"QUEBEC FOR KING LOUIS"
When Count Frontenac arrived at Quebec the massacre at Lachine had
just thrilled all Canada with horror. It was time to be up and doing
if the French Canadians were not to be utterly exterminated, if New
France was to be saved for King Louis, then at the height of his
power and renown. Callières, the Governor of Montreal, saw in the
presence not of the Iroquois but of the English in New York the root
of all Canada's troubles. He urged his sovereign to strike, and King
Louis had resolved to deal them a blow once and for all, from which
they would never recover. He would banish them from New York and
plant a colony of Frenchmen instead. The plan was entrusted to
Frontenac to execute. Unfortunately for the success of this scheme,
sufficient ships and troops and money were not forthcoming at the
right moment from France. There followed vexatious delays, and when
the French fleet at length crossed the ocean and anchored at
Chedabucto, in Acadia, the season was too far advanced to begin
operations. Meanwhile Frontenac was not the man to let time dwell on
his hands. Against the English colonies three war-parties were
organised whose deeds of blood {132} were long remembered in American
homesteads and in Indian wigwams. Frontenac saw that French prestige
had sunk so low amongst the northern and western tribes that all were
ready to make peace with the dreaded Iroquois on any terms. At the
very name of Frenchmen the meanest brave amongst the Five Nations
laughed and spat contemptuously on the ground.
"Now, by St. Louis," cried Frontenac, "they shall see how weak we
are!"
His fiery soul could not wait upon the seasons. The three
expeditions he sent forth marched amidst the ice and snow of
mid-winter, for it was by such a stroke of daring that Canada could
be saved. The first started from Montreal, led by Mantet and Ste.
Hélène, one of the three sons of the brave Canadian named Le Moine,
and after incredible hardships reached the village of Schenectady, on
the Hudson. They burst upon the sleeping, unsuspecting villagers in
the middle of the night, killing many and taking numerous prisoners.
When the fighting was over they burned nearly the whole settlement to
the ground. The Indians of the party were indignant at not being
able to torture the prisoners unhindered, for the French-Canadian
leaders were not cruel by nature. They showed gratitude to an
English colonist named Glen, who, on a previous occasion, had treated
certain French prisoners with kindness. Glen barricaded his house,
resolved to sell his life dearly, but the Canadian captain called out
to him to have no fear. "We are your debtors, not your enemies.
Moreover, if you have any kinsmen amongst {133} the captives we have
taken, point them out, and they shall go free." The Quebec Indians
looked on sulkily while the Englishman took advantage of this
handsome offer and named several of the prisoners. "This Yankee
pale-face has a terribly large family," their chief was heard to
grumble.
The second war-party from Three Rivers, led by the redoubtable
François Hertel, wiped out the village of Salmon Falls, butchering
most of the inhabitants; while the third, under the command of
Portneuf, attacked and captured the fort and settlement at Casco Bay.
To the disgrace of Portneuf, he broke faith with the heroic garrison
when they surrendered, and abandoned his prisoners to his Indian
allies, who scalped and burnt them all.
By feats such as these the tide was turned. At last the French had
exhibited proofs of their prowess, and the Iroquois were not slow in
acknowledging that they had made a mistake when they branded them
with the name of cowards. Frontenac could strike still as heavy a
blow as in the past. The wavering North-West tribes made haste to
assure him of their support, and the haughty Iroquois, in spite of
the arguments of the English, sent deputies to Quebec to congratulate
Onontio on his return to the land. The furs which had been
collecting for three years in the distant ports, with none daring
enough to venture upon their transport, now began to pour into
Montreal in hundreds of canoes. Trade began to revive, and the
drooping spirits of the colonists were exchanged for gladness and
hope.
Could the redoubtable Frontenac have thought {134} that the English
colonists would bear this terrible treatment tamely? No! every mind
and bosom there was excited by the desire for revenge. Moreover,
they knew that now France's chief strength lay in Frontenac himself.
