The new Governor very quickly found that the English colonists were intriguing with the Iroquois, upholding and encouraging them in acts of hostility against the French. War, and war in earnest, had to come, and when 800 fresh soldiers arrived from France, Denonville began to prepare for it. In this he had the loyal support of the brave and wise man who also came out as the new Governor of Montreal, De Callières. Unluckily, Denonville began with an act of treachery. It was a strange deed for a soldier and a Christian. A number of Iroquois chiefs were enticed to Fort Frontenac, where they were seized, and, after being flung into prison, were sent to France to work all the rest of their days in the galleys. What a fate for such haughty braves, who never worked, but left all labour to their poor squaws! What wonder the revenge of the Iroquois was terrible!
Creeping along the St. Lawrence with his army, Denonville crossed Lake Ontario, built a new fort, and leaving 400 men to guard it, marched towards the Seneca lodges. In the middle of July 1687 a hot battle took place with 800 Senecas, in which, after losing six men killed and twenty wounded, the French drove the foe into the forest. Four hundred thousand bushels of Indian corn (maize) and several herds of swine were found and destroyed. In the meantime, however, while the Senecas were being punished, the danger to Montreal and the other towns was imminent, owing to their being without strong military protection. To defend Chambly 120 bushrangers were armed, and on the island of Montreal, Callières built twenty small forts for the inhabitants to take refuge in, should the Iroquois descend upon them in force. For by this time, as you can imagine, the whole of the Five Nations were blazing with rage, as if they had been so many bloodthirsty wolves. Even in their rage they were cunning. They had no intention of attacking Canada in force; that was not their method of warfare. Crossing the border silently in batches, each singled out his prey, some sleeping village, or mayhap an unsuspecting farm. Next day a few mangled corpses here, a heap of smoking ruins there, told the terrible tale of the Iroquois raid.
After a time the wiser heads amongst the Five Nations began to consider whether a conquest over the French would not make the Colonial English (whom they called Ang'ais or Yankees) too powerful. Suddenly they openly professed a desire for peace. A deputation was sent to Canada to say that, strong as the Iroquois knew themselves to be, they did not mean to press for all the advantages they had the right and power to demand. "We know," they said, "how weak you are. We can at any time burn the houses of your people, pillage your stores, waste your crops, and raze your forts." To this boasting Denonville replied that Colonel Dongan of New York claimed the Iroquois as English subjects. "If you are English subjects, then you must be at peace with us, for France and England are not now at war." "Onontio," exclaimed the chief of the Envoys, "the Five Nations are independent! We can be friends to one or both, or enemies to one or both. Never have we been conquered by either of you."
In the end a truce was proclaimed, but truce or no truce, a great many skirmishes and massacres still went on, on both sides. All they could do to prevent a peace being signed, the Hurons of Michilimackinac, allies of the French, did. To them peace meant utter ruin; their numbers were too few, and they well knew Denonville could not protect them from the fury of the Iroquois. Amongst the Hurons was a tall chief famous for his prowess in war and his gift of eloquence. He was, according to those who knew him, the bravest and most intelligent chief on the whole Continent. Kondiaronk, or "The Rat," was mortally offended that the French should have made even a truce without so much as consulting the wishes of their native allies. To take his revenge on Denonville, he resolved to make peace impossible. When the Iroquois envoys were on their way to Montreal to sign the treaty, "The Rat" lay in ambush with a band of his trusty Hurons. He surprised and made them all his prisoners, slaying one. When they angrily explained that they were peaceful envoys, the crafty Kondiaronk professed to be greatly surprised, because, said he, "the French Governor himself sent me here on purpose to waylay you. But if, as I believe, what you say is true, behold, I set you at liberty! May the gods curse Onontio for having committed such an act of treachery!" Thus saying, he loaded the deputies with gifts and bade all but one go free. After which Kondiaronk, glorying in his perfidy, hastened to Michilimackinac, shaking his fist in triumph and crying, "I have killed the peace!" He spoke then the truth. The Iroquois prisoner he took with him, under the pretence of adopting him in place of one of his Hurons slain by the deputies on being attacked, was handed over to the French Commander of Michilimackinac as a spy. In vain the victim protested that he was an envoy of peace between the Five Nations and the French. In vain did he try to explain the circumstances of his capture. Kondiaronk laughed in his face, telling the French Commander he must have taken leave of his wits, and the unhappy wretch was led to the stake. An Iroquois captive was released by Kondiaronk and bidden to return to his tribe with this message, that while the French were making a show of wishing peace, they were secretly slaying and capturing the men of the Five Nations.
