The White and the Gold

by Thomas B. Costain

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Story of Ville Marie and How It Came into Existence

  1

  IT WAS not strange that Hochelaga exerted a deep influence on those who saw it. Here two mighty rivers meet. The St. Lawrence, carrying on its broad bosom the excess waters of the Great Lakes, flows in a northeasterly direction on its majestic way to the sea. The Ottawa, rising in the northern wilds and gathering volume from the tributaries which empty into it, comes down to mingle with the St. Lawrence.

  It is not a peaceful union. The Ottawa, as though angry that it must surrender its identity, flings itself into the waters of the parent stream with tumult and violence. So much impatience and anger cannot be confined within a single entrance like the stately pouring of the Saguenay River into the St. Lawrence. The Ottawa plunges down so bitterly that it cuts the land into many channels, thus forming islands at the point of union. To increase the drama of its last phase, it tears out hills and broadens into lakes and cuts gorges through the high ground, and in places it tumbles so excitedly over rocky bottoms that it forms rapids where the lashing white waters boil and foam and set up a continuous roaring.

  The islands thus created are, by way of contrast, peaceful and lovely; and the most peaceful and the loveliest of them all is the island of Montreal. It is the largest of the group, oval in shape and thirty miles long, with a hump in its center like a great natural sentry post, which is called the mountain. It was ordained from the first to be the site of a great city.

  Montreal Island was known as Hochelaga when Jacques Cartier visited it and found so much to astonish him in the size of the Indian village at the base of the mountain. The beauty and fertility of this island on the sun-drenched slopes appealed equally to Champlain, although Hochelaga village had disappeared. The free traders who came up in their barques and bateaux, trolling their earthy songs and slavering for a share of the furs, were likewise impressed and awed. Here, they all agreed, was one of the natural crossroads of the earth; and here, if anywhere, the wealth of the new continent would collect so they could lay their avid hands on it. Here, in other words, was the greatest natural trading post the continent had to offer.

  The story of the island which had been formed in the death throes of a powerful river had a magical effect in France as well. But it was for a far different reason. Men and women spoke of Hochelaga with reverence. They read the published letters from the priests who had gone out into the wilds, and they pictured the meeting of the two rivers as a place which God had created for a much greater purpose than the stimulation of trade. Here the Deity had appointed that white men and red should meet, to the end that the souls of the natives might be saved.

  2

  Two stories must be told to explain how Montreal came to be settled. The first is a commonplace one, well authenticated and open to acceptance without question. It deals with human frailty and the play of selfish motives behind the scenes.

  The annual meeting of the Company of One Hundred Associates was held on January 15, 1636, in the Paris house of Jean de Lauson, who held the post of intendant. The attendance was not large, for it had been provided, in order to facilitate the transaction of business, that all authority was to be vested in a board of twelve members. In any event, the company still teetered on the brink of bankruptcy and most of the members regarded their association as a liability, particularly as they never knew when they might be called upon for fresh support by that most demanding of men, the gimlet-eyed cardinal. One of the chief items of business at this meeting was the granting of large tracts of land in Canada. The Sieur de la Chaussée was given the island of Montreal. One Simon le Maître was allowed a seigneury which afterward was known as the Lauson. Jacques Castillon was allotted a large share of the island of Orleans. The most important of the grants, however, was to the eldest son of Monsieur de Lauson. He was given an enormous tract of land around the union of the two rivers, sixty leagues of frontage, no less, on the St. Lawrence, with exclusive navigation and fishing rights. The tract thus turned over to the young Lauson was a kingdom in itself. To it was given the name of La Citière.

  A short time thereafter Monsieur de Lauson resigned his post as intendant of the society, and the holders of the three grants first mentioned made them over to him. It had been no more than a scheme to feather his own nest while he was in a position to do so. It seems to have been the usual thing. At any rate, it is not recorded that there was any protest, official or otherwise.

