Other officers did not share the generous sentiments of La Corne St. Luc. They thought it derogatory to pure military men to listen to a priest on the affairs of the war.
“The Marshal de Belleisle would not permit even Cardinal de Fleury to put his red stockings beneath his council-table,” remarked a strict martinet of La Serre; “and here we have a whole flock of black gowns darkening our regimentals! What would Voltaire say?”
“He would say that when priests turn soldiers it is time for soldiers to turn tinkers and mend holes in pots, instead of making holes in our enemies,” replied his companion, a fashionable freethinker of the day.
“Well, I am ready to turn pedlar any day! The King's army will go to the dogs fast enough since the Governor commissions Recollets and Jesuits to act as royal officers,” was the petulant remark of another officer of La Serre.
A strong prejudice existed in the army against the Abbé Piquet for his opposition to the presence of French troops in his Indian missionary villages. They demoralized his neophytes, and many of the officers shared in the lucrative traffic of fire-water to the Indians. The Abbé was zealous in stopping those abuses, and the officers complained bitterly of his over-protection of the Indians.
The famous “King's Missionary,” as he was called, stood up with an air of dignity and authority that seemed to assert his right to be present in the Council of War, for the scornful looks of many of the officers had not escaped his quick glance.
The keen black eyes, thin resolute lips, and high swarthy forehead of the Abbé would have well become the plumed hat of a marshal of France. His loose black robe, looped up for freedom, reminded one of a grave senator of Venice whose eye never quailed at any policy, however severe, if required for the safety of the State.
The Abbé held in his hand a large roll of wampum, the tokens of treaties made by him with the Indian nations of the West, pledging their alliance and aid to the great Onontio, as they called the Governor of New France.
“My Lord Governor!” said the Abbé, placing his great roll on the table, “I thank you for admitting the missionaries to the Council. We appear less as churchmen on this occasion than as the King's ambassadors, although I trust that all we have done will redound to God's glory and the spread of religion among the heathen. These belts of wampum are tokens of the treaties we have made with the numerous and warlike tribes of the great West. I bear to the Governor pledges of alliance from the Miamis and Shawnees of the great valley of the Belle Rivière, which they call the Ohio. I am commissioned to tell Onontio that they are at peace with the King and at war with his enemies from this time forth forever. I have set up the arms of France on the banks of the Belle Rivière, and claimed all its lands and waters as the just appanage of our sovereign, from the Alleghanies to the plantations of Louisiana. The Sacs and Foxes, of the Mississippi; the Pottawatomies, Winnebagoes, and Chippewas of a hundred bands who fish in the great rivers and lakes of the West; the warlike Ottawas, who have carried the Algonquin tongue to the banks of Lake Erie,—in short, all enemies of the Iroquois have pledged themselves to take the field whenever the Governor shall require the axe to be dug up and lifted against the English and the Five Nations. Next summer the chiefs of all these tribes will come to Quebec, and ratify in a solemn General Council the wampums they now send by me and the other missionaries, my brothers in the Lord!”
The Abbé, with the slow, formal manner of one long accustomed to the speech and usages of the Indians, unrolled the belts of wampum, many fathoms in length, fastened end to end to indicate the length of the alliance of the various tribes with France. The Abbé interpreted their meaning, and with his finger pointed out the totems or signs manual—usually a bird, beast, or fish—of the chiefs who had signed the roll.