The Mohawks Chastised

Anxious to surprise the enemy, they pushed on all night amid the moan and roar of the forest; over slippery logs, tangled roots, and oozy mosses; under dripping boughs and through saturated bushes.

Our special project presenting the definitive account of France in Canada by Francis Parkman, one of America’s greatest historians.

Previously in The Old Regime In Canada. Continuing chapter 11.

Unfortunate as this expedition was, it produced a strong effect on the Iroquois by convincing them that their forest homes were no safe asylum from French attacks. In May, the Senecas sent an embassy of peace; and the other nations, including the Mohawks, soon followed. Tracy, on his part, sent the Jesuit Bêchefer to learn on the spot the real temper of the savages, and ascertain whether peace could safely be made with them. The Jesuit was scarcely gone when news came that a party of officers hunting near the outlet of Lake Champlain had been set upon by the Mohawks, and that seven of them had been captured or killed. Among the captured was Leroles, a cousin of Tracy, and among the killed was a young gentleman named Chasy, his nephew.

On this the Jesuit envoy was recalled; twenty-four Iroquois deputies were seized and imprisoned; and Sorel, captain in the regiment of Carignan, was sent with three hundred men to chastise the perfidious Mohawks. If, as it seems, he was expected to attack their fortified towns or “castles,” as the English call them, his force was too small. This time, however, there was no fighting. At two days from his journey’s end, Sorel met the famous chief called the Flemish Bastard, bringing back Leroles and his fellow-captives, and charged, as he alleged, to offer full satisfaction for the murder of Chasy.

Sorel believed him, retraced his course, and with the Bastard in his train returned to Quebec.

Quebec was full of Iroquois deputies, all bent on peace or pretending to be so. On the last day of August, there was a grand council in the garden of the Jesuits. Some days later, Tracy invited the Flemish Bastard and a Mohawk chief named Agariata to his table, when allusion was made to the murder of Chasy. On this the Mohawk, stretching out his arm, exclaimed in a braggart tone, “This is the hand that split the head of that young man.” The indignation of the company may be imagined. Tracy told his insolent guest that he should never kill anybody else; and he was led out and hanged in presence of the Bastard. [1] There was no more talk of peace. Tracy prepared to march in person against the Mohawks with all the force of Canada.

[1: This story rests chiefly on the authority of Nicolas Perrot, Mœurs des Saurages, 113. La Potherie also tells it, with the addition of the chief’s name. Colden follows him. The Journal des Jésuites mentions that the chief who led the murderers of Chasy arrived at Quebec on the sixth of September. Marie de l’Incarnation mentions the hanging of an Iroquois at Quebec, late in the autumn, for violating the peace.]

On the day of the Exaltation of the Cross, “for whose glory,” says the chronicler, “this expedition is undertaken,” Tracy and Courcelle left Quebec with thirteen hundred men. They crossed Lake Champlain, and launched their boats again on the waters of St. Sacrament, now Lake George. It was the first of the warlike pageants that have made that fair scene historic. October had begun, and the romantic wilds breathed the buoyant life of the most inspiring of American seasons, when the blue-jay screams from the woods; the wild duck splashes along the lake; and the echoes of distant mountains prolong the quavering cry of the loon; when weather-stained rocks are plumed with the fiery crimson of the sumac, the claret hues of young oaks, the amber and scarlet of the maple, and the sober purple of the ash; or when gleams of sunlight, shot aslant through the rents of cool autumnal clouds, chase fitfully along the glowing sides of painted mountains. Amid this gorgeous euthanasia of the dying season, the three hundred boats and canoes trailed in long procession up the lake, threaded the labyrinth of the Narrows, that sylvan fairyland of tufted islets and quiet waters, and landed at length where Fort William Henry was afterwards built.

[Carte… des pays traversez par MM. de Tracy et Courcelle, etc.]

About a hundred miles of forests, swamps, rivers, and mountains, still lay between them and the Mohawk towns. There seems to have been an Indian path; for this was the ordinary route of the Mohawk and Oneida war-parties: but the path was narrow, broken, full of gullies and pitfalls, crossed by streams, and in one place interrupted by a lake which they passed on rafts. A hundred and ten “Blue Coats,” of Montreal, led the way, under Charles Le Moyne. Repentigny commanded the levies from Quebec. In all there were six hundred Canadians; six hundred regulars; and a hundred Indians from the missions, who ranged the woods in front, flank, and rear, like hounds on the scent. Red or white, Canadians or regulars, all were full of zeal. “It seems to them,” writes Mother Mary, “that they are going to lay siege to Paradise, and win it and enter in, because they are fighting for religion and the faith.” [2] Their ardor was rudely tried. Officers as well as men carried loads at their backs, whence ensued a large blister on the shoulders of the Chevalier de Chaumont, in no way used to such burdens. Tracy, old, heavy, and infirm, was inopportunely seized with the gout. A Swiss soldier tried to carry him on his shoulders across a rapid stream; but midway his strength failed, and he was barely able to deposit his ponderous load on a rock. A Huron came to his aid and bore Tracy safely to the farther bank. Courcelle was attacked with cramps and had to be carried for a time like his commander. Provisions gave out, and men and officers grew faint with hunger. The Montreal soldiers had for chaplain a sturdy priest, Doilier de Casson, as large as Tracy and far stronger; for the incredible story is told of him that, when in good condition, he could hold two men seated on his extended hands. [3] Now, however, he was equal to no such exploit, being not only deprived of food, but also of sleep, by the necessity of listening at night to the confessions of his pious flock; and his shoes, too, had failed him, nothing remaining but the upper leather, which gave him little comfort among the sharp stones. He bore up manfully, being by nature brave and light-hearted; and, when a servant of the Jesuits fell into the water, he threw off his cassock and leaped after him. His strength gave out, and the man was drowned; but a grateful Jesuit led him aside and requited his efforts with a morsel of bread. [4] A wood of chestnut-trees full of nuts at length stayed the hunger of the famished troops.