  The second of the two stories cannot be authenticated save by the evidence of the deeply religious men who were concerned in it. Although it cannot, therefore, be accepted as easily as the first, it conveys such a depth of conviction that it has been told and retold and believed down the centuries; and in no other way can the beautiful story of the founding of Montreal be explained.

  Here, then, it is. There was in Anjou, which is called sometimes the home of hardheaded men, a certain Monsieur Jerome de Royer, Sieur de la Dauversière, who was receiver-general of taxes at La Flèche but whose head was not hard enough to banish the visions which filled it and whose heart was so large that he thought only of doing good. He was a plump little pumpkin of a man with a turned-up nose and an unimpressive mustache. He seems to have been sickly. At any rate, he spoke in a slow and halting voice. No hero he in appearance, but there was a staunchness about him which showed in his steady eye and in the purposes which possessed him.

  He became early a devoted reader of the Relations, and as a result a picture began to form in his mind. He could see the beautiful islands where the two rivers came together, and in particular the island of Montreal with the slopes of the mountain bathed in sunlight. There had not been any description of this part of Canada in anything published, and the Sieur de la Dauversière had not spoken to anyone who had been there; but he saw everything in such minute detail that he could make others see it as well. It was as though he had been carried in spirit to the great crossroad in a dream and had heard the hoarse booming of the waterfalls and had seen the tossing manes of the white horses in the rapids.

  The vision dwelt so continuously in his mind that he went finally to his confessor, Father Chauveau, who was rector of the Jesuit college at La Flèche. The latter was convinced at once that the vision had been granted him for a purpose and that he should devote the rest of his life to the christianizing of the savages. “Dismiss all doubts,” said the priest.

  At this time a friend was staying in the Dauversière household, one Baron de Fancamp, who also was piously inclined. The two men talked long and earnestly and finally decided to visit Paris. Here they hoped to found an association for the purpose of establishing a mission on Montreal Island. This led to an all-important meeting between Dauversière and the Abbé Jean Jacques Olier, a young man engaged in country missions who was later to found the Sulpician Seminary.

  It was in the galleries of the Château de Meudon that the two men met. It was completely by chance, neither having any idea of the identity of the other. Nevertheless, they stopped at once and stood for several moments in silence, the intent priest and the insignificant man, looking into each other’s eyes. It was, they said later, as though a great light had illuminated everything for them. Each could see into the mind of the other.

  “I know your design,” said Monsieur Olier. “I am going to commend it to God at the holy altar.”

  Later the two men met again, this time in the park of the same château. The priest handed to the Sieur de la Dauversière a purse containing one hundred pistoles (a popular name for the louis d’or, having a value slightly under that of the English pound) and said, “Take this to commence the work of God.” They talked for three hours, planning the movement to form a Montreal company. The same white light seemed to play over them as they conversed, keeping their minds in full accord and giving a divine direction to the conclusions they reached.

  And now the threads of the two stories drew together. The Montreal Company could not be started as long as the island was o
wned by the acquisitive Monsieur de Lauson and his son. The ex-intendant had gone to the Dauphiné after resigning his post on the board of the Associates and was acting there in an administrative capacity. Dauversière and Fancamp journeyed, therefore, to Vienne and met Monsieur de Lauson. They received from him a prompt and emphatic answer in the negative, This hardheaded man of affairs saw no reason for giving up such a valuable grant, particularly to two strangers. They impressed him, no doubt, as a pair of addlepated visionaries.

  But it was known that Monsieur de Lauson had not fiulfilled any of the terms on which the grant had been based. He had not sent out a single settler, nor had he invested the smallest coin in colonization efforts. Perhaps this had some bearing on the decision he made later, although the credit for his change of heart is given to Father Charles Lalemant, who had returned to France as procurator of the Jesuit missions. Father Lalemant went to Vienne (on the day, it will be recalled, that he talked to Jeanne Mance) and persuaded Lauson to relinquish his rights to the island.

  On August 7, 1640, the cession was made legal and thus the island of Montreal passed into the hands of Dauversière and Fancamp, acting for the company which already was taking definite shape. The agreement was confirmed in December of that year at a general assembly of the Company of One Hundred Associates held in Paris.

