CHAPTER IX

"QUEBEC FOR KING LOUIS"

When Count Frontenac arrived at Quebec the massacre at Lachine had just thrilled all Canada with horror. It was time to be up and doing if the French Canadians were not to be utterly exterminated, if New France was to be saved for King Louis, then at the height of his power and renown. Callières, the Governor of Montreal, saw in the presence not of the Iroquois but of the English in New York the root of all Canada's troubles. He urged his sovereign to strike, and King Louis had resolved to deal them a blow once and for all, from which they would never recover. He would banish them from New York and plant a colony of Frenchmen instead. The plan was entrusted to Frontenac to execute. Unfortunately for the success of this scheme, sufficient ships and troops and money were not forthcoming at the right moment from France. There followed vexatious delays, and when the French fleet at length crossed the ocean and anchored at Chedabucto, in Acadia, the season was too far advanced to begin operations. Meanwhile Frontenac was not the man to let time dwell on his hands. Against the English colonies three war-parties were organised whose deeds of blood {132} were long remembered in American homesteads and in Indian wigwams. Frontenac saw that French prestige had sunk so low amongst the northern and western tribes that all were ready to make peace with the dreaded Iroquois on any terms. At the very name of Frenchmen the meanest brave amongst the Five Nations laughed and spat contemptuously on the ground.

"Now, by St. Louis," cried Frontenac, "they shall see how weak we are!"

His fiery soul could not wait upon the seasons. The three expeditions he sent forth marched amidst the ice and snow of mid-winter, for it was by such a stroke of daring that Canada could be saved. The first started from Montreal, led by Mantet and Ste. Hélène, one of the three sons of the brave Canadian named Le Moine, and after incredible hardships reached the village of Schenectady, on the Hudson. They burst upon the sleeping, unsuspecting villagers in the middle of the night, killing many and taking numerous prisoners. When the fighting was over they burned nearly the whole settlement to the ground. The Indians of the party were indignant at not being able to torture the prisoners unhindered, for the French-Canadian leaders were not cruel by nature. They showed gratitude to an English colonist named Glen, who, on a previous occasion, had treated certain French prisoners with kindness. Glen barricaded his house, resolved to sell his life dearly, but the Canadian captain called out to him to have no fear. "We are your debtors, not your enemies. Moreover, if you have any kinsmen amongst {133} the captives we have taken, point them out, and they shall go free." The Quebec Indians looked on sulkily while the Englishman took advantage of this handsome offer and named several of the prisoners. "This Yankee pale-face has a terribly large family," their chief was heard to grumble.

The second war-party from Three Rivers, led by the redoubtable François Hertel, wiped out the village of Salmon Falls, butchering most of the inhabitants; while the third, under the command of Portneuf, attacked and captured the fort and settlement at Casco Bay. To the disgrace of Portneuf, he broke faith with the heroic garrison when they surrendered, and abandoned his prisoners to his Indian allies, who scalped and burnt them all.

By feats such as these the tide was turned. At last the French had exhibited proofs of their prowess, and the Iroquois were not slow in acknowledging that they had made a mistake when they branded them with the name of cowards. Frontenac could strike still as heavy a blow as in the past. The wavering North-West tribes made haste to assure him of their support, and the haughty Iroquois, in spite of the arguments of the English, sent deputies to Quebec to congratulate Onontio on his return to the land. The furs which had been collecting for three years in the distant ports, with none daring enough to venture upon their transport, now began to pour into Montreal in hundreds of canoes. Trade began to revive, and the drooping spirits of the colonists were exchanged for gladness and hope.

Could the redoubtable Frontenac have thought {134} that the English colonists would bear this terrible treatment tamely? No! every mind and bosom there was excited by the desire for revenge. Moreover, they knew that now France's chief strength lay in Frontenac himself. With England flying at the throat of Old France, the King, to whom Frontenac applied, told him bluntly that he had need for all his soldiers in Europe. "Your demands," wrote King Louis, "come at a wrong time. A defensive policy is the proper one for you to pursue." True, William the Third of England also could give little help to the New Englanders. They, too, must fight their own battles. To their own arms was it left to inflict chastisement on the Canadians in the north. Accordingly, all the colonies met in consultation, and by great efforts a fleet of seven vessels and several hundred men was raised in Boston. Sir William Phips led them forth, and Port Royal, in Acadia, was taken without much trouble. Sufficient booty was captured to cover the cost of this expedition, and the New Englanders returned flushed with triumph and eager for a more daring blow. Meanwhile a land force of 1300 men, under Colonel Winthrop, had failed, through sickness and mismanagement, to reach Montreal by way of Lake Champlain. A portion of this little army had followed Captain John Schuyler onwards, and, crossing the Canadian border, killed a few Frenchmen near Montreal. When it had done that, it beat a hasty retreat.

