Canada: The Empire of the North — From 1650 to 1672, part 1
Radisson captured by Iroquois--Radisson escapes--At Onandaga--How the French were saved--Word of the western land--Westward bound--Dollard's Heroes--The fight at the Long Sault--To seek the north sea--Discovers Hudson Bay--Origin of the great fur company Having destroyed the Hurons, who were under French protection, it is not surprising that the Iroquois now set themselves to destroy the French.
From Montreal to Tadoussac the St. Lawrence swarmed with war canoes.
No sooner had the river ice broken up and the birds begun winging north than the Iroquois flocked down the current of the Richelieu, across Lake St. Peter to Three Rivers, down the St. Lawrence to Quebec, up the St. Lawrence to Montreal.
And the snows of midwinter afforded no truce to the raids, for the Iroquois cached their canoes in the forest, and roamed the woods on snowshoes.
Settlers fled terrified from their farms to the towns; farmers dared not work in their fields without a sentry standing guard; Montreal became a prison; Three Rivers lay blockaded; and at Quebec the war canoes passed defiantly below the cannon of Cape Diamond, paddles beating defiance against the gun'els, or prows flaunting the scalps of victims within cannon fire of Castle St. Louis.
Rich and poor, priests and parishioners, governors and habitants, all alike trembled before the lurking treachery.
Father Jogues had been captured on his way from the Huron mission; Père Poncet was likewise kidnapped at Quebec and carried to the tortures of the Mohawk towns; and a nephew of the Governor of Quebec was a few years later attacked while hunting near Lake Champlain.
The outraged people of New France realized that fear was only increasing the boldness of the Iroquois.
A Mohawk-chief fell into their hands.
By way of warning, they bound him to a stake and burned him to death.
The Indian revenge fell swift and sure.
In 1653 the Governor of Three Rivers and twelve leading citizens were murdered a short distance from the fort gates.
{95} One night in May of 1652 a tall, slim, swarthy lad about sixteen years of age was seen winding his way home to Three Rivers from a day's shooting in the marshes.
He had set out at day dawn with some friends, but fear of the Iroquois had driven his comrades back.
Now at nightfall, within sight of Three Rivers, when the sunset glittered from the chapel spire, he unslung his bag of game and sat down to reload his musket.
Then he noticed that the pistols in his belt had been water-soaked from the day's wading, and he reloaded them too.
Any one who is used to life in the open knows how at sundown wild birds foregather for a last conclave.
Ducks were winging in myriads and settling on the lake with noisy flacker.
Unable to resist the temptation of one last shot, the boy was gliding noiselessly forward through the rushes, when suddenly he stopped as if rooted to the ground, with hands thrown up and eyes bulging from his head.
At his feet lay the corpses of his morning comrades,--scalped, stripped, hacked almost piecemeal!
Then the instinct of the hunted thing, of flight, of self-protection, eclipsed momentary terror, and the boy was ducking into the rushes to hide when, with a crash of musketry from the woods, the Iroquois were upon him.
When he regained consciousness, he was pegged out on the sand amid a flotilla of beached canoes, where Iroquois warriors were having an evening meal.
So began the captivity, the love of the wilds, the wide wanderings of one of the most intrepid explorers in New France,--Pierre Esprit Radisson.
His youth and the fact that he would make a good warrior were in his favor.
When he was carried back to the Mohawk town and with other prisoners compelled to run the gauntlet between two lines of tormentors, Radisson ran so fast and dodged so dexterously that he was not once hit.
The feat was greeted with shrieks of delight by the Iroquois; and the high-spirited boy was given in adoption to a captive Huron woman.
Things would have gone well had he not bungled an attempt to escape;
but one night, while in camp with three Iroquois hunters, an Algonquin captive entered.
While the Iroquois {96} slept with guns stacked against the trees, the sleepless Algonquin captive rose noiselessly where he lay by the fire, seized the Mohawk warriors' guns, threw one tomahawk across to Radisson, and with the other brained two of the sleepers.
The French boy aimed a blow at the third sleeper, and the two captives escaped.
But they might have saved themselves the trouble.
They were pursued and overtaken on Lake St. Peter, within sight of Three Rivers.
This time Radisson had to endure all the _diableries_ of Mohawk torture.
For two days he was kept bound to the torture stake.
The nails were torn from his fingers, the flesh burnt from the soles of his feet, a hundred other barbarous freaks of impish Indian children wreaked on the French boy.
Arrows with flaming points were shot at his naked body.
His mutilated finger ends were ground between stones, or thrust into the smoking bowl of a pipe full of coals, or bitten by fiendish youngsters being trained up the way a Mohawk warrior should go.
