Part 3 of a continuing series. You can find Part 2 and Part 1 here.
You’ll find several small islands off the coast of Canada’s Newfoundland labeled "Saint Pierre and Miquelon." Squint closer, and you’ll see they’re labeled "France." Yup. O’Reilly is totally freaking: a tiny portion of North America remains a cheese-eating, wine-gulping, baguette-chomping portion of the French empire.
But hang on. When we last last left the story of Canada France claimed half the beaver-dammed continent. Wha’ happened? Well, therein lies a tale of hopelessly optimistic explorers, highly irritated Wabanakis, and best of all-- Puritan Girls Gone Wild! All in this week’s installment of CAN HIST 101, Part 3: The Battle for North America.
(Cross posted at The Next Agenda and Progressive Historians)
The Glorious Revolution, Or, A Pink Slip for a King
In 1688, the good people of England (or at least a majority of the political elite thereof) grew tired of their bumbling king James II, whose disastrous
faith-based initiatives pro-Catholic policies made the rabidly Protestant English rather nervous. A small group of parliamentarians made a fairly simple job offer to James’s daughter Mary and her husband William of Orange: come to England and rule. Hearing this, James obligingly panicked and fled the country. That helped make William and Mary's
hostile takeover assumption of the throne quite bloodless, at least in England (Ireland, not so much.) The peaceful nature of the event helped give it the name of “Glorious Revolution,” which narrowly beat out "Exceedingly Dull Revolution" and "Not Much of a Revolution at All When You Really Think About It."
The Revolution’s consequences in North America were anything but bloodless. William had spent most of his life as a rival to King Louis XIV of France. Their rivalry soon spilled over into each country's colonies. In 1689, Louis XIV re-appointed as governor of New France an irascible fellow who had been sacked from the job in 1685. Louis de Buade, Comte de Frontenac, had been a tireless supporter of exploration, colonial security, and the fur trade, but his favored item of trade for the First Nations was brandy--not a popular choice with the Bishop of Quebec.
But now all was forgiven —if he could do something about the growing English and Iroquois power in North America. Frontenenac seemed to relish the task, sending war parties into disputed territory and against Hudson Bay Company trading posts. Frontenac personally led a 1696 expedition to re-capture Fort Frotnenac, one of his fur-trading forts that had been commandeerd by the Iroquois. Confined to a chair thanks to gout, the 73-year old commanded 3,000 men in a series of open battles against the Iroquois nations, all of whom save one—the Mohawk—soon sued for peace with the French.
Frontenac experimented with abandoning European-style military tactics, which can be summed up as:
1.Walk in very straight lines.2. Fire at each other.3. Repeat.
Worked great on the broad, smoky battlefields of Europe, but in New France the militia explored "la petite guerre" (the little war–"guerilla" warfare) which they learned from the First Nations allies. Its tactics included hiding behind trees and using the terrain as cover. Highly unsporting from a European viewpoint, don't you know!
"I shall answer with my cannons," Or, "Neener neener neener!"
Frontenac’s most memorable adventure occurred came in 1690, as he squared off against another colorful character from colonial history: Sir William Phips of New England. An ex-ship’s carpenter turned Caribbean treasure hunter, Phips was now Massachusetts governor. In 1690, he burned and sacked Port Royal, Acadia. Then he made an ambitious attack against Quebec. His feet of 32 ships and 2000 armed men was prepared for everything–except the cold. (Hello, would-be world conquerors! You know how invading Russia in winter is always a bad idea? Hitler, Napoleon, etc? Well, the same logic applies to Canada. Make a note of it.)
He arrived in October, his troops weakened by small pox and the weather. Still, Frontenac was outnumbered, and Phips sent a subaltern to demand Frontenac’s surrender. The story of their encounter is a classic example of the French ability to win on style alone. Frontenac arranged his men so that the blindfolded envoy would get an impression of overwhelming force when he saw the interior of his enemies’ defenses. A bit shaken, perhaps, the subaltern delivered Phip’s demand that the French surrender
all your forts and castles undemolished and the King's and other stores unimbezzled, together with a surrender of your persons and estates. You may expect mercy from me... Your answer is required in an hour.