Such raids as these--for raids is all they were--afforded little satisfaction to the English colonists, {135} burning with a desire to sweep the lilies of France from the New World. Silently and speedily a plot was matured, and by the next summer it was ripe. Frontenac, thinking all was secure for the present, had left Quebec to entertain a band of Iroquois at Montreal to a great feast and war-dance. One morning a messenger arrived post-haste to tell him that the enemy in their ships were sailing up the St. Lawrence. Not a moment was to be lost. Summoning the Governor of Montreal and De Ramsay of Three Rivers to follow him with every man who could shoulder a musket, the lion-hearted Frontenac pressed forward with all his speed. Ere he could reach Quebec the enemy's fleet had anchored off the Isle of Orleans. Quebec was almost in a panic, but Frontenac's arrival instantly assuaged their fears. He filled all with his enthusiasm. They resolved to die rather than yield. Great trunks of trees and casks filled with stones were hastily heaped up where the walls were weakest. On the enemy were trained the rows of cannon, and 2700 men firmly awaited the onslaught. Was the danger then so great? Who was the man--who were the men--who thus hoped to storm the strongest citadel in New France?

A humble blacksmith's son was William Phips, born at Fort Pemaquid, in Maine. In his boyhood he herded a drove of cattle. But he was a clever boy, and having learned ship-carpentry, he built a little vessel of his own, and as a trader went to sea. Phips was a born sailor. In one of his many long voyages he heard stories of a Spanish galleon filled {136} with gold and silver sunk off the Island of Cuba. Phips learnt all the particulars, satisfied himself of his ability, and then determined to raise that ship and make himself master of her wealth. At first people laughed at him, but he persevered, and at last the King had given him the command of a warship. As he had promised, so Phips carried out his plan, bringing to England a fortune of £300,000. With the praise of King Charles the Second ringing in his ears, as Sir William Phips he returned to New England, prepared for any deed of note and valour which fate might offer.

To Phips, then, his New England fellow-countrymen had entrusted their fleet, thirty-two vessels, large and small, with 2000 men. Phips sailed forth in a confident spirit, but when he first cast his eyes on the great rock of Quebec and the white fleur-de-lys floating above in the autumn air, he may have felt some misgivings. These he sternly repressed: it were best to put the boldest front on the matter. Choosing a young major, he sent him with a peremptory summons to Count Frontenac to surrender the city. Immediately on landing from the boat with his flag of truce, Phips's emissary was blindfolded and led by a roundabout path to the Castle of St. Louis, where Frontenac and most of the chief men of the colony were assembled. His demands Phips had written out on a sheet of paper. He was anxious, he told Frontenac, to avoid shedding blood, and that if the Count would surrender the fort, the city, the stores, and their persons without delay, they may expect mercy from him as a Christian. Otherwise {137} it would go hard with the French. Capitulation was demanded within one hour.

The bandage was taken from the messenger's eyes and the paper read and translated to the company. Then the New England major took a large silver watch from his pocket and laid it on the table, saying haughtily, "Gentlemen, you will perceive it is now ten o'clock. My general expects an answer by eleven."

Whereat the French officers assembled, flushed with anger, only Frontenac's face remaining impassive. "You need not wait so long," he said. He told the envoy that the French rejected the demand.

"Will your Excellency put that in writing?" asked the envoy.

Frontenac's eyes darted fire.

"It is by the cannon's mouth and by musket-shot that I will send my answer. I am not in the habit of being addressed in the style he has chosen to adopt. Let your master do his best; I will do mine."

Once more blindfolded, the messenger was escorted to his boat. A little later the batteries of Quebec's lower town opened fire on the fleet. Some of the very first shots brought down the flag of Phips's own vessel, seeing which from the shore, several bold Canadians immediately swam out, and, regardless of the musket fire from the fleet, fished the dripping prize out of the water. Afterwards this flag was hung as a trophy to the ceiling of Quebec Cathedral, and there it remained until the siege and capture of the city by General Wolfe, when it and the building that sheltered it were consumed by fire.

