River City (33 page)

Suddenly, good fortune nestled among the trees. In the following few years, the Iroquois became distracted by their natural enemies to the south, the Mohican and Andaste tribes. These tribes fretted over the massacre of the Huron and did not want the same fate to befall them, so they chose to engage the battle early and on their own terms. This gave the French a few years that were remarkably peaceful, and in 1656, when Groseilliers and Radisson canoed from the great saltwater bay after an absence of twenty-five months, they arrived unimpeded with fifty canoes heavily laden with furs. In the ensuing days, both men grew furious when they were not properly paid for their endeavours, yet aside from that poor bargain the colony felt rich again, for it seemed that nothing could stop them now.

Only Maisonneuve, the old soldier, seemed to understand that he still had a war to fight, that the absence of the Iroquois did not mean they’d never return. Indeed, a few years later, after they had annihilated their enemies to the south, they turned their aspirations north once more, as though this was the confrontation they desired the most, as though they were itching to get on with slaughtering the French again. As they returned to the valley of the great river, they appeared to be in a particularly bloodthirsty mood.

As the few good years ended, Maisonneuve could only reflect upon the glory of those days in wonder. The times had not been bereft of an assortment of challenges, which seemed no more than nuisances now. The Sulpicians, the new order formed by Jean-Jacques Olier, entered into rancorous political disputes with the Jesuits, and there had been times when the governor of the Montrealers
wanted to throw up his hands and ask God to smite them all. The conflict had flared up first in France, and only when the issues were solved there could the two sides come together in New France and manage a tacit peace. Eventually, they did, and Maisonneuve shook his head, dismayed by all the puffery and upset.
Priests!

Yet, in forging an alliance, the orders of priests had also manoeuvred to maintain and increase their power in the New World. Governors in Quebec were coming and going, and that vacuum of experienced political leadership was happily filled by knowledgeable Jesuits and Sulpicians. Spiritually, materially and politically, they had a better grasp of life in the cold, cruel north than did courtiers dispatched from France.

Once the Iroquois wars were blazing again, such issues seemed vaguely comical in comparison, and once again the pressure was mounting on Maisonneuve to act. The economy again lay in peril, entirely dependent on the
coureurs de bois
making it through from the north and from more distant travels west, as well as on farmers planting a crop in spring and harvesting it during Indian summer—that window of warm fall weather when the crops were ready and the Iroquois chose to raid. Again Maisonneuve determined that hunkering behind a stout stockade was the best defence, and again he had young men, a different generation this time, anxious to burst outside the walls to fight.

In April of that year, 1660, Maisonneuve was informed of a secret plan, and while he was initially enraged to have his authority usurped by a pack of restless young men, their approach began to simmer in his head. Garrison soldiers devised an idea to venture onto the Ottawa River right at the time—after the breakup of the river’s ice—when the fur traders were likely to return. The soldiers would ambush Iroquois raiding parties before they could intercept the fur traders. Everyone knew that Groseilliers and Radisson had travelled deep into the Cree lands. They had not returned the previous spring, so they could easily be dead. The colony believed—the residents prayed—that their travels had been so distant, and that their canoes were now so heavily laden, that their return had required an additional year. This would be the spring of their return, all hoped, and the prospect became a great longing among the people
of Fort Perilous. Yet the youthful soldiers were right: the Iroquois would surely be waiting for the
coureurs de bois
along the Ottawa River. Intercept the Iroquois before they intercepted the fur traders—in this way, the pelts might be brought safely through to market.

The plan was audacious enough that it might just work.

Maisonneuve secretly summoned the leader of the group. He did not advise Jeanne Mance or Marguerite Bourgeoys of the meeting, knowing they’d counsel against it. The youths were inexperienced, yet brave and determined. Under the current regime, Maisonneuve no longer possessed the authority to sanction such a raid, so he cautioned the young man standing nervously before him, Adam Dollard des Ormeaux, that their meeting was confidential. If anyone ever asked him about it, the governor would deny that it had taken place or that he had any knowledge of the plan.

