The Conquest of New France
By George M. Wrong
A Chronicle of the Colonial Wars
Volume 10 of the
Chronicles of America Series
∴
Allen Johnson, Editor
Assistant Editors
Gerhard R. Lomer
Charles W. Jefferys
Abraham Lincoln Edition
New Haven: Yale University Press
Toronto: Glasgow, Brook & Co.
London: Humphrey Milford
Oxford University Press
1918
Copyright, 1918
by Yale University Press
Contents
The Conquest of New France
Chapter Chapter Title Page
I. The Conflict Opens: Frontenac And Phips 1
II. Quebec And Boston 24
III. France Loses Acadia 44
IV. Louisbourg And Boston 67
V. The Great West 97
VI. The Valley Of The Ohio 145
VII. The Expulsion Of The Acadians 164
VIII. The Victories Of Montcalm 178
IX. Montcalm At Quebec 198
X. The Strategy Of Pitt 210
XI. The Fall Of Canada 225
Bibliographical Note 239
Index 241
THE CONQUEST OF NEW FRANCE
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CHAPTER I.
The Conflict Opens: Frontenac And Phips
Many centuries of European history had been marked by war almost
ceaseless between France and England when these two states first
confronted each other in America. The conflict for the New World was but
the continuation of an age-long antagonism in the Old, intensified now
by the savagery of the wilderness and by new dreams of empire. There was
another potent cause of strife which had not existed in the earlier
days. When, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the
antagonists had fought through the interminable Hundred Years' War, they
had been of the same religious faith. Since then, however, England had
become Protestant, while France had remained Catholic. When the rivals
first met on the shores of the New World, colonial America was still
very young. It was in 1607 that the English occupied Virginia. At the
same time the French were securing a foothold in Acadia, now Nova
Scotia. Six years had barely passed when the English Captain Argall
sailed to the north from Virginia and destroyed the rising French
settlements. Sixteen years after this another English force attacked and
captured Quebec. Presently these conquests were restored. France
remained in possession of the St. Lawrence and in virtual possession of
Acadia. The English colonies, holding a great stretch of the Atlantic
seaboard, increased in number and power. New France also grew stronger.
The steady hostility of the rivals never wavered. There was, indeed,
little open warfare as long as the two Crowns remained at peace. From
1660 to 1688, the Stuart rulers of England remained subservient to their
cousin the Bourbon King of France and at one with him in religious
faith. But after the fall of the Stuarts France bitterly denounced the
new King, William of Orange, as both a heretic and a usurper, and
attacked the English in America with a savage fury unknown in Europe.
From 1690 to 1760 the combatants fought with little more than pauses for
renewed preparation; and the conflict ended only when France yielded to
England the mastery of her empire in America. It is the story of this
struggle, covering a period of seventy years, which is told in the
following pages.
The career of Louis de Buade, Comte de Frontenac, who was Governor of
Canada from 1672 to 1682 and again from 1689 to his death in 1698,
reveals both the merits and the defects of the colonizing genius of
France. Frontenac was a man of noble birth whose life had been spent in
court and camp. The story of his family, so far as it is known, is a
story of attendance upon the royal house of France. His father and
uncles had been playmates of the young Dauphin, afterwards Louis XIII.
The thoughts familiar to Frontenac in his youth remained with him
through life; and, when he went to rule at Quebec, the very spirit that
dominated the court at Versailles crossed the sea with him.
A man is known by the things he loves. The things which Frontenac most
highly cherished were marks of royal favor, the ceremony due to his own
rank, the right to command. He was an egoist, supremely interested in
himself. He was poor, but at his country seat in France, near Blois, he
kept open house in the style of a great noble. Always he bore himself as
one to whom much was due. His guests were expected to admire his
indifferent horses as the finest to be seen, his gardens as the most
beautiful, his clothes as of the most effective cut and finish, the
plate on his table as of the best workmanship, and the food as having
superior flavor. He scolded his equals as if they were naughty children.
