagine," wrote the Father Superior, "that the rage of the
Iroquois and the loss of many Christians and converts can bring to
nought the mystery of the Cross. We shall die, we shall be captured,
burned, and butchered. So be it. Those who die in their beds do not
always die the best death. I see none of our company cast down. On
the contrary, they ask leave to go up to the Hurons, and some of them
protest that the fires of the Iroquois are one of their motives for
the journey."
In the summer of 1648 the Hurons wished very much to pay a visit to
the French in Eastern Canada. Many canoes had they full of furs
which they could exchange for the kettles, hatchets, and knives of
the traders. They resolved, therefore, to brave the Iroquois and
make the long journey. Five distinguished chiefs accompanied 250 of
their best warriors, and by the middle of July, Three Rivers {70} was
reached in safety. The Hurons ran their canoes ashore amongst the
bulrushes, and began to spread on their war-paint and adorn
themselves with feathers and wampum so as to make a distinguished
appearance at the fort of the pale-faces. Suddenly an alarm was
sounded. The Iroquois were on their track. Snatching their arms,
the Hurons ran to meet the foe. This time the Iroquois were
outnumbered and were defeated, and the Hurons eventually set out for
home, flushed with victory and bearing a number of Iroquois scalps.
At home news of a terrible disaster awaited the victorious Hurons.
Taking advantage of their absence, the Iroquois had attacked the
Huron town of Teanaustaye, or St. Joseph, where the Jesuit, Father
Daniel, was in charge. St. Joseph was one of the chief towns of the
Huron nation; it had 2000 inhabitants, and was surrounded by a strong
palisade. But on one fatal July day it was all but defenceless:
scarce a warrior was to be seen. The arrival of the Iroquois flung
the crowd of old men, women, and children into a panic. Daniel, in
all his radiant priestly vestments, came to meet the foe at the
church door, undismayed by their dreadful war-whoops. There he died.
A dozen Iroquois bent their bows and pierced him as he stood, while
the chief, armed with a gun he had bought from the Dutch, sent a
bullet through the brave priest's heart. The town was set on fire.
When the flames reached the church, Daniel's body was thrown into it,
and both were consumed together. Nearly one thousand Hurons were
killed or taken captive.
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Eight months passed, and in the early spring-time the Iroquois came
again. This time the Indian converts at St. Mary on the Wye saw
heavy smoke curling above the forest three miles away, and cried out,
"The Iroquois! the Iroquois! They are burning St. Louis!" And so
it was. Had the Hurons acted with better judgment and more valour
they might have averted their doom. But ever since the massacre and
destruction of St. Joseph they seemed to have lost spirit. The two
priests who were stationed here, Brébeuf and Lalement, did their best
to arouse them, but they would not take measures to foil an Iroquois
assault. Brébeuf and Lalement, implored to flee while there was yet
time, both scorned such counsel. Uttering savage yells, the Iroquois
swarmed towards the palisades, hacking at them with their hatchets,
and they broke through at last, burning and slaying. The two brave
priests were seized and stripped and beaten with clubs along the road
to St. Ignace, which post the Iroquois had also captured. The fate
of St. Mary itself was now trembling in the balance. Here were some
40 Frenchmen, well armed, and besides a large Huron population, 300
more Huron braves were outside the gates, hoping to waylay some of
their victorious foes. A battle between the two tribes of red-men
ensued, and although this time the Hurons fought with a will, they
were obliged at last to give way. Hundreds had been killed or lay
weltering in their blood. Only twenty were captured alive by the
Iroquois. The enemy's chief was badly wounded, and they themselves
had lost a hundred of their best {72} warriors in this fierce battle.
You may imagine how the French and Christian Indians shut up in St.
Mary waited for the issue of the fight. When they knew that their
outer guard was defeated, they gave themselves over to prayer,
believing all was lost. They well knew how inflammable were their
palisades of wood. When a hundred torches came to be applied only a
miracle could save them. At this critical moment panic seized the
Iroquois camp. A rumour had spread that a mighty army of Hurons were
descending upon them, and they resolved, in spite of their chiefs, to
retreat at once. But before fleeing from their imaginary foe, they
took nearly all their prisoners and thrust them, bound hand and foot,
into the bark dwellings of St. Ignace. They spared neither men nor
women, young nor old, not even tiny babes. When they had done this
they applied the torch to the town.
