The Council now opened in due form. The Secretary read the royal
despatches, which were listened to with attention and respect, although
with looks of dissent in the countenances of many of the officers.
The Governor rose, and in a quiet, almost a solemn strain, addressed the
Council: “Gentlemen,” said he, “from the tenor of the royal despatches
just read by the Secretary, it is clear that our beloved New France is
in great danger. The King, overwhelmed by the powers in alliance
against him, can no longer reinforce our army here. The English fleet is
supreme--for the moment only, I hope!” added the Governor, as if with a
prevision of his own future triumphs on the ocean. “English troops are
pouring into New York and Boston, to combine with the militia of New
England and the Middle Colonies in a grand attack upon New France. They
have commenced the erection of a great fort at Chouagen on Lake Ontario,
to dispute supremacy with our stronghold at Niagara, and the gates of
Carillon may ere long have to prove their strength in keeping the enemy
out of the Valley of the Richelieu. I fear not for Carillon, gentlemen,
in ward of the gallant Count de Lusignan, whom I am glad to see at our
Council. I think Carillon is safe.”
The Count de Lusignan, a gray-headed officer of soldierly bearing, bowed
low to this compliment from the Governor. “I ask the Count de
Lusignan,” continued the Governor, “what he thinks would result from
our withdrawing the garrison from Carillon, as is suggested in the
despatches?”
“The Five Nations would be on the Richelieu in a week, and the English
in Montreal a month after such a piece of folly on our part!” exclaimed
the Count de Lusignan.
“You cannot counsel the abandonment of Carillon then, Count?” A smile
played over the face of the Governor, as if he too felt the absurdity of
his question.
“Not till Quebec itself fall into the enemy's hands. When that happens,
His Majesty will need another adviser in the place of the old Count de
Lusignan.”
“Well spoken, Count! In your hands Carillon is safe, and will one day,
should the enemy assail it, be covered with wreaths of victory, and its
flag be the glory of New France.”
“So be it, Governor. Give me but the Royal Roussillon and I pledge you
neither English, Dutch, nor Iroquois shall ever cross the waters of St.
Sacrament.”
“You speak like your ancestor the crusader, Count. But I cannot spare
the Royal Roussillon. Think you you can hold Carillon with your present
garrison?”
“Against all the force of New England. But I cannot promise the same
against the English regulars now landing at New York.”
“They are the same whom the King defeated at Fontenoy, are they not?”
interrupted the Intendant, who, courtier as he was, disliked the tenor
of the royal despatches as much as any officer present,--all the more as
he knew La Pompadour was advising peace out of a woman's considerations
rather than upholding the glory of France.
“Among them are many troops who fought us at Fontenoy. I learned the
fact from an English prisoner whom our Indians brought in from Fort
Lydius,” replied the Count de Lusignan.
“Well, the more of them the merrier,” laughed La Corne St. Luc. “The
bigger the prize, the richer they who take it. The treasure-chests of
the English will make up for the beggarly packs of the New Englanders.
Dried stock fish, and eel-skin garters to drive away the rheumatism,
were the usual prizes we got from them down in Acadia!”
“The English of Fontenoy are not such despicable foes,” remarked
the Chevalier de Lery; “they sufficed to take Louisbourg, and if we
discontinue our walls, will suffice to take Quebec.”
“Louisbourg was not taken by THEM, but fell through the mutiny of the
base Swiss!” replied Bigot, touched sharply by any allusion to that
fortress where he had figured so discreditably. “The vile hirelings
demanded money of their commander when they should have drawn the blood
of the enemy!” added he, angrily.
“Satan is bold, but he would blush in the presence of Bigot,” remarked
La Corne St. Luc to an Acadian officer seated next him. “Bigot kept
the King's treasure, and defrauded the soldiers of their pay: hence the
mutiny and the fall of Louisbourg.”
“It is what the whole army knows,” replied the officer. “But hark! the
Abbé Piquet is going to speak. It is a new thing to see clergy in a
Council of War!”
“No one has a better right to speak here than the Abbé Piquet,” replied
La Corne. “No one has sent more Indian allies into the field to fight
for New France than the patriotic Abbé.”
Other officers did not share the generous sentiments of La Corne St.
Luc. They thought it derogatory to pure military men to listen to a
priest on the affairs of the war.
“The Marshal de Belleisle would not permit even Cardinal de Fleury to
put his red stockings beneath his council-table,” remarked a strict
martinet of La Serre; “and here we have a whole flock of black gowns
darkening our regimentals! What would Voltaire say?”