An hour? HA! The blustery Frontenac gave his answer immediately: NON!
(That’s "no" for you non-bilingual types out there.) When the messenger asked for it in writing, Frontenac is supposed to have refused to use a pen, saying rather that:
I will answer your general by the mouths of my cannons and muskets!
View a one-minute movie recreating Frontenac's famous defiance
Phips gave up and sailed away October 23rd, losing several ships in a storm before finally making it back to Boston. The war, dubbed “King William’s War” by English colonists but also called “The War of the Grand Alliance” or "The War of the League of Augsburg" was concluded with the inconclusive Treaty of Rysick in 1697. (Frontenac died the next year.) But peace was not lasting. By 1702 the European "War of Spanish Succession" struck North America.
The Wabenaki Confederacy
But let's forget European squabbles for a moment and look at these wars from a First Nations perspective. Conflict with Europeans (and amongst Europeans) helped forge a new alliance in the 1680s: The Wabanaki Confederacy. The Confederacy banded together to strike back at the encroaching New Englanders as well as to seek protection from the Iroquois Confederacy. The Wabanaki (or “people of the dawn”) Confederacy included the Abanaki, Penobscot, Passamaquoddy, Maliseet and Micmac, all of whom had sent warriors to aid the French in their guerilla warfare against the English and the Iroquois.
Members of the Confederacy addressed each tribe as brothers, and considered the French governor in Canada (and by extension, the French King) a “father” Note that there’s a real cross-cultural problem here. The French and other Europeans assumed the "father" metaphor meant to the Wabanaki what it meant in Europe: someone who looks after his children and expects obedience from them. In most eastern First Nations households however, mothers wielded authority, while father were caring protectors from outside danger. Bit of a difference.
Father Louis and Uncle William
In 1699, the Wabanaki negotiated peace with the English, only to find that they were expected them to become “obedient” children of a new “father,” King William. The negotiators wanted friendship, not submission, and refused to abandon their French "Father." Pointing out that the English and French were (for the moment) at peace, they proposed an alternative: recognizing the English monarch as “Uncle William.” (A better choice than the other alternative, "Creepy Cousin Willie Who Makes Things Go Boom." Kidding! Kidding.)
Unfortunately, Father Louis and Uncle William's nations didn't remain at peace for long. From 1701-1713 guns blazed in Europe once more, and once again the tribes of the Wabanaki Confederacy played an independent role as guerilla fighters. The entire town of Deerfield Massachusetts was destroyed in 1704 by a force of Abenaki and other First Nations, along with 47 Quebecois militia. 56 English colonists were killed, but 109 others were taken captive and faced a long, arduous journey to Quebec.
Puritan Girls Gone Wild (or at least Catholic)
Kidnaping was one of the most important weapons that the Abanaki and other First Nations could wield against English settlers. Throughout the wars of the 18th century, the God-fearing Puritans quaked at the prospect of being taken by Natives. They might be killed, or they might be forced to live amongst the "savages" and( gasp shudder shudder) convert to Catholicism. As if living in "the wild" weren't bad enough, they might be sold to a buyer in Quebec and (clutch your pearls!) become French! And as any Puritan knew, that guaranteed an after-lifetime of burnin’ and fryin’.
So, New Englanders and other English colonial families raised money to “redeem” (i.e., pay ransom) for the hundreds, possibly thousands, of people kidnaped during the raging wars of the late 17th and 18th centuries. While most were eventually “redeeemed,” it is an odd note in the mutual Canadian/American story that a significant number remained in French or First Nations societies. Esther Wheelwright, kidnaped in 1703 at the age of 7, lived first among the Abenaki before going to Quebec, where she became a nun in the Ursuline order.