Yet there was genius in this showy court figure. In 1669, when the
Venetian Republic had asked France to lend her an efficient soldier to
lead against the rampant Turk, the great Marshal Turenne had chosen
Frontenac for the task. Crete, which Frontenac was to rescue, the Turk
indeed had taken; but, it is said, at the fearful cost of a hundred and
eighty thousand men. Three years later, Frontenac had been sent to
Canada to war with the savage Iroquois and to hold in check the
aggressive designs of the English. He had been recalled in 1682, after
ten years of service, chiefly on account of his arbitrary temper. He had
quarreled with the Bishop. He had bullied the Intendant until at one
time that harried official had barricaded his house and armed his
servants. He had told the Jesuit missionaries that they thought more of
selling beaver-skins than of saving souls. He had insulted those about
him, sulked, threatened, foamed at the mouth in rage, revealed a
childish vanity in regard to his dignity, and a hunger insatiable for
marks of honor from the King--"more grateful," he once said, "than
anything else to a heart shaped after the right pattern."
France, however, now required at Quebec a man who could do the needed
man's tasks. The real worth of Frontenac had been tested; and so, in
1689, when England had driven from her shores her Catholic king and when
France's colony across the sea seemed to be in grave danger from the
Iroquois allies of the English, Frontenac was sent again to Quebec to
subdue these savages and, if he could, to destroy in America the power
of the age-long enemy of his country.
Perched high above the St. Lawrence, on a noble site where now is a
public terrace and a great hotel, stood the Château St. Louis, the scene
of Frontenac's rule as head of the colony. No other spot in the world
commanded such a highway linking the inland waters with the sea. The
French had always an eye for points of strategic value; and in holding
Quebec they hoped to possess the pivot on which the destinies of North
America should turn. For a long time it seemed, indeed, as if this
glowing vision might become a reality. The imperial ideas which were
working at Quebec were based upon the substantial realities of trade.
The instinct for business was hardly less strong in these keen
adventurers than the instinct for empire. In promise of trade the
interior of North America was rich. Today its vast agriculture and its
wealth in minerals have brought rewards beyond the dreams of two hundred
years ago. The wealth, however, sought by the leaders of that time came
from furs. In those wastes of river, lake, and forest were the richest
preserves in the world for fur-bearing animals.
This vast wilderness was not an unoccupied land. In those wild regions
dwelt many savage tribes. Some of the natives were by no means without
political capacity. On the contrary, they were long clever enough to pit
English against French to their own advantage as the real sovereigns in
North America. One of them, whose fluent oratory had won for him the
name of Big Mouth, told the Governor of Canada, in 1688, that his people
held their lands from the Great Spirit, that they yielded no lordship to
either the English or the French, that they well understood the weakness
of the French and were quite able to destroy them, but that they wished
to be friends with both French and English who brought to them the
advantages of trade. In sagacity of council and dignity of carriage some
of these Indians so bore themselves that to trained observers they
seemed not unequal to the diplomats of Europe. They were, however, weak
before the superior knowledge of the white men. In all their long
centuries in America they had learned nothing of the use of iron. Their
sharpest tool had been made of chipped obsidian or of hammered copper.
Their most potent weapons had been the stone hatchet or axe and the bow
and arrow. It thus happened that, when steel and gunpowder reached
America, the natives soon came to despise their primitive implements.
More and more they craved the supplies from Europe which multiplied in a
hundred ways their strength in the conflict with nature and with man. To
the Indian tribes trade with the French or English soon became a vital
necessity. From the far northwest for a thousand miles to the bleak
shores of Hudson Bay, from the banks of the Mississippi to the banks of
the St. Lawrence and the Hudson, they came each year on laborious
journeys, paddling their canoes and carrying them over portages, to
barter furs for the things which they must have and which the white man
alone could supply.