“Plan, sir?” the twenty-five year-old responded.

“History will never hear of this conversation.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t insult me, Adam. This is a very small community and I’ve been here since you were a child. I know what goes on within these walls. You’re planning to ambush the Iroquois.”

“Sir,” Dollard des Ormeaux said. He felt foolish to have been caught, and expected a sour punishment—a demotion at the very least, and perhaps a few weeks confined to his barracks on depleted rations. Instead, Maisonneuve rose up and crossed the small room to a bureau, where he opened a drawer. He pulled out a wooden case, which he brought back to the table. He sat across from the young soldier with the blondish hair and whiffs of cheek fuzz.

He opened the case.

Inside shone the Cartier Dagger.

“This knife was given to me by Cardinal Richelieu,” Maisonneuve informed him, “and handed to him by the king of France. The instrument brings good fortune. When I went to France to find new recruits, I brought along the knife, both for its own security and to help secure the success of my endeavours. As you can see, it contains diamonds and gold. More importantly—and you must understand, young man, I am speaking symbolically—
the knife, through God’s grace, grants to the man who possesses it the trust of God and the divine strength of the French people.”

“Yes, sir,” young Adam Dollard des Ormeaux whispered, in awe.

“And I, Paul de Chomedey, Sieur de Maisonneuve, lend this dagger to you, Adam, as you undertake your mission.”

“But, sir. I cannot be worthy.” The lad was genuinely aghast. The ceremony felt akin to being knighted, when only a moment ago he expected to be discredited.

Maisonneuve remained severe in his expression and deportment. “I’m sure that Étienne Brulé felt exactly the same way when he was granted the care of the knife as he travelled through Indian lands. He returned it to Champlain safe and sound. If you do not return, and the dagger appears in an Indian’s hands, we will know your killer. But it is more important that you go with my blessing, and that you go with the spirit of the French people, and with God.”

Solemnly, Dollard accepted the weapon into his care.

“Now you must keep it hidden. Your mission must always remain secret. Understand that I will not take credit for your achievement when you succeed. I may even be obliged to publicly rebuke you. Similarly, should you fail, or not return, I will confess no prior knowledge of your intentions. To do so would imperil my position here, and if my position is compromised, the fate of this community will also be challenged. So, officially, for the sake of Ville-Marie, I know nothing of your plans. Perhaps in your old age, after I am long gone, you can state otherwise—that is up to you. For now, you will reveal to no one that I endorse your actions. Neither shall I for all time. Do I have your sworn oath on this matter?”

“You do, sir.”

“Then Godspeed, Adam. Return the knife safely to me. May our Lord be with you always. I have arranged for forty Huron to join you. You will meet them at the rapids where the Ottawa joins the St. Lawrence, and they will carry on with you and fight beside you from there.”

The young Adam Dollard des Ormeaux was overwhelmed. His plan had been accepted, reinforcements provided, and he had effectively been
knighted. Departing, he was exultant, and eager, as only an impetuous youth can be, for battle.

Alone in his small cabin that night, Maisonneuve prayed fervently. He knew that he was sending a pack of naïve youths off to fight vicious, highly skilled warriors. He also knew that something had had to be done to protect the settlement’s trading routes. Perhaps this wild scheme might actually work, although success would undoubtedly require God’s grace and the intercession of the saints.

He also prayed for forgiveness, should time prove that he had just dispatched sixteen reckless young men to their deaths.

A pious man’s prayers might have been more earnest that night had he been forewarned that two hundred Iroquois were amassing to attack the canoes coming down the Ottawa River towards Montreal. More passionate still had he gleaned that a second gathering of Iroquois, five hundred strong, was paddling down the Richelieu River from Lake Champlain, intent on joining the first group and burn the entire seed crop before it was put into the ground at Fort Perilous. An assault on the stout fort would be futile, but to deny the colony any hope of growing food that year would cause the wretched white people to starve inside their walls. Come winter, anyone who might linger on would face a stern reality, that the sustaining commerce of the region—food from the soil and furs off the backs of animals—had both been ruined for a season. The Iroquois were confident in their plan. In a year’s time, they believed, or even less, no white person would be living on the island of Montreal. After that, they would concentrate their attacks further north, until all the French were either dead or driven out to sea.