Another interesting captive was Eunice Williams, captured during the Deerfield Massacre. The daughter of a Puritans minister, Eunice was sold to the Mohawk, amongst whom she converted to Catholicism and received the Mohawk name A'ongote, which means "She (was) taken and placed (as a member of their tribe)." Although her father raised enough money to buy her back, she refused to return and stayed with her Mohawk husband. Her descendants from Canada retained a long connection to New England and some are still living today. (As an aside, Eunice and your humble author are cousins. Several generations removed...of course.)
View a virtual exhibit and film about the Deerfield raid of 1704.
You Gave Away WHAT? Or, the Perils of "Papa"
By 1712, a new peace treaty-the Treaty of Utrecht-- was in the works between France and England. France ceded its claims to Prince Rupert’s Land (leaving the Hudson’s Bay Company in the clear), Newfoundland, and most of Acadia. They retained "Isle St Jean" (Prince Edward Island a.k.a. Anne of Green Gables Land to you and me) and Ile Royale (a.k.a. Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.)
But there was some quibbling about how much of “Acadie” was actualy ceded to the British. The Acadians of New Brunswick area insisted they were still in French territory (a claim supported by France). The Acadians of Nova Scotia, were more clearly now subjects of the British crown, and as such had to make an oath of allegiance to their new king. Normally this involved a pledge of unconditional military service. But a compromise allowed them to take an oath of allegiance which specifically exempted them from having to go to war against their French neighbors or against the First Nations, with whom (especially the Mi’kmaq) the Acadians enjoyed a pretty good relationship.
Speaking of the First Nations, the Wabanaki Confederacy had a few problems of their own with this peace. The Wabanaki were astonished at the idea their lands had been ceded to the English without so much as a "by-your-leave" or "have-some-trade-goods." Hostilities broke out between the Confederacy and New England, which were uneasily settled in a much-disputed 1727 treaty. Sagourreb, the Wabanaki Speaker, explained his negotiations with the Governor of New England thus:
He again said to me - But do you not recognize the King of England as King over all his states? To which I answered - Yes, I. recognize him King over all his lands; but I rejoined, do not hence infer that I acknowledge thy King as my King, and King of my lands. Here lie my distinction - my Indian distinction. God hath willed that I have no King, and that I be master of my lands in common. He again asked me - Do you not admit that I am at least master of the lands I have purchased? I answered him thereupon, that I admit nothing, and that I knew not what he had reference to.
Westward, Ho YEAH!
So, peace between European powers did not necessarily bring prosperity to the First Nations. But it was certainly good to new France. By 1720, the colony was flourishing, almost entirely-self supporting (importing only wine and brandy). The "King’s Highway" (Chemin du roi)was built between Montreal and Quebec, fostering trade and communication. And their fur trade spread westward, although always in competition with the Hudson’s Bay company.
The first European in Manitoba is believed to have been an HBC agent. The charmingly-named Sir Thomas Button, struck out in 1612, looking for either (a) Henry Hudson or (b) the fabled Northwest passage to China. He found (c): neither one. (The name for Manitoba, by the way, is probably from the Cree manitowapow, or it could be the Ojibway “Manitou bou”. Both translate as "the narrows of the Great Spirit.") Whatever you want to call it, the Hudson’s Bay Company believed it owned the area.
HBC explorations pushed further West in 1690, under the leadership of a remarkable young man named Henry Kelsey. He had previously explored the Churchill River, and because of his good rapport with the First Nations people he encountered, he was chosen to head the next expedition West. He claimed the "Stone Indian" (Assiniboine) country for Great Britain, landing near what is today The Pas, Manitoba.
He was inspired to describe the experience in verse (not great verse, mind you, but this is pre- Winnipeg ballet):
The Inland Country of Good report hath been
By Indians but by English yet not seen
Therefore I on my Journey did not stay
but making all ye hast I could upon our way
Gott on ye borders of ye stone Indian Country
I took possession on ye tenth Instant July
And for my masters I speaking for [the]m, all
This neck of land I deerings point did call
Distance from hence by Judgement at ye lest
From ye house six hundred miles southwest
Through Rivers w[hi]ch run strong with falls
thirty three Carriages five lakes in all …
Although it’s uncertain how far Kelsey traveled, he was certainly the first European to see much of the Canadian West. He described its wonders in his journal–bison, grizzly bears, and a great “sea of flowers.” But the HBC could not yet hold its westernmost claims in the face of French and Native disputation, and, for the while, concentrated their exploration to the north of Hudson’s Bay.