The Iroquois, the ablest and most resolute of the native tribes, held
the lands bordering on Lake Ontario which commanded the approaches from
both the Hudson and the St. Lawrence by the Great Lakes to the spacious
regions of the West. The five tribes known as the Iroquois had shown
marked political talent by forming themselves into a confederacy. From
the time of Champlain, the founder of Quebec, there had been trouble
between the French and the Iroquois. In spite of this bad beginning, the
French had later done their best to make friends with the powerful
confederacy. They had sent to them devoted missionaries, many of whom
met the martyr's reward of torture and massacre. But the opposing
influence of the English, with whom the Iroquois chiefly traded, proved
too strong.
With the Iroquois hostile, it was too dangerous for the French to travel
inland by way of Lake Ontario. They had, it is true, a shorter and,
indeed, a better route farther north, by way of the Ottawa River and
Lake Nipissing to Lake Huron. In time, however, the Iroquois made even
this route unsafe. Their power was far-reaching and their ambition
limitless. They aimed to be masters of North America. Like all virile
but backward peoples, they believed themselves superior to every other
race. Their orators declared that the fate of the world was to turn on
their policy.
On Frontenac's return to Canada he had a stormy inheritance in
confronting the Iroquois. They had real grievances against France.
Denonville, Frontenac's predecessor, had met their treachery by
treachery of his own. Louis XIV had found that these lusty savages made
excellent galley slaves and had ordered Denonville to secure a supply in
Canada. In consequence the Frenchman seized even friendly Iroquois and
sent them over seas to France. The savages in retaliation exacted a
fearful vengeance in the butchery of French colonists. The bloodiest
story in the annals of Canada is the massacre at Lachine, a village a
few miles above Montreal. On the night of August 4, 1689, fourteen
hundred Iroquois burst in on the village and a wild orgy of massacre
followed. All Canada was in a panic. Some weeks later Frontenac arrived
at Quebec and took command.
To the old soldier, now in his seventieth year, his hard task was not
uncongenial. He had fought the savage Iroquois before and the no less
savage Turk. He belonged to that school of military action which knows
no scruple in its methods, and he was prepared to make war with all the
frightfulness practised by the savages themselves. His resolute,
blustering demeanor was well fitted to impress the red men of the
forest, for an imperious eye will sometimes cow an Indian as well as a
lion, and Frontenac's mien was imperious. In his life in court and camp
he had learned how to command.
The English in New York had professed to be brothers to the Iroquois and
had called them by that name. This title of equality, however, Frontenac
would not yield. Kings speak of "my people"; Frontenac spoke to the
Indians not as his brothers but as his children and as children of the
great King whom he served. He was their father, their protector, the
disposer and controller of mighty reserves of power, who loved and cared
for those putting their trust in him. He could unbend to play with their
children and give presents to their squaws. At times he seemed patient,
gentle, and forgiving. At times, too, he swaggered and boasted in terms
which the event did not always justify.
La Potherie, a cultivated Frenchman in Canada during Frontenac's régime,
describes an amazing scene at Montreal, which seems to show that,
whether Frontenac recognized the title or not, he had qualities which
made him the real brother of the savages. In 1690 Huron and other Indian
allies of the French had come from the far interior to trade and also to
consider the eternal question of checking the Iroquois. At the council,
which began with grave decorum, a Huron orator begged the French to make
no terms with the Iroquois. Frontenac answered in the high tone which he
could so well assume. He would fight them until they should humbly crave
peace; he would make with them no treaty except in concert with his
Indian allies, whom he would never fail in fatherly care. To impress the
council by the reality of his oneness with the Indians, Frontenac now
seized a tomahawk and brandished it in the air shouting at the same time
the Indian war-song. The whole assembly, French and Indians, joined in a
wild orgy of war passion, and the old man of seventy, fresh from the
court of Louis XIV, led in the war-dance, yelled with the Indians their
savage war-whoops, danced round the circle of the council, and showed
himself in spirit a brother of the wildest of them. This was good
diplomacy. The savages swore to make war to the end under his lead. Many
a frontier outrage, many a village attacked in the dead of night and
burned, amidst bloody massacre of its few toil-worn settlers, was to be
the result of that strange mingling of Europe with wild America.