[Illustration: A CANADIAN IN SNOWSHOES (After La Potherie)] Radisson's youth, his courage, his very dare-devil rashness, together with presents of wampum belts from his Indian parents, {97} saved his life for a second time, and a year of wild wanderings with Mohawk warriors finally brought him to Albany on the Hudson, where the Dutch would have ransomed him as they had ransomed the two Jesuits, Jogues and Poncet; but the boy disliked to break faith a second time with his loyal Indian friends.
Still, the glimpse of white man's life caused a terrible upheaval of revulsion from the barbarities, the filth, the vice, of the Mohawk camp.
He could endure Indian life no longer.
One morning, in the fall of 1653, he stole out from the Mohawk lodges, while the mist of day dawn still shadowed the forest, and broke at a run down the trail of the Mohawk valley for Albany.
All day he ran, pursued by the phantom fright of his own imagination, fancying everything that crunched beneath his moccasined tread some Mohawk warrior, seeing in the branches that reeled as he passed the arms of pursuers stretched out to stop him;--on .
.
.
and on .
.
.
and on, he ran, pausing neither to eat nor rest; here dashing into the bed of a stream and running along the pebbled bottom to throw pursuers off the trail; there breaking through a thicket of brushwood away from the trail, only to come back to it breathless farther on, when some alarm of the wind in the trees or deer on the move had proved false.
Only muscles of iron strength, lithe as elastic, could have endured the strain.
Nightfall at last came, hiding him from pursuers; but still he sped on at a run, following the trail by the light of the stars and the rush of the river.
By sunrise of the second day he was staggering; for the rocks were slippery with frost and his moccasins worn to tatters.
It was four in the afternoon before he reached the first outlying cabin of the Dutch settlers.
For three days he lay hidden in Albany behind sacks of wheat in a thin-boarded attic, through the cracks of which he could see the Mohawks searching everywhere.
The Jesuit Poncet gave him passage money to take ship to Europe by way of New York.
New York was then a village of a few hundred houses, thatch-roofed, with stone fort, stone church, stone barracks.
Central Park was a rocky wilderness.
What is now Wall Street was the stamping ground of pigs and goats.
January of 1654 Radisson {98} reached Europe, no longer a boy, but a man inured to danger and hardships and daring, though not yet eighteen.
When Radisson came back to Three Rivers in May he found changes had taken place in New France.
Among the men murdered with the Governor of Three Rivers by the Mohawks the preceding year had been his sister's husband, and the widow had married one Medard Chouart de Groseillers, who had served in the Huron country as a lay helper with the martyred Jesuits.
Also a truce had been patched up between the Iroquois and the French.
The Iroquois were warring against the Eries and wanted arms from the French.
A still more treacherous motive underlay the Iroquois' peace.
They wanted a French settlement in their country as a guarantee of non-intervention when they continued to raid the refugee Hurons.
Such duplicity was unsuspected by New France.
The Jesuits looked upon the peace as designed by Providence to enable them to establish missions among the Iroquois.
Father Le Moyne went from village to village preaching the gospel and receiving belts of wampum as tokens of peace--one belt containing as many as seven thousand beads.
When the Onondagas asked for a French colony, Lauzon, the French Governor, readily consented if the Jesuits would pay the cost, estimated at about ,000; and in 1656 Major Dupuis had led fifty Frenchmen and four Jesuits up the St. Lawrence in long boats through the wilderness to a little hill on Lake Onondaga, where a palisaded fort was built, and the lilies of France, embroidered on a white silk flag by the Ursuline nuns, flung from the breeze above the Iroquois land.
The colony was hardly established before three hundred Mohawks fell on the Hurons encamped under shelter of Quebec, butchered without mercy, and departed with shouts of laughter that echoed below the guns at Cape Diamond, scalps waving from the prow of each Iroquois canoe.
Quebec was thunderstruck, numb with fright.
The French dared not retaliate, or the Iroquois would fall on the colony at Onondaga.
Perhaps people who keep their vision too constantly fixed on heaven lose {99} sight of the practical duties of earth; but when eighty Onondagas came again in 1657, inviting a hundred Hurons to join the Iroquois Confederacy, the Jesuits again suspected no treachery in the invitation, but saw only a providential opportunity to spread one hundred Huron converts among the Iroquois pagans.
Father Ragueneau, who had led the poor refugees down from the Christian Islands on Georgian Bay, now with another priest offered to accompany the Hurons to the Iroquois nation.
An interpreter was needed.
Young Radisson, now twenty-one years of age, offered to go as a lay helper, and the party of two hundred and twenty French, eighty Iroquois, one hundred Hurons, departed from the gates of Montreal, July 26. [Illustration: SAUSON'S MAP, 1656] Hardly were they beyond recall, before scouts brought word that twelve hundred Iroquois had gone on the warpath against Canada, and three Frenchmen of Montreal had been scalped.
