There lived at Quebec in the latter part of the seventeenth century one Charles le Moyne, seigneur de Longueil, who is called by Charlevoix the Baron de Becancourt; he was of Norman extraction, but his sons were natives of New France. As was the custom with the French noblesse each son adopted a surname derived from some portion of the ancient family estate. At least five of Becancourt’s sons were prominent in the affairs of Acadia; they are known in history as Menneval, Portneuf, Villebon, d’Iberville and des Isles.
In 1687 Menneval replaced Perrot as governor of Acadia, and as the conduct of Perrot had given rise to grave dissatisfaction his successor received elaborate instructions concerning his duties. He was to rebuild the defences of Acadia, to resist the encroachments of the English, to suppress the lawless trade of the Coureurs de bois, to deal kindly and honestly with the savages, taking care to promote their conversion to the Christian faith, and to restore to the crown all seigniories and granted lands that had not been occupied or improved.
The year that followed Menneval’s appointment was notable for the outbreak of the most dreadful Indian war in the annals of Acadia. All the tribes east of the Merrimac took part in it, including the Maliseets and Micmacs. This war is known in history as King William’s war, from the name of the English monarch in whose reign it occurred. It lasted with little intermission for ten years, and during its progress the settlers of eastern New England suffered the most fearful outrages at the hands of the infuriated savages. Every settlement in Maine save Wells, York, Kittery and the Isle of Shoals was over run, and a thousand white people killed or taken prisoners.
As in the case of other wars which the Indians have waged with the whites, the latter were responsible for its origin. About twelve years before it broke out, Major Waldron treacherously seized a band of Indians at Dover in New Hampshire and sent them to Boston, where several of them were hanged for alleged complicity in Philip’s war[5] and others sold into slavery. This despicable act the Indians never forgot nor forgave.
The immediate cause of King William’s war, however, was the ill considered act of Governor Andros of pillaging the trading post of Baron de St. Castin, at Penobscot. St. Castin had formerly served in the Carignan Salieres regiment under Frontenac, but for twenty years had lived in this region, where he had married a daughter of the Maliseet chieftain Madockawando and was highly esteemed by the savages.
It was at the instigation of St. Castin and Madockawando that the Indians determined to take the war path. The first notable incident of the war was the destruction of Dover, where Major Waldron and twenty-two others were killed and twenty-nine taken prisoners. This occurred in June, 1689, and the story of the affair, as told by the St. John river Indians to their English captive, John Gyles, is in substance as follows:—
There was a truce with the Indians for some days, during which time two squaws came into the garrison. They told Major Waldron that a number of Indians were not far away with a considerable quantity of beaver and would be there to trade with him the next day. The weather was inclement and the women begged leave to lodge in the garrison. Some of the people were much opposed to this, but the major said: “Let the poor creatures lodge by the fire.” The defences of the place were of the weakest kind, the gates had no locks but were fastened with pins and the garrison kept no watch. The squaws had a favorable opportunity to prosecute their design. They went into every apartment observing the number in each, and when all the people were asleep arose and opened the gates, gave the signal agreed upon and the other Indians came to them and, having received an account of the state of the garrison, they divided their forces according to the number of the people in each apartment and soon took or killed them all. Major Waldron lodged within an inner room and when the Indians broke in upon him he cried out: “What now! What now!” and jumping out of his bed seized his sword and drove them before him through two or three doors, but upon his turning about towards the apartment he had just left, an Indian came up behind him and knocked him on the head with his hatchet, which stunned him and he fell. They then seized him, dragged him out, and setting him up on a long table in his hall, bade him “judge Indians again.” Then they cut and stabbed him and he cried out “O Lord! O Lord!” They called for his book of accounts and ordered him to cross out all the Indian debts, he having traded much with them. Then one and another gashed his naked breast, saying in derision: “I cross out my account.” Then cutting a joint from a finger, one would say: “Will your fist weigh a pound now?” This in allusion to his having sometimes used his fist as a pound weight in buying and selling. And so they proceeded to torture him to death with every refinement of savage cruelty, after which they burned the garrison post and drew off.
A few days after this tragic event a number of people were killed by the Indians at Saco, and in the month of August the important post at Pemaquid, midway between the Kennebec and Penobscot rivers, was taken and the adjoining settlement destroyed. According to Charlevoix a large number of St. John river Indians participated in this exploit. Among their prisoners was a lad named Gyles whose experience during the nine years he lived in captivity on the St. John river is told in his very interesting narrative published in Boston in 1736. We shall have more to say about Gyles and his narrative further on, but it may be observed in passing that we are greatly indebted to him for the knowledge we possess of the life of the Indians of the River St. John two centuries ago. As Doctor Hannay well observes: “By the light of such a narrative we are able to perceive how wretched was the lot of an Acadian Indian, even during the period when his very name carried terror to the hearts of the settlers of Maine and New Hampshire. Modern civilization may have degraded him in some respects but it has at least rescued him from the danger of starvation and also from the cruel necessity of abandoning his kindred to perish when unable longer to supply their own wants or endure the constant journeys necessitated by the nature of their nomad life.”