With England flying at the throat of Old France, the King, to whom
Frontenac applied, told him bluntly that he had need for all his
soldiers in Europe. "Your demands," wrote King Louis, "come at a
wrong time. A defensive policy is the proper one for you to pursue."
True, William the Third of England also could give little help to the
New Englanders. They, too, must fight their own battles. To their
own arms was it left to inflict chastisement on the Canadians in the
north. Accordingly, all the colonies met in consultation, and by
great efforts a fleet of seven vessels and several hundred men was
raised in Boston. Sir William Phips led them forth, and Port Royal,
in Acadia, was taken without much trouble. Sufficient booty was
captured to cover the cost of this expedition, and the New Englanders
returned flushed with triumph and eager for a more daring blow.
Meanwhile a land force of 1300 men, under Colonel Winthrop, had
failed, through sickness and mismanagement, to reach Montreal by way
of Lake Champlain. A portion of this little army had followed
Captain John Schuyler onwards, and, crossing the Canadian border,
killed a few Frenchmen near Montreal. When it had done that, it beat
a hasty retreat.
Such raids as these--for raids is all they were--afforded little
satisfaction to the English colonists, {135} burning with a desire to
sweep the lilies of France from the New World. Silently and speedily
a plot was matured, and by the next summer it was ripe. Frontenac,
thinking all was secure for the present, had left Quebec to entertain
a band of Iroquois at Montreal to a great feast and war-dance. One
morning a messenger arrived post-haste to tell him that the enemy in
their ships were sailing up the St. Lawrence. Not a moment was to be
lost. Summoning the Governor of Montreal and De Ramsay of Three
Rivers to follow him with every man who could shoulder a musket, the
lion-hearted Frontenac pressed forward with all his speed. Ere he
could reach Quebec the enemy's fleet had anchored off the Isle of
Orleans. Quebec was almost in a panic, but Frontenac's arrival
instantly assuaged their fears. He filled all with his enthusiasm.
They resolved to die rather than yield. Great trunks of trees and
casks filled with stones were hastily heaped up where the walls were
weakest. On the enemy were trained the rows of cannon, and 2700 men
firmly awaited the onslaught. Was the danger then so great? Who was
the man--who were the men--who thus hoped to storm the strongest
citadel in New France?
A humble blacksmith's son was William Phips, born at Fort Pemaquid,
in Maine. In his boyhood he herded a drove of cattle. But he was a
clever boy, and having learned ship-carpentry, he built a little
vessel of his own, and as a trader went to sea. Phips was a born
sailor. In one of his many long voyages he heard stories of a
Spanish galleon filled {136} with gold and silver sunk off the Island
of Cuba. Phips learnt all the particulars, satisfied himself of his
ability, and then determined to raise that ship and make himself
master of her wealth. At first people laughed at him, but he
persevered, and at last the King had given him the command of a
warship. As he had promised, so Phips carried out his plan, bringing
to England a fortune of £300,000. With the praise of King Charles
the Second ringing in his ears, as Sir William Phips he returned to
New England, prepared for any deed of note and valour which fate
might offer.
To Phips, then, his New England fellow-countrymen had entrusted their
fleet, thirty-two vessels, large and small, with 2000 men. Phips
sailed forth in a confident spirit, but when he first cast his eyes
on the great rock of Quebec and the white fleur-de-lys floating above
in the autumn air, he may have felt some misgivings. These he
sternly repressed: it were best to put the boldest front on the
matter. Choosing a young major, he sent him with a peremptory
summons to Count Frontenac to surrender the city. Immediately on
landing from the boat with his flag of truce, Phips's emissary was
blindfolded and led by a roundabout path to the Castle of St. Louis,
where Frontenac and most of the chief men of the colony were
assembled. His demands Phips had written out on a sheet of paper.
He was anxious, he told Frontenac, to avoid shedding blood, and that
if the Count would surrender the fort, the city, the stores, and
their persons without delay, they may expect mercy from him as a
Christian. Otherwise {137} it would go hard with the French.
