PIERRE LE MOYNE, SIEUR D'IBERVILLE.
From an engraving in the John Ross Robertson Collection,
Toronto Public Library
What followed was war in its worst form, including the massacre of women and children. The three bands organized by Frontenac at the beginning of 1690 set out on snowshoes from Montreal, Three Rivers, and Quebec. The largest party contained a hundred and fourteen French and ninety-six Indians. It marched from Montreal against Schenectady, commanded by D'Aillebout de Mantet and Le Moyne de Sainte-Hélène. The second party, proceeding from Three Rivers and numbering twenty-six French and twenty-nine Indians under the command of François Hertel, aimed at Dover, Pemaquid, and other settlements of Maine and New Hampshire. The Quebec party, under Portneuf, comprised fifty French and sixty Indians. Its objective was the English colony on Casco Bay, where the city of Portland now stands. All three were successful in accomplishing what they aimed at, namely the destruction of English settlements amid fire and carnage. All three employed Indians, who were suffered, either willingly or unwillingly, to commit barbarities.
It is much more the business of history to explain than to condemn or to extenuate. How could a man like François Hertel lead one of these raids without sinking to the moral level of his Indian followers? Some such question may, not unnaturally, rise to the lips of a modern reader who for the first time comes upon the story of Dover and Salmon Falls. But fuller knowledge breeds respect for François Hertel. When eighteen years old he was captured by the Mohawks and put to the torture. One of his fingers they burned off in the bowl of a pipe. The thumb of the other hand they cut off. In the letter which he wrote on birch-bark to his mother after this dreadful experience there is not a word of his sufferings. He simply sends her his love and asks for her prayers, signing himself by his childish nickname, 'Your poor Fanchon.' As he grew up he won from an admiring community the name of 'The Hero.' He was not only brave but religious. In his view it was all legitimate warfare. If he slew others, he ran a thousand risks and endured terrible privations for his king and the home he was defending. His stand at the bridge over the Wooster river, sword in hand, when pressed on his retreat by an overwhelming force of English, holding the pass till all his men are over, is worthy of an epic. He was forty-seven years old at the time. The three eldest of his nine sons were with him in that little band of twenty-six Frenchmen, and two of his nephews. 'To the New England of old,' says Parkman, 'François Hertel was the abhorred chief of Popish malignants and murdering savages. The New England of to-day will be more just to the brave defender of his country and his faith.'
The atrocities committed by the French and Indians are enough to make one shudder even at this distance of time. As Frontenac adopted the plan and sent forth the war-parties, the moral responsibility in large part rests with him. There are, however, some facts to consider before judgment is passed as to the degree of his culpability. The modern distinction between combatants and non-combatants had little meaning in the wilds of America at this period. When France and England were at open war, every settler was a soldier, and as such each man's duty was to keep on his guard. If caught napping he must take the consequences. Thus, to fall upon an unsuspecting hamlet and slay its men-folk with the tomahawk, while brutal, was hardly more brutal than under such circumstances we could fairly expect war to be.
The massacre of women and children is another matter, not to be excused on any grounds, even though Schenectady and Salmon Falls are paralleled by recent acts of the Germans in Belgium. Still, we should not forget that European warfare in the age of Frontenac abounded with just such atrocities as were committed at Schenectady, Dover, Pemaquid, Salmon Falls, and Casco Bay. The sack of Magdeburg, the wasting of the Palatinate, and, perhaps, the storming of Drogheda will match whatever was done by the Indian allies of Frontenac. These were unspeakable, but the savage was little worse than his European contemporary. Those killed were in almost all cases killed outright, and the slaughter was not indiscriminate. At Schenectady John Sander Glen, with his whole family and all his relations, were spared because he and his wife had shown kindness to French prisoners taken by the Mohawks. Altogether sixty people were killed at Schenectady (February 9, 1690), thirty-eight men, ten women, and twelve children. Nearly ninety were carried captive to Canada. Sixty old men, women, and children were left unharmed. It is not worth while to take up the details of the other raids. They were of much the same sort—no better and no worse. Where a garrison surrendered under promise that it would be spared, the promise was observed so far as the Indians could be controlled; but English and French alike when they used Indian allies knew well that their excesses could not be prevented, though they might be moderated. The captives as a rule were treated with kindness and clemency when once the northward march was at an end.