Had the Iroquois known that a mere sixteen soldiers were paddling to intersect their forces, they might have danced and sang and readied themselves, for to have so few French pitted against so many Iroquois in a forest battle would create a great competition for their scalps. As they did not know that the soldiers were there—any more than the young French knew that they
would be fighting two hundred Iroquois in the woods, any more than Maisonneuve knew that a formidable contingent of Iroquois advanced on his colony, intent on its final ruination—the Iroquois paddled on in anticipation of encountering the fur traders Groseilliers and Radisson. They wanted those men dead, for they had penetrated the Cree territory. At the same time, Des Gros and Radisson paddled south and east, satisfied with their one hundred canoes heavy with furs, the largest cache in history, but also leery of the dangers ahead. The garrison lads paddled on as well, with apparent glee, for the time had come in their lives to assume the mantle of heroes, and they were not able to yet appreciate what might be required of them.

All three forces—Iroquois, young soldiers with forty Huron, and seasoned
coureurs de bois
—threatened to converge.

They were not trained Indian-fighters. They were trained only to defend their garrison. And so, coming upon the rapids at Long Sault, the garrison soldiers commenced constructing a fort. The Huron worked beside them, although they were soon bickering, distrustful of the plan. The young fighters had found a convenient semicircle of boulders, which they used to form the skeletal frame of a fortification. They cut trees and set them across the gaps in multiple layers, lashing it all together and packing the gaps with stones and sand. Dollard’s plan was to use the fort as a place to return at night after he and the others spent the days searching the river for Indians. As well,
coureurs de bois
would have to portage across this beach, where the waters were too treacherous for a canoe, and certainly one laden with valuable furs. That aspect made the area a critical one to defend, for Iroquois might appreciate the portage as an ideal neck to attack.

The concept of daily scouting trips never materialized. Having spent two days building their defences, they planned to depart at dawn. In the morning, the French and the Huron had no sooner carried their canoes to clear water and dropped them onto the river than they were hauling them out again and hurrying back to their stronghold. Iroquois had turned the bend in the
river ahead, and the French had sighted five canoes. They positioned their own fourteen canoes atop the fort to use as cover from arrows.

The pals were excited. They had the Iroquois where they wanted them. This should be a good battle. They could defend their position, for they had ample food and gunshot, as Maisonneuve had secretly augmented what they’d been able to stow. He had also surprised the lads with additional rifles. Inside their low ramparts, the French adventurers and the Huron loaded their weapons and waited.

The five Iroquois canoes slumped onto the sandy beach. The water ahead was too treacherous, and the next portion of the journey would have to be on foot. “Keep down. Stay hidden. They don’t know we’re here. Wait until they’re so close you can’t miss, then kill them. We need them close, so the ones who don’t die on the first volley will die on the second.”

The Iroquois, though, seemed in no hurry to continue their progress, and inside the makeshift fort, the soldiers grew agitated.

“What are they waiting for?” one lad demanded of another.

“We were wrong,” Adam Dollard des Ormeaux said. “They know we’re here.”

“Then what are they waiting for?” the same soldier asked.

“Their friends,” the leader replied, for he spotted another six canoes.

The garrison soldiers, inexperienced with any fight in the open, stared out upon the water. “All right. Eleven canoes. That’s all right. We have our fort.”

“It’s a good fort.”

Another eight canoes appeared. The French said nothing. Then four more. They remained silent. Then canoes appeared to be coming around the bend without end, and Dollard carefully counted fifty-two.

For twenty minutes, no one spoke a word. Then their leader said, “There’s more of them than I thought.”

“Maybe they don’t see us,” a twenty-year-old replied.

“We’re going to die here,” his friend said. Words that were not fearful so much as a statement of what he assumed to be fact.