{138}

For two whole days Phips remained in a state of indecision. The enemy was of sterner stuff than he had supposed, and an effective plan must be concerted. On the 18th of October 1690 Major Walley, the second in command, with 1300 men and some small field cannon, landed at Beauport. They had resolved to cross the St. Charles River there and attack Quebec in the rear. At the same time the guns of the ships opened fire. So vigorously replied the ramparts that Phips was obliged to draw off for a while, not renewing his bombardment until the next morning. By this time the New England commander saw that unless the troops on shore could manage to force their way into the city and capture it by assault, his chances of success were gone.

Valiantly, doggedly did Walley and his men try to cross the St. Charles River. The banks were covered with deep mud; each time they tried to cross, the Indians and bushrangers sent by Frontenac beat them off. After three days of cold and hunger they were fain to give up the attempt. When they retreated to the ships, five of their cannon were left sticking in the Beauport mud. Yet even had they succeeded, what a task was left them to do! There was Frontenac watching them sharply, ready, if need be, to go to the rescue of the outposts of carabiniers with 2000 men. In these circumstances Sir William Phips's siege of Quebec turned out an utter failure. Frontenac was more than a match for him: Quebec was not Port Royal.

On the following day the townsfolk and soldiers on the heights saw the discomfited fleet of the foe {139} passing out of sight homeward down the St. Lawrence. They had lost only some sixty killed and wounded,--Ste. Hélène had fallen,--while before Phips got back to Boston, what with those slain by bullets and the hundreds drowned on the several ships lost in the November storms, his loss was heavy indeed. While Quebec sang a Te Deum and dedicated a chapel to "Our Lady of Victories," Boston was plunged in gloom. Phips's ignoble failure had involved the whole colony in debt and mortification. King Louis the Fourteenth, hearing the good news, ordered a medal to be struck bearing the inscription: "Francia in Nova Orbe Victrix; Kebeca Liberata A.D. MDCXC."

If Frontenac hoped that the Iroquois would cease after this to give him trouble, he was destined to disappointment. All his endeavours to conciliate them failed; their chiefs were still convinced that they had more to hope for as allies of the English, and took measures accordingly. English and French colonists now hated one another with a hate that was never to slumber for the next seventy years, until Wolfe was to plant the blood-red flag of England on the frowning heights of Quebec.

During the winter of 1691 and 1692 there were numerous terrible border raids, in one of which the Abenakis devastated more than fifty leagues of English territory and utterly destroyed Yorktown. Both French and English used the Indians as so many packs of human bloodhounds to track their foes to death. Both sides resorted to the practice of paying a price for the bodies, alive or dead, of the {140} hostile savages. A French regular soldier received ten louis for the scalp of an Iroquois; a volunteer received twenty. If he had to hunt the red-man like any other wild animal, he could claim fifty louis for his scalp. This practice was not confined to the Canadians. Corresponding premiums were paid by the English.

Living captives were often handed over to their Indian allies to appease their delight in human suffering and bloodshed. Once one of Frontenac's officers, ravaging the country of the Oneidas, found a solitary old man in a certain village. He was nearly a hundred years of age, but do not imagine his years awakened any compassion in his captors, who at once handed him over to their savage allies. The old brave awaited his fate as calmly as any of those Roman senators whose city was taken by the Gauls. Father Charlevoix tells us the story. He says it was a strange sight to behold more than four hundred savage tormentors forming a circle round a decrepit object from whom they could not wring a single cry, and who, as long as the breath remained in his body, taunted them with being the slaves of weak and foolish Frenchmen. Only once did he complain, and that was when one of his butchers, on purpose to finish the scene, stabbed him repeatedly in the breast.

"Ah," he murmured hoarsely, "why did you not wait until you had done your worst, so that you might behold how a man ought to die!"