“He would say that when priests turn soldiers it is time for soldiers
to turn tinkers and mend holes in pots, instead of making holes in our
enemies,” replied his companion, a fashionable freethinker of the day.
“Well, I am ready to turn pedlar any day! The King's army will go to the
dogs fast enough since the Governor commissions Recollets and Jesuits to
act as royal officers,” was the petulant remark of another officer of La
Serre.
A strong prejudice existed in the army against the Abbé Piquet for his
opposition to the presence of French troops in his Indian missionary
villages. They demoralized his neophytes, and many of the officers
shared in the lucrative traffic of fire-water to the Indians. The
Abbé was zealous in stopping those abuses, and the officers complained
bitterly of his over-protection of the Indians.
The famous “King's Missionary,” as he was called, stood up with an air
of dignity and authority that seemed to assert his right to be present
in the Council of War, for the scornful looks of many of the officers
had not escaped his quick glance.
The keen black eyes, thin resolute lips, and high swarthy forehead of
the Abbé would have well become the plumed hat of a marshal of France.
His loose black robe, looped up for freedom, reminded one of a grave
senator of Venice whose eye never quailed at any policy, however severe,
if required for the safety of the State.
The Abbé held in his hand a large roll of wampum, the tokens of treaties
made by him with the Indian nations of the West, pledging their alliance
and aid to the great Onontio, as they called the Governor of New France.
“My Lord Governor!” said the Abbé, placing his great roll on the table,
“I thank you for admitting the missionaries to the Council. We appear
less as churchmen on this occasion than as the King's ambassadors,
although I trust that all we have done will redound to God's glory and
the spread of religion among the heathen. These belts of wampum are
tokens of the treaties we have made with the numerous and warlike tribes
of the great West. I bear to the Governor pledges of alliance from the
Miamis and Shawnees of the great valley of the Belle Rivière, which they
call the Ohio. I am commissioned to tell Onontio that they are at peace
with the King and at war with his enemies from this time forth forever.
I have set up the arms of France on the banks of the Belle Rivière, and
claimed all its lands and waters as the just appanage of our sovereign,
from the Alleghanies to the plantations of Louisiana. The Sacs and
Foxes, of the Mississippi; the Pottawatomies, Winnebagoes, and Chippewas
of a hundred bands who fish in the great rivers and lakes of the West;
the warlike Ottawas, who have carried the Algonquin tongue to the
banks of Lake Erie,--in short, all enemies of the Iroquois have pledged
themselves to take the field whenever the Governor shall require the axe
to be dug up and lifted against the English and the Five Nations. Next
summer the chiefs of all these tribes will come to Quebec, and ratify in
a solemn General Council the wampums they now send by me and the other
missionaries, my brothers in the Lord!”
The Abbé, with the slow, formal manner of one long accustomed to the
speech and usages of the Indians, unrolled the belts of wampum, many
fathoms in length, fastened end to end to indicate the length of the
alliance of the various tribes with France. The Abbé interpreted
their meaning, and with his finger pointed out the totems or signs
manual--usually a bird, beast, or fish--of the chiefs who had signed the
roll.
The Council looked at the wampums with intense interest, well knowing
the important part these Indians were capable of assuming in the war
with England.
“These are great and welcome pledges you bring us, Abbé,” said the
Governor; “they are proofs at once of your ability and of your zealous
labors for the King. A great public duty has been ably discharged by you
and your fellow-missionaries, whose loyalty and devotion to France
it shall be my pleasure to lay before His Majesty. The Star of Hope
glitters in the western horizon, to encourage us under the clouds of
the eastern. Even the loss of Acadia, should it be final, will be
compensated by the acquisition of the boundless fertile territories
of the Belle Riviere and of the Illinois. The Abbé Piquet and his
fellow-missionaries have won the hearts of the native tribes of the
West. There is hope now, at last, of uniting New France with Louisiana
in one unbroken chain of French territory.
“It has been my ambition, since His Majesty honored me with the
Government of New France, to acquire possession of those vast
territories covered with forests old as time, and in soil rich and
fertile as Provence and Normandy.
“I have served the King all my life,” continued the Governor, “and
served him with honor and even distinction,--permit me to say this much
of myself.”