Capitulation was demanded within one hour.
The bandage was taken from the messenger's eyes and the paper read
and translated to the company. Then the New England major took a
large silver watch from his pocket and laid it on the table, saying
haughtily, "Gentlemen, you will perceive it is now ten o'clock. My
general expects an answer by eleven."
Whereat the French officers assembled, flushed with anger, only
Frontenac's face remaining impassive. "You need not wait so long,"
he said. He told the envoy that the French rejected the demand.
"Will your Excellency put that in writing?" asked the envoy.
Frontenac's eyes darted fire.
[Illustration: My Guns will give my Answer, Frontenac, 1690]
"It is by the cannon's mouth and by musket-shot that I will send my
answer. I am not in the habit of being addressed in the style he has
chosen to adopt. Let your master do his best; I will do mine."
Once more blindfolded, the messenger was escorted to his boat. A
little later the batteries of Quebec's lower town opened fire on the
fleet. Some of the very first shots brought down the flag of Phips's
own vessel, seeing which from the shore, several bold Canadians
immediately swam out, and, regardless of the musket fire from the
fleet, fished the dripping prize out of the water. Afterwards this
flag was hung as a trophy to the ceiling of Quebec Cathedral, and
there it remained until the siege and capture of the city by General
Wolfe, when it and the building that sheltered it were consumed by
fire.
{138}
For two whole days Phips remained in a state of indecision. The
enemy was of sterner stuff than he had supposed, and an effective
plan must be concerted. On the 18th of October 1690 Major Walley,
the second in command, with 1300 men and some small field cannon,
landed at Beauport. They had resolved to cross the St. Charles River
there and attack Quebec in the rear. At the same time the guns of
the ships opened fire. So vigorously replied the ramparts that Phips
was obliged to draw off for a while, not renewing his bombardment
until the next morning. By this time the New England commander saw
that unless the troops on shore could manage to force their way into
the city and capture it by assault, his chances of success were gone.
Valiantly, doggedly did Walley and his men try to cross the St.
Charles River. The banks were covered with deep mud; each time they
tried to cross, the Indians and bushrangers sent by Frontenac beat
them off. After three days of cold and hunger they were fain to give
up the attempt. When they retreated to the ships, five of their
cannon were left sticking in the Beauport mud. Yet even had they
succeeded, what a task was left them to do! There was Frontenac
watching them sharply, ready, if need be, to go to the rescue of the
outposts of carabiniers with 2000 men. In these circumstances Sir
William Phips's siege of Quebec turned out an utter failure.
Frontenac was more than a match for him: Quebec was not Port Royal.
On the following day the townsfolk and soldiers on the heights saw
the discomfited fleet of the foe {139} passing out of sight homeward
down the St. Lawrence. They had lost only some sixty killed and
wounded,--Ste. Hélène had fallen,--while before Phips got back to
Boston, what with those slain by bullets and the hundreds drowned on
the several ships lost in the November storms, his loss was heavy
indeed. While Quebec sang a Te Deum and dedicated a chapel to "Our
Lady of Victories," Boston was plunged in gloom. Phips's ignoble
failure had involved the whole colony in debt and mortification.
King Louis the Fourteenth, hearing the good news, ordered a medal to
be struck bearing the inscription: "Francia in Nova Orbe Victrix;
Kebeca Liberata A.D. MDCXC."
If Frontenac hoped that the Iroquois would cease after this to give
him trouble, he was destined to disappointment. All his endeavours
to conciliate them failed; their chiefs were still convinced that
they had more to hope for as allies of the English, and took measures
accordingly. English and French colonists now hated one another with
a hate that was never to slumber for the next seventy years, until
Wolfe was to plant the blood-red flag of England on the frowning
heights of Quebec.