At another time Frontenac captured two Mohawk warriors whom he condemned to die by torture. One of them immediately despatched himself {141} with a knife, which a pitying priest threw him in prison. But his fellow-captive, disdaining such an escape, walked boldly to the stake singing his death chant. In his song he boasted that not all the power of man could extort a groan or a murmur from his lips, and that it was enough happiness for him in the hour of trial to remember that he had made many a Frenchman feel the same pangs he was about to feel. When bound to the stake, he looked round on his executioners, their instruments of torture, and the multitude of French spectators with a smile of composure. For some hours he endured a series of barbarities that make our blood even now, as we read of it, chill in our veins, and at last a Frenchwoman implored the Governor to order him to be dealt a mortal blow and so put him out of his agony.

Thanks to the incessant raids of the Iroquois into Canada, the farmers dared not till the fields and sow the seed. Those who might have protected them were everywhere up in arms, coping with their implacable savage foes, who seemed to rise out of the ground on every hand. In vain was one band beaten and cut to pieces; another sprang up to take its place.

Many were the heroic deeds performed by both Canadian men and women, but none is more thrilling than that which is told of a beautiful young girl of fourteen, Madeleine de la Verchères. She was the daughter of Seigneur of Verchères, and lived in the fortified seignory ten miles from Montreal, on the south side of the great river St. Lawrence. One {142} morning her father was absent at Quebec, and all the farm-folk were working in the fields. To guard the fort, her father had left two soldiers, an old man eighty years old, her two little brothers, and herself. Suddenly the terrible war-whoop of the Iroquois pierced the air, and scarce time had the soldiers to barricade the doors and windows before a mighty host appeared before the fort. So fierce was their fire, that the soldiers deemed it useless to continue to struggle. But not so Madeleine. Seizing a musket, she ordered the falterers to their posts. Day and night for a whole week did this heroic girl hold the band of Iroquois at bay. She taught her little brothers to load and fire so rapidly, that the Indians fancied a garrison of twelve men at least held the fort. At last a reinforcement arrived, and the Iroquois beat a retreat. The gates of the fort were flung open, and the pale, weary girl of fourteen, captain of the garrison of Verchères, flung herself into her father's arms.

And now let us return for a moment to the shores of Hudson's Bay. It was not likely that the forts which the Chevalier de Troyes had wrested from the English would continue to remain in French possession without an effort being made to regain them. One Captain Moon, returning from Port Nelson, endeavoured, with twenty-four men, to surprise the French at Fort Anne, which was the new name bestowed upon the captured Fort Albany. Moon built a station eight miles away, but Iberville, who had been again sent to the Bay, instantly got wind of it, and, marching thither, drove the English out. {143} When two Hudson's Bay Company's vessels arrived in these waters, winter overtook them, and they became locked in the ice. The crews landed, and had nearly built a fort when Iberville fell upon them and made them all prisoners.

But there was one stronghold in the northern bay which continued to defy the French. This single fort was considered of so much importance, that the gain or loss of everything in Hudson's Bay depended upon it. To capture it, however, required a stronger force than Iberville could at present command, whereupon he sailed away to France to ask assistance from the King. He revealed to His Majesty his plans for the capture of Fort Nelson, and was at length promised two ships in the following spring. The royal promise was duly kept. After a hot bombardment of three weeks, the English Governor was obliged to surrender and the French standard hoisted over the captured stronghold. Only for a year, however, did the stronghold remain in the enemy's possession, when it was recaptured by the Company, and threescore Frenchmen sent prisoners to England. When Iberville heard of this fresh turn which events had taken, he ground his teeth with rage. "Am I," he cried, "to go on capturing this fort from the English, only to have it repeatedly slip through our hands?" He then and there vowed to have nothing further to do with Hudson's Bay, he who had fought so many battles and won there so many victories.

As for the French prisoners, no sooner were they released than they crossed the Channel and sought {144} audience of their King. Gazing upon this emaciated band of fur-hunters and bushrangers, Louis the Fourteenth would have been craven indeed if he had not attempted to retrieve their misfortunes. Four ships of war were promised them. "And," said the King, "Iberville shall lead you." But Iberville was then at Placentia, in Newfoundland, bent on finding other fields for his energy and martial prowess. No other man was so well equipped at all points, in knowledge of the great bay and of the conditions of fighting there, as this hero, so the four captains found him out at Placentia, and, embarking in the _Pelican_, he took command.