Unicorns, Leprechauns, and the Northwest Passage
Enter Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, sieur de La Vérendrye (Pierre to his friends). This middle-aged Quebecois farmer from Trois Rivieres heeded the call of finding the “Western sea”in 1731. With his four sons and a nephew, he set out to explore the western Great Lakes, building several fur trading posts between Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg.
He also explored parts of North and South Dakota, and maybe Alberta, along with establishing forts in present-day Manitoba, Fort Rouge and Fort La Reine. Convinced that the Manitoba lake system led to the sea, he argued with his skeptical patrons in Quebec that further exploration would surely yield the Northwest Passage to the sea. In 1749, he received both permission for the mission, and the Cross of St. Louis, one of the highest honors of new France. But he died, in Quebec, while planning his journey west.
As an aside, it is worth noting that the hunger to find the Northwest Passage continued as a theme throughout the early history of Canada. (Perhaps the most famous adventure in search of it was the expedition of Sir William Franklin in 1845, which ended in cannibalism, starvation, and death in the Arctic ice. Worst. Vacation. Ever.)
This impulse to optimistically seek out the unknown was commemorated by Canadian folk singer Stan Rogers in the song, “Northwest Passage”:
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage!
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea..
Listen to an mp3 sample of this song and view the full lyrics here.
And Now, Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Wars
Enough sentiment. Back to the killin'!
The War of Austrian Succession (1740-48) soon spilled over into North America under such names as “King George’s War” (boring!)and “The War of Jenkin’s Ear” (much cooler!)
In 1745, in retaliation for a French raid on the English fishery at Canso, Governor William Shirley of Massachusetts mounted an expedition against the great French fortress Louisbourg. Massachusetts volunteers hoped to raid the prosperous Cape Breton fort and settlement, saying they would surely be greeted as liberators find the streets paved with gold.
After a 6 week siege, they were victorious, but found little gold–just rubble, and hungry people, when they finally captured the fortress, (Funny how lots of cannonfire will do that.) Imagine the disgust of Massachusetts when 3 years later, Louisbourg was returned to the French by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. The angry. New Englanders departed for Boston, taking Louisbourg's town cross with them. The war trophy was housed at Harvard until 1995 when it was returned to Canada as a "permanent loan."
The Fortress has been reconstructed and is staffed with costumed animators, bringing the18th century to life. Have a look here!
Now things get confusing. After a brief peace, there came in 1754 the beginning of the "Seven Years War," which lasted nine years by North American reckoning. (Look, we became historians because we're not good at math, okay? ) Americans know it as the “French and Indian War” because that’s who the English settlers were fighting against. Canadians often refer to it as the War of the Conquest, because....well, you’ll see!
The (Not) Seven Years War
What became a truly global conflict began with a dispute over the Ohio River Valley, which both France and England claimed. In 1749, the governor of New France sent an expedition from Montreal to inform the Miami tribe of what is now Ohio/Pennsylvania that they must not trade with the British. To which the Miami said, "Forget it." To punish the Miami, New France sent a war party in 1752 to attack the village of Pickawilliany. And to enforce their supremacy over the region, the New French began an industrious programme of fortress-building up and down the Ohio River Valley.
Their presence was noted with alarm by the local British-friendly Iroquois in the area. One leader, Tanacharison, was especially upset. He had a serious Chuck Norris-style grudge against the French–he claimed they had eaten his father. So, in revenge movie fashion, he hooked up with a Virginia militia regiment that was also out to challenge the French fortress and offered to serve as a guide. The commander? A 21-year old named George Washington.