Months passed while the Iroquois brooded on vengeance. Denonville's protestations were received in contemptuous silence. There was now nothing to prevent formal war, for France and England had recommenced hostilities. King James the Second had fled from his throne and palace to France. William of Orange, the mortal enemy of King Louis, reigned in his stead. A new English Governor, Andros, was sent out to New York to foment the deadly feud between the Iroquois and the Canadians.
In the month of August 1689 burst at last the storm of the Iroquois' hatred and revenge. One night, during a heavy shower of hail, 1500 dusky warriors crossed Lake St. Louis, landing silently and stealthily on the beautiful island of Montreal, the "Garden of Canada." By daybreak they had grouped themselves in platoons, one platoon around every large dwelling for several leagues along the road at Lachine almost to the gates of Montreal. The inhabitants of Lachine were wrapped in sweet slumber, soon and ruthlessly to be exchanged for that other slumber which knows no mortal awakening.
Let us conjure up the terrible picture. At each door, in war-paint and feathers, stands a group of savages with upraised hatchets and huge mallets. The signal is given; it is the dread Indian war-whoop; the next moment doors and windows are driven inwards. Sleeping men, women, and children are dragged from their beds. In vain they struggle in the hands of their butchers, in vain they appeal to those who know no pity. They might as well appeal to wild beasts. A few houses resist their attacks; when these are fired 200 unhappy beings, the hope and pride of the colony, are burnt alive. Agonising shrieks rend the air. The knife, the torch, and the tomahawk spare none, not even the little children. Those who do not now die under their tortures are led away to nameless cruelties, which will furnish rare sport to the lodges of the Five Nations.
Such was the awful massacre of Lachine; such the vengeance of the Iroquois. So swift and sudden had been the blow that the citizens of Montreal were paralysed. All that dreadful day the savages moved on, and for many days afterwards, and none came to arrest their course. Governor Denonville, to whose policy the calamity was due, seems entirely to have lost his nerve. A few miles from Lachine a body of 200 troops, led by a brave officer named Subercase, asked to be led against the murderers of their countrymen. But Denonville, in a panic, ordered Subercase to take refuge in Fort Roland. All were forbidden to stir. Another body of men, commanded by one Larobeyre, attempting to reach Fort Roland, were set upon and cut to pieces. More than half the prisoners were burnt by their conquerors. Larobeyre, wounded and unable to flee, was led captive to the Iroquois wigwams and roasted alive at a slow fire. The bloodthirsty tribes remained by the St. Lawrence as long as they pleased; their ravages of the countryside continued for many weeks. Not until October did the last of them disappear. A small party sent by Denonville to make sure that they had really gone, came upon a canoe bearing twenty-two departing Iroquois paddling across the Lake of the Two Mountains. The chance was not one to be foregone. Too long held in check, the Canadians drew near the savages, who fired upon them without damage. Then with a fierce joy the white men singled out each his man, raised their muskets, and when the explosion came eighteen Iroquois toppled over into the lake. But considering the hundreds of Canadians who had been massacred, this was a paltry retribution indeed.
What wonder now that the men and women of Canada longed for the strong right arm and sagacious brain of Frontenac! Is it any marvel that they rejoiced to hear that, menaced with the loss of his North-American dominions, King Louis had entrusted the gallant, fiery old soldier once more with the government of New France. Frontenac's return was hailed by all, nobles, soldiers, merchants, artisans, farmers, even by the Jesuits, who five years before had striven to send him away. He was escorted to the fort with a multitude of torch-bearers. Well he knew what a great task awaited him. He had now to battle not only with the Iroquois, but with the Anglo-American colonies, the Yankees, as they were called by the Indians, just as his master, King Louis, had to combat five powers at once—England, Germany, Holland, Spain, and Savoy.
Was Frontenac equal to the task? Was the strain now to be placed on his shoulders too great for the powers of a hero seventy-two years of age? That question let the next chapter answer.