CHAPTER 14
1690-1694.
THE SCOURGE OF CANADA.
IROQUOIS INROADS, DEATH OF BIENVILLE, ENGLISH ATTACK, A DESPERATE FIGHT, MISERIES OF THE COLONY, ALARMS, A WINTER EXPEDITION, LA CHESNAYE BURNED, THE HEROINE OF VERCHERES, MISSION INDIANS, THE MOHAWK EXPEDITION, RETREAT AND PURSUIT, RELIEF ARRIVES, FRONTENAC TRIUMPHANT.
One of Phips's officers, charged with the exchange of prisoners at Quebec, said as he took his leave, "We shall make you another visit in the spring;" and a French officer returned, with martial courtesy, "We shall have the honor of meeting you before that time." Neither side made good its threat, for both were too weak and too poor.  No more war-parties were sent that winter to ravage the English border; for neither blankets, clothing, ammunition, nor food could be spared.  The fields had lain untilled over half Canada; and, though four ships had arrived with supplies, twice as many had been captured or driven back by English cruisers in the Gulf.  The troops could not be kept together; and they were quartered for subsistence upon the settlers, themselves half famished.

Spring came at length, and brought with it the swallows, the bluebirds, and the Iroquois.  They rarely came in winter, when the trees and bushes had no leaves to hide them, and their movements were betrayed by the track of their snow-shoes; but they were always to be expected at the time of sowing and of harvest, when they could do most mischief.  During April, about eight hundred of them, gathering from their winter hunting-grounds, encamped at the mouth of the Ottawa, whence they detached parties to ravage the settlements.  A large band fell upon Point aux Trembles, below Montreal, burned some thirty houses, and killed such of the inmates as could not escape.  Another band attacked the Mission of the Mountain, just behind the town, and captured thirty-five of the Indian converts in broad daylight.  Others prowled among the deserted farms on both shores of the Saint Lawrence; while the inhabitants remained pent in their stockade forts, with misery in the present and starvation in the future.  Troops and militia were not wanting.  The difficulty was to find provisions enough to enable them to keep the field.  By begging from house to house, getting here a biscuit and there a morsel of bacon, enough was collected to supply a considerable party for a number of days; and a hundred and twenty soldiers and Canadians went out under Vaudreuil to hunt the hunters of men.  Long impunity had made the Iroquois so careless that they were easily found.  A band of about forty had made their quarters at a house near the fort at Repentigny, and here the French scouts discovered them early in the night.  Vaudreuil and his men were in canoes.  They lay quiet till one o'clock, then landed, and noiselessly approached the spot.  Some of the Iroquois were in the house, the rest lay asleep on the ground before it.  The French crept towards them, and by one close volley killed them all.  Their comrades within sprang up in dismay.  Three rushed out, and were shot: the others stood on their defence, fired from windows and loopholes, and killed six or seven of the French, who presently succeeded in setting fire to the house, which was thatched with straw.  Young Francois de Bienville, one of the sons of Charles Le Moyne, rushed up to a window, shouted his name like an Indian warrior, fired on the savages within, and was instantly shot dead.  The flames rose till surrounding objects were bright as day.  The Iroquois, driven to desperation, burst out like tigers, and tried to break through their assailants.  Only one succeeded.  Of his companions, some were shot, five were knocked down and captured, and the rest driven back into the house, where they perished in the fire.  Three of the prisoners were given to the inhabitants of Repentigny, Point aux Trembles, and Boucherville, who, in their fury, burned them alive.  

For weeks, the upper parts of the colony were infested by wolfish bands howling around the forts, which they rarely ventured to attack.  At length, help came.  A squadron from France, strong enough to beat off the New England privateers which blockaded the Saint Lawrence, arrived at Quebec with men and supplies; and a strong force was despatched to break up the Iroquois camp at the Ottawa.  The enemy vanished at its approach; and the suffering farmers had a brief respite, which enabled them to sow their crops, when suddenly a fresh alarm was sounded from Sorel to Montreal, and again the settlers ran to their forts for refuge.