They had no luck convincing the French to leave Fort LeBoeuf (where the commander tried to smooth over the whole Dad-eating thing ), and trudged on towards Fort Duquesne. There they attacked a small group of French soldiers. The story gets murky here. It might have been a parlay group they attacked, and Tancharison might have killed a wounded French officer, and Washington might or might not have known what was going on. Whatever the exact circumstances, Tancharison and Washington broke one of the most important rules of 18th century “civilized” European warfare: thou shalt not harm those who are trying to negotiate. (If thou dost, thou shalt be smited. Quite hard.)
It was an atrocity. The war was on. From such humble beginnings in the North American woods began a global conflict that engulfed India, Europe, the Caribbean, the Philippines and coastal Africa.
Cue Daniel Day-Lewis Running Shirtless Through The Woods
The French crown appointed the talented Louis-Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm, to lead French forces in North America. He industriously set about capturing British forts in the disputed territories.
The most famous(or infamous) of his victories came at Fort William-Henry in 1757. This siege later served as the basis for James Fenimore Cooper’s extremely fictional novel The Last of the Mohicans. (The history in Cooper's novel and its subsequent film versions is balderdash–kind of the Path to 9/11 version of the French and Indian Wars. But the music, ah...I'm listening to it right now...)
Anyway, Cooper loosely based his novel on an unfortunate incident that happened after the fort was surrendered. The British commander, Lt-Col George Munro, greatly outnumbered and trying to protect the civilians in the fortress, agreed to a negotiated surrender under generous terms. He and the 3000 British/American inhabitants of the fort were to be allowed to leave unmolested, and with their weapons. Unfortunately Montcalm did a less-than-thorough job of explaining the terms to his First Nations allies (or even consulting them about it.)
His assumption that everyone understood 18th century “civilized” European warfare led to tragedy when some of the Chiefs interpreted the retreating British line as ripe for plunder, and attacked Munro’s retreating men. Long interpreted as Native American "savagery," this attack is now widely understood as the tragic result of French-First Nations mis-communication. You gotta be careful with those "coalitions of the willing," I guess!
But while Montcalm enjoyed success, tragedy had struck in Acadie.
Le Grand Derangement, Or, What I Really Hope I Never Do for a Summer Vacation
In 1754, the British government of Nova Scotia was getting antsy about the Acadians under its rule. Never mind their record of good behavior, racial profiling common sense decreed that you couldn't trust "Frenchies." The governor decreed that they needed to swear an unconditional oath of allegiance to the British crown, one that would include a willingness to fight against French and First Nations people. (To be fair to British Governor Charles Lawrence, he may have heard reports of Acadians deserting to French fortresses and fighting there.)
The Acadian delegates he summoned to Halifax refused to swear the new oath, pointing out that they feared Native attack if they were to do so. Lawrence and the Nova Scotia Assembly took this refusal as disloyalty. And so began a tragic episode of 18th century “ethnic cleansing.” Without warning, troops descended on Acadian villages, forcing every inhabitant to abandon farms and homes and be herded onto sailing vessels. No care was taken to preserve families. Husbands, wives, children, parents, brothers, sisters–all were swept up in heartrending scenes of mass confusion and terror.
Lawrence’s orders authorized colonial officals to
...use all the means proper and necessary for collecting the people together so as to get them on board. If you find that fair means will not do with them, you must proceed by the most vigorous measures possible, not only in compelling them to embark, but in depriving those who shall escape of all means of shelter or support by burning their houses and destroying everything that may afford them the means of subsistence in the country, and if you have not force sufficient to perform this service, Colonel Winslow at Mines or the Commanding Officer there will upon your application send you a proper reinforcement.
A lucky few managed to escape the British sweeps; many were taken in and sheltered by their Mi'kmaq neighbors. Some waged guerilla warfare against the British from the woods and backcountry of Acadie. But the majority were torn from their neat and tidy farmland and re-distributed with cruel randomness. Known as le Grand Dérangement, or the Great Upheaval, this great movement of people scattered Acadians across modern Canada and the U.S.
Often finding themselves in hostile Protestant areas, Acadians slowly re-formed communities and in many cases made treks back to Acadie, where they re-settled in less-desirable areas away from English eyes. Others made their way to French-held Louisiana, where their descendants became the " Cajuns." The most famous telling of their tragic epic is, of course, Evangeline, the poem by American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. A statue commemorating this fictional heroine can be found at Grand Pré, one of the major Acadian population centres decimated by the Expulsion.
Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolfe?
In 1758, a certain Colonel James Wolfe assisted General Jeffrey Amherst with the siege of (once again!) Louisbourg, resulting a reluctant French surrender. Amherst treated the French forces somewhat harshly, refusing to allow them to retain arms or flags–the "honours" of war. Furthermore, the British set off explosives in the fortress, juuuust in case anyone ever got any bright ideas about returning it to the French_again_!
In the English view, the French troops deserved no better. The English held the Fort William Henry massacre and the French use of guerilla techniques as dishonourable.
Wolfe, promoted to general and tasked with taking the fortress at Quebec, made a proclamation discouraging civilians from becoming insurgentsguerillas:
The people may remain unmolested on their lands, inhabit their houses and enjoy their religion in security; for these inestimable blessings, I expect the Canadians will take no part in the great contest between the two crowns. But, if by a vain obstinacy and misguided valour, they presume to appear in arms, they must expect the most fatal consequences; their habitations destroyed, their sacred temples exposed to an exasperated soldiery, their harvest utterly ruined and the only passage for relief stopped up by a most formidable fleet. In this unhappy situation, and closely attacked by another great army, what can the wretched natives expect from opposition? The unparalleled barbarities exerted by the French against our settlements in America might justify the bitterest revenge in the army under my command...
Although Quebec—high above the St. Lawrence River–appeared unassailable, Wolfe’s 1759 expedition discovered a small path up the cliffs (allegedly used by the good housewives of the city for laundry). His troops laboriously brought cannon up the path in the dead of night. Finding cannon at his backdoor defending, French General Montcalm decided to leave his fortifications and meet Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham outside the city. The French defeat there was a bitter blow. The victorious Wolfe was cut down by a bullet during the battle; ironically, Montcalm also died, the next day, from his wounds).
The tide turned, and French governor-general Pierre François de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil-Cavagnal, surrendered to General Amherst on September 8, 1760. Under the 1763 Treaty of Paris that finally ended the (longer-than) Seven Years War, France signed away New France to the British. (As usual, the First Nations didn't get consulted.)
From such war-torn beginnings, how do we ever get to the modern peaceable Dominion of Canada? Oh, rest assured, dear readers, your lady scribbler has many more tales of death, disease, and exceedingly rude behavior before we get to modern Canada!
But let me close with a teaser that perhaps hints at the roots of the Canadian talent for multicultural compromise. Remember Esther Wheelwright, the little girl kidnaped from New England and turned French nun? Her tri-cultural knowledge (French, English and Abenaki) proved invaluable to the Ursulines during the battles for Quebec, as the Ursulines were called upon to nurse the ever-increasing sick and wounded of all nations.
When the order fell short of cash to support themselves, they turned to selling embroidered birchbark–an Abenaki craft that Esther/"Sister Marie" seems to have picked up and passed on. Elected head of the Order during the occupation, Sister Marie cannily negotiated with British General James Murray for rations for the nuns; in return, the cash-strapped Ursulines swapped some property the general could use for his headquarters. Her leadership helped negotiate remarkably peaceful co-existence between the British occupiers (not normally noted for their respect for Catholic institutions) and the inhabitants of the City of Quebec, at least while the war lasted.
But what happens when you take a bunch of angry ex-Yanks and throw them into the Canadian salad blender? Stay tuned for next week’s thrilling episode of CAN HIST 101 to find out!
CAN HIST 101 is a weekly series, now posted on Saturday mornings at Dkos! If you love history and want more, check out History for Kossacks by Unitary Moonbat and mkfox's Forgotten Founding Fathers, and my Sunday diaries on America’s Founding Mothers. You can always find more history at Progressive Historians, and more Canadian politics at the DKos-style blog The Next Agenda.
Map of French and Indian Wars from Histori.ca (source of the Canadian Heritage Minute). Louisbourg and Evangeline Statue photos from Parks Canada.