CHAPTER 10
1689, 1690.
RETURN OF FRONTENAC.  VERSAILLES, FRONTENAC AND THE KING, FRONTENAC SAILS FOR QUEBEC, PROJECTED CONQUEST OF NEW YORK, DESIGNS OF THE KING, FAILURE, ENERGY OF FRONTENAC, FORT FRONTENAC, PANIC,  NEGOTIATIONS, THE IROQUOIS IN COUNCIL, CHEVALIER D'AUX, TAUNTS OF THE INDIAN ALLIES, BOLDNESS OF FRONTENAC, AN IROQUOIS DEFEAT,  CRUEL POLICY, THE STROKE PARRIED.
The sun of Louis XIV had reached its zenith.  From a morning of unexampled brilliancy it had mounted to the glare of a cloudless noon; but the hour of its decline was near.  The mortal enemy of France was on the throne of England, turning against her from that new point of vantage all the energies of his unconquerable genius.  An invalid built the Bourbon monarchy, and another invalid battered and defaced the imposing structure: two potent and daring spirits in two frail bodies, Richelieu and William of Orange.

Versailles gave no sign of waning glories.  On three evenings of the week, it was the pleasure of the king that the whole court should assemble in the vast suite of apartments now known as the Halls of Abundance, of Venus, of Diana, of Mars, of Mercury, and of Apollo.  The magnificence of their decorations, pictures of the great Italian masters, sculptures, frescoes, mosaics, tapestries, vases and statues of silver and gold; the vista of light and splendor that opened through the wide portals; the courtly throngs, feasting, dancing, gaming, promenading, conversing, formed a scene which no palace of Europe could rival or approach.  Here were all the great historic names of France, princes, warriors, statesmen, and all that was highest in rank and place; the flower, in short, of that brilliant society, so dazzling, captivating, and illusory.  In former years, the king was usually present, affable and gracious, mingling with his courtiers and sharing their amusements; but he had grown graver of late, and was more often in his cabinet, laboring with his ministers on the task of administration, which his extravagance and ambition made every day more burdensome.  

There was one corner of the world where his emblem, the sun, would not shine on him.  He had done his best for Canada, and had got nothing for his pains but news of mishaps and troubles.  He was growing tired of the colony which he had nursed with paternal fondness, and he was more than half angry with it because it did not prosper.  Denonville's letters had grown worse and worse; and, though he had not heard as yet of the last great calamity, he was sated with ill tidings already.

Count Frontenac stood before him.  Since his recall, he had lived at court, needy and no longer in favor; but he had influential friends, and an intriguing wife, always ready to serve him.  The king knew his merits as well as his faults; and, in the desperate state of his Canadian affairs, he had been led to the resolution of restoring him to the command from which, for excellent reasons, he had removed him seven years before.  He now told him that, in his belief, the charges brought against him were without foundation.  The post was not a tempting one to a man in his seventieth year.  Alone and unsupported,—for the king, with Europe rising against him, would give him no more troops,—he was to restore the prostrate colony to hope and courage, and fight two enemies with a force that had proved no match for one of them alone.  The audacious count trusted himself, and undertook the task; received the royal instructions, and took his last leave of the master whom even he after a fashion honored and admired.

He repaired to Rochelle, where two ships of the royal navy were waiting his arrival, embarked in one of them, and sailed for the New World.  An heroic remedy had been prepared for the sickness of Canada, and Frontenac was to be the surgeon.  The cure, however, was not of his contriving.  Denonville had sent Callieres, his second in command, to represent the state of the colony to the court, and beg for help.  Callieres saw that there was little hope of more troops or any considerable supply of money; and he laid before the king a plan, which had at least the recommendations of boldness and cheapness.  This was to conquer New York with the forces already in Canada, aided only by two ships of war.  The blow, he argued, should be struck at once, and the English taken by surprise.  A thousand regulars and six hundred Canadian militia should pass Lake Champlain and Lake George in canoes and bateaux, cross to the Hudson and capture Albany, where they would seize all the river craft and descend the Hudson to the town of New York, which, as Callieres stated, had then about two hundred houses and four hundred fighting men.  The two ships were to cruise at the mouth of the harbor, and wait the arrival of the troops, which was to be made known to them by concerted signals, whereupon they were to enter and aid in the attack.  The whole expedition, he thought, might be accomplished in a month; so that by the end of October the king would be master of all the country.  The advantages were manifold.  The Iroquois, deprived of English arms and ammunition, would be at the mercy of the French; the question of English rivalry in the west would be settled for ever; the king would acquire a means of access to his colony incomparably better than the Saint Lawrence, and one that remained open all the year; and, finally, New England would be isolated, and prepared for a possible conquest in the future.

