King William's War Read online

  Church accomplished little after this skirmish, which is sometimes called the Battle of Deering Oaks, nor did Swayne have any better luck farther south. Wherever possible Swayne reinforced garrisons, which in some cases, like Saco, had been depleted by politics or neglect to less than a quarter of their established complement. It was not enough to prevent handfuls of raiders who struck at isolated targets throughout the fall, but by November, Massachusetts was satisfied that the crisis had passed. Both Church and Swayne were ordered to fill out the frontier garrisons from their ranks and discharge the rest.11

  In New England there had been serious talk regarding recruiting the Mohawk to help fight the Wabanaki Confederacy. The idea appeared feasible and agents were dispatched to Albany, but when they arrived they found the Iroquois preoccupied with other issues, for problems were brewing on the Canadian frontier as well. On August 4, 1689, the Iroquois shattered their treaty of neutrality with New France. The four hundred or so inhabitants of La Chine, a bucolic village six miles below Montreal, slept as a summer thunderstorm pelted their dwellings with rain and hail. The blackened skies and sweeping lines of rain concealed what lurked within the nearby tree line. Had anyone been looking, the occasional streak of lightning would have revealed grimly painted figures as they softly darted from cabin to cabin, slowly enveloping the hamlet. But no guard had been posted that evening. A discharge of thunder reverberated across the landscape and faded. Seconds later it was replaced with the screeches and war whoops of 1,500 Iroquois braves as they burst upon the village. It was the worst massacre Canada would ever see. Men, women, and children were hacked down as they rose from their beds. The rolling thunder occasionally masked the screams and cries of the bewildered as the neatly lined homes were set ablaze. A few fought back and a few fled into the wet night, but most found themselves engulfed by their frenzied attackers. The Iroquois were nothing if not efficient at such business. Within the hour two hundred souls lay sprawled upon the drenched ground, bound to torture stakes, or wrapped by the wind-blown flames that burned like beacons along the shore of the St. Lawrence.12

  There were three stockade forts nearby: Remy, Roland, and La Presentation. In addition to these strongholds there was an encampment of two hundred soldiers located a few miles farther north. Around four o’clock that morning these troops were alarmed by the sound of the fort’s cannon. Not long after, a breathless fugitive from the massacre entered the camp with news of what had transpired. The troops were put under arms but did not march, because their commander, an able young captain named Subercase, was in Montreal visiting Governor Denonville and his wife. Subercase returned around noon on the fifth and immediately ordered his men forward. Joined by one hundred militia, the detachment arrived at the smoldering ruins of La Chine about an hour later. A French surgeon who had escaped informed the captain that the Iroquois were encamped in a cluster of woods about a mile and a half away. Drunk on captured brandy and occupied with the spoils of their victory they were an inviting target. Subercase, now reinforced by the garrisons of the forts, moved down the length of his troops, shouting at them in hoarse tones, raising their ire, and boiling over their thirst for vengeance. When they were ready, he led his men forward, sword in hand. Had he been allowed to attack there was a good chance he would have recovered the French captives and dealt the unprepared Iroquois a serious defeat. But as the column entered the tree line, a voice from the rear ordered a halt. It was the Chevalier de Vaudreuil with orders from Governor Denonville to take no risks. All troops were to assume a defensive posture until further notice. Subercase exploded. Surely the governor did not understand the circumstances, he argued. They must attack now, before the Iroquois recovered their wits. But Vaudreuil was firm. His orders were clear. There was to be no attack. Hot words passed between Vaudreuil and Subercase, but in the end the captain had no choice but to obey. The attack was called off, and the troops returned to Fort Roland where Vaudreuil had gathered together another five hundred soldiers and militia.

  The next morning, the Iroquois, having recovered from their celebration, attacked eighty men trying to cross from Fort Remy to Fort Roland. The detachment was cut to pieces in full sight of the latter fort, which did nothing to aid the hopelessly outnumbered Frenchmen. Only a handful of the original number managed to fight their way back to the safety of Fort Remy. The terror-stricken inhabitants of Montreal prepared for an attack, but the Iroquois satisfied themselves by burning the surrounding countryside. Those lucky enough to reach a fort were safe, but their homes, barns, and crops were put to the torch. Those not lucky enough suffered the fate of the citizens of La Chine. For a week the warriors of the longhouse roamed unopposed about Montreal, while the traumatized defenders huddled behind their fortifications, looking on in disbelief. Finally satisfied with their take of 120 captives, the Iroquois took to their canoes and sailed past the fortifications of Montreal, giving a shout to the defenders for each captive in their midst. But they had one more task to perform. With no fear of retaliation the force leisurely disembarked on the south bank of the St. Lawrence and set up camp. The inhabitants of Montreal spent a wretched night watching the flickering fires across the river, knowing that each held one of their friends, family, or countrymen at its core.13

  CHAPTER TEN

  Three Wars, One Name

  LOUIS XIV DID LITTLE FOR HIS COLONY on the eve of the War of the League of Augsburg. He could have sent a brigade of troops, money, and a dozen ships, but he did not do any of these. When war between France and a league of nations that included England began in June 1689, the king consented to Callières’s plan for the capture of New York. In addition he entrusted the plan, along with the colony, to the old governor, Count Frontenac. It was a fortunate decision for New France, for although the count had many faults, indecision in military matters was not to be counted among them.