Iberville's flag-ship mounted fifty guns. The others of the fleet were the _Palmier_, the _Weesph_, and the _Violent_. The attack on Fort Nelson this time was to be no child's play. Almost at the very moment when the wind was filling the sails of the French ships in the Channel, there sailed from Plymouth a fleet belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, the _Hampshire_, the _Hudson's Bay_, the _Dering_, and _Owner's Love_. The two first-named vessels were no strangers to the Bay, and had participated in the conquest of the previous year. Although each was ignorant of the other's movements, it was a race across the Atlantic, and the English fleet entered the Straits only forty hours before the ships of the French, and, like them, was much impeded by the ice, which was unusually troublesome. Passage was made by the enemy in the English wake. One French ship, commanded by Duqué, pushed past the currents, taking a northerly {145} course, which brought her commander into full view of two of the Company's ships. Shots were exchanged; but owing to the difficulties engendered by the ice, it was impossible to manoeuvre with such certainty as to cut off the Frenchman's escape. While this skirmish was in progress, Iberville in the _Pelican_ succeeded in getting past the English unknown to them, and reached the mouth of the Nelson River in sight of the fort. His presence, as may be imagined, greatly surprised and disturbed the Governor and the Company's servants; for they had believed their own ships would have arrived in season to prevent the enemy from entering the Straits. Several rounds of shot were fired as a signal, in the hope that a response would be made by the Company's ships, which they hourly expected in that quarter.

On his part the French commander was equally disturbed by the non-arrival of his three consorts, which the exigencies of the voyage had obliged him to forsake. Two days were passed in a state of suspense. At daybreak on the 5th of September three ships[1] were distinctly visible; both parties joyfully believed they were their own. So certain was Iberville, that he immediately raised anchor and started to join the newcomers. He was soon undeceived, but the knowledge of his mistake in no way daunted him.

The Company's commanders were not prepared {146} either for the daring or the fury of the Frenchman's onslaught. It is true the _Pelican_ was much superior to any of their own craft singly, being manned by nearly 250 men, and boasting 44 pieces of cannon. The Company's ships lined up, the _Hampshire_ in front, the _Dering_ next, with the _Hudson's Bay_ bringing up the rear.

The combatants being in close proximity, the battle began at half-past nine in the morning. The French commander came straight for the _Hampshire_, whose captain, believing it was his enemy's design to board, instantly let fall his mainsail and set his fore-top-sail. Contact having been by these means narrowly evaded, the scene of battle suddenly shifted to the _Pelican_ and the _Dering_, whose mainsail was smitten by the terrific volley. At the same time the _Hudson's Bay_, veering, received a damaging broadside. The Company's men could distinctly hear the orders shouted by Iberville to discharge a musket fire into the _Dering's_ forecastle, but in this move he was anticipated by the English sailors, who poured a storm of bullets in upon the Frenchman, accompanied by a broadside of grape, which wrought havoc with her sails. While the cries of the wounded on the _Pelican_ could be distinctly heard, all three of the Company's ships opened fire, with the design of disabling her rigging. But the captain of the _Hudson's Bay_, seeing that he could not engage the _Pelican_ owing to Iberville's tactics, determined to run in front of her and give her the benefit of a constant hull fire, besides taking the wind from her sails. Iberville observed the movement; the two {147} English vessels were near; he veered round, and by a superb piece of seamanship came so near to the _Hampshire_ that the crew of the latter saw that boarding was intended. Every man flew out on the main deck with his pistol and cutlass, and a terrific broadside of grape on the part of the Englishman alone saved him.

Hotter and fiercer raged the battle. The _Hampshire's_ salvation had been only temporary; at the end of three hours and a half she began to sink, with all sails set. When this occurred, Iberville had ninety men wounded, forty being struck by a single broadside. Notwithstanding this, he decided at once to push matters with the _Hampshire's_ companions, although the _Pelican_ was in a badly damaged state, especially the forecastle, which was a mass of splinters.

The enemy made at once for the _Dering_, which besides being the smallest ship, had suffered severely. She crowded on all sail and managed to avoid an encounter, and Iberville, being in no condition to prosecute the chase, returned to the _Hudson's Bay_, which soon surrendered. Iberville was not destined, however, to reap much advantage from his prize, the _Hampshire_. The English flag-ship was unable to render any assistance to the _Hudson's Bay_, and soon went down, with nearly all on board.