The king accepted the plan with modifications, which complicated and did not improve it.  Extreme precautions were taken to insure secrecy; but the vast distances, the difficult navigation, and the accidents of weather appear to have been forgotten in this amended scheme of operation.  There was, moreover, a long delay in fitting the two ships for sea.  The wind was ahead, and they were fifty-two days in reaching Chedabucto, at the eastern end of Nova Scotia.  Thence Frontenac and Callieres had orders to proceed in a merchant ship to Quebec, which might require a month more; and, on arriving, they were to prepare for the expedition, while at the same time Frontenac was to send back a letter to the naval commander at Chedabucto, revealing the plan to him, and ordering him to sail to New York to co-operate in it.  It was the twelfth of September when Chedabucto was reached, and the enterprise was ruined by the delay.  Frontenac's first step in his new government was a failure, though one for which he was in no way answerable.  

It will be well to observe what were the intentions of the king towards the colony which he proposed to conquer.  They were as follows: If any Catholics were found in New York, they might be left undisturbed, provided that they took an oath of allegiance to the king.  Officers, and other persons who had the means of paying ransoms, were to be thrown into prison.  All lands in the colony, except those of Catholics swearing allegiance, were to be taken from their owners, and granted under a feudal tenure to the French officers and soldiers.  All property, public or private, was to be seized, a portion of it given to the grantees of the land, and the rest sold on account of the king.  Mechanics and other workmen might, at the discretion of the commanding officer, be kept as prisoners to work at fortifications and do other labor.  The rest of the English and Dutch inhabitants, men, women, and children, were to be carried out of the colony and dispersed in New England, Pennsylvania, or other places, in such a manner that they could not combine in any attempt to recover their property and their country.  And, that the conquest might be perfectly secure, the nearest settlements of New England were to be destroyed, and those more remote laid under contribution.  

In the next century, some of the people of Acadia were torn from their homes by order of a British commander.  The act was harsh and violent, and the innocent were involved with the guilty; but many of the sufferers had provoked their fate, and deserved it.

Louis XIV.  commanded that eighteen thousand unoffending persons should be stripped of all that they possessed, and cast out to the mercy of the wilderness.  The atrocity of the plan is matched by its folly.  The king gave explicit orders, but he gave neither ships nor men enough to accomplish them; and the Dutch farmers, goaded to desperation, would have cut his sixteen hundred soldiers to pieces.  It was the scheme of a man blinded by a long course of success.  Though perverted by flattery and hardened by unbridled power, he was not cruel by nature; and here, as in the burning of the Palatinate and the persecution of the Huguenots, he would have stood aghast, if his dull imagination could have pictured to him the miseries he was preparing to inflict.  

With little hope left that the grand enterprise against New York could succeed, Frontenac made sail for Quebec, and, stopping by the way at Isle Percee, learned from Recollet missionaries the irruption of the Iroquois at Montreal.  He hastened on; but the wind was still against him, and the autumn woods were turning brown before he reached his destination.  It was evening when he landed, amid fireworks, illuminations, and the firing of cannon.  All Quebec came to meet him by torchlight; the members of the council offered their respects, and the Jesuits made him an harangue of welcome.  It was but a welcome of words.  They and the councillors had done their best to have him recalled, and hoped that they were rid of him for ever; but now he was among them again, rasped by the memory of real or fancied wrongs.  The count, however, had no time for quarrelling.  The king had told him to bury old animosities and forget the past, and for the present he was too busy to break the royal injunction.  He caused boats to be made ready, and in spite of incessant rains pushed up the river to Montreal.  Here he found Denonville and his frightened wife.  Every thing was in confusion.  The Iroquois were gone, leaving dejection and terror behind them.  Frontenac reviewed the troops.  There were seven or eight hundred of them in the town, the rest being in garrison at the various forts.  Then he repaired to what was once La Chine, and surveyed the miserable waste of ashes and desolation that spread for miles around.