Of the two priests, the giant, Jean de Brébeuf, was led apart and
fastened to a stake. From thence he called to the others, exhorting
them to suffer patiently and God would reward them. They tortured
him, but he still stood erect, tall and masterful, and addressed his
people. For this the angry Iroquois cut away his lower lip and
thrust a red-hot iron down his throat. Round the naked body of
Father Lalement they tied strips of bark steeped in pitch and set him
in a blaze. As if this were not enough agony, on the heads of both
they poured boiling water and cut strips of flesh from Brébeuf's
limbs.
"You told us," cried the fiends, laughing, "that {73} the more one
suffers on earth the happier he is in heaven. We wish to make you
happy. We torment you in this way because we love you; and you ought
to thank us for it!"
Still from Brébeuf came no sign of flinching. Baffled in devising
further tortures, they cut off his head and tore his body in pieces.
The heart of this great man, the founder of the ill-fated Huron
mission, was seized by an Iroquois chief and devoured. His friend
Lalement, after being tortured all night, was killed by a blow from a
hatchet.
Two or three days afterwards, when the fleeing Iroquois were leagues
away, the Jesuits at St. Mary came to the smoking ruins of St.
Ignace. The scorched and mangled remains of the two martyrs met
their horrified gaze. These they carried back to St. Mary and
buried, all but Brébeuf's skull, which they preserved as a holy
relic. At the Hotel Dieu at Quebec it is shown to the visitor,
enclosed in a silver bust of the martyr, which his family sent to the
good nuns from France.
Upon the Hurons such a disaster as this told with crushing force.
Flight from their country was all they could think of now. Two weeks
later they abandoned for ever fifteen towns to roam northward and
eastward in the barren, inhospitable wilderness. In various places
the fugitives found refuge, some with this tribe, some with that, but
as a strong, separate nation they soon ceased to be, and the fort and
mission of St. Mary on the Wye was left solitary in the middle of a
great waste.
All the love and labour of the Jesuit missionaries {74} for ten years
had been in vain. With aching hearts the priests resolved to break
up the mission and betake themselves to some less dangerous and more
useful station. Several of them followed the wandering Hurons, but a
number of priests, with forty soldiers and labourers, established
themselves on St. Joseph Island, at the entrance of Matchedash Bay.
It is one of three--now known as Faith, Hope, and Charity--islands.
Here they toiled, together with a number of Huron converts, in
building a stronghold which would defy the dreaded Iroquois. Six or
eight thousand souls came to people the island. There not being food
for so many, what with hunger and disease, by springtime half had
perished. The despairing survivors, resolving to brave the
surrounding Iroquois, who roamed on the mainland, and escape, one by
one fell into the hands of their lynx-like foes. No refuge was there
for the poor persecuted race but in the shadow of the French guns at
Quebec.
"Take us to Quebec," cried one of the Huron chiefs to the Jesuit
fathers. "Do not wait until war and famine have destroyed us to the
last man. We are in your hands. Death has taken more than ten
thousand of us. If you wait longer, not one will remain alive."
At last the Jesuits resolved to grant their petition. On the 10th of
June 1650 the whole population of St. Joseph (or Charity) Island
embarked in canoes, which were packed with all their earthly goods,
and paddled sadly towards the east. On the Ottawa River, which was
now desolate of native hut or wigwam, they met a large party of {75}
French soldiers and Hurons on the way to help the Huron mission.
Too late! The mission, with all its forts and settlements, had been
abandoned for ever. The entire party kept on to Montreal, where the
Hurons could not be induced to stay because it was too open to
Iroquois attacks; and about the end of July the great heights of
Quebec came in sight. All disembarked and were hospitably received
by the Governor, the priests, the nuns, and the people. Yet the new
arrivals could not have come at a worse time, for food was scarce and
nearly all were poor.
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