To render the situation more distressing, no sooner had some ninety prisoners been made than a storm arose, so that it became out of the question to approach the shore with design of landing. They were without a long-boat, and each attempt to {148} launch canoes in the boiling surf was attended with failure.

Night fell; the wind instead of calming grew fiercer. The sea became truly terrible, seeking, seemingly, with all its power to drive the _Pelican_ and the _Hudson's Bay_ upon the coast. The rudders of each ship broke; the tide rose, and there seemed no hope for the crews, whose destiny was so cruel. Their only hope, in the midst of the bitter blast and clouds of snow which environed them, lay in the strength of their cables. Soon after nine o'clock the _Hudson's Bay_ and its anchor parted with a shock.

"Instantly," said one of the survivors, "a piercing cry went up from our forecastle. The wounded and dead lay heaped up with so little separation one from the other that silence and moans alone distinguished them. All were icy cold and covered with blood. They had told us the anchor would hold, and we dreaded being washed up on the shore stiff the next morning."

A huge wave broke over the main deck and the ship lurched desperately. Two hours later the cable parted, and the ship was hurled rudderless to and fro in the trough of the sea.

By the French account, matters were in no more enviable state aboard the _Pelican_; Iberville, however, amidst scenes rivalling those just described, did his best to animate his officers and men with a spirit equalling his own.

"It is better," he cried, "to die, if we must, outside the bastions of Fort Bourbon than to perish here like pent sheep on board."

{149}

When morning broke, it was seen by the French that their ship was not yet submerged, and it was resolved to disembark by such means as lay in their power. The Company's servants were more fortunate. The _Hudson's Bay_ had drifted eight miles to the south of the fort, and was wrecked on a bank of icy marshland, which at least constrained them to wade no deeper than their knees. The French, however, were forced to make their way through the icy water submerged to their necks, from the results of which terrible exposure no fewer than eighteen marines and seamen lost their lives. Once on shore they could not, like the English, look forward to a place of refuge and appease their hunger with provisions and drink. They were obliged, in their shivering, half-frozen state, to subsist upon moss and seaweed, but for which indifferent nourishment they must inevitably have perished.

The Company's garrison witnessed the calamities which were overtaking the French, but not knowing how great their number, and assured of their hostility, did not attempt any acts of mercy. They perceived the enemy camped in a wood, less than two leagues distant, where, building several fires, they sought to restore their spirits by means of warmth and hot draughts of boiled herbs.

While the fort was being continually recruited by survivors of the two wrecked ships, the other three French vessels had arrived on the scene. The fourth, the _Violent_, lay at the bottom of the Bay, having been sunk by the ice. The _Palmier_ had suffered the loss of her helm, but was fortunate in not being also {150} a victim of the storm. The French forces being now united, little time was lost by Iberville in making active preparations for the attack upon the fort.

On the 11th the enemy attained a small wood, almost under the guns of the fort, and having entrenched themselves, lit numerous fires and made considerable noise in order to lend the impression to the English that an entrenchment was being thrown up. This ruse was successful, for the Governor gave orders to fire in that direction; and Iberville, seizing this opportunity, effected a landing of all his men and armaments from the ships.

The fort would now soon be hemmed in on all sides, and it were indeed strange if a chance shot or firebrand did not ignite the timbers and the powder magazine were not exploded. Governor Bailey was holding a council of his advisers when one of the French prisoners in the fort gave notice of the approach of a messenger bearing a flag of truce. He was recognised as Martigny. The Governor permitted his advance and sent a factor to meet him and insist upon his eyes being bandaged before he would be permitted to enter. Martigny was conducted to where the council was sitting, and there delivered Iberville's message demanding surrender. He was instantly interrupted by Captain Smithsend, who, with a great show of passion, asked the emissary if it were not true that Iberville had been killed in the action. In spite of Martigny's denials, Smithsend loudly persisted in believing Iberville's death, and held that the French were in sore straits and only {151} made the present attack because no other alternative was offered to desperate men to obtain food and shelter. Bailey allowed himself to be influenced by Smithsend, and declined to yield to any of Martigny's demands. The latter returned, and the French instantly set up a battery near the fort and continued, amidst a hail of bullets, the work of landing their damaged stores and armaments. Stragglers from the wreck of the _Hudson's Bay_ continued all day to find their way to the fort, but several reached it only to be shot down in mistake by the cannon and muskets of their own men. On the 12th, after a hot skirmish, fatal to both sides, the Governor was again requested, this time by Sérigny, to yield up the fort to superior numbers.