To his extreme disgust, he learned that Denonville had sent a Canadian officer by secret paths to Fort Frontenac, with orders to Valrenne, the commandant, to blow it up, and return with his garrison to Montreal.  Frontenac had built the fort, had given it his own name, and had cherished it with a paternal fondness, reinforced by strong hopes of making money out of it.  For its sake he had become the butt of scandal and opprobrium; but not the less had he always stood its strenuous and passionate champion.  An Iroquois envoy had lately with great insolence demanded its destruction of Denonville; and this alone, in the eyes of Frontenac, was ample reason for maintaining it at any cost.  He still had hope that it might be saved, and with all the energy of youth he proceeded to collect canoes, men, provisions, and arms; battled against dejection, insubordination, and fear, and in a few days despatched a convoy of three hundred men to relieve the place, and stop the execution of Denonville's orders.  His orders had been but too promptly obeyed.  The convoy was scarcely gone an hour, when, to Frontenac's unutterable wrath, Valrenne appeared with his garrison.  He reported that he had set fire to every thing in the fort that would burn, sunk the three vessels belonging to it, thrown the cannon into the lake, mined the walls and bastions, and left matches burning in the powder magazine; and, further, that when he and his men were five leagues on their way to Montreal a dull and distant explosion told them that the mines had sprung.  It proved afterwards that the destruction was not complete; and the Iroquois took possession of the abandoned fort, with a large quantity of stores and munitions left by the garrison in their too hasty retreat.  There was one ray of light through the clouds.  The unwonted news of a victory came to Montreal.  It was small, but decisive, and might be an earnest of greater things to come.  Before Frontenac's arrival, Denonville had sent a reconnoitring party up the Ottawa.  They had gone no farther than the Lake of Two Mountains, when they met twenty-two Iroquois in two large canoes, who immediately bore down upon them, yelling furiously.  The French party consisted of twenty-eight coureurs de bois under Du Lhut and Mantet, excellent partisan chiefs, who manoeuvred so well that the rising sun blazed full in the eyes of the advancing enemy, and spoiled their aim.  The French received their fire, which wounded one man; then, closing with them while their guns were empty, gave them a volley, which killed and wounded eighteen of their number.  One swam ashore.  The remaining three were captured, and given to the Indian allies to be burned.  

This gleam of sunshine passed, and all grew black again.  On a snowy November day, a troop of Iroquois fell on the settlement of La Chesnaye, burned the houses, and vanished with a troop of prisoners, leaving twenty mangled corpses on the snow.  "The terror," wrote the bishop, "is indescribable." The appearance of a few savages would put a whole neighborhood to flight.  So desperate, wrote Frontenac, were the needs of the colony, and so great the contempt with which the Iroquois regarded it, that it almost needed a miracle either to carry on war or make peace.  What he most earnestly wished was to keep the Iroquois quiet, and so leave his hands free to deal with the English.  This was not easy, to such a pitch of audacity had late events raised them.  Neither his temper nor his convictions would allow him to beg peace of them, like his predecessor; but he had inordinate trust in the influence of his name, and he now took a course which he hoped might answer his purpose without increasing their insolence.  The perfidious folly of Denonville in seizing their countrymen at Fort Frontenac had been a prime cause of their hostility; and, at the request of the late governor, the surviving captives, thirteen in all, had been taken from the galleys, gorgeously clad in French attire, and sent back to Canada in the ship which carried Frontenac.  Among them was a famous Cayuga war-chief called Ourehaoue, whose loss had infuriated the Iroquois.  Frontenac gained his good-will on the voyage; and, when they reached Quebec, he lodged him in the chateau, and treated him with such kindness that the chief became his devoted admirer and friend.  As his influence was great among his people, Frontenac hoped that he might use him with success to bring about an accommodation.  He placed three of the captives at the disposal of the Cayuga, who forthwith sent them to Onondaga with a message which the governor had dictated, and which was to the following effect: "The great Onontio, whom you all know, has come back again.  He does not blame you for what you have done; for he looks upon you as foolish children, and blames only the English, who are the cause of your folly, and have made you forget your obedience to a father who has always loved and never deceived you.  He will permit me, Ourehaoue, to return to you as soon as you will come to ask for me, not as you have spoken of late, but like children speaking to a father." 