Since the futile effort of the year before, the English of New York, still distracted by the political disorders that followed the usurpation of Leisler, had fought only by deputy, and contented themselves with hounding on the Iroquois against the common enemy.  These savage allies at length lost patience, and charged their white neighbors with laziness and fear.  "You say to us, 'Keep the French in perpetual alarm.' Why don't you say, 'We will keep the French in perpetual alarm'?" It was clear that something must be done, or New York would be left to fight her battles alone.  A war-party was therefore formed at Albany, and the Indians were invited to join it.  Major Peter Schuyler took command; and his force consisted of two hundred and sixty-six men, of whom a hundred and twenty were English and Dutch, and the rest Mohawks and Wolves, or Mohegans.  He advanced to a point on the Richelieu ten miles above Fort Chambly, and, leaving his canoes under a strong guard, marched towards La Prairie de la Madeleine, opposite Montreal.

Scouts had brought warning of his approach; and Callieres, the local governor, crossed the Saint Lawrence, and encamped at La Prairie with seven or eight hundred men.  Here he remained for a week, attacked by fever and helpless in bed.  The fort stood a few rods from the river.  Two battalions of regulars lay on a field at the right; and the Canadians and Indians were bivouacked on the left, between the fort and a small stream, near which was a windmill.  On the evening of the tenth of August, a drizzling rain began to fall; and the Canadians thought more of seeking shelter than of keeping watch.  They were, moreover, well supplied with brandy, and used it freely.  At an hour before dawn, the sentry at the mill descried objects like the shadows of men silently advancing along the borders of the stream.  They were Schuyler's vanguard.  The soldier cried, "Qui vive?" There was no answer.  He fired his musket, and ran into the mill.  Schuyler's men rushed in a body upon the Canadian camp, drove its occupants into the fort, and killed some of the Indian allies, who lay under their canoes on the adjacent strand.

The regulars on the other side of the fort, roused by the noise, sprang to arms and hastened to the spot.  They were met by a volley, which laid some fifty of them on the ground, and drove back the rest in disorder.  They rallied and attacked again; on which, Schuyler, greatly outnumbered, withdrew his men to a neighboring ravine, where he once more repulsed his assailants, and, as he declares, drove them into the fort with great loss.  By this time it was daylight.  The English, having struck their blow, slowly fell back, hacking down the corn in the fields, as it was still too green for burning, and pausing at the edge of the woods, where their Indians were heard for some time uttering frightful howls, and shouting to the French that they were not men, but dogs.  Why the invaders were left to retreat unmolested, before a force more than double their own, does not appear.  The helpless condition of Callieres and the death of Saint-Cirque, his second in command, scarcely suffice to explain it.  Schuyler retreated towards his canoes, moving, at his leisure, along the forest path that led to Chambly.  Tried by the standard of partisan war, his raid had been a success.  He had inflicted great harm and suffered little; but the affair was not yet ended.

A day or two before, Valrenne, an officer of birth and ability, had been sent to Chambly, with about a hundred and sixty troops and Canadians, a body of Huron and Iroquois converts, and a band of Algonquins from the Ottawa.  His orders were to let the English pass, and then place himself in their rear to cut them off from their canoes.  His scouts had discovered their advance; and, on the morning of the attack, he set his force in motion, and advanced six or seven miles towards La Prairie, on the path by which Schuyler was retreating.  The country was buried in forests.  At about nine o'clock, the scouts of the hostile parties met each other, and their war-whoops gave the alarm.  Valrenne instantly took possession of a ridge of ground that crossed the way of the approaching English.  Two large trees had fallen along the crest of the acclivity; and behind these the French crouched, in a triple row, well hidden by bushes and thick standing trunks.  The English, underrating the strength of their enemy, and ignorant of his exact position, charged impetuously, and were sent reeling back by a close and deadly volley.  They repeated the attack with still greater fury, and dislodged the French from their ambuscade.  Then ensued a fight, which Frontenac declares to have been the most hot and stubborn ever known in Canada.  The object of Schuyler was to break through the French and reach his canoes: the object of Valrenne was to drive him back upon the superior force at La Prairie.  The cautious tactics of the bush were forgotten.  Three times the combatants became mingled together, firing breast to breast, and scorching each other's shirts by the flash of their guns.  The Algonquins did themselves no credit; and at first some of the Canadians gave way, but they were rallied by Le Ber Duchesne, their commander, and afterwards showed great bravery.  On the side of the English, many of the Mohegan allies ran off; but the whites and the Mohawks fought with equal desperation.  In the midst of the tumult, Valrenne was perfectly cool, directing his men with admirable vigor and address, and barring Schuyler's retreat for more than an hour.  At length, the French were driven from the path.  "We broke through the middle of their body," says Schuyler, "until we got into their rear, trampling upon their dead; then faced about upon them, and fought them until we made them give way; then drove them, by strength of arm, four hundred paces before us; and, to say the truth, we were all glad to see them retreat." He and his followers continued their march unmolested, carrying their wounded men, and leaving about forty dead behind them, along with one of their flags, and all their knapsacks, which they had thrown off when the fray began.  They reached the banks of the Richelieu, found their canoes safe, and, after waiting several hours for stragglers, embarked for Albany.