During the winter of 1691 and 1692 there were numerous terrible
border raids, in one of which the Abenakis devastated more than fifty
leagues of English territory and utterly destroyed Yorktown. Both
French and English used the Indians as so many packs of human
bloodhounds to track their foes to death. Both sides resorted to the
practice of paying a price for the bodies, alive or dead, of the
{140} hostile savages. A French regular soldier received ten louis
for the scalp of an Iroquois; a volunteer received twenty. If he had
to hunt the red-man like any other wild animal, he could claim fifty
louis for his scalp. This practice was not confined to the
Canadians. Corresponding premiums were paid by the English.
Living captives were often handed over to their Indian allies to
appease their delight in human suffering and bloodshed. Once one of
Frontenac's officers, ravaging the country of the Oneidas, found a
solitary old man in a certain village. He was nearly a hundred years
of age, but do not imagine his years awakened any compassion in his
captors, who at once handed him over to their savage allies. The old
brave awaited his fate as calmly as any of those Roman senators whose
city was taken by the Gauls. Father Charlevoix tells us the story.
He says it was a strange sight to behold more than four hundred
savage tormentors forming a circle round a decrepit object from whom
they could not wring a single cry, and who, as long as the breath
remained in his body, taunted them with being the slaves of weak and
foolish Frenchmen. Only once did he complain, and that was when one
of his butchers, on purpose to finish the scene, stabbed him
repeatedly in the breast.
"Ah," he murmured hoarsely, "why did you not wait until you had done
your worst, so that you might behold how a man ought to die!"
At another time Frontenac captured two Mohawk warriors whom he
condemned to die by torture. One of them immediately despatched
himself {141} with a knife, which a pitying priest threw him in
prison. But his fellow-captive, disdaining such an escape, walked
boldly to the stake singing his death chant. In his song he boasted
that not all the power of man could extort a groan or a murmur from
his lips, and that it was enough happiness for him in the hour of
trial to remember that he had made many a Frenchman feel the same
pangs he was about to feel. When bound to the stake, he looked round
on his executioners, their instruments of torture, and the multitude
of French spectators with a smile of composure. For some hours he
endured a series of barbarities that make our blood even now, as we
read of it, chill in our veins, and at last a Frenchwoman implored
the Governor to order him to be dealt a mortal blow and so put him
out of his agony.
Thanks to the incessant raids of the Iroquois into Canada, the
farmers dared not till the fields and sow the seed. Those who might
have protected them were everywhere up in arms, coping with their
implacable savage foes, who seemed to rise out of the ground on every
hand. In vain was one band beaten and cut to pieces; another sprang
up to take its place.
Many were the heroic deeds performed by both Canadian men and women,
but none is more thrilling than that which is told of a beautiful
young girl of fourteen, Madeleine de la Verchères. She was the
daughter of Seigneur of Verchères, and lived in the fortified
seignory ten miles from Montreal, on the south side of the great
river St. Lawrence. One {142} morning her father was absent at
Quebec, and all the farm-folk were working in the fields. To guard
the fort, her father had left two soldiers, an old man eighty years
old, her two little brothers, and herself. Suddenly the terrible
war-whoop of the Iroquois pierced the air, and scarce time had the
soldiers to barricade the doors and windows before a mighty host
appeared before the fort. So fierce was their fire, that the
soldiers deemed it useless to continue to struggle. But not so
Madeleine. Seizing a musket, she ordered the falterers to their
posts. Day and night for a whole week did this heroic girl hold the
band of Iroquois at bay. She taught her little brothers to load and
fire so rapidly, that the Indians fancied a garrison of twelve men at
least held the fort. At last a reinforcement arrived, and the
Iroquois beat a retreat. The gates of the fort were flung open, and
the pale, weary girl of fourteen, captain of the garrison of
Verchères, flung herself into her father's arms.
