The Spanish and Portuguese conquest of Central and South America in the sixteenth century was followed by the penetration of North America in the seventeenth by the Dutch, English and French. In what would become Canada, the principal motive for venture into the interior was the search for fur. Fur-bearing animals had been almost exterminated in Europe by that date but the demand for fur — particularly beaver skin for hats — was enormous. In pursuit of beaver, largely trapped by native tribes and traded to Europe through middlemen, the French, who dominated the business, moved ever further up the St Lawrence River into the Great Lakes as territory was hunted out. Their initial monopoly was disputed both by the English of New England and by the Dutch in what is now New York state, and local conflict was the consequence. The native Americans, however, also joined in the fur wars, those of the Iroquois federation seeking in particular to create a barrier between the European settlements nearer the sea and the Indian territories on and beyond the Great Lakes to which the ‘fur frontier’ was, under pressure of hunting, retreating. The Iroquois, by imitation, were themselves attempting to become middlemen, particularly between the Algonquin and the Huron, who occupied the fur-bearing regions, on the one hand, and the French, on the other.
War between the North American natives of the Great Lakes was as cruel as that between the much more sophisticated Aztecs of Mexico, particularly in its demand that captives should play a co-operative role in the ritual torture that led to their deaths. Horrified observers of these ceremonies were the French Jesuits who had taken the conversion of Redskin America to Christianity as one of the many, and worldwide, missions that fell to them in the seventeenth century. One of them, a missionary with the Huron in 1637, describes (in another piece from Inga Clendinnen’s work quoted in a previous extract) their treatment of a prisoner from the Seneca, a hostile tribe. ‘He was a man of fifty, who had briefly been adopted into the family of a Huron chief, until it was decided that the wounds he had suffered in combat unfitted him for incorporation into the tribe. On an appointed night, and after a sequence of feasting in which he had joined, he was brought into the Huron council house where eleven fires had been lit. It was filled with people, the young warriors, who had been equipped with burning torches, having been warned to torture him slowly so that he would survive until daylight. The Huron chief, having announced that the prisoner would die by fire, and how his body would then be divided, had him brought in. “Now he began to run a circuit around the fires, again and again, while everyone tried to burn him as he passed; he shrieked like a lost soul; the whole cabin resounded with cries and yells. Some burned him, some seized his hands and snapped bones, others thrust sticks through his ears, still others bound his wrists with cords, pulling at each end with all their might, so as to cut flesh and crush bone.” The torture continued throughout the night, the victim being revived when he fainted and given food and shown kindness. When he could, he addressed his tormentors in kinship terms, was answered as kin, and, when he resumed the circuit of the fires, sang his warrior songs. Eventually, at dawn, still conscious, he was taken outside the cabin, tied to a post, burned to death with heated axe-heads and dismembered. His feet, hands and head were then distributed to those to whom they had been promised.’
The Jesuit priest Paul Ragueneau describes an Iroquois raid on their Huron enemies during the fur war of 1642 — 53. Some of the defeated Huron would have suffered the fate members of their tribe had inflicted upon the Seneca.
In consequence of the bloody victories obtained by the Iroquois over our Hurons at the commencement of the spring of last year, 1649, and of the more than inhuman acts of barbarity practiced toward their prisoners of war, and the cruel torments pitilessly inflicted on Father Jean de Brébeuf and Father Gabriel Lallemant — terror having fallen upon the neighboring villages — all the inhabitants dispersed. These poor, distressed people forsook their lands, houses, and villages, in order to escape the cruelty of an enemy whom they feared more than a thousand deaths. Many, no longer expecting humanity from man, flung themselves into the deepest recesses of the forest, where, though it were with wild beasts, they might find peace. Others took refuge upon some frightful rocks that lay in the midst of a great Lake nearly four hundred leagues in circumference — choosing rather to find death in the waters, or from the cliffs, than by the fires of the Iroquois. A goodly number having cast in their lot with the people of the Neutral Nation, and with those living on the Mountain heights, whom we call the Tobacco Nation, the most prominent of those who remained invited us to join them, rather than to flee so far away.
This was exactly what God was requiring of us — that, in times of dire distress, we should flee with the fleeing, accompanying them everywhere; that we should lose sight of none of these Christians, although it might be expedient to detain the bulk of our forces wherever the main body of fugitives might decide to settle down.