  There would be neither troops nor money to support the count. He would have to make do with the resources Canada already possessed—resources that, unable to bring the Iroquois to bay, now had to face a war with the English colonies. But Louis was willing to make a token gesture. He gave the count his instructions and a pair of frigates to execute Callières’s plan. The king placed high hopes on the capture of the city and had even gone as far as to minutely detail the count’s actions once the conquest was complete. Had he wished, he could have sent a dozen warships and four thousand regulars to seize the town outright. The forces employed would have had no effect on the coming conflict in Europe one way or the other, and the monies spent would have been trifling compared to what was to be laid out for one campaign in Flanders. Under the leadership of a man like Frontenac, history might have been much different. But the king’s ambitions and focus lay elsewhere. Instead, he parted with an aging count and a pair of frigates while he and his royal entourage contemplated the fruits of their future conquests among the pleasures of Versailles.1

  As might be expected, Callières’s plan was doomed from the outset. The season was already too far advanced when the frigates bearing Callières and the new governor pushed out of La Rochelle. The contrary winds impeded the passage to the point that it was mid-September by the time the vessels reached Chedabucto in eastern Nova Scotia. The delay had ruined any chance of executing the plan, not that Frontenac had ever held much stock in its prospects. Even so, he paced the deck of the vessel, disappointed in having lost the opportunity to try.

  When he reached Quebec on a late October night he passed through the torch-lit streets and greeted throngs of citizens who had come out to welcome him. For many he was a symbol of hope, a leader of resolve and conviction, the Iron Count. For others, such as the Jesuits, he was an old enemy returned, a menace armed with royal decree. At the moment he was concerned with neither. Officials briefed him in half whispers of the events at La Chine and elsewhere as he climbed the pathway to the upper parts of the town. The count nodded at their words as he paused to greet an old friend or shake hands with an important enemy. He spent the better part o
f the next several days in meetings before departing for Montreal, despite the onset of heavy rains.2

  In Montreal he found confusion, near panic, and incessant fear. He met with Denonville and found things worse than he had been told. The town and surrounding countryside were in a state of siege, although no one had a clear picture of exactly where besiegers were or how many they numbered. The populace and local garrisons were exhausted from the constant false alarms, and the converted Iroquois at the nearby missions were daily expecting an assault that would sweep them out of existence. To make matters worse, in hopes of appeasing the Iroquois Denonville had ordered Fort Frontenac destroyed. The count was furious over the order, but by the time he rescinded it the task was complete, or at least partially so. The three vessels belonging to the fort were sunk and the fort’s cannon thrown in the nearby waters. In his haste, however, the fort’s commandant set charges along the walls and pushed off downriver. Explosions were heard some time after, but as it turned out only a portion of the fort had been damaged. Frontenac fumed over the act, which all but signaled the abandonment of Canada’s western allies.3

  There was a glimmer of hope to play upon. In November a detachment of twenty-eight coureurs de bois under the command of two established leaders, Greysolon du Lhut and D’Ailleboust de Mantet encountered a pair of Iroquois canoes carrying twenty-two warriors in the Lake of Two Mountains. Du Lhut and Mantet placed themselves between the enemy canoes and the rising sun, which spoiled the initial Iroquois volley. While the warriors of the longhouse attempted to reload, the French closed the distance and delivered a devastating fire at point-blank range. Eighteen of the enemy were killed outright. As their canoes floundered, one made his escape by swimming ashore, while the remaining three were captured and handed over to the Huron and Ottawa.

  The victory proved brief, for in mid-November the Iroquois returned, this time attacking La Chesnaye. One hundred and fifty warriors fell upon the hamlet and burned everything in sight. It was a smaller recreation of La Chine. Twenty settlers were killed and the rest were led away into captivity. The news set off a wave of terror that rippled through the lower colony. Garrisons and citizens slept on their firearms. What little trade and commerce that still existed stopped, leaving the streets of Montreal all but vacant. The atmosphere was such that the sight of a few Iroquois would have been enough to push most of Lower Canada over the edge.4

  The devastation and general mood of the colony left the new governor in a difficult position. It was clear that the colony was too weak to make war, but his real fear was that it was too weak to make peace. Some semblance of strength was necessary not only to convince the Iroquois to make peace but to prevent a wholesale defection of the western tribes from the French cause. With nothing but his reputation to draw upon, the governor used just that. Frontenac, the great Onontio who had raised Fort Frontenac, whose words had brought the Iroquois council fires to that place, whose speeches still rang in the ears of the Iroquois sachems, would bluff.