[Illustration: Heroic Defence by Madeleine de Verchères and her
Brothers, 1692]
And now let us return for a moment to the shores of Hudson's Bay. It
was not likely that the forts which the Chevalier de Troyes had
wrested from the English would continue to remain in French
possession without an effort being made to regain them. One Captain
Moon, returning from Port Nelson, endeavoured, with twenty-four men,
to surprise the French at Fort Anne, which was the new name bestowed
upon the captured Fort Albany. Moon built a station eight miles
away, but Iberville, who had been again sent to the Bay, instantly
got wind of it, and, marching thither, drove the English out. {143}
When two Hudson's Bay Company's vessels arrived in these waters,
winter overtook them, and they became locked in the ice. The crews
landed, and had nearly built a fort when Iberville fell upon them and
made them all prisoners.
But there was one stronghold in the northern bay which continued to
defy the French. This single fort was considered of so much
importance, that the gain or loss of everything in Hudson's Bay
depended upon it. To capture it, however, required a stronger force
than Iberville could at present command, whereupon he sailed away to
France to ask assistance from the King. He revealed to His Majesty
his plans for the capture of Fort Nelson, and was at length promised
two ships in the following spring. The royal promise was duly kept.
After a hot bombardment of three weeks, the English Governor was
obliged to surrender and the French standard hoisted over the
captured stronghold. Only for a year, however, did the stronghold
remain in the enemy's possession, when it was recaptured by the
Company, and threescore Frenchmen sent prisoners to England. When
Iberville heard of this fresh turn which events had taken, he ground
his teeth with rage. "Am I," he cried, "to go on capturing this fort
from the English, only to have it repeatedly slip through our hands?"
He then and there vowed to have nothing further to do with Hudson's
Bay, he who had fought so many battles and won there so many
victories.
As for the French prisoners, no sooner were they released than they
crossed the Channel and sought {144} audience of their King. Gazing
upon this emaciated band of fur-hunters and bushrangers, Louis the
Fourteenth would have been craven indeed if he had not attempted to
retrieve their misfortunes. Four ships of war were promised them.
"And," said the King, "Iberville shall lead you." But Iberville was
then at Placentia, in Newfoundland, bent on finding other fields for
his energy and martial prowess. No other man was so well equipped at
all points, in knowledge of the great bay and of the conditions of
fighting there, as this hero, so the four captains found him out at
Placentia, and, embarking in the _Pelican_, he took command.
Iberville's flag-ship mounted fifty guns. The others of the fleet
were the _Palmier_, the _Weesph_, and the _Violent_. The attack on
Fort Nelson this time was to be no child's play. Almost at the very
moment when the wind was filling the sails of the French ships in the
Channel, there sailed from Plymouth a fleet belonging to the Hudson's
Bay Company, the _Hampshire_, the _Hudson's Bay_, the _Dering_, and
_Owner's Love_. The two first-named vessels were no strangers to the
Bay, and had participated in the conquest of the previous year.
Although each was ignorant of the other's movements, it was a race
across the Atlantic, and the English fleet entered the Straits only
forty hours before the ships of the French, and, like them, was much
impeded by the ice, which was unusually troublesome. Passage was
made by the enemy in the English wake. One French ship, commanded by
Duqué, pushed past the currents, taking a northerly {145} course,
which brought her commander into full view of two of the Company's
ships. Shots were exchanged; but owing to the difficulties
engendered by the ice, it was impossible to manoeuvre with such
certainty as to cut off the Frenchman's escape. While this skirmish
was in progress, Iberville in the _Pelican_ succeeded in getting past
the English unknown to them, and reached the mouth of the Nelson
River in sight of the fort. His presence, as may be imagined,
greatly surprised and disturbed the Governor and the Company's
servants; for they had believed their own ships would have arrived in
season to prevent the enemy from entering the Straits. Several
rounds of shot were fired as a signal, in the hope that a response
would be made by the Company's ships, which they hourly expected in
that quarter.
On his part the French commander was equally disturbed by the
non-arrival of his three consorts, which the exigencies of the voyage
had obliged him to forsake. Two days were passed in a state of
suspense. At daybreak on the 5th of September three ships[1] were
distinctly visible; both parties joyfully believed they were their
own. So certain was Iberville, that he immediately raised anchor and
started to join the newcomers. He was soon undeceived, but the
knowledge of his mistake in no way daunted him.