Frontenac hoped that they would send an embassy to reclaim their chief, and thus give him an opportunity to use his personal influence over them.  With the three released captives, he sent an Iroquois convert named Cut Nose with a wampum belt to announce his return.

When the deputation arrived at Onondaga and made known their errand, the Iroquois magnates, with their usual deliberation, deferred answering till a general council of the confederacy should have time to assemble; and, meanwhile, they sent messengers to ask the mayor of Albany, and others of their Dutch and English friends, to come to the meeting.  They did not comply, merely sending the government interpreter, with a few Mohawk Indians, to represent their interests.  On the other hand, the Jesuit Milet, who had been captured a few months before, adopted, and made an Oneida chief, used every effort to second the designs of Frontenac.  The authorities of Albany tried in vain to induce the Iroquois to place him in their hands.  They understood their interests too well, and held fast to the Jesuit.  

The grand council took place at Onondaga on the twenty-second of January.  Eighty chiefs and sachems, seated gravely on mats around the council fire, smoked their pipes in silence for a while; till at length an Onondaga orator rose, and announced that Frontenac, the old Onontio, had returned with Ourehaoue and twelve more of their captive friends, that he meant to rekindle the council fire at Fort Frontenac, and that he invited them to meet him there.  

"Ho, ho, ho," returned the eighty senators, from the bottom of their throats.  It was the unfailing Iroquois response to a speech.  Then Cut Nose, the governor's messenger, addressed the council: "I advise you to meet Onontio as he desires.  Do so, if you wish to live." He presented a wampum belt to confirm his words, and the conclave again returned the same guttural ejaculation.

"Ourehaoue sends you this," continued Cut Nose, presenting another belt of wampum: "by it he advises you to listen to Onontio, if you wish to live."

When the messenger from Canada had ceased, the messenger from Albany, a Mohawk Indian, rose and repeated word for word a speech confided to him by the mayor of that town, urging the Iroquois to close their ears against the invitations of Onontio.

Next rose one Cannehoot, a sachem of the Senecas, charged with matters of grave import; for they involved no less than the revival of that scheme, so perilous to the French, of the union of the tribes of the Great Lakes in a triple alliance with the Iroquois and the English.  These lake tribes, disgusted with the French, who, under Denonville, had left them to the mercy of the Iroquois, had been impelled, both by their fears and their interests to make new advances to the confederacy, and had first addressed themselves to the Senecas, whom they had most cause to dread.  They had given up some of the Iroquois prisoners in their hands, and promised soon to give up the rest.  A treaty had been made; and it was this event which the Seneca sachem now announced to the council.  Having told the story to his assembled colleagues, he exhibited and explained the wampum belts and other tokens brought by the envoys from the lakes, who represented nine distinct tribes or bands from the region of Michillimackinac.  By these tokens, the nine tribes declared that they came to learn wisdom of the Iroquois and the English; to wash off the war-paint, throw down the tomahawk, smoke the pipe of peace, and unite with them as one body.  "Onontio is drunk," such was the interpretation of the fourth wampum belt; "but we, the tribes of Michillimackinac, wash our hands of all his actions.  Neither we nor you must defile ourselves by listening to him." When the Seneca sachem had ended, and when the ejaculations that echoed his words had ceased, the belts were hung up before all the assembly, then taken down again, and distributed among the sachems of the five Iroquois tribes, excepting one, which was given to the messengers from Albany.  Thus was concluded the triple alliance, which to Canada meant no less than ruin.

"Brethren," said an Onondaga sachem, "we must hold fast to our brother Quider (Peter Schuyler, mayor of Albany) and look on Onontio as our enemy, for he is a cheat."

Then they invited the interpreter from Albany to address the council, which he did, advising them not to listen to the envoys from Canada.  When he had ended, they spent some time in consultation among themselves, and at length agreed on the following message, addressed to Corlaer, or New York, and to Kinshon, the Fish, by which they meant New England, the authorities of which had sent them the image of a fish as a token of alliance: 

"Brethren, our council fire burns at Albany.  We will not go to meet Onontio at Fort Frontenac.  We will hold fast to the old chain of peace with Corlaer, and we will fight with Onontio.  Brethren, we are glad to hear from you that you are preparing to make war on Canada, but tell us no lies.