Frontenac's task was to make war on the English and their Iroquois
allies. He had before him the King's instructions as to the means for
effecting this. The King aimed at nothing less than the conquest of the
English colonies in America. In 1664 the English, by a sudden blow in
time of peace, had captured New Netherland, the Dutch colony on the
Hudson, which then became New York. Now, a quarter of a century later,
France thought to strike a similar blow against the English, and Louis
XIV was resolved that the conquest should be thoroughgoing. The Dutch
power had fallen before a meager naval force. The English now would have
to face one much more formidable. Two French ships were to cross the sea
and to lie in wait near New York. Meanwhile from Canada, sixteen hundred
armed men, a thousand of them French regular troops, were to advance by
land into the heart of the colony, seize Albany and all the boats there
available, and descend by the Hudson to New York. The warships, hovering
off the coast, would then enter New York harbor at the same time that
the land forces made their attack. The village, for it was hardly more
than this, contained, as the French believed, only some two hundred
houses and four hundred fighting men and it was thought that a month
would suffice to complete this whole work of conquest. Once victors, the
French were to show no pity. All private property, but that of
Catholics, was to be confiscated. Catholics, whether English or Dutch,
were to be left undisturbed if not too numerous and if they would take
the oath of allegiance to Louis XIV and show some promise of keeping it.
Rich Protestants were to be held for ransom. All the other inhabitants,
except those whom the French might find useful for their own purposes,
were to be driven out of the colony, homeless wanderers, to be
scattered far so that they could not combine to recover what they had
lost. With New York taken, New England would be so weakened that in time
it too would fall. Such was the plan of conquest which came from the
brilliant chambers at Versailles.
New York did not fall. The expedition so carefully planned came to
nothing. Frontenac had never shown much faith in the enterprise. At
Quebec, on his arrival in the autumn of 1689, he was planning something
less ideally perfect, but certain to produce results. The scarred old
courtier intended so to terrorize the English that they should make no
aggressive advance, to encourage the French to believe themselves
superior to their rivals, and, above all, to prove to the Indian tribes
that prudence dictated alliance with the French and not with the
English.
Frontenac wrote a tale of blood. There were three war parties; one set
out from Montreal against New York, and one from Three Rivers and one
from Quebec against the frontier settlements of New Hampshire and Maine.
To describe one is to describe all. A band of one hundred and sixty
Frenchmen, with nearly as many Indians, gathers at Montreal in
mid-winter. The ground is deep with snow and they troop on snowshoes
across the white wastes. Dragging on sleds the needed supplies, they
march up the Richelieu River and over the frozen surface of Lake
Champlain. As they advance with caution into the colony of New York they
suffer terribly, now from bitter cold, now from thaws which make the
soft trail almost impassable. On a February night their scouts tell them
that they are near Schenectady, on the English frontier. There are young
members of the Canadian noblesse in the party. In the dead of night they
creep up to the paling which surrounds the village. The signal is given
and the village is awakened by the terrible war-whoop. Doors are smashed
by axes and hatchets, and women and children are killed as they lie in
bed, or kneel, shrieking for mercy. Houses are set on fire and living
human beings are thrown into the flames. By midday the assailants have
finished their dread work and are retreating along the forest paths
dragging with them a few miserable captives. In this winter of 1689-90
raiding parties also came back from the borders of New Hampshire and of
Maine with news of similar exploits, and Quebec and Montreal glowed with
the joy of victory.
Far away an answering attack was soon on foot. Sir William Phips of
Massachusetts, the son of a poor settler on the Kennebec River, had made
his first advance in life by taking up the trade of carpenter in Boston.