The Company's commanders were not prepared {146} either for the
daring or the fury of the Frenchman's onslaught. It is true the
_Pelican_ was much superior to any of their own craft singly, being
manned by nearly 250 men, and boasting 44 pieces of cannon. The
Company's ships lined up, the _Hampshire_ in front, the _Dering_
next, with the _Hudson's Bay_ bringing up the rear.
The combatants being in close proximity, the battle began at
half-past nine in the morning. The French commander came straight
for the _Hampshire_, whose captain, believing it was his enemy's
design to board, instantly let fall his mainsail and set his
fore-top-sail. Contact having been by these means narrowly evaded,
the scene of battle suddenly shifted to the _Pelican_ and the
_Dering_, whose mainsail was smitten by the terrific volley. At the
same time the _Hudson's Bay_, veering, received a damaging broadside.
The Company's men could distinctly hear the orders shouted by
Iberville to discharge a musket fire into the _Dering's_ forecastle,
but in this move he was anticipated by the English sailors, who
poured a storm of bullets in upon the Frenchman, accompanied by a
broadside of grape, which wrought havoc with her sails. While the
cries of the wounded on the _Pelican_ could be distinctly heard, all
three of the Company's ships opened fire, with the design of
disabling her rigging. But the captain of the _Hudson's Bay_, seeing
that he could not engage the _Pelican_ owing to Iberville's tactics,
determined to run in front of her and give her the benefit of a
constant hull fire, besides taking the wind from her sails.
Iberville observed the movement; the two {147} English vessels were
near; he veered round, and by a superb piece of seamanship came so
near to the _Hampshire_ that the crew of the latter saw that boarding
was intended. Every man flew out on the main deck with his pistol
and cutlass, and a terrific broadside of grape on the part of the
Englishman alone saved him.
Hotter and fiercer raged the battle. The _Hampshire's_ salvation had
been only temporary; at the end of three hours and a half she began
to sink, with all sails set. When this occurred, Iberville had
ninety men wounded, forty being struck by a single broadside.
Notwithstanding this, he decided at once to push matters with the
_Hampshire's_ companions, although the _Pelican_ was in a badly
damaged state, especially the forecastle, which was a mass of
splinters.
The enemy made at once for the _Dering_, which besides being the
smallest ship, had suffered severely. She crowded on all sail and
managed to avoid an encounter, and Iberville, being in no condition
to prosecute the chase, returned to the _Hudson's Bay_, which soon
surrendered. Iberville was not destined, however, to reap much
advantage from his prize, the _Hampshire_. The English flag-ship was
unable to render any assistance to the _Hudson's Bay_, and soon went
down, with nearly all on board.
To render the situation more distressing, no sooner had some ninety
prisoners been made than a storm arose, so that it became out of the
question to approach the shore with design of landing. They were
without a long-boat, and each attempt to {148} launch canoes in the
boiling surf was attended with failure.
Night fell; the wind instead of calming grew fiercer. The sea became
truly terrible, seeking, seemingly, with all its power to drive the
_Pelican_ and the _Hudson's Bay_ upon the coast. The rudders of each
ship broke; the tide rose, and there seemed no hope for the crews,
whose destiny was so cruel. Their only hope, in the midst of the
bitter blast and clouds of snow which environed them, lay in the
strength of their cables. Soon after nine o'clock the _Hudson's Bay_
and its anchor parted with a shock.
"Instantly," said one of the survivors, "a piercing cry went up from
our forecastle. The wounded and dead lay heaped up with so little
separation one from the other that silence and moans alone
distinguished them. All were icy cold and covered with blood. They
had told us the anchor would hold, and we dreaded being washed up on
the shore stiff the next morning."
A huge wave broke over the main deck and the ship lurched
desperately. Two hours later the cable parted, and the ship was
hurled rudderless to and fro in the trough of the sea.