"Brother Kinshon, we hear that you mean to send soldiers against the Indians to the eastward; but we advise you, now that we are all united against the French, to fall upon them at once.  Strike at the root: when the trunk is cut down, all the branches fall with it.

"Courage, Corlaer! courage, Kinshon! Go to Quebec in the spring; take it, and you will have your feet on the necks of the French and all their friends."

Then they consulted together again, and agreed on the following answer to Ourehaoue and Frontenac:—

"Ourehaoue, the whole council is glad to hear that you have come back.

"Onontio, you have told us that you have come back again, and brought with you thirteen of our people who were carried prisoners to France.  We are glad of it.  You wish to speak with us at Cataraqui (Fort Frontenac).  Don't you know that your council fire there is put out? It is quenched in blood.  You must first send home the prisoners.  When our brother Ourehaoue is returned to us, then we will talk with you of peace.  You must send him and the others home this very winter.  We now let you know that we have made peace with the tribes of Michillimackinac.  You are not to think, because we return you an answer, that we have laid down the tomahawk.  Our warriors will continue the war till you send our countrymen back to us." 

The messengers from Canada returned with this reply.  Unsatisfactory as it was, such a quantity of wampum was sent with it as showed plainly the importance attached by the Iroquois to the matters in question.  Encouraged by a recent success against the English, and still possessed with an overweening confidence in his own influence over the confederates, Frontenac resolved that Ourehaoue should send them another message.  The chief, whose devotion to the count never wavered, accordingly despatched four envoys, with a load of wampum belts, expressing his astonishment that his countrymen had not seen fit to send a deputation of chiefs to receive him from the hands of Onontio, and calling upon them to do so without delay, lest he should think that they had forgotten him.  Along with the messengers, Frontenac ventured to send the Chevalier d'Aux, a half-pay officer, with orders to observe the disposition of the Iroquois, and impress them in private talk with a sense of the count's power, of his good-will to them, and of the wisdom of coming to terms with him, lest, like an angry father, he should be forced at last to use the rod.  The chevalier's reception was a warm one.  They burned two of his attendants, forced him to run the gauntlet, and, after a vigorous thrashing, sent him prisoner to Albany.  The last failure was worse than the first.  The count's name was great among the Iroquois, but he had trusted its power too far.  

The worst of news had come from Michillimackinac.  La Durantaye, the commander of the post, and Carheil, the Jesuit, had sent a messenger to Montreal in the depth of winter to say that the tribes around them were on the point of revolt.  Carheil wrote that they threatened openly to throw themselves into the arms of the Iroquois and the English; that they declared that the protection of Onontio was an illusion and a snare; that they once mistook the French for warriors, but saw now that they were no match for the Iroquois, whom they had tamely allowed to butcher them at Montreal, without even daring to defend themselves; that when the French invaded the Senecas they did nothing but cut down corn and break canoes, and since that time they had done nothing but beg peace for themselves, forgetful of their allies, whom they expected to bear the brunt of the war, and then left to their fate; that they had surrendered through cowardice the prisoners they had caught by treachery, and this, too, at a time when the Iroquois were burning French captives in all their towns; and, finally, that, as the French would not or could not make peace for them, they would make peace for themselves.  "These," pursued Carheil, "are the reasons they give us to prove the necessity of their late embassy to the Senecas; and by this one can see that our Indians are a great deal more clear-sighted than they are thought to be, and that it is hard to conceal from their penetration any thing that can help or harm their interests.  What is certain is that, if the Iroquois are not stopped, they will not fail to come and make themselves masters here." 