Only when grown up had he learned to read and write. He married a rich
wife, and ease of circumstances freed his mind for great designs. Some
fifty years before he was thus relieved of material cares, a Spanish
galleon carrying vast wealth had been wrecked in the West Indies. Phips
now planned to raise the ship and get the money. For this enterprise he
obtained support in England and set out on his exacting adventure. On
the voyage his crew mutinied. Armed with cutlasses, they told Phips that
he must turn pirate or perish; but he attacked the leader with his fists
and triumphed by sheer strength of body and will. A second mutiny he
also quelled, and then took his ship to Jamaica where he got rid of its
worthless crew. His enterprise had apparently failed; but the second
Duke of Albemarle and other powerful men believed in him and helped him
to make another trial. This time he succeeded in finding the wreck on
the coast of Hispaniola, and took possession of its cargo of precious
metals and jewels--treasure to the value of three hundred thousand
pounds sterling. Of the spoil Phips himself received sixteen thousand
pounds, a great fortune for a New Englander in those days. He was also
knighted for his services and, in the end, was named by William and Mary
the first royal Governor of Massachusetts.
Massachusetts, whose people had been thoroughly aroused by the French
incursions, resolved to retaliate by striking at the heart of Canada by
sea and to take Quebec. Sir William Phips, though not yet made Governor,
would lead the expedition. The first blow fell in Acadia. Phips sailed
up the Bay of Fundy and on May 11, 1690, landed a force before Port
Royal. The French Governor surrendered on terms. The conquest was
intended to be final, and the people were offered their lives and
property on the condition of taking the oath to be loyal subjects of
William and Mary. This many of them did and were left unmolested. It was
a bloodless victory. But Phips, the Puritan crusader, was something of a
pirate. He plundered private property and was himself accused of taking
not merely the silver forks and spoons of the captive Governor but even
his wigs, shirts, garters, and night caps. The Boston Puritans joyfully
pillaged the church at Port Royal, and overturned the high altar and the
images. The booty was considerable and by the end of May Phips, a
prosperous hero, was back in Boston.
Boston was aflame with zeal to go on and conquer Canada. By the middle
of August Phips had set out on the long sea voyage to Quebec, with
twenty-two hundred men, a great force for a colonial enterprise of that
time, and in all some forty ships. The voyage occupied more than two
months. Apparently the hardy carpenter-sailor, able enough to carry
through a difficult undertaking with a single ship, lacked the
organizing skill to manage a great expedition. He performed, however,
the feat of navigating safely with his fleet the treacherous waters of
the lower St. Lawrence. On the morning of October 16, 1690, watchers at
Quebec saw the fleet, concerning which they had already been warned,
rounding the head of the Island of Orleans and sailing into the broad
basin. Breathless spectators counted the ships. There were thirty-four
in sight, a few large vessels, some mere fishing craft. It was a
spectacle well calculated to excite and alarm the good people of Quebec.
They might, however, take comfort in the knowledge that their great
Frontenac was present to defend them. A few days earlier he had been in
Montreal, but, when there had come the startling news of the approach of
the enemy's ships, he had hurried down the river and had been received
with shouts of joy by the anxious populace.
The situation was one well suited to Frontenac's genius for the
dramatic. When a boat under a flag of truce put out from the English
ships, Frontenac hurried four canoes to meet it. The English envoy was
placed blindfold in one of these canoes and was paddled to the shore.
Here two soldiers took him by the arms and led him over many obstacles
up the steep ascent to the Château St. Louis. He could see nothing but
could hear the beating of drums, the blowing of trumpets, the jeers and
shouting of a great multitude in a town which seemed to be full of
soldiers and to have its streets heavily barricaded. When the bandage
was taken from his eyes he found himself in a great room of the Château.