  Frontenac did possess one resource—a famous Cayuga war chief named Ourehaoue. Ourehaoue was among the Iroquois captured by Denonville in 1687 and sent to man the prison galleys in France. His loss had enraged the Iroquois to such a point that Denonville requested his and the other surviving captives be returned. Ourehaoue was given a fine French coat and placed on the frigate with Frontenac. During the voyage the two became fast friends. Frontenac now used this friendship to draw the Iroquois into negotiations. He sent three of the captive Iroquois to the Onondaga with a message from the war chief stating that he and “the great Onontio” had returned. He would be released as soon as the sachems of the tribes came to Montreal to speak with them both. They had nothing to fear, for Onontio did not blame them for their actions. “He looks upon you as foolish children,” the war chief informed them. “He blames only the English who are the cause of your folly.”5

  The Iroquois passed the message on to Albany and held a council at Onondaga to discuss the news. Frontenac sent a delegation to this assembly, which convened on January 22. The eighty chiefs and sachems listened as the French representative, an Iroquois named Cut Nose, rose to address the delegation. He presented his belts of wampum and advised the council to meet with Onontio or suffer his wrath. The Mohawk representative from Albany was next. He told all present to shut their ears to Onontio’s call for a council, that Onontio’s words were nothing but lies and his threats without force. A Seneca sachem was next. He called for an alliance with the western tribes against the French. He spoke for these tribes, who were disgusted with the French. They and the Iroquois would smoke the pipe of peace, and both should ignore the drunken words of Onontio. The Onondaga representative spoke next. He urged the chiefs to stand with their English brothers and treat Onontio as their enemy. There should be no more talk of a council at Fort Frontenac.

  With this the delegates spoke among themselves for a time. Eventually they came to an agreement. There would be no negotiations with the French. A message was sent to Corlaer and Kinshon, as they referred to the governors of New York and Massachusetts. “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.” Another message was sent to Frontenac. He should first know that the Five Nations had buried the hatchet with New France’s western allies. “You wish to speak with us at Cataraqui [Fort Frontenac],” the message continued. “Don’t you know that your council-fire there is put out? It is quenched in blood.” Return the Iroquois prisoners. Once this was done there could be talk of peace, but until then the war would continue.6

  The message was hardly what Frontenac had hoped for. His reputation among the Iroquois was great, but in the end it was not enough. Circumstances were such that his words were without backbone and the Iroquois knew it. But more than just calling his bluff, they had raised the stakes with news of an alliance with the western tribes. Frontenac realized that if it wasn’t immediately broken, New France was ruined both militarily and economically. His reputation was not enough to convince the Iroquois, but it might still be enough to sway these French allies on the folly of their ways. There were no troops or funds to spare, but somehow he managed to outfit a force of 143 Canadians and dispatched them to the lake country with the first spring thaws. The detachment carried a haughty message from the governor. The old Onontio had returned and was astonished at what he had found. Did they think he would just stand by while his children disobeyed his wishes? Had they so quickly forgotten his power and his deeds? Were they so afraid of their enemies that they would now invite them into their wigwams? No. Their true father would not abandon them to the English rum that destroyed their senses and the Iroquois who would lure them into their kettles. They were to obey their father and take up the hatchet against their traditional enemies. “I am strong enough,” the governor’s message concluded, “to kill the English, destroy the Iroquois, and whip you if you fail in your duty to me.”7

  Frontenac realized that the message, and the gifts that accompanied it, might momentarily stave off a mass defection of his allies, but for it to take hold a display of force was needed. It was a perilous situation and a defining moment for New France. In the governor’s mind an attack was the only alternative. It flew in the face of his standing orders and the advice of his council. He was warned that the dejected populace and wavering allies would crumble under news of another defeat. A chorus of voices agreed and stated that he would be better to stand on his defenses, but Frontenac scoffed at such talk. How better to restore the spirits of his troops and the allegiance of his allies than with a victory. Yes, a defeat would be devastating, but in the long run it would be no worse than standing by while their enemies devoured them a piece at a time. Better to die fighting in the field, he believed, than of hunger and fear behind a wooden palisade.

  Resolved on an attack, the questions became where, when, and how. The governor summoned his commanders around him and spread a map upon his desk. If one attack was good
, he informed them, then three would be more so. There were a few murmurs about the room, but the count quickly silenced them with a glance. He pointed to the map. The first war party would leave from Quebec and strike at the border settlements of Maine. He moved his finger over to Three Rivers. The second would leave from the town and attack the border settlements of New Hampshire. His finger moved again farther west. The last and largest detachment, he stated, would depart from Montreal. It would travel south by way of Lake Champlain and Lake George into the upper reaches of New York, where it would fall upon an unsuspecting and unprepared Albany.

  There were a number of puzzled looks about the room. What about the Iroquois? Certainly a blow should be struck against them. Frontenac shook his head. The Iroquois were not to be attacked. The English were at the root of the Iroquois problem, and as such, it was they who would be the target. Any Iroquois encountered were to be left alone. The goal was to bring the Iroquois back into the French fold, not to push them further into English hands. After a moment of silence the question came forward: “When?” This winter, the governor replied, when the lakes had frozen over. Many remembered Courcelle’s ill-fated campaign and hesitated at the timing, but Frontenac was insistent. First, the attack had to be soon so as to put teeth into the message being delivered to the western tribes. Second, although a state of war existed between France and England, the English colonies would not expect a winter campaign. It was true that the rigors of such a march would be difficult, but these were more than offset by the increased chances of success.