  In planning the Montreal Company the same secrecy was observed as in the case of the Compagnie de Saint-Sacrament. It was known that Fencamp and Dauversière were the prime movers, but the men who provided the funds remained in the background. Not until years later, when the need for a reorganization was felt and Jeanne Mance returned to France to urge that it be done at once, did the backers of the company permit the use of their names.

  The need was now faced for a man to act as governor of the proposed colony. It was realized that the right man would be hard to find, that in addition to being a good soldier and administrator he must be animated by a religious zeal in keeping with the spiritual aims of the founders. Dauversière went to Father Lalemant for advice and found the latter ready with a candidate. “I know a gentleman of Champagne,” said the Jesuit procurator, “who may suit your purpose.” He then mentioned the name of Paul de Chomeday, Sieur de Maisonneuve, a soldier who had fought with distinction in the Dutch wars; a man, moreover, of high character and clean heart.

  It happened that the Sieur de Maisonneuve was in Paris at the time and living at one of the larger and more reputable inns. In order to judge of his merits at first hand, Dauversière took lodgings there also and made a point of eating his meals in the common room. One day the company around the long table was joined by the man who had already been pointed out to him as Paul de Chomedey. Dauversière watched the newcomer as he took his place at the other end of the board. It was clear that he was a gentleman, for his blue doublet was of excellent material and an immaculate frilled shirt showed at his neck; a soldier also, wearing his sword and carrying himself with muscular ease.

  Dauversière began at once to speak to the company of his plans for the new mission. He talked in glowing terms, overcoming the slowness of his utterance, trying to make them see the things he perceived so clearly; and as he went along he allowed his eyes to rest often on the face of the quiet man at the other end. It was a grave face and one of unusual quality; a strong nose and jaw, the slightly receding forehead so often found in soldiers, eyes well spaced and thoughtful. Maisonneuve was on the right side of forty and seemingly in the best of health. He was eating little and listening intently.

  Dauversière, not even pretending an interest in the food on his plate or the glass of wine at his hand, turned the discussion to the difficulty of finding the right leader. Out of the corner of an eye he considered the effect this was having on the silent Maisonneuve, and it was with dismay that he saw the latter rise from his place and leave the room.

  “I have failed,” he thought. “I have found the right man but I have not been able to interest him.”

  But when Dauversière also rose from the table he found the grave-faced soldier waiting in the corridor with an invitation that they go to his apartment. Maisonneuve opened the conversation by saying that he would gladly participate in the expedition to Montreal and the work of the mission there. He told Dauversière of his experience as a soldier and even went into the matter of his finances. He had, it developed, a yearly income of two thousand livres, which made him independent and in a position to serve without compensation. As the only son of an old and wealthy family he would in time come into a substantial inheritance. He would be prepared, he said, to devote to the cause everything he possessed.

  The right man had been found. Dauversière had no doubts now on that score, nor had any of his associates when they met Paul de Chomedey. He was shortly thereafter appointed governor with authority to collect equipment and stores and to aid in selecting volunteers.

  3

  In the early summer of the year following Champlain’s death a new governor had come to Quebec, Charles Hualt de Montmagny, a knight of the Maltese Order. He was accompanied by his chief lieutenant, Bréhaut lisle, who belonged to the same order, and they looked most imposing in their black robes with white crosses of eight points on their breasts. The company which came ashore on the heels of the commandant was large and distinguished. There was a secretary named Piraube, one Juchereau des Chatelets, the factor of the company, and two gentlemen staff officers, Repentigny and St. Jean. There were several gentlemen, including the Sieur de la Potherie, who had been granted seigneuries and were arriving to take possession of their land. Of more importance in the eyes of the always apprehensive people of Quebec, Montmagny brought with him some soldiers and settlers, forty-five in all.

