Canada

by Beckles Willson

But if a French squadron had been first, what a shock to their spirits, what a test of their endurance, which they might not have overborne!

On the heart of the gallant Chevalier de Lévis this news fell, and brought a deadly chill. He withdrew his troops hastily, and it was soon seen that the French ships, which had wintered high up the river, were fated to destruction. Of these there were six altogether, two frigates, two small armed ships, and two schooners. Commanding them was a daring officer named Vauquelin. Although Vauquelin fought with dogged determination till all his powder and lead was spent, although he refused to lower his colours, the English mariners overpowered him and made him their prisoner. But the English knew a brave man when they saw one, and Vauquelin they treated with distinguished honour, inviting him to a banquet and toasting him loudly as a hero.

This was the deathblow to the hopes of Lévis. True, he had Montreal still in his hands, but what was Montreal without ammunition and provisions, with the enemy clamouring at the very gates? The Canadian Militia had deserted to their homes, and Vaudreuil and De Lévis had to defend the city with only 2000 disheartened troops; while against them was ranged a force of 17,000 English. Further resistance was useless, and so on the 8th of September Vaudreuil surrendered to General Murray, and Canada and all its dependencies passed to the British Crown.

Hopeless as the situation had been for a full year past, ever since Wolfe had laid down his life at the moment of victory on the Plains of Abraham, there were some amongst the French to whom the thought of defeat was unbearable pain. Invincible in spirit, we see emerging through the mist of a century and a half, the courtly, stalwart, chivalrous figure of the Chevalier de Lévis. To be conquered while his right arm could grip the handle of a sword was to him unutterable disgrace. When he heard that his superior, Vaudreuil, had agreed that the French troops should lay down their arms and serve no longer during the war, his manly cheek flushed and he insisted that the negotiations should be broken off. "If," he said, "the Marquis de Vaudreuil must surrender, let us at least withdraw with the troops to the Island of St. Helen in order to uphold there, on our own behalf, the honour of the King's army." But this step Vaudreuil could not, of course, permit, and the Chevalier could only grind his teeth in mortification and prepare to bid the Canada he loved an eternal farewell.

Canada was now a British colony, and those members of the old French Canadian families who were unwilling to become British subjects followed Vaudreuil and Lévis back to France. With them also went the rascally Bigot and the traitors and pilferers who had fattened on the distresses of their country. Nemesis awaited them! No sooner had they touched French soil than they were seized and flung into the Bastille. At first the brazen Cadet swore, when he faced his judges, he was innocent, but afterwards he confessed all. Bigot too denied his knavery, until the papers signed by himself put him to silence. His punishment was great, but far less than he deserved; he was banished from France for life, his property confiscated to the King, and he was made to pay a fine of 1,500,000 francs. Cadet was banished for nine years and fined 6,000,000 francs, while the rest were ordered to be imprisoned until their fines were paid, so that many who had betrayed New France languished in the gaols of Old France and died within those bare stone walls.

Canada, as you have seen, had now changed masters. But the red-man, so long the friend and ally of the French, standing at the door of his wigwam or stealing noiselessly in his war-paint through the forest, was puzzled and angered. He could not understand how it had happened; he could not understand why the flag of the lilies should be hauled down from every fort and trading-station, and the flag of the English or the "Boston men," as he called them, unfurled. His mind could not grasp the meek submission of the Canadian pale-faces—the farmers and traders—to the chiefs sent out by King George. "Why do you not," said one of their braves, "leave your towns and villages and set up your lodges in the forest? Then, when the English are lulled into security, return and fall upon and slay them? You can win battles by craft and cunning as well as by numbers and cannon." But although the French Canadians smiled and shook their heads at this plan, yet at the western settlements, such as Michilimackinac, Detroit, and Presqu'Isle, they did not scruple to tell the Indians that the English would soon drive them from their forest homes and hunting-grounds, and thereby to kindle hate in their hearts for the new conquerors. The French certainly understood the Indian character far better than the English, who treated them with contemptuous neglect. The vanity of the redskin chiefs was no longer fostered, and the tribes were told plainly that they were regarded as vassals and savages. For the English—the Boston men—could not forget the bloodthirsty cruelty which had been practised upon them and their wives and children for so long, and now that they felt that all power on the continent was in the hollow of their hands, they would not stoop to truckle to its aboriginal masters.

At first the haughty redskin chiefs were taken wholly by surprise at the contempt meted out to them; then all their hot savage blood mounted in their veins. All that they needed was a leader, and they had not long to wait. A leader of their own race, intelligent, daring, treacherous, and vain, suddenly appeared on the scene. Pontiac was a chieftain of the Ottawas, but so greatly had his fame spread that all the braves of the Hurons, the Ojibways, the Sacs, the Wyandots, the Delawares, and the Senecas looked to him as their guide and captain. In the strange drama which was now to thrill the Western world, Pontiac takes the stage as the central figure. In history this drama is called "The Conspiracy of Pontiac."

It was not many months after General Murray was ruling Canada in the name of his young master, King George III., that Pontiac, the chieftain of the Ottawas, saw with a keen eye the danger that threatened his people. Either the red-man and all the tribes would be crushed under the heel of the pale-faces, or else they must take up their dwellings and retreat farther into the western forests. "With the French," said Pontiac, "we can live in friendship, but with the restless English either we must flee afar or we or they must die!"

A plot grew and took shape in Pontiac's mind of uniting all the power of the red-men and driving the English for ever out of the whole country. He told his audacious plot to some of the Western French fur-traders, who expressed their joy, saying that the King of France would surely help him, and was even then sending out fresh hosts to slay the enemy. With the utmost care did Pontiac lay his plans. A day was chosen, a day in May 1763, when all the Indians who looked to Pontiac as their leader would rise in their might and fall with musket and tomahawk upon their unsuspecting victims. At this time the strongest of the western forts was Detroit, and this fort Pontiac had arranged to surprise and seize by strategy. A council of Indians arranged to meet Major Gladwin, the commander, and the other English officers within the fort on that day. They were supposed to be entirely unarmed, but beneath his blanket each conspirator concealed a musket, shortened by its barrel being filed in half. While they conversed pleasantly Pontiac was to give the signal which would sound the doom of the garrison. But the plot failed. To the love of an Indian maiden for Gladwin the English owed their lives. This young girl overheard the plot. She could not sleep the whole of one night, and in the morning stole hurriedly to Gladwin and told him of Pontiac's intended treachery. Altogether ignorant of how he had been betrayed, Pontiac and his fellow-conspirators, with faces calm and smiling, for the Indians can wear the most impenetrable mask, arrived at the fort to attend the proposed conference. To Pontiac's astonishment, he saw the English soldiers drawn up with loaded muskets as if for battle. Did he start back cringing and discomfited? Nay, not a change of expression passed his impassive features; he went on with the conference as if nothing had happened, and afterwards, without giving any signal, withdrew. Next morning Pontiac again came; this time he was ordered away from the gates of the fort. Fierce rage filled his heart; he knew then that his plot had been revealed to the English. Strategy had failed at Detroit, he must now fire the torch of Indian hatred and openly assault the stronghold. He attacked, and for months the red-men were kept at bay until succour could come to the heroic Gladwin and his men.