Before him stood Frontenac, in brilliant uniform, surrounded by the most
glittering array of officers which Quebec could muster. The astonished
envoy presented a letter from Phips. It was a curt demand in the name of
King William of England for the unconditional surrender of all "forts
and castles" in Canada, of Frontenac himself, and all his forces and
supplies. On such conditions Phips would show mercy, as a Christian
should. Frontenac must answer within an hour. When the letter had been
read the envoy took a watch from his pocket and pointed out the time to
Frontenac. It was ten o'clock. The reply must be given by eleven. Loud
mutterings greeted the insulting message. One officer cried out that
Phips was a pirate and that his messenger should be hanged. Frontenac
knew well how to deal with such a situation. He threw the letter in the
envoy's face and turned his back upon him. The unhappy man, who
understood French, heard the Governor give orders that a gibbet should
be erected on which he was to be hanged. When the Bishop and the
Intendant pleaded for mercy, Frontenac seemed to yield. He would not
take, he said, an hour to reply, but would answer at once. He knew no
such person as King William. James, though in exile, was the true King
of England and the good friend of the King of France. There would be
no surrender to a pirate. After this outburst, the envoy asked if he
might have the answer in writing. "No!" thundered Frontenac. "I will
answer only from the mouths of my cannon and with my musketry!"
Phips could not take Quebec. In carrying out his plans, he was slow and
dilatory. Nature aided his foe. The weather was bad, the waters before
Quebec were difficult, and boats grounded unexpectedly in a falling
tide. Phips landed a force on the north side of the basin at Beauport
but was held in check by French and Indian skirmishing parties. He
sailed his ships up close to Quebec and bombarded the stronghold, but
then, as now, ships were impotent against well-served land defenses.
Soon Phips was short of ammunition. A second time he made a landing in
order to attack Quebec from the valley of the St. Charles but French
regulars fought with militia and Indians to drive off his forces. Phips
held a meeting with his officers for prayer. Heaven, however, denied
success to his arms. If he could not take Quebec, it was time to be
gone, for in the late autumn the dangers of the St. Lawrence are great.
He lay before Quebec for just a week and on the 23d of October sailed
away. It was late in November when his battered fleet began to straggle
into Boston. The ways of God had not proved as simple as they had seemed
to the Puritan faith, for the stronghold of Satan had not fallen before
the attacks of the Lord's people. There were searchings of heart,
recriminations, and financial distress in Boston.
For seven years more the war endured. Frontenac's victory over Phips at
Quebec was not victory over the Iroquois or victory over the colony of
New York. In 1691 this colony sent Peter Schuyler with a force against
Canada by way of Lake Champlain. Schuyler penetrated almost to Montreal,
gained some indecisive success, and caused much suffering to the unhappy
Canadian settlers. Frontenac made his last great stroke in July, 1696,
when he led more than two thousand men through the primeval forest to
destroy the villages of the Onondaga and the Oneida tribes of the
Iroquois. On the journey from the south shore of Lake Ontario, the old
man of seventy-five was unable to walk over the rough portages and fifty
Indians shouting songs of joy carried his great canoe on their
shoulders. When the soldiers left the canoes and marched forward to the
fight, they bore Frontenac in an easy chair. He did not destroy his
enemy, for many of the Indians fled, but he burned their chief village
and taught them a new respect for the power of the French. It was the
last great effort of the old warrior. In the next year, 1697, was
concluded the Peace of Ryswick; and in 1698 Frontenac died in his
seventy-ninth year, a hoary champion of France's imperial designs.
The Peace of Ryswick was an indecisive ending of an indecisive war. It
was indeed one of those bad treaties which invite renewed war. The
struggle had achieved little but to deepen the conviction of each side
that it must make itself stronger for the next fight. Each gave back
most of what it had gained. The peace, however, did not leave matters
quite as they had been. The position of William was stronger than
before, for France had treated with him and now recognized him as King
of England. Moreover France, hitherto always victorious, with generals
who had not known defeat, was really defeated when she could not longer
advance.