Nothing saved them from destruction but the failure of the French at La Prairie to follow their retreat, and thus enclose them between two fires.  They did so, it is true, at the eleventh hour, but not till the fight was over and the English were gone.  The Christian Mohawks of the Saut also appeared in the afternoon, and set out to pursue the enemy, but seem to have taken care not to overtake them; for the English Mohawks were their relatives, and they had no wish for their scalps.  Frontenac was angry at their conduct; and, as he rarely lost an opportunity to find fault with the Jesuits, he laid the blame on the fathers in charge of the mission, whom he sharply upbraided for the shortcomings of their flock.  He was at Three Rivers at a ball when news of the disaster at La Prairie damped the spirits of the company, which, however, were soon revived by tidings of the fight under Valrenne and the retreat of the English, who were reported to have left two hundred dead on the field.  Frontenac wrote an account of the affair to the minister, with high praise of Valrenne and his band, followed by an appeal for help.  "What with fighting and hardship, our troops and militia are wasting away." "The enemy is upon us by sea and land." "Send us a thousand men next spring, if you want the colony to be saved." "We are perishing by inches; the people are in the depths of poverty; the war has doubled prices so that nobody can live." "Many families are without bread.  The inhabitants desert the country, and crowd into the towns." A new enemy appeared in the following summer, almost as destructive as the Iroquois.  This was an army of caterpillars, which set at naught the maledictions of the clergy, and made great havoc among the crops.  It is recorded that along with the caterpillars came an unprecedented multitude of squirrels, which, being industriously trapped or shot, proved a great help to many families.

Alarm followed alarm.  It was reported that Phips was bent on revenge for his late discomfiture, that great armaments were afoot, and that a mighty host of "Bostonnais" was preparing another descent.  Again and again Frontenac begged that one bold blow should be struck to end these perils and make King Louis master of the continent, by despatching a fleet to seize New York.  If this were done, he said, it would be easy to take Boston and the "rebels and old republican leaven of Cromwell" who harbored there; then burn the place, and utterly destroy it.  Villebon, governor of Acadia, was of the same mind.  "No town," he told the minister, "could be burned more easily.  Most of the houses are covered with shingles, and the streets are very narrow." But the king could not spare a squadron equal to the attempt; and Frontenac was told that he must wait.  The troops sent him did not supply his losses.  Money came every summer in sums which now seem small, but were far from being so in the eyes of the king, who joined to each remittance a lecture on economy and a warning against extravagance.  

The intendant received his share of blame on these occasions, and he usually defended himself vigorously.  He tells his master that "war-parties are necessary, but very expensive.  We rarely pay money; but we must give presents to our Indians, and fit out the Canadians with provisions, arms, ammunition, moccasons, snow-shoes, sledges, canoes, capotes, breeches, stockings, and blankets.  This costs a great deal, but without it we should have to abandon Canada." The king complained that, while the great sums he was spending in the colony turned to the profit of the inhabitants, they contributed nothing to their own defence.  The complaint was scarcely just; for, if they gave no money, they gave their blood with sufficient readiness.  Excepting a few merchants, they had nothing else to give; and, in the years when the fur trade was cut off, they lived chiefly on the pay they received for supplying the troops and other public services.  Far from being able to support the war, they looked to the war to support them.  

The work of fortifying the vital points of the colony, Quebec, Three Rivers, and Montreal, received constant stimulus from the alarms of attack, and, above all, from a groundless report that ten thousand "Bostonnais" had sailed for Quebec.  The sessions of the council were suspended, and the councillors seized pick and spade.  The old defences of the place were reconstructed on a new plan, made by the great engineer Vauban.  The settlers were mustered together from a distance of twenty leagues, and compelled to labor, with little or no pay, till a line of solid earthworks enclosed Quebec from Cape Diamond to the Saint Charles.  Three Rivers and Montreal were also strengthened.  The cost exceeded the estimates, and drew upon Frontenac and Champigny fresh admonitions from Versailles.  