Meanwhile, Frontenac had little time to reflect upon the probable attitude of posterity towards his political morals. The three war-parties had accomplished their purpose and in the spring of 1690 the colony was aglow with fresh hope. But the English were not slow to retaliate. That summer New York and Massachusetts decided on an invasion of Canada. It was planned that a fleet from Boston under Sir William Phips should attack Quebec, while a force of militia from New York in command of John Schuyler should advance through Lake Champlain against Montreal. Thus by sea and land Canada soon found herself on the defensive.
Of Schuyler's raid nothing need be said except that he reached Laprairie, opposite Montreal, where he killed a few men and destroyed the crops (August 23, 1690). It was a small achievement and produced no result save the disappointment of New York that an undertaking upon which much money and effort had been expended should terminate so ingloriously. But the siege of Quebec by Phips, though it likewise ended in failure, is a much more famous event, and deserves to be described in some detail.
The colony of Massachusetts mustered its forces for a great and unusual exploit. Earlier in the same year a raid upon the coasts of Acadia had yielded gratifying results. The surrender of Port Royal without resistance (May 11, 1690) kindled the Puritan hope that a single summer might see the pestiferous Romanists of New France driven from all their strongholds. Thus encouraged, Boston put forth its best energies and did not shrink from incurring a debt of £50,000, which in the circumstances of Massachusetts was an enormous sum. Help was expected from England, but none came, and the fleet sailed without it, in full confidence that Quebec would fall before the assault of the colonists alone.
The fleet, which sailed in August, numbered thirty-four ships, carrying twenty-three hundred men and a considerable equipment. Sir William Phips, the leader of the expedition, was not an Englishman by birth, but a New Englander of very humble origin who owed his advancement to a robust physique and unlimited assurance. He was unfitted for his command, both because he lacked experience in fighting such foes as he was about to encounter, and because he was completely ignorant of the technical difficulties involved in conducting a large, miscellaneous fleet through the tortuous channels of the lower St Lawrence. This ignorance resulted in such loss of time that he arrived before Quebec amid the tokens of approaching winter. It was the 16th of October when he rounded the island of Orleans and brought his ships to anchor under the citadel. Victory could only be secured by sudden success. The state of the season forbade siege operations which contemplated starvation of the garrison.
Hopeful that the mere sight of his armada would compel surrender, Phips first sent an envoy to Frontenac under protection of the white flag. This messenger after being blindfolded was led to the Château and brought before the governor, who had staged for his reception one of the impressive spectacles he loved to prepare. Surrounding Frontenac, as Louis XIV might have been surrounded by the grandees of France, were grouped the aristocracy of New France—the officers of the French regulars and the Canadian militia. Nothing had been omitted which could create an impression of dignity and strength. Costume, demeanour, and display were all employed to overwhelm the envoy with the insulted majesty of the king of France. Led into this high presence the messenger delivered his letter, which, when duly interpreted, was found to convey a summary ultimatum. Phips began by stating that the war between France and England would have amply warranted this expedition even 'without the destruction made by the French and Indians, under your command and encouragement, upon the persons and estates of their Majesties' subjects of New England, without provocation on their part.' Indeed, 'the cruelties and barbarities used against them by the French and Indians might, upon the present opportunity, prompt unto a severe revenge.' But seeking to avoid all inhumane and unchristian-like actions, Phips announces that he will be content with 'a present surrender of your forts and castles, undemolished, and the King's and other stores, unimbezzled, with a seasonable delivery of all captives; together with a surrender of all your persons and estates to my dispose; upon the doing whereof, you may expect mercy from me, as a Christian, according to what shall be found for their Majesties' service and the subjects' security. Which, if you refuse forthwith to do, I am come provided and am resolved, by the help of God in whom I trust, by force of arms to revenge all wrongs and injuries offered, and bring you under subjection to the Crown of England, and, when too late, make you wish you had accepted of the favour tendered. Your answer positive in an hour, returned by your own trumpet, with the return of mine, is required upon the peril that will ensue.'