"If you refuse, we will set fire to the place and accord you no quarter," he wrote to Bailey.

"Set fire and be d----d to you!" responded Bailey.

He then went to work, with Smithsend, whose treatment as a prisoner in the hands of the French some years before was still vividly before him, to animate the garrison.

"Go for them, you dogs!" cried Bailey. "Give it to them hot and heavy; I promise you forty pounds apiece for your widows!"

Fighting in these days was attended by fearful mortality, and the scarcity of pensions to the hero's family, perhaps, made the offer seem handsome. At any rate it seemed a sufficient bribe to the Company's men, who fought like demons.

A continual fire of guns and mortar, as well as {152} of muskets, was kept up. The Canadians sallied out upon a number of skirmishes, filling the air with a frightful din, borrowing from the Iroquois their piercing war-cries. In one of these sallies St. Martin, one of their bravest men, perished.

Under protection of a flag of truce, Sérigny came again to demand a surrender. It was the last time, he said, the request would be preferred. A general assault had been resolved upon by the enemy, who were at their last resort, living like beasts in the wood, feeding on moss, and to whom no extremity could be odious were it but an exchange for their present condition. They were resolved upon carrying the fort, even at the point of the bayonet and over heaps of their slain.

Bailey decided to yield. He sent Morrison to carry the terms of capitulation, in which he demanded all the peltries in the fort belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. This demand being rejected by the enemy, Bailey later in the evening sent Henry Kelsey with a proposition to retain a portion of their armament; this also was refused. There was now nothing for it but to surrender, Iberville having granted an evacuation with bag and baggage.

At one o'clock on the following day, therefore, the evacuation took place. Bailey, at the head of his garrison, and a number of the crew of the wrecked _Hudson's Bay_ and six survivors of the _Hampshire_, marched forth from Fort York with drums beating, flag flying, and with arms and baggage. They hardly knew whither they were to go, or what fate awaited them. A vast, and inhospitable region surrounded {153} them, and a winter long to be remembered for its severity had begun. But to the French it seemed as if their spirits were undaunted, and they set forth bravely.

The enemy watched the retreat of the defeated garrison not without admiration, and for the moment speculation was rife as to their fate. But it was only for a moment. Too rejoiced to contemplate anything but the termination of their own sufferings, the Canadians hastened to enter the fort, headed by Boisbriant, late an ensign in the service of the Compagnie du Nord. Fort Nelson was once more in the hands of the French.

On the St. Lawrence the Count of Frontenac, old as he was, sickening of the perpetual raids, led a great war force into the very midst of the Iroquois. Rebuilding Fort Frontenac, which had been destroyed, he launched his men straight against the Onondaga lodges, wiping out all their stores of food and their maize harvests. He laid low also the land of the Oneidas, and the warriors of both tribes fled before him. If they could raid and butcher, by St. Louis, so could he! The Iroquois looked to the English for help against the French. Whatever they might have done, their hand was stopped. News arrived in 1697 of the signing of the peace at Ryswick between the warring kingdoms of England and France. Tired of the conflict grew the haughty Five Nations, and deputies were sent to Quebec to bring it to an end. They offered, as before, to cease fighting the French Canadians, but not their Indian allies in the west. {154} This would not satisfy Frontenac: he would make no peace which could not be lasting. The Governor of New York interfered.

"The Iroquois," he told Frontenac, "are under the King of England's protection. They cannot make either war or peace on their own account. I have told them to be at peace with you. Henceforward you must not treat them as enemies."

"I will make my peace with the Five Nations," Frontenac thundered forth to the Indian deputy, "but it shall be on my own terms. If we continue to fight and you aid them, by St. Louis! the blood will be on your own hands."

A few weeks later, when the reward of his firmness was in sight, the lion-hearted Frontenac, now in his seventy-eighth year, sickened and died, amidst the sorrow of his people. It was a great loss to Canada, and fortunate was it that his successor was as brave and wise as Governor de Callières.

[1] The fourth, the fire-ship _Owner's Love_, was never more heard of. It is supposed that, separated from the others, she ran into the ice and was sunk, with all on board.

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