He spoke in a frank, manly way, for vanity prompted no part of his
speech. “Many great services have I rendered my country, but I feel
that the greatest service I could yet do Old France or New would be the
planting of ten thousand sturdy peasants and artisans of France in the
valley of the far West, to make its forests vocal with the speech of our
native land.
“This present war may end suddenly,--I think it will: the late victory
at Lawfelt has stricken the allies under the Duke of Cumberland a blow
hard as Fontenoy. Rumors of renewed negotiations for peace are flying
thick through Europe. God speed the peacemakers, and bless them, I
say! With peace comes opportunity. Then, if ever, if France be true to
herself and to her heritage in the New World, she will people the valley
of the Ohio and secure forever her supremacy in America!
“But our forts far and near must be preserved in the meantime. We must
not withdraw from one foot of French territory. Quebec must be walled,
and made safe against all attack by land or water. I therefore will
join the Council in a respectful remonstrance to the Count de Maurepas,
against the inopportune despatches just received from His Majesty. I
trust the Royal Intendant will favor the Council now with his opinion on
this important matter, and I shall be happy to have the cooperation of
His Excellency in measures of such vital consequence to the Colony and
to France.”
The Governor sat down, after courteously motioning the Intendant to rise
and address the Council.
The Intendant hated the mention of peace. His interests, and the
interests of his associates of the Grand Company, were all involved in
the prolongation of the war.
War enabled the Grand Company to monopolize the trade and military
expenditure of New France. The enormous fortunes its members made, and
spent with such reckless prodigality, would by peace be dried up in
their source; the yoke would be thrown off the people's neck, trade
would again free.
Bigot was far-sighted enough to see that clamors would be raised and
listened to in the leisure of peace. Prosecutions for illegal exactions
might follow, and all the support of his friends at Court might not be
able to save him and his associates from ruin--perhaps punishment.
The parliaments of Paris, Rouen, and Brittany still retained a shadow of
independence. It was only a shadow, but the fury of Jansenism supplied
the lack of political courage, and men opposed the Court and its policy
under pretence of defending the rights of the Gallican Church and the
old religion of the nation.
Bigot knew he was safe so long as the Marquise de Pompadour governed the
King and the kingdom. But Louis XV. was capricious and unfaithful in his
fancies; he had changed his mistresses, and his policy with them, many
times, and might change once more, to the ruin of Bigot and all the
dependents of La Pompadour.
Bigot's letters by the Fleur-de-Lis were calculated to alarm him. A
rival was springing up at Court to challenge La Pompadour's supremacy:
the fair and fragile Lange Vaubernier had already attracted the King's
eye, and the courtiers versed in his ways read the incipient signs of a
future favorite.
Little did the laughing Vaubernier forsee the day when, as Madame
du Barry, she would reign as Dame du Palais, after the death of La
Pompadour. Still less could she imagine that in her old age, in the next
reign, she would be dragged to the guillotine, filling the streets
of Paris with her shrieks, heard above the howlings of the mob of the
Revolution: “Give me life! life! for my repentance! Life! to devote
it to the Republic! Life! for the surrender of all my wealth to the
nation!” And death, not life, was given in answer to her passionate
pleadings.
These dark days were yet in the womb of the future, however. The giddy
Vaubernier was at this time gaily catching at the heart of the King,
but her procedure filled the mind of Bigot with anxiety: the fall of La
Pompadour would entail swift ruin upon himself and associates. He knew
it was the intrigues of this girl which had caused La Pompadour suddenly
to declare for peace in order to watch the King more surely in his
palace. Therefore the word peace and the name of Vaubernier were equally
odious to Bigot, and he was perplexed in no small degree how to act.
Moreover, be it confessed that, although a bad man and a corrupt
statesman, Bigot was a Frenchman, proud of the national success and
glory. While robbing her treasures with one hand, he was ready with
his sword in the other to risk life and all in her defence. Bigot was
bitterly opposed to English supremacy in North America. The loss of
Louisbourg, though much his fault, stung him to the quick, as a triumph
of the national enemy; and in those final days of New France, after the
fall of Montcalm, Bigot was the last man to yield, and when all others
counselled retreat, he would not consent to the surrender of Quebec to
the English.