The bounties on scalps and prisoners were another occasion of royal complaint.  Twenty crowns had been offered for each male white prisoner, ten crowns for each female, and ten crowns for each scalp, whether Indian or English.  The bounty on prisoners produced an excellent result, since instead of killing them the Indian allies learned to bring them to Quebec.  If children, they were placed in the convents; and, if adults, they were distributed to labor among the settlers.  Thus, though the royal letters show that the measure was one of policy, it acted in the interest of humanity.  It was not so with the bounty on scalps.  The Abenaki, Huron, and Iroquois converts brought in many of them; but grave doubts arose whether they all came from the heads of enemies.  The scalp of a Frenchman was not distinguishable from the scalp of an Englishman, and could be had with less trouble.  Partly for this reason, and partly out of economy, the king gave it as his belief that a bounty of one crown was enough; though the governor and the intendant united in declaring that the scalps of the whole Iroquois confederacy would be a good bargain for his Majesty at ten crowns apiece.  

The river Ottawa was the main artery of Canada, and to stop it was to stop the flow of her life blood.  The Iroquois knew this; and their constant effort was to close it so completely that the annual supply of beaver skins would be prevented from passing, and the colony be compelled to live on credit.  It was their habit to spend the latter part of the winter in hunting among the forests between the Ottawa and the upper Saint Lawrence, and then, when the ice broke up, to move in large bands to the banks of the former stream, and lie in ambush at the Chaudiere, the Long Saut, or other favorable points, to waylay the passing canoes.  On the other hand, it was the constant effort of Frontenac to drive them off and keep the river open; an almost impossible task.  Many conflicts, great and small, took place with various results; but, in spite of every effort, the Iroquois blockade was maintained more than two years.  The story of one of the expeditions made by the French in this quarter will show the hardship of the service, and the moral and physical vigor which it demanded.

Early in February, three hundred men under Dorvilliers were sent by Frontenac to surprise the Iroquois in their hunting-grounds.  When they were a few days out, their leader scalded his foot by the upsetting of a kettle at their encampment near Lake Saint Francis; and the command fell on a youth named Beaucour, an officer of regulars, accomplished as an engineer, and known for his polished wit.  The march through the snow-clogged forest was so terrible that the men lost heart.  Hands and feet were frozen; some of the Indians refused to proceed, and many of the Canadians lagged behind.  Shots were heard, showing that the enemy were not far off; but cold, hunger, and fatigue had overcome the courage of the pursuers, and the young commander saw his followers on the point of deserting him.  He called them together, and harangued them in terms so animating that they caught his spirit, and again pushed on.  For four hours more they followed the tracks of the Iroquois snow-shoes, till they found the savages in their bivouac, set upon them, and killed or captured nearly all.  There was a French slave among them, scarcely distinguishable from his owners.  It was an officer named La Plante, taken at La Chine three years before.  "He would have been killed like his masters," says La Hontan, "if he had not cried out with all his might, 'Misericorde, sauvez-moi, je suis Francais'" Beaucour brought his prisoners to Quebec, where Frontenac ordered that two of them should be burned.  One stabbed himself in prison; the other was tortured by the Christian Hurons on Cape Diamond, defying them to the last.  Nor was this the only instance of such fearful reprisal.  In the same year, a number of Iroquois captured by Vaudreuil were burned at Montreal at the demand of the Canadians and the mission Indians, who insisted that their cruelties should be paid back in kind.  It is said that the purpose was answered, and the Iroquois deterred for a while from torturing their captives.  

