The horrors of intercolonial war were now beginning. As soon as the declaration of war between France and England was known, Count Fontenac, who had but lately arrived in Canada—a man of extraordinary capacity and energy of character, although approaching seventy years of age—prepared to visit, upon the English frontier, some of the miseries which Canada herself had so lately suffered from the hands of the Five Nations. Three several expeditions were planned, all of which were successful. The war-parties consisted principally of converted Indians, chiefly Mohawks; the fruits of the self-denying perseverance of the French missionaries being made use of for the most barbarous purposes. Religious zeal was added to native ferocity; the English were represented not only as enemies but as heretics, to destroy whom it was their duty as Christians, and their glory as soldiers.
In January, 1690, whilst the province of New York was convulsed by internal tumults, one of these war-parties, advancing in single file through the deep snow, a track being made by the snow-shoes of the foremost, arrived at Schenactady, a Dutch village on the Mohawk, after twenty-two days’ march. It was midnight, and the inhabitants were asleep, fearless of danger, when at once the awful war-whoop roused them, and the most dreadful scenes of murder, fire and devastation succeeded. Sixty lay dead in the street; seven-and-twenty were taken prisoners; the rest, half naked, fled towards Albany amid driving snow, some perishing by the way, others losing their limbs by the intensity of the cold. The terror of this attack decided the party who held it to give up Albany to Leisler.
The whole of the following summer was spent in fruitless preparation and attempts, in conjunction with Connecticut, to protect their frontiers, and invade Canada; but all ended in unsuccess, and distrust and confusion prevailed throughout the miserable province. In January of 1691, Richard Ingoldsby arrived from England with a commission as captain, and announcing the speedy arrival of Colonel Sloughter as governor. He demanded possession of the fort, but not producing any order from the king, nor yet from the expected governor to that purpose, Leisler refused to yield, promising him courteously, at the same time, aid as a military officer. Ingoldsby, angry at opposition, and supported by the enemies of Leisler, proceeded to land his troops, at the same time denouncing Leisler and his garrison as traitors. The passions of the militia were roused, and, greatly to the grief and dismay of Leisler, shots were fired, by which several lives were lost.
On March 19th, Colonel Sloughter, “a profligate, needy, and narrow-minded adventurer,” entered the harbour. Leisler immediately sent messengers to receive his orders; the messengers were detained; the next morning he wrote, inquiring to whom he should surrender the fort. Sloughter’s only reply was an order to Ingoldsby to arrest Leisler and his council. The following day Leisler, Milborne, and six others, were under arrest and brought up to trial before a special court, composed of the adverse party. Six of the prisoners were immediately found guilty of high treason, but afterwards reprieved. Leisler and Milborne, denying the jurisdiction of the court by which they were tried, refused to plead, and appealed to the king. But they were condemned of high treason as mutes, and sentenced to death. Nevertheless, Sloughter hesitated to carry the sentence into execution, until the will of the king should be known, writing to him “that certainly never greater villains lived.”
The friends of Leisler boldly defended his conduct, but the opposite party was now in power, and the execution of Leisler and his son-in-law was demanded; still Sloughter hesitated, but nothing could allay the bitter hatred of Leisler’s enemies. At a dinner-party, therefore, when Sloughter was intoxicated, they obtained from him the signatures of the death-warrants, and before he had recovered his senses, the executions had taken place.
On the 16th of May, amid drenching rain, Leisler having taken leave of his wife and his numerous family, he and his son-in-law were conducted to the gallows outside the city-wall. “Guarded by troops,” says the historian, “the sad procession moved on, thronged about by weeping friends and exulting enemies. More distressed for the fate of his son-in-law than for his own, Leisler admitted that he might have fallen into error; and turning to the sorrowing populace, said, ‘Weep not for us, we are going to our God; but weep for yourselves that remain behind in misery and vexation.’” The handkerchief was bound round his face, and he said, “I hope these eyes shall see our Lord Jesus in heaven!” These were his last words. Livingstone, one of the leaders of the adverse party, pressed forward to the prisoners to gratify himself with the sight of their last moments. “I will implead thee at the bar of God for this,” said Milborne. His last words were: “I die for the king and queen and the Protestant religion in which I was born and bred. Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit!” The distressed people, with cries and tears, rushed forward to receive some last memento of their favourite leaders, a fragment of their clothes or a lock of hair.
The rain poured down in torrents; but no rain could wash away the effect of that blood, the shedding of which was regarded by the populace as base murder. The appeal to the king was prosecuted by Leisler’s son; and a committee of the Lords Commissioners of Trade ordered the estates of the deceased to be restored to their families. But more was required; and in 1695 the attainder was reversed, after which the bodies were disinterred, and after lying in state, were re-buried in the old Dutch church.
The execution of these two popular leaders did more to strengthen their cause than their lives could possibly have done. Their friends, who were “always distinguished by their zeal for popular power, for toleration, for their opposition to the doctrine of legitimacy,” formed a powerful and ultimately a successful party. Leisler and Milborne being no more, it was not long before a contest began between the assembly, composed of aristocratic members, and the English monarch, for their rights and privileges as British subjects; and in the meantime the war with Canada went on.
After four months of inefficient and turbulent administration, Governor Sloughter died, and was succeeded by Colonel Benjamin Fletcher, a man as unprincipled and as little fitted for his post as his predecessor. Fletcher revived the old scheme of extending the territory of New York from Connecticut River to Delaware Bay; and by royal commission he had command of the militia of New Jersey and Connecticut. The war with Canada requiring the defence of the frontiers, an address was sent to the king requesting that the other colonies might be compelled to furnish their quota of troops. Parliament attempted to compel this from all the colonies north of Carolina; but several of them refused, as we have already stated, and it was never enforced.
Inadequate as Fletcher was for the office of governor in the then excited state of the colony, he had the prudence to be guided in Indian affairs by Major Schuyler, who possessed great influence over the Iroquois, by whom he was called “Quidder,” they being unable to pronounce his Christian name of Peter. Schuyler was a brave, intelligent, and humane man; and having great influence over the border tribes, was extremely useful to the governor, who had the good sense to admit him to the council. Shortly after Fletcher’s arrival, the French having made an incursion into the Mohawk country and taken captive 300 of their warriors, were pursued by Schuyler from Albany, and by Fletcher, who posted from New York with a body of troops. They did not overtake the invaders; but the Iroquois, greatly pleased by the promptitude of action exhibited by Fletcher, gave him the name of Cayenguirago, or the Great Swift Arrow.