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In 1669, the Indians encountered, in the shape of smallpox, a more terrible foe than the musket, the sword, the arrow, or the "firewater." Whole tribes were exterminated by this loathsome disease, which appears not to have been imported, inasmuch as the most distant and least civilized tribes were first attacked and most severely suffered. The Atlikamegues were completely exterminated. Tadousac and Trois Rivieres were abandoned by all the Indians. Fifteen hundred Hurons died at Sillery, and yet the Huron suffered less than any other nation. The remnant of the tribe was collected by Father Chamounat, who established them at Lorette, where some half-breeds are yet to be found.

The Count de Frontenac was the third Viceroy of Canada. He succeeded De Courcelle in 1692, and soon after his arrival erected the fort which his predecessor had decided upon erecting at Cataraqui, giving it his own name—a name which still distinguishes the County, the chief town in which Kingston or Catarqui is. De Frontenac was a man of astonishing energy. His self will and self esteem were only compensated for by ability and a spirit of independence and honesty. It was not to be supposed that such a man could long submit to the whims of his co-equals, as far as governing was concerned. Nor did he. The triumvirate—the Viceroy, the Bishop, and the Intendant—each with an equal vote, were soon at loggerheads. Chesnau, the Intendant, without Frontenac's ability, had all his bad qualities. The Intendant and Viceroy were soon violently opposed to each other, and to make matters worse, the Bishop, supported by his clergy, was annoyed with both. The Bishop considered the sale of spirits to the Indians abominable; De Frontenac thought it profitable; and Chesnau did not think at all. An appeal was made by the clergy to the home government, and both De Frontenac and Chesnau were recalled with censure, and the profitable sale of spirits to the Indians was prohibited by a royal edict. De Frontenac ruled Canada for ten years, and during his administration La Salle discovered the mouths of the Mississippi. Only the year after De Frontenac's arrival in Canada, the Indians reported that there was a large river flowing out to the Atlantic, to the southwest of the colony, and the Reverend Messire Marquette[2] and a merchant of Quebec, were sent on an exploring expedition. Starting in two canoes, with only a crew of six men for both, they found themselves, after an exceedingly tedious voyage, on the Mississippi, and, rejoicing at their success, returned back immediately to report progress. At Chicago, Marquette separated from his companion. In that Indian village of Lake Michigan, now a populous commercial town, the missionary remained with the Miami Indians, while Jollyet went back to Quebec for further instructions. Of course Jollyet was highly communicative at Quebec. The multitude could not travel by steam in those days from Gaspé to Lake Michigan. It was no easy matter at that period to paddle over those great seas, the inland lakes, in a birch-bark canoe. Jollyet had much to boast of and might, without chance of detection, boast of more than either his experience or a strict adherence to truth could warrant. Jollyet was a curiosity. Jollyet was the lion of Quebec, and he was toasted and boasted accordingly. The Sieur La Salle was in Quebec when Jollyet returned. He heard of the merchant's adventures with deep interest. La Salle, a young man of good family, and of sufficient fortune, had emigrated to Canada in search of fame, and with the further view of increasing his pecuniary resources. He expected, like Cabot and some others, to find a passage through Canada, by water, to China, imagining that the Missouri emptied itself into the north Pacific. The narrative of Jollyet made La Salle more sanguinely credulous, that he had the "way" before him. First he gained the sanction of the governor to explore the course of that river, and then he returned to France for support in his enterprise. So plausible a story did he relate, that means were soon forthcoming. The Prince of Conti most liberally entered into La Salle's views, and assisted him to prepare an expedition. The Chevalier de Tonti, an army officer, with one arm, joined him, and on the 14th July, 1678, De La Salle, and De Tonti sailed for Quebec from France, with thirty men. It was two months before they reached Quebec; but no sooner did they arrive than they hastened to the great lakes, accompanied by Father Hennepin. Father Hennepin was the historian of the voyage. He tells a wonderfully interesting story. La Salle built a vessel