The brunt of the war fell on the upper half of the colony.  The country about Montreal, and for nearly a hundred miles below it, was easily accessible to the Iroquois by the routes of Lake Champlain and the upper Saint Lawrence; while below Three Rivers the settlements were tolerably safe from their incursions, and were exposed to attack solely from the English of New England, who could molest them only by sailing up from the Gulf in force.  Hence the settlers remained on their farms, and followed their usual occupations, except when Frontenac drafted them for war-parties.  Above Three Rivers, their condition was wholly different.  A traveller passing through this part of Canada would have found the houses empty.  Here and there he would have seen all the inhabitants of a parish laboring in a field together, watched by sentinels, and generally guarded by a squad of regulars.  When one field was tilled, they passed to the next; and this communal process was repeated when the harvest was ripe.  At night, they took refuge in the fort; that is to say, in a cluster of log cabins, surrounded by a palisade.  Sometimes, when long exemption from attack had emboldened them, they ventured back to their farm-houses, an experiment always critical and sometimes fatal.  Thus the people of La Chesnaye, forgetting a sharp lesson they had received a year or two before, returned to their homes in fancied security.  One evening a bachelor of the parish made a visit to a neighboring widow, bringing with him his gun and a small dog.  As he was taking his leave, his hostess, whose husband had been killed the year before, told him that she was afraid to be left alone, and begged him to remain with her, an invitation which he accepted.  Towards morning, the barking of his dog roused him; when, going out, he saw the night lighted up by the blaze of burning houses, and heard the usual firing and screeching of an Iroquois attack.  He went back to his frightened companion, who also had a gun.  Placing himself at a corner of the house, he told her to stand behind him.  A number of Iroquois soon appeared, on which he fired at them, and, taking her gun, repeated the shot, giving her his own to load.  The warriors returned his fire from a safe distance, and in the morning withdrew altogether, on which the pair emerged from their shelter, and succeeded in reaching the fort.  The other inhabitants were all killed or captured.  Many incidents of this troubled time are preserved, but none of them are so well worth the record as the defence of the fort at Vercheres by the young daughter of the seignior.  Many years later, the Marquis de Beauharnais, governor of Canada, caused the story to be written down from the recital of the heroine herself.  Vercheres was on the south shore of the Saint Lawrence, about twenty miles below Montreal.  A strong blockhouse stood outside the fort, and was connected with it by a covered way.  On the morning of the twenty-second of October, the inhabitants were at work in the fields, and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, an old man of eighty, and a number of women and children.  The seignior, formerly an officer of the regiment of Carignan, was on duty at Quebec; his wife was at Montreal; and their daughter Madeleine, fourteen years of age, was at the landing-place not far from the gate of the fort, with a hired man named Laviolette.  Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at work, and an instant after Laviolette cried out, "Run, Mademoiselle, run! here come the Iroquois!" She turned and saw forty or fifty of them at the distance of a pistol-shot.  "I ran for the fort, commending myself to the Holy Virgin.  The Iroquois who chased after me, seeing that they could not catch me alive before I reached the gate, stopped and fired at me.  The bullets whistled about my ears, and made the time seem very long.  As soon as I was near enough to be heard, I cried out, To arms! to arms! hoping that somebody would come out and help me; but it was of no use.  The two soldiers in the fort were so scared that they had hidden in the blockhouse.  At the gate, I found two women crying for their husbands, who had just been killed.  I made them go in, and then shut the gate.  I next thought what I could do to save myself and the few people with me.  I went to inspect the fort, and found that several palisades had fallen down, and left openings by which the enemy could easily get in.  I ordered them to be set up again, and helped to carry them myself.  When the breaches were stopped, I went to the blockhouse where the ammunition is kept, and here I found the two soldiers, one hiding in a corner, and the other with a lighted match in his hand.  'What are you going to do with that match?' I asked.  He answered, 'Light the powder, and blow us all up.' 'You are a miserable coward,' said I, 'go out of this place.' I spoke so resolutely that he obeyed.  I then threw off my bonnet; and, after putting on a hat and taking a gun, I said to my two brothers: 'Let us fight to the death.  We are fighting for our country and our religion.  Remember that our father has taught you that gentlemen are born to shed their blood for the service of God and the king.'"

The boys, who were twelve and ten years old, aided by the soldiers, whom her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from the loopholes upon the Iroquois, who, ignorant of the weakness of the garrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place, and occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in the neighboring fields.  Madeleine ordered a cannon to be fired, partly to deter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of the soldiers, who were hunting at a distance.  The women and children in the fort cried and screamed without ceasing.  She ordered them to stop, lest their terror should encourage the Indians.  A canoe was presently seen approaching the landing-place.  It was a settler named Fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his family.  The Iroquois were still near; and Madeleine feared that the new comers would be killed, if something were not done to aid them.  She appealed to the soldiers, but their courage was not equal to the attempt; on which, as she declares, after leaving Laviolette to keep watch at the gate, she herself went alone to the landing-place.  "I thought that the savages would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in order to make a sortie upon them.  They did suppose so, and thus I was able to save the Fontaine family.  When they were all landed, I made them march before me in full sight of the enemy.  We put so bold a face on it, that they thought they had more to fear than we.  Strengthened by this reinforcement, I ordered that the enemy should be fired on whenever they showed themselves.  After sunset, a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied with snow and hail, which told us that we should have a terrible night.  The Iroquois were all this time lurking about us; and I judged by their movements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, they would climb into the fort under cover of the darkness.  I assembled all my troops, that is to say, six persons, and spoke to them thus: 'God has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies, but we must take care not to fall into their snares to-night.  As for me, I want you to see that I am not afraid.  I will take charge of the fort with an old man of eighty and another who never fired a gun; and you, Pierre Fontaine, with La Bonte and Gachet (our two soldiers), will go to the blockhouse with the women and children, because that is the strongest place; and, if I am taken, don't surrender, even if I am cut to pieces and burned before your eyes.  The enemy cannot hurt you in the blockhouse, if you make the least show of fight.' I placed my young brothers on two of the bastions, the old man on the third, and I took the fourth; and all night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cries of 'All's well' were kept up from the blockhouse to the fort, and from the fort to the blockhouse.  One would have thought that the place was full of soldiers.  The Iroquois thought so, and were completely deceived, as they confessed afterwards to Monsieur de Callieres, whom they told that they had held a council to make a plan for capturing the fort in the night but had done nothing because such a constant watch was kept.