By the French account, matters were in no more enviable state aboard
the _Pelican_; Iberville, however, amidst scenes rivalling those just
described, did his best to animate his officers and men with a spirit
equalling his own.
"It is better," he cried, "to die, if we must, outside the bastions
of Fort Bourbon than to perish here like pent sheep on board."
{149}
When morning broke, it was seen by the French that their ship was not
yet submerged, and it was resolved to disembark by such means as lay
in their power. The Company's servants were more fortunate. The
_Hudson's Bay_ had drifted eight miles to the south of the fort, and
was wrecked on a bank of icy marshland, which at least constrained
them to wade no deeper than their knees. The French, however, were
forced to make their way through the icy water submerged to their
necks, from the results of which terrible exposure no fewer than
eighteen marines and seamen lost their lives. Once on shore they
could not, like the English, look forward to a place of refuge and
appease their hunger with provisions and drink. They were obliged,
in their shivering, half-frozen state, to subsist upon moss and
seaweed, but for which indifferent nourishment they must inevitably
have perished.
The Company's garrison witnessed the calamities which were overtaking
the French, but not knowing how great their number, and assured of
their hostility, did not attempt any acts of mercy. They perceived
the enemy camped in a wood, less than two leagues distant, where,
building several fires, they sought to restore their spirits by means
of warmth and hot draughts of boiled herbs.
While the fort was being continually recruited by survivors of the
two wrecked ships, the other three French vessels had arrived on the
scene. The fourth, the _Violent_, lay at the bottom of the Bay,
having been sunk by the ice. The _Palmier_ had suffered the loss of
her helm, but was fortunate in not being also {150} a victim of the
storm. The French forces being now united, little time was lost by
Iberville in making active preparations for the attack upon the fort.
On the 11th the enemy attained a small wood, almost under the guns of
the fort, and having entrenched themselves, lit numerous fires and
made considerable noise in order to lend the impression to the
English that an entrenchment was being thrown up. This ruse was
successful, for the Governor gave orders to fire in that direction;
and Iberville, seizing this opportunity, effected a landing of all
his men and armaments from the ships.
The fort would now soon be hemmed in on all sides, and it were indeed
strange if a chance shot or firebrand did not ignite the timbers and
the powder magazine were not exploded. Governor Bailey was holding a
council of his advisers when one of the French prisoners in the fort
gave notice of the approach of a messenger bearing a flag of truce.
He was recognised as Martigny. The Governor permitted his advance
and sent a factor to meet him and insist upon his eyes being bandaged
before he would be permitted to enter. Martigny was conducted to
where the council was sitting, and there delivered Iberville's
message demanding surrender. He was instantly interrupted by Captain
Smithsend, who, with a great show of passion, asked the emissary if
it were not true that Iberville had been killed in the action. In
spite of Martigny's denials, Smithsend loudly persisted in believing
Iberville's death, and held that the French were in sore straits and
only {151} made the present attack because no other alternative was
offered to desperate men to obtain food and shelter. Bailey allowed
himself to be influenced by Smithsend, and declined to yield to any
of Martigny's demands. The latter returned, and the French instantly
set up a battery near the fort and continued, amidst a hail of
bullets, the work of landing their damaged stores and armaments.
Stragglers from the wreck of the _Hudson's Bay_ continued all day to
find their way to the fort, but several reached it only to be shot
down in mistake by the cannon and muskets of their own men. On the
12th, after a hot skirmish, fatal to both sides, the Governor was
again requested, this time by Sérigny, to yield up the fort to
superior numbers.
"If you refuse, we will set fire to the place and accord you no
quarter," he wrote to Bailey.
"Set fire and be d----d to you!" responded Bailey.
He then went to work, with Smithsend, whose treatment as a prisoner
in the hands of the French some years before was still vividly before
him, to animate the garrison.