We told off certain of our Fathers, to make some itinerant Missions - some, in a small bark canoe, for voyaging along the coasts, and visiting the more distant islands of the great Lake, at sixty, eighty, and a hundred leagues from us; others to journey by land, making their way through forest depths and scaling the summits of mountains.
But on each of us lay the necessity of bidding farewell to that old home of Sainte Marie — to its structures, which, though plain, seemed, in the eyes of our poor Savages, master-works of art; and to its cultivated lands, which were promising us an abundant harvest.
It was between five and six o’clock, on the evening of the fourteenth of June, that a part of our number embarked in a small vessel we had built. I, in company with most of the others, trusted myself to some logs, fifty or sixty feet in length, which we had felled in the woods, and dragged into the water, binding all together, in order to fashion for ourselves a sort of raft that should float on that faithless element. We voyaged all night upon our great Lake, by dint of arms and oars; and we landed without mishap, after a few days, upon an island, where the Hurons were awaiting us, and which was the spot we had fixed upon for a general reunion, that we might make of it a Christian island.
The Hurons who were awaiting us on that Island, called the Island of Saint Joseph, had sown there their Indian corn; but the Summer droughts had been so excessive that they lost hope of their harvest, unless Heaven should afford them some favoring showers. On our arrival they besought us to obtain this favor for them; and our prayers were granted that very day.
These grand forests, which, since the Creation of the world, had not been felled by the hand of any man, received us as guests; while the ground furnished to us, without digging, the stone and cement we needed for fortifying ourselves against our enemies. In consequence, thank God, we found ourselves very well protected, having built a small fort according to military rules, which, therefore, could be easily defended, and would fear neither the fire, the undermining, nor the escalade [assault with ladders] of the Iroquois.
Moreover, we set to work to fortify the village of the Hurons, which was adjacent to our abode. We erected for them bastions, which defended its approaches — intending to put at their disposal the strength, the arms, and the courage of our Frenchmen.
The War had already made its ravages, not only in the devastation which occurred in the preceding Winter, but in the number of massacres which happened all through the Summer, on the mainland in the vicinity of this Island. But that nothing might be lacking in the miseries of an afflicted people, all the days and nights of Winter were but nights of horror, passed in constant fear and expectation of a hostile party of Iroquois, of whom tidings had been received; these (it was said) were to come to us to sweep this Island, and to exterminate, with us, the remnants of a nation drawing to its end.
In the Mountains, the people of which we name the Tobacco Nation, we have had, for some years past, two missions; in each were two of our Fathers. The one nearest to the enemy was that which bore the name of Saint Jean; its principal village, called by the same name, contained about five or six hundred families. It was a field watered by the sweat of one of the most excellent Missionaries who had dwelt in these regions, Father Charles Gamier — who was also to water it with his blood, since there both he and his flock have met death, he himself leading them even unto Paradise.
The day approaching in which God would make a Church triumphant of that which, up to that time, had always been in warfare, and which could bear the name of a Church truly suffering, we received intelligence of it, toward the close of the month of November, from two Christian Hurons, escaped from a band of about three hundred Iroquois, who told us that the enemy was still irresolute as to what measures he would take — whether against the Tobacco Nation, or against the island on which we were. Thereupon, we kept ourselves in a state of defence, and detained our Hurons, who had purposed taking the field to meet that enemy.
At the same time we caused the tidings to be speedily conveyed to the people of the Tobacco Nation, who received it with joy, regarding that hostile band as already conquered, and as occasion for their triumph. They resolutely awaited them for some days; then, wearying because victory was so slowly coming to them, they desired to go to meet it - at least, the inhabitants of the village of St Jean, men of enterprise and valor. They hastened their attack, fearing lest the Iroquois should escape them, and desiring to surprise the latter while they were still on the road. They set out on the fifth day of the month of December, directing their route toward the place where the enemy was expected. But the latter, having taken a roundabout way, was not met; and, to crown our misfortune, the enemy, as they approached the village, seized upon a man and woman who had just come out of it. They learned from these two captives the condition of the place, and ascertained that it was destitute of the better part of its people. Losing no time, they quickened their pace that they might lay waste everything, opportunity so greatly favoring them.