At last the Governor of Quebec bestirred himself: he caused twelve Iroquois to be seized and held as hostages for the safety of the French.
The Onondagas had set out from Montreal carrying the Frenchmen's baggage.
Beyond the first portage they flung the packs on the ground, hurried the Hurons into canoes so that no two Hurons were in one boat, and paddled over the {100} water with loud laughter, leaving the French in the lurch.
Father Ragueneau and Radisson quickly read the ominous signs.
Telling the other French to gather up the baggage, they armed themselves and paddled in swift pursuit.
That night Ragueneau's party and the Onondagas camped together.
Nothing was said or done to evince treachery.
Friends and enemies, Onondagas and Hurons and white men, paddled and camped together for another week; but when, on August 3, four Huron warriors and two women forcibly seized a canoe and headed back for Montreal, the Onondagas would delay no longer.
That afternoon as the Indians paddled inshore to camp on one of the Thousand Islands, some Onondaga braves rushed into the woods as if to hunt.
As the canoes grated the pebbled shore a secret signal was given.
The Huron men with their eyes bent on the beach, intent on landing, never knew that they had been struck.
Onondaga hatchets, clubs, spears, were plied from the water side, and from the hunters ambushed on shore crashed musketry that mowed down those who would have fled to the woods.
By night time only a few Huron women and the French had survived the massacre.
Such was the baptism of blood that inaugurated the French colony at Onondaga.
Luckily the fort built on the crest of the hill above Lake Onondaga was large enough to house stock and provisions.
Outside the palisades there daily gathered more Iroquois warriors, who no longer dissembled a hunger for Jesuits' preaching.
Among the warriors were Radisson's old friends of the Mohawks, and his foster father confessed to him frankly that the Confederacy were only delaying the massacre of the French till they could somehow obtain the freedom of the twelve Iroquois hostages held at Quebec.
Daily more warriors gathered; nightly the war drum pounded; week after week the beleaguered and imprisoned French heard their stealthy enemy closing nearer and nearer on them, and the painted foliage of autumn frosts gave place to the leafless trees and the drifting snows of midwinter.
The French were hemmed in completely as if on a desert isle, and no help could come from Quebec, where New France was literally under Iroquois siege.
{101} The question was, what to do?
Messengers had been secretly sent to Quebec, but the Mohawks had caught the scouts bringing back answers, and there was no safe escape from the colony through ambushed woods in midwinter.
The Iroquois could afford to bide their time for victims who could not escape.
All winter the whites secretly built boats in the lofts of the fort, but when the timbers were put together the boats had to be brought downstairs, and a Huron convert spread a terrifying report of a second deluge for which the white men were preparing a second Noah's Ark.
Mohawk warriors at once scented an attempt to escape when the ice broke up in spring, and placed their braves in ambush along the portages.
Also they sent a deputation to see if that story of the boats were true.
Forewarned by Radisson, the whites built a floor over the boats, heaped canoes above the floor, and invited the Mohawk spies in.
The Mohawks smiled grimly and were reassured.
Canoes would be ripped into shingles if they ran the ice jam of spring.
The Iroquois felt doubly certain of their victims; but Radisson, free to go among the warriors as one of themselves, learned that they were plotting to murder half the colony and hold the other half as hostages for the safety of the twelve Indians in the dungeon at Quebec.
The whites could delay no longer.
Something must be done, but what?
Radisson, knowing the Indian customs, proposed a way out.
No normally built savage could refuse an invitation to a sumptuous feast.
According to Indian custom, no feaster dare leave uneaten food on his plate.
Waste to the Indian is crime.
In the words of the Scotch proverb, "Better burst than waste."
And all Indians have implicit faith in dreams.
Radisson dreamed--so he told the Indians--that the white men were to give them a marvelous banquet.
No sooner dreamed than done!
The Iroquois probably thought it a chance to obtain possession inside the fort; but the whites had taken good care to set the banquet between inner and outer walls.
Such a repast no savage had ever enjoyed in the memory of the race.
All the ambushed spies flocked in from the portages.
{102} The painted warriors washed off their grease, donned their best buckskin, and rallied to the banquet as to battle.
All the stock but one solitary pig, a few chickens and dogs, had been slaughtered for the kettle.
Such an odor of luscious meat steamed up from the fort for days as whetted the warriors' hunger to the appetite of ravenous wolves.
Finally, one night, the trumpets blew a blare that almost burst eardrums.
Fifes shrilled, and the rub-a-dub-dub of a dozen drums set the air in a tremor.
A great fire had been kindled between the inner and outer walls that set shadows dancing in the forest.
Then the gates were thrown open, and in trooped the feasters.