"About one in the morning, the sentinel on the bastion by the gate called out, 'Mademoiselle, I hear something.' I went to him to find what it was; and by the help of the snow, which covered the ground, I could see through the darkness a number of cattle, the miserable remnant that the Iroquois had left us.  The others wanted to open the gate and let them in, but I answered: 'God forbid.  You don't know all the tricks of the savages.  They are no doubt following the cattle, covered with skins of beasts, so as to get into the fort, if we are simple enough to open the gate for them.' Nevertheless, after taking every precaution, I thought that we might open it without risk.  I made my two brothers stand ready with their guns cocked in case of surprise, and so we let in the cattle.

"At last, the daylight came again; and, as the darkness disappeared, our anxieties seemed to disappear with it.  Everybody took courage except Mademoiselle Marguerite, wife of the Sieur Fontaine, who being extremely timid, as all Parisian women are, asked her husband to carry her to another fort … He said, 'I will never abandon this fort while Mademoiselle Madelon (Madeleine) is here.' I answered him that I would never abandon it; that I would rather die than give it up to the enemy; and that it was of the greatest importance that they should never get possession of any French fort, because, if they got one, they would think they could get others, and would grow more bold and presumptuous than ever.  I may say with truth that I did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four hours.  I did not go once into my father's house, but kept always on the bastion, or went to the blockhouse to see how the people there were behaving.  I always kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encouraged my little company with the hope of speedy succor.

"We were a week in constant alarm, with the enemy always about us.  At last Monsieur de la Monnerie, a lieutenant sent by Monsieur de Callieres, arrived in the night with forty men.  As he did not know whether the fort was taken or not, he approached as silently as possible.  One of our sentinels, hearing a slight sound, cried, 'Qui vive?' I was at the time dozing, with my head on a table and my gun lying across my arms.  The sentinel told me that he heard a voice from the river.  I went up at once to the bastion to see whether it was Indians or Frenchmen.  I asked, 'Who are you?' One of them answered, 'We are Frenchmen: it is La Monnerie, who comes to bring you help.' I caused the gate to be opened, placed a sentinel there, and went down to the river to meet them.  As soon as I saw Monsieur de la Monnerie, I saluted him, and said, 'Monsieur, I surrender my arms to you.' He answered gallantly, 'Mademoiselle, they are in good hands.' 'Better than you think,' I returned.  He inspected the fort, and found every thing in order, and a sentinel on each bastion.  'It is time to relieve them, Monsieur' said I: 'we have not been off our bastions for a week.'" A band of converts from the Saut Saint Louis arrived soon after, followed the trail of their heathen countrymen, overtook them on Lake Champlain, and recovered twenty or more French prisoners.  Madeleine de Vercheres was not the only heroine of her family.  Her father's fort was the Castle Dangerous of Canada; and it was but two years before that her mother, left with three or four armed men, and beset by the Iroquois, threw herself with her followers into the blockhouse, and held the assailants two days at bay, till the Marquis de Crisasi came with troops to her relief.  

From the moment when the Canadians found a chief whom they could trust, and the firm old hand of Frontenac grasped the reins of their destiny, a spirit of hardihood and energy grew up in all this rugged population; and they faced their stern fortunes with a stubborn daring and endurance that merit respect and admiration.