"Go for them, you dogs!" cried Bailey. "Give it to them hot and
heavy; I promise you forty pounds apiece for your widows!"
Fighting in these days was attended by fearful mortality, and the
scarcity of pensions to the hero's family, perhaps, made the offer
seem handsome. At any rate it seemed a sufficient bribe to the
Company's men, who fought like demons.
A continual fire of guns and mortar, as well as {152} of muskets, was
kept up. The Canadians sallied out upon a number of skirmishes,
filling the air with a frightful din, borrowing from the Iroquois
their piercing war-cries. In one of these sallies St. Martin, one of
their bravest men, perished.
Under protection of a flag of truce, Sérigny came again to demand a
surrender. It was the last time, he said, the request would be
preferred. A general assault had been resolved upon by the enemy,
who were at their last resort, living like beasts in the wood,
feeding on moss, and to whom no extremity could be odious were it but
an exchange for their present condition. They were resolved upon
carrying the fort, even at the point of the bayonet and over heaps of
their slain.
Bailey decided to yield. He sent Morrison to carry the terms of
capitulation, in which he demanded all the peltries in the fort
belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. This demand being rejected by
the enemy, Bailey later in the evening sent Henry Kelsey with a
proposition to retain a portion of their armament; this also was
refused. There was now nothing for it but to surrender, Iberville
having granted an evacuation with bag and baggage.
At one o'clock on the following day, therefore, the evacuation took
place. Bailey, at the head of his garrison, and a number of the crew
of the wrecked _Hudson's Bay_ and six survivors of the _Hampshire_,
marched forth from Fort York with drums beating, flag flying, and
with arms and baggage. They hardly knew whither they were to go, or
what fate awaited them. A vast, and inhospitable region surrounded
{153} them, and a winter long to be remembered for its severity had
begun. But to the French it seemed as if their spirits were
undaunted, and they set forth bravely.
The enemy watched the retreat of the defeated garrison not without
admiration, and for the moment speculation was rife as to their fate.
But it was only for a moment. Too rejoiced to contemplate anything
but the termination of their own sufferings, the Canadians hastened
to enter the fort, headed by Boisbriant, late an ensign in the
service of the Compagnie du Nord. Fort Nelson was once more in the
hands of the French.
On the St. Lawrence the Count of Frontenac, old as he was, sickening
of the perpetual raids, led a great war force into the very midst of
the Iroquois. Rebuilding Fort Frontenac, which had been destroyed,
he launched his men straight against the Onondaga lodges, wiping out
all their stores of food and their maize harvests. He laid low also
the land of the Oneidas, and the warriors of both tribes fled before
him. If they could raid and butcher, by St. Louis, so could he! The
Iroquois looked to the English for help against the French. Whatever
they might have done, their hand was stopped. News arrived in 1697
of the signing of the peace at Ryswick between the warring kingdoms
of England and France. Tired of the conflict grew the haughty Five
Nations, and deputies were sent to Quebec to bring it to an end.
They offered, as before, to cease fighting the French Canadians, but
not their Indian allies in the west. {154} This would not satisfy
Frontenac: he would make no peace which could not be lasting. The
Governor of New York interfered.
"The Iroquois," he told Frontenac, "are under the King of England's
protection. They cannot make either war or peace on their own
account. I have told them to be at peace with you. Henceforward you
must not treat them as enemies."
"I will make my peace with the Five Nations," Frontenac thundered
forth to the Indian deputy, "but it shall be on my own terms. If we
continue to fight and you aid them, by St. Louis! the blood will be
on your own hands."
A few weeks later, when the reward of his firmness was in sight, the
lion-hearted Frontenac, now in his seventy-eighth year, sickened and
died, amidst the sorrow of his people. It was a great loss to
Canada, and fortunate was it that his successor was as brave and wise
as Governor de Callières.
[1] The fourth, the fire-ship _Owner's Love_, was never more heard
of. It is supposed that, separated from the others, she ran into the
ice and was sunk, with all on board.
{155}