To-day, in the Council of War, Bigot stood up to respond to the appeal
of the Governor. He glanced his eye coolly, yet respectfully, over the
Council. His raised hand sparkled with gems, the gifts of courtiers and
favorites of the King. “Gentlemen of the Council of War!,” said he, “I
approve with all my heart of the words of His Excellency the Governor,
with reference to our fortifications and the maintenance of our
frontiers. It is our duty to remonstrate, as councillors of the King
in the Colony, against the tenor of the despatches of the Count de
Maurepas. The city of Quebec, properly fortified, will be equivalent to
an army of men in the field, and the security and defence of the whole
Colony depends upon its walls. There can be but one intelligent opinion
in the Council on that point, and that opinion should be laid before His
Majesty before this despatch be acted on.
“The pressure of the war is great upon us just now. The loss of the
fleet of the Marquis de la Jonquière has greatly interrupted our
communications with France, and Canada is left much to its own
resources. But Frenchmen! the greater the peril the greater the glory
of our defence! And I feel a lively confidence,”--Bigot glanced proudly
round the table at the brave, animated faces that turned towards
him,--“I feel a lively confidence that in the skill, devotion, and
gallantry of the officers I see around this council-table, we shall be
able to repel all our enemies, and bear the royal flag to fresh triumphs
in North America.”
This timely flattery was not lost upon the susceptible minds of the
officers present, who testified their approval by vigorous tapping on
the table, and cries of “Well said, Chevalier Intendant!”
“I thank, heartily, the venerable Abbé Piquet,” continued he, “for his
glorious success in converting the warlike savages of the West from foes
to fast friends of the King; and as Royal Intendant I pledge the Abbé
all my help in the establishment of his proposed fort and mission at La
Présentation, for the purpose of dividing the power of the Iroquois.”
“That is right well said, if the Devil said it!” remarked La Corne St.
Luc, to the Acadian sitting next him. “There is bell-metal in Bigot, and
he rings well if properly struck. Pity so clever a fellow should be a
knave!”
“Fine words butter no parsnips, Chevalier La Corne,” replied the
Acadian, whom no eloquence could soften. “Bigot sold Louisbourg!” This
was a common but erroneous opinion in Acadia.
“Bigot butters his own parsnips well, Colonel,” replied La Corne St.
Luc; “but I did not think he would have gone against the despatches! It
is the first time he ever opposed Versailles! There must be something
in the wind! A screw loose somewhere, or another woman in the case! But
hark, he is going on again!”
The Intendant, after examining some papers, entered into a detail of the
resources of the Colony, the number of men capable of bearing arms,
the munitions and material of war in the magazines, and the relative
strength of each district of the Province. He manipulated his figures
with the dexterity of an Indian juggler throwing balls; and at the
end brought out a totality of force in the Colony capable unaided of
prolonging the war for two years, against all the powers of the English.
At the conclusion of this speech Bigot took his seat. He had made a
favorable impression upon the Council, and even his most strenuous
opponents admitted that on the whole the Intendant had spoken like an
able administrator and a true Frenchman.
Cadet and Varin supported their chief warmly. Bad as they were, both
in private life and public conduct, they lacked neither shrewdness nor
courage. They plundered their country--but were ready to fight for it
against the national enemy.
Other officers followed in succession,--men whose names were already
familiar, or destined to become glorious in New France,--La Corne, St.
Luc, Celeron de Bienville, Colonel Philibert, the Chevalier de Beaujeu,
the De Villiers, Le Gardeur de St. Pierre, and De Lery. One and all
supported that view of the despatches taken by the Governor and the
Intendant. All agreed upon the necessity of completing the walls of
Quebec and of making a determined stand at every point of the frontier
against the threatened invasion. In case of the sudden patching up of a
peace by the negotiators at Aix La Chapelle--as really happened--on the
terms of uti possidetis, it was of vital importance that New France hold
fast to every shred of her territory, both East and West.
Long and earnest were the deliberations of the Council of War. The
reports of the commanding officers from all points of the frontier were
carefully studied. Plans of present defence and future conquest were
discussed with reference to the strength and weakness of the Colony, and
an accurate knowledge of the forces and designs of the English obtained
from the disaffected remnant of Cromwellian republicans in New England,
whose hatred to the Crown ever outweighed their loyalty, and who kept
up a traitorous correspondence, for purposes of their own, with the
governors of New France.
The lamps were lit and burned far into the night when the Council broke
up. The most part of the officers partook of a cheerful refreshment with
the Governor before they retired to their several quarters. Only Bigot
and his friends declined to sup with the Governor: they took a polite
leave, and rode away from the Château to the Palace of the Intendant,
where a more gorgeous repast and more congenial company awaited them.