Now, as in all their former wars, a great part of their suffering was due to the Mohawks.  The Jesuits had spared no pains to convert them, thus changing them from enemies to friends; and their efforts had so far succeeded that the mission colony of Saut Saint Louis contained a numerous population of Mohawk Christians.  The place was well fortified; and troops were usually stationed here, partly to defend the converts and partly to ensure their fidelity.  They had sometimes done excellent service for the French; but many of them still remembered their old homes on the Mohawk, and their old ties of fellowship and kindred.  Their heathen countrymen were jealous of their secession, and spared no pains to reclaim them.  Sometimes they tried intrigue, and sometimes force.  On one occasion, joined by the Oneidas and Onondagas, they appeared before the palisades of Saint Louis, to the number of more than four hundred warriors; but, finding the bastions manned and the gates shut, they withdrew discomfited.  It was of great importance to the French to sunder them from their heathen relatives so completely that reconciliation would be impossible, and it was largely to this end that a grand expedition was prepared against the Mohawk towns.

All the mission Indians in the colony were invited to join it, the Iroquois of the Saut and Mountain, Abenakis from the Chaudiere, Hurons from Lorette, and Algonquins from Three Rivers.  A hundred picked soldiers were added, and a large band of Canadians.  All told, they mustered six hundred and twenty-five men, under three tried leaders, Mantet, Courtemanche, and La Noue.  They left Chambly at the end of January, and pushed southward on snow-shoes.  Their way was over the ice of Lake Champlain, for more than a century the great thoroughfare of war-parties.  They bivouacked in the forest by squads of twelve or more; dug away the snow in a circle, covered the bared earth with a bed of spruce boughs, made a fire in the middle, and smoked their pipes around it.  Here crouched the Christian savage, muffled in his blanket, his unwashed face still smirched with soot and vermilion, relics of the war-paint he had worn a week before when he danced the war-dance in the square of the mission village; and here sat the Canadians, hooded like Capuchin monks, but irrepressible in loquacity, as the blaze of the camp-fire glowed on their hardy visages and fell in fainter radiance on the rocks and pines behind them.

Sixteen days brought them to the two lower Mohawk towns.  A young Dutchman who had been captured three years before at Schenectady, and whom the Indians of the Saut had imprudently brought with them, ran off in the night, and carried the alarm to the English.  The invaders had no time to lose.  The two towns were a quarter of a league apart.  They surrounded them both on the night of the sixteenth of February, waited in silence till the voices within were hushed, and then captured them without resistance, as most of the inmates were absent.  After burning one of them, and leaving the prisoners well guarded in the other, they marched eight leagues to the third town, reached it at evening, and hid in the neighboring woods.  Through all the early night, they heard the whoops and songs of the warriors within, who were dancing the war-dance for an intended expedition.  About midnight, all was still.  The Mohawks had posted no sentinels; and one of the French Indians, scaling the palisade, opened the gate to his comrades.  There was a short but bloody fight.  Twenty or thirty Mohawks were killed, and nearly three hundred captured, chiefly women and children.  The French commanders now required their allies, the mission Indians, to make good a promise which, at the instance of Frontenac, had been exacted from them by the governor of Montreal.  It was that they should kill all their male captives, a proceeding which would have averted every danger of future reconciliation between the Christian and heathen Mohawks.  The converts of the Saut and the Mountain had readily given the pledge, but apparently with no intention to keep it; at least, they now refused to do so.  Remonstrance was useless; and, after burning the town, the French and their allies began their retreat, encumbered by a long train of prisoners.  They marched two days, when they were hailed from a distance by Mohawk scouts, who told them that the English were on their track, but that peace had been declared in Europe, and that the pursuers did not mean to fight, but to parley.  Hereupon the mission Indians insisted on waiting for them, and no exertion of the French commanders could persuade them to move.  Trees were hewn down, and a fort made after the Iroquois fashion, by encircling the camp with a high and dense abatis of trunks and branches.  Here they lay two days more, the French disgusted and uneasy, and their savage allies obstinate and impracticable.