It was on the seventh day of the month of last December, in the year 1649, toward three o’clock in the afternoon, that this band of Iroquois appeared at the gates of the village, spreading immediate dismay, and striking terror into all those poor people — bereft of their strength and finding themselves vanquished; when they thought to be themselves the conquerors. Some took to flight; others were slain on the spot. To many, the flames, which were already consuming some of their cabins, gave the first intelligence of the disaster. Many were taken prisoners, but the victorious enemy, fearing the return of the warriors who had gone to meet them, hastened their retreat so precipitately, that they put to death all the old men and children, and all whom they deemed unable to keep up with them in their flight.
It was a scene of incredible cruelty. The enemy snatched from a Mother her infants, that they might be thrown into the fire; other children beheld their Mothers beaten to death at their feet, or groaning in the flames — permission, in either case, being denied them to show the least compassion. It was a crime to shed a tear, these barbarians demanding that their prisoners should go into captivity as if they were marching to their triumph. A poor Christian Mother, who wept for the death of her infant, was killed on the spot, because she still loved, and could not stifle soon enough her Natural feelings.
Father Charles Gamier was, at that time, the only one of our Fathers in that mission. When the enemy appeared, he was just then occupied with instructing the people in the cabins he was visiting. At the noise of the alarm, he went out, going straight to the Church, where he found some Christians. ‘We are dead men, my brothers,’ he said to them. ‘Pray to God, and flee by whatever way you may be able to escape. Bear about with you your faith through what of life remains; and may death find you with God in mind.’ He gave them his blessing then left hurriedly, to go to the help of souls. A prey to despair, not one dreamed of defence. Several found a favorable exit for their flight; they implored the Father to flee with them, but the bonds of Charity restrained him. All unmindful of himself, he thought only of the salvation of his neighbor. Borne on by his zeal, he hastened everywhere, either to give absolution to the Christians whom he met, or to seek, in the burning cabins, the children, the sick, or the catechumens, over whom, in the midst of the flames, he poured the waters of Holy Baptism, his own heart burning with no other fire than the love of God.
It was while thus engaged in holy work that he was encountered by the death which he had looked in the face without fearing it, or receding from it a single step. A bullet from a musket struck him, penetrating a little below the breast; another, from the same volley, tore open his stomach, lodging in the thigh, and bringing him to the ground. His courage, however, was unabated. The barbarian who had fired the shot stripped him of his cassock, and left him weltering in his blood, to pursue the other fugitives.
This good Father, a very short time after, was seen to clasp his hands, offering some prayer; then, looking about him, he perceived at a distance of ten or twelve paces, a poor dying Man — who, like himself, had received the stroke of death, but had still some remains of life. Love of God, and zeal for Souls, were even stronger than death. Murmuring a few words of prayer, he struggled to his knees, and, rising with difficulty, dragged himself as best he might toward the sufferer, in order to assist him in dying well. He had made but three or four steps, when he fell again, somewhat heavily. Raising himself for the second time, he got, once more, upon his knees and strove to continue on his way; but his body, drained of its blood, which was flowing in abundance from his wounds, had not the strength of his courage. For the third time he fell, having proceeded but five or six steps. Further than this we have not been able to ascertain what he accomplished — the good Christian woman who faithfully related all this to us having seen no more of him, being herself overtaken by an Iroquois, who struck her on the head with a war hatchet, felling her upon the spot, though she afterward escaped. The Father, shortly after, received from a hatchet two blows upon the temples, one on either side, which penetrated to the brain. His body was stripped and left, entirely naked, where it lay.
Two of our Fathers, who were in the nearest neighboring mission, received a remnant of these poor fugitive Christians who arrived all out of breath, many of them all covered with their own blood. The night was one of continual alarm, owing to the fear, which had seized all, of a similar misfortune. Toward the break of day, it was ascertained from certain spies that the enemy had retired. The two Fathers at once set out, that they might themselves look upon a spectacle most sad indeed, but nevertheless acceptable to God. They found only dead bodies heaped together, and the remains of poor Christians — some who were almost consumed in the pitiable remains of the still-burning village; others deluged with their own blood; and a few who yet showed some signs of life, but were all covered with wounds — looking only for death, and blessing God in their wretchedness. At length, in the midst of that desolated village, they descried the body they had come to seek; but so little cognizable was it, being completely covered with its blood, and the ashes of the fire, that they passed it by. Some Christian savages, however, recognized their Father who had died for love of them. They buried him in the same spot on which their Church had stood, although there no longer remained any vestige of it, the fire having consumed all.