The wine flowed freely at the Intendant's table, and as the irritating
events of the day were recalled to memory, the pent-up wrath of the
Intendant broke forth. “Damn the Golden Dog and his master both!”
exclaimed he. “Philibert shall pay with his life for the outrage of
to-day, or I will lose mine! The dirt is not off my coat yet, Cadet!”
said he, as he pointed to a spatter of mud upon his breast. “A pretty
medal that for the Intendant to wear in a Council of War!”
“Council of War!” replied Cadet, setting his goblet down with a bang
upon the polished table, after draining it to the bottom. “I would like
to go through that mob again! and I would pull an oar in the galleys
of Marseilles rather than be questioned with that air of authority by a
botanizing quack like La Galissonière! Such villainous questions as he
asked me about the state of the royal magazines! La Galissonière had
more the air of a judge cross-examining a culprit than of a Governor
asking information of a king's officer!”
“True, Cadet!” replied Varin, who was always a flatterer, and who at
last saved his ill-gotten wealth by the surrender of his wife as a
love-gift to the Duc de Choiseul. “We all have our own injuries to bear.
The Intendant was just showing us the spot of dirt cast upon him by the
mob; and I ask what satisfaction he has asked in the Council for the
insult.”
“Ask satisfaction!” replied Cadet with a laugh. “Let him take it!
Satisfaction! We will all help him! But I say that the hair of the dog
that bit him will alone cure the bite! What I laughed at the most was
this morning at Beaumanoir, to see how coolly that whelp of the Golden
Dog, young Philibert, walked off with De Repentigny from the very midst
of all the Grand Company!”
“We shall lose our young neophyte, I doubt, Cadet! I was a fool to let
him go with Philibert!” remarked Bigot.
“Oh, I am not afraid of losing him, we hold him by a strong triple cord,
spun by the Devil. No fear of losing him!” answered Cadet, grinning
good-humoredly.
“What do you mean, Cadet?” The Intendant took up his cup and drank very
nonchalantly, as if he thought little of Cadet's view of the matter.
“What triple cord binds De Repentigny to us?”
“His love of wine, his love of gaming, and his love of women--or rather
his love of a woman, which is the strongest strand in the string for a
young fool like him who is always chasing virtue and hugging vice!”
“Oh! a woman has got him! eh, Cadet? Pray who is she? When once a woman
catches a fellow by the gills, he is a dead mackerel: his fate is fixed
for good or bad in this world. But who is she, Cadet?--she must be a
clever one,” said Bigot, sententiously.
“So she is! and she is too clever for young De Repentigny: she has got
her pretty fingers in his gills, and can carry her fish to whatever
market she chooses!”
“Cadet! Cadet! out with it!” repeated a dozen voices. “Yes, out with
it!” repeated Bigot. “We are all companions under the rose, and there
are no secrets here about wine or women!”
“Well, I would not give a filbert for all the women born since mother
Eve!” said Cadet, flinging a nut-shell at the ceiling. “But this is a
rare one, I must confess. Now stop! Don't cry out again 'Cadet! out with
it!' and I will tell you! What think you of the fair, jolly Mademoiselle
des Meloises?”
“Angélique? Is De Repentigny in love with her?” Bigot looked quite
interested now.
“In love with her? He would go on all fours after her, if she wanted
him! He does almost, as it is.”
Bigot placed a finger on his brow and pondered for a moment. “You say
well, Cadet; if De Repentigny has fallen in love with that girl, he
is ours forever! Angélique des Meloises never lets go her ox until she
offers him up as a burnt offering! The Honnêtes Gens will lose one of
the best trout in their stream if Angélique has the tickling of him!”
Bigot did not seem to be quite pleased with Cadet's information. He
rose from his seat somewhat flushed and excited by this talk respecting
Angélique des Meloises. He walked up and down the room a few turns,
recovered his composure, and sat down again.
“Come, gentlemen,” said he; “too much care will kill a cat! Let us
change our talk to a merrier tune; fill up, and we will drink to the
loves of De Repentigny and the fair Angélique! I am much mistaken if we
do not find in her the dea ex machinâ to help us out of our trouble with
the Honnêtes Gens!”
The glasses were filled and emptied. Cards and dice were then called
for. The company drew their chairs into a closer circle round the
table; deep play, and deeper drinking, set in. The Palais resounded with
revelry until the morning sun looked into the great window, blushing red
at the scene of drunken riot that had become habitual in the Palace of
the Intendant.