  The new governor was an urbane and pleasant gentleman of high courage and Christian ideals and an instinct for organization. He was welcomed with enthusiasm, particularly as he displayed his religious zeal from the first moment of his landing. Father le Jeune was a witness to the arrival of the party and wrote his impression of the scene in rhapsodic terms. “It was a sight to thank God for,” he said in describing the newcomers, “to behold these delicate young ladies and these tender infants issuing from their wooden prisons like day from the shades of night.” The good father must have been carried away by his publishing success, in thus referring fancifully to the six lovely and unmarried daughters of two of the new seigneurs, Monsieur de Repentigny and Monsieur de la Potherie.

  Quebec at this stage was entering what might be termed its first boom. This sudden renaissance showed itself in building activities rather than in a great increase of population. True, the number of inhabitants had doubled, but the total did not yet exceed two hundred. There seemed to be a conviction that if churches and schools and hospitals were provided the necessary worshipers and scholars and patients would be found to make use of them. The flimsy houses of the early days were giving place to stone. Private residences were being built. The Sieur Giffard, the first holder of a fief to do homage, lived in Quebec and directed his seigneury at Beauport from there. Already buildings were lining the route to the summit and the winding path had become an important thoroughfare. At night a cheerful series of lights marked its course up the rock.

  There were other residents who had brought out rich possessions and lived with the degree of elegance which might have been expected of Frenchmen of distinction and background. The name of only one finds its way into the scant records of the day, Pierre des Puiseaux, who had made a great fortune in the West Indies. He had reached the advanced age of seventy-five, and it is not easy to understand his reason for electing to spend his last days in this hazardous outpost. He had provided for himself two houses. In the oak forest back of Sillery he had a habitation called Ste. Foye, but he himself resided in a quite luxurious house, the finest in Quebec, which was called St. Michel. Situated beyond the flat plateau known as the Plains of Abraham, St. Michel was a handsome stone structure with high chimneys and rooms of considerable size; and here an atmosphere of gracious liv
ing was maintained under candles set in glass chandeliers, with fine silver services for the table and the whitest of napery. It is interesting to note that part of the walls of this house, so remarkable for the time in which it was built, are still incorporated in one of the great houses of modern Quebec.

  The new governor set to work at once to enlarge and strengthen the fort and to lay out streets around it. A new chapel was built back of the fort and named after Champlain, in close proximity to a home of frame construction for the Jesuits. This proved a mistake, for both chapel and house were burned to the ground shortly thereafter and had to be replaced by structures of stone. The Jesuits had received a gift of six thousand crowns from the Marquis de Gamache for the founding of a school for Indian children and had already erected a frame seminary in the neighborhood of the citadel to which small red-skinned recruits were coming.

  A noteworthy addition to the permanent buildings of the town was the Hôtel-Dieu which the Hospitaliéres erected on the summit overlooking the valley of the St. Charles.

  In spite of this rather remarkable development there was a reverse side to the shield. The atmosphere of Quebec was troubled and tense. The shadow of Iroquois hostility hung over the colony like a black cloud. The warriors of the Five Nations had held a solemn powwow at Lake St. Pierre and had declared war on the French in belated revenge for the defeats they had suffered at the hands of Champlain. They swarmed along the rivers and in the forests and it was no longer safe for a white man to venture out. Fear was felt for the safety of the little settlement at Sillery and the few seigneuries which had been established along the St. Lawrence.

  Somewhat later the aggressive Iroquois would develop a plan for the extermination of the white men. With considerable military acumen they established a line of fighting posts along the river from the neighborhood of Three Rivers, where the small French post existed in a position of extreme jeopardy, to a point near the waterfall of the Chaudière on the Ottawa, thus cutting the white men off from their Huron and Algonquin allies. To carry out this bold plan, the Iroquois leaders divided their forces into ten bands. Two of these fighting divisions were located at the Chaudière to prevent any sorties across the blockade on the part of the Hurons. Four divisions were stationed around Montreal Island, the strategic importance of which was fully realized. A seventh was maintained at Lake St. Pierre, an eighth on the St. Lawrence near Sorel, a ninth near Three Rivers. The tenth, the largest and most formidable, was reserved for the purpose of striking at the main settlements when an opportunity arrived.