All the French acting as waiters, the whites carried in the kettles--kettles of wild fowl, kettles of oxen, kettles of dogs, kettles of porridge and potatoes and corn and what not?
That is it--what not?
Were the kettles drugged?
Who knows?
The feasters ate till their eyes were rolling lugubriously;
and still the kettles came round.
The Indians ate till they were torpid as swollen corpses, and still came the white men with more kettles, while the mischievous French lad, Radisson, danced a mad jig, shouting, yelling, "Eat!
eat!
Beat the drum!
Awake!
awake!
Cheer up!
Eat!
eat!"
By midnight every soul of the feast had tumbled over sound asleep, and at the rear gates were the French, stepping noiselessly, speaking in whispers, launching their boats loaded with provisions and ammunition.
The soldiers were for going back and butchering every warrior, but the Jesuits forbade such treachery.
Then Radisson, light-spirited as if the refugees had been setting out on a holiday, perpetrated yet a last trick on the warriors.
To the bell rope of the main gate he fastened a pig, so when the Indians would pull the rope for admission, they would hear the tramp of a sentry inside.
Then he stuffed effigies of men on guard round the windows of the fort.
It was a pitchy, sleety night, the river roaring with the loose ice of spring flood, the forests noisy with the boisterous March wind.
Out on the maelstrom of ice and flood launched the fifty-three colonists, March 20, 1658. By April they were safe {103} inside the walls of Quebec, and chance hunters brought word that what with sleep, and the measured tramp, tramp of the pig, and the baying of the dogs, and the clucking of the chickens inside the fort, the escape of the whites had not been discovered for a week.
The Indians thought the whites had gone into retreat for especially long prayers.
Then a warrior climbed the inner palisades, and rage knew no bounds.
The fort was looted and burnt to the ground.
Peltry traffic was the life of New France.
Without it the colony would have perished, and now the rupture of peace with the Iroquois cut off that traffic.
To the Iroquois land south of the St. Lawrence the French dared not go, and the land of the Hurons was a devastated wilderness.
The boats that came out to New France were compelled to return without a single peltry, but there still remained the unknown land of the Algonquin northwest and beyond the Great Lakes.
Year after year young French adventurers essayed the exploration of that land.
In 1634 Jean Nicolet, one of Champlain's wood runners, had gone westward as far as Green Bay and coasted the shores of Lake Michigan.
Jesuits, where they preached on Lake Superior, had been told of a vast land beyond the Sweet Water Seas,--Great Lakes,--a land where wandered tribes of warriors powerful as the Iroquois.
Yearly, when the Algonquins came down the Ottawa to trade, Jesuits and young French adventurers accompanied the canoes back up the Ottawa, hoping to reach the Unknown Land, which rumor said was bounded only by the Western Sea.
However, the priests went no farther than Lake Nipissing; but two nameless French wood runners came back from Green Bay in August of 1656 with marvelous tales of wandering hunters to the north called "Christines" (Crees), who passed the winter hunting buffalo on a land bare of trees (the prairie) and the summer fishing on the shores of the North Sea (Hudson's Bay).
They told also of fierce tribes south of the Christines (the Sioux), who traded with the Indians of the Spanish settlements in Mexico.
{104} All New France became fired by these reports.
When Radisson returned from Onondaga in April of 1659, he found his brother-in-law, Chouart Groseillers, just back from Nipissing, where he had been serving the Jesuits, with more tales of this marvelous undiscovered land.
The two kinsmen decided to go back with the Algonquins that very year; for, confessed Radisson in his journal, "I longed to see myself again in a boat."
Thirty other Frenchmen and two Jesuits had assembled in Montreal to join the Algonquins.
More than sixty canoes set out from Montreal in June, the one hundred and forty Algonquins well supplied with firearms to defend themselves from marauding Iroquois.
Numbers begot courage, courage carelessness; and before the fleet had reached the Chaudière Falls, at the modern city of Ottawa, the canoes had spread far apart in utter forgetfulness of danger.
Not twenty were within calling distance when an Indian prophet, or wandering medicine man, ran down to the shore, throwing his blanket and hatchet aside as signal of peace, and shouting out warning of Iroquois warriors ambushed farther up the river.
Drunk with the new sense of power from the possession of French firearms, perhaps drunk too with French brandy obtained at Montreal, the Algonquins paused to take the strange captive on board, and returned thanks for the friendly warning by calling their benefactor a "coward and a dog and a hen."
At the same time they took the precaution of sleeping in mid-stream with their canoes abreast tied to water-logged trees.
A dull roar through the night mist foretold they were nearing the great Chaudière Falls; and at first streak of day dawn there was a rush to land and cross the long portage before the mist lifted and exposed them to the hostiles.