Meanwhile, Major Peter Schuyler was following their trail, with a body of armed settlers hastily mustered.  A troop of Oneidas joined him; and the united parties, between five and six hundred in all, at length appeared before the fortified camp of the French.  It was at once evident that there was to be no parley.  The forest rang with war-whoops; and the English Indians, unmanageable as those of the French, set at work to entrench themselves with felled trees.  The French and their allies sallied to dislodge them.  The attack was fierce, and the resistance equally so.  Both sides lost ground by turns.  A priest of the mission of the Mountain, named Gay, was in the thick of the fight; and, when he saw his neophytes run, he threw himself before them, crying, "What are you afraid of? We are fighting with infidels, who have nothing human but the shape.  Have you forgotten that the Holy Virgin is our leader and our protector, and that you are subjects of the King of France, whose name makes all Europe tremble?" Three times the French renewed the attack in vain; then gave over the attempt, and lay quiet behind their barricade of trees.  So also did their opponents.  The morning was dark and stormy, and the driving snow that filled the air made the position doubly dreary.  The English were starving.  Their slender stock of provisions had been consumed or shared with the Indians, who, on their part, did not want food, having resources unknown to their white friends.  A group of them squatted about a fire invited Schuyler to share their broth; but his appetite was spoiled when he saw a human hand ladled out of the kettle.  His hosts were breakfasting on a dead Frenchman.

All night the hostile bands, ensconced behind their sylvan ramparts, watched each other in silence.  In the morning, an Indian deserter told the English commander that the French were packing their baggage.  Schuyler sent to reconnoitre, and found them gone.  They had retreated unseen through the snow-storm.  He ordered his men to follow; but, as most of them had fasted for two days, they refused to do so till an expected convoy of provisions should arrive.  They waited till the next morning, when the convoy appeared: five biscuits were served out to each man, and the pursuit began.  By great efforts, they nearly overtook the fugitives, who now sent them word that, if they made an attack, all the prisoners should be put to death.  On this, Schuyler's Indians refused to continue the chase.  The French, by this time, had reached the Hudson, where to their dismay they found the ice breaking up and drifting down the stream.  Happily for them, a large sheet of it had become wedged at a turn of the river, and formed a temporary bridge, by which they crossed, and then pushed on to Lake George.  Here the soft and melting ice would not bear them; and they were forced to make their way along the shore, over rocks and mountains, through sodden snow and matted thickets.  The provisions, of which they had made a depot on Lake Champlain, were all spoiled.  They boiled moccasons for food, and scraped away the snow to find hickory and beech nuts.  Several died of famine, and many more, unable to move, lay helpless by the lake; while a few of the strongest toiled on to Montreal to tell Callieres of their plight.  Men and food were sent them; and from time to time, as they were able, they journeyed on again, straggling towards their homes, singly or in small parties, feeble, emaciated, and in many instances with health irreparably broken.  

"The expedition," says Frontenac, "was a glorious success." However glorious, it was dearly bought; and a few more such victories would be ruin.  The governor presently achieved a success more solid and less costly.  The wavering mood of the north-western tribes, always oscillating between the French and the English, had caused him incessant anxiety; and he had lost no time in using the defeat of Phips to confirm them in alliance with Canada.  Courtemanche was sent up the Ottawa to carry news of the French triumph, and stimulate the savages of Michillimackinac to lift the hatchet.  It was a desperate venture; for the river was beset, as usual, by the Iroquois.  With ten followers, the daring partisan ran the gauntlet of a thousand dangers, and safely reached his destination; where his gifts and his harangues, joined with the tidings of victory, kindled great excitement among the Ottawas and Hurons.  The indispensable but most difficult task remained: that of opening the Ottawa for the descent of the great accumulation of beaver skins, which had been gathering at Michillimackinac for three years, and for the want of which Canada was bankrupt.  More than two hundred Frenchmen were known to be at that remote post, or roaming in the wilderness around it; and Frontenac resolved on an attempt to muster them together, and employ their united force to protect the Indians and the traders in bringing down this mass of furs to Montreal.  A messenger, strongly escorted, was sent with orders to this effect, and succeeded in reaching Michillimackinac, though there was a battle on the way, in which the officer commanding the escort was killed.  Frontenac anxiously waited the issue, when after a long delay the tidings reached him of complete success.  He hastened to Montreal, and found it swarming with Indians and coureurs de bois.  Two hundred canoes had arrived, filled with the coveted beaver skins.  "It is impossible," says the chronicle, "to conceive the joy of the people, when they beheld these riches.  Canada had awaited them for years.  The merchants and the farmers were dying of hunger.  Credit was gone, and everybody was afraid that the enemy would waylay and seize this last resource of the country.  Therefore it was, that none could find words strong enough to praise and bless him by whose care all this wealth had arrived.  Father of the People, Preserver of the Country, seemed terms too weak to express their gratitude." 

While three years of arrested sustenance came down together from the lakes, a fleet sailed up the Saint Lawrence, freighted with soldiers and supplies.  The horizon of Canada was brightening.