Charlevoix thinks that Frontenac was not displeased at this bitter arraignment of his predecessor's administration.  At the same time, his position was very embarrassing.  He had no men to spare; but such was the necessity of saving Michillimackinac, and breaking off the treaty with the Senecas, that when spring opened he sent Captain Louvigny with a hundred and forty-three Canadians and six Indians to reinforce the post and replace its commander, La Durantaye.  Two other officers with an additional force were ordered to accompany him through the most dangerous part of the journey.  With them went Nicolas Perrot, bearing a message from the count to his rebellious children of Michillimackinac.  The following was the pith of this characteristic document:—

"I am astonished to learn that you have forgotten the protection that I always gave you.  Do you think that I am no longer alive; or that I have a mind to stand idle, like those who have been here in my place? Or do you think that, if eight or ten hairs have been torn from my children's heads when I was absent, I cannot put ten handfuls of hair in the place of every one that was pulled out? You know that before I protected you the ravenous Iroquois dog was biting everybody.  I tamed him and tied him up; but, when he no longer saw me, he behaved worse than ever.  If he persists, he shall feel my power.  The English have tried to win him by flatteries, but I will kill all who encourage him.  The English have deceived and devoured their children, but I am a good father who loves you.  I loved the Iroquois once, because they obeyed me.  When I knew that they had been treacherously captured and carried to France, I set them free; and, when I restore them to their country, it will not be through fear, but through pity, for I hate treachery.  I am strong enough to kill the English, destroy the Iroquois, and whip you, if you fail in your duty to me.  The Iroquois have killed and captured you in time of peace.  Do to them as they have done to you, do to the English as they would like to do to you, but hold fast to your true father, who will never abandon you.  Will you let the English brandy that has killed you in your wigwams lure you into the kettles of the Iroquois? Is not mine better, which has never killed you, but always made you strong?" 

Charged with this haughty missive, Perrot set out for Michillimackinac along with Louvigny and his men.  On their way up the Ottawa, they met a large band of Iroquois hunters, whom they routed with heavy loss.  Nothing could have been more auspicious for Perrot's errand.  When towards midsummer they reached their destination, they ranged their canoes in a triumphal procession, placed in the foremost an Iroquois captured in the fight, forced him to dance and sing, hung out the fleur-de-lis, shouted Vive le Roi, whooped, yelled, and fired their guns.  As they neared the village of the Ottawas, all the naked population ran down to the shore, leaping, yelping, and firing, in return.  Louvigny and his men passed on, and landed at the neighboring village of the French settlers, who, drawn up in battle array on the shore, added more yells and firing to the general uproar; though, amid this joyous fusillade of harmless gunpowder, they all kept their bullets ready for instant use, for they distrusted the savage multitude.  The story of the late victory, however, confirmed as it was by an imposing display of scalps, produced an effect which averted the danger of an immediate outbreak.

The fate of the Iroquois prisoner now became the point at issue.  The French hoped that the Indians in their excitement could be induced to put him to death, and thus break their late treaty with his countrymen.  Besides the Ottawas, there was at Michillimackinac a village of Hurons under their crafty chief, the Rat.  They had pretended to stand fast for the French, who nevertheless believed them to be at the bottom of all the mischief.  They now begged for the prisoner, promising to burn him.  On the faith of this pledge, he was given to them; but they broke their word, and kept him alive, in order to curry favor with the Iroquois.  The Ottawas, intensely jealous of the preference shown to the Hurons, declared in their anger that the prisoner ought to be killed and eaten.  This was precisely what the interests of the French demanded; but the Hurons still persisted in protecting him.  Their Jesuit missionary now interposed, and told them that, unless they "put the Iroquois into the kettle," the French would take him from them.  After much discussion, this argument prevailed.  They planted a stake, tied him to it, and began to torture him; but, as he did not show the usual fortitude of his country men, they declared him unworthy to die the death of a warrior, and accordingly shot him.  

Here was a point gained for the French, but the danger was not passed.  The Ottawas could disavow the killing of the Iroquois; and, in fact, though there was a great division of opinion among them, they were preparing at this very time to send a secret embassy to the Seneca country to ratify the fatal treaty.  The French commanders called a council of all the tribes.  It met at the house of the Jesuits.  Presents in abundance were distributed.  The message of Frontenac was reinforced by persuasion and threats; and the assembly was told that the five tribes of the Iroquois were like five nests of muskrats in a marsh, which the French would drain dry, and then burn with all its inhabitants.  Perrot took the disaffected chiefs aside, and with his usual bold adroitness diverted them for the moment from their purpose.  The projected embassy was stopped, but any day might revive it.  There was no safety for the French, and the ground of Michillimackinac was hollow under their feet.  Every thing depended on the success of their arms.  A few victories would confirm their wavering allies; but the breath of another defeat would blow the fickle crew over to the enemy like a drift of dry leaves.