[2: Marie de l’Incarnation, Lettre du 16 Oct., 1666.]

[3: Grandet, Notice manuscrite sur Dollier de Casson, extract given by J. Vigor in appendix to Histoire du Montréal (Montreal, 1868).]

[4: Dollier de Casson, Histoire du Montréal, a.d 1665, 1666.]

It was Saint Theresa’s day when they approached the lower Mohawk town. A storm of wind and rain set in; but, anxious to surprise the enemy, they pushed on all night amid the moan and roar of the forest; over slippery logs, tangled roots, and oozy mosses; under dripping boughs and through saturated bushes. This time there was no want of good guides; and when in the morning they issued from the forest, they saw, amid its cornfields, the palisades of the Indian stronghold. They had two small pieces of cannon brought from the lake by relays of men, but they did not stop to use them. Their twenty drums beat the charge, and they advanced to seize the place by coup-de-main. Lucidly for them, a panic had seized the Indians. Not that they were taken by surprise, for they had discovered the approaching French, and, two days before, had sent away their women and children in preparation for a desperate fight; but the din of the drums, which they took for so many devils in the French service; and the armed men advancing from the rocks and thickets in files that seemed interminable, — so wrought on the scared imagination of the warriors that they fled in terror to their next town, a short distance above. Tracy lost no time, but hastened in pursuit. A few Mohawks were seen on the hills, yelling and firing too far for effect. Repentigny, at the risk of his scalp, climbed a neighboring height, and looked down on the little army, which seemed so numerous as it passed beneath, “that,” writes the superior of the Ursulines, “he told me that he thought the good angels must have joined with it; whereat he stood amazed.”

The second town or fort was taken as easily as the first; so, too, were the third and the fourth. The Indians yelled, and fled without killing a man; and still the troops pursued, following the broad trail which led from town to town along the valley of the Mohawk. It was late in the afternoon when the fourth town was entered, [5] and Tracy thought that his work was done; but an Algonquin squaw who had followed her husband to the war, and who had once been a prisoner among the Mohawks, told him that there was still another above. The sun was near its setting, and the men were tired with their pitiless marching; but again the order was given to advance. The eager squaw showed the way, holding a pistol in one hand and leading Courcelle with the other; and they soon came in sight of Andaraqué, the largest and strongest of the Mohawk forts. The drums beat with fury, and the troops prepared to attack, but there were none to oppose them. The scouts sent forward, reported that the warriors had fled. The last of the savage strongholds was in the hands of the French.

[5: Marie de l’Incarnation says that there were four towns in all I follow the Acte de prise de possession, made on the spot. Five are here mentioned.]

“God has done for us,” says Mother Mary, “what he did in ancient days for his chosen people, striking terror into our enemies, insomuch that we were victors without a blow. Certain it is that there is miracle in all this; for, if the Iroquois had stood fast, they would have given us a great deal of trouble and caused our army great loss, seeing how they were fortified and armed, and how haughty and bold they are.”

The French were astonished as they looked about them. These Iroquois forts were very different from those that Jogues had seen here twenty years before, or from that which in earlier times set Champlain and his Hurons at defiance. The Mohawks had had counsel and aid from their Dutch friends and adapted their savage defenses to the rules of European art. Andaraqué was a quadrangle formed of a triple palisade, twenty feet high, and flanked by four bastions. Large vessels of bark filled with water were placed on the platform of the palisade for defense against fire. The dwellings which these fortifications enclosed were in many cases built of wood, though the form and arrangement of the primitive bark lodge of the Iroquois seems to have been preserved. Some of the wooden houses were a hundred and twenty feet long, with fires for eight or nine families. Here and in subterranean caches was stored a prodigious quantity of Indian-corn and other provisions; and all the dwellings were supplied with carpenters’ tools, domestic utensils, and many other appliances of comfort.

The only living things in Andaraqué, when the French entered, were two old women, a small boy, and a decrepit old man, who, being frightened by the noise of the drums, had hidden himself under a canoe. From them the victors learned that the Mohawks, retreating from the other towns, had gathered here, resolved to fight to the last; but at sight of the troops their courage failed, and the chief was first to run, crying out, “Let us save ourselves, brothers; the whole world is coming against us.”

– The Old Regime In Canada, Chapter 11 by Francis Parkman

The below is from Francis Parkman’s Introduction.

If, at times, it may seem that range has been allowed to fancy, it is so in appearance only; since the minutest details of narrative or description rest on authentic documents or on personal observation.

Faithfulness to the truth of history involves far more than a research, however patient and scrupulous, into special facts. Such facts may be detailed with the most minute exactness, and yet the narrative, taken as a whole, may be unmeaning or untrue. The narrator must seek to imbue himself with the life and spirit of the time. He must study events in their bearings near and remote; in the character, habits, and manners of those who took part in them, he must himself be, as it were, a sharer or a spectator of the action he describes.

With respect to that special research which, if inadequate, is still in the most emphatic sense indispensable, it has been the writer’s aim to exhaust the existing material of every subject treated. While it would be folly to claim success in such an attempt, he has reason to hope that, so far at least as relates to the present volume, nothing of much importance has escaped him. With respect to the general preparation just alluded to, he has long been too fond of his theme to neglect any means within his reach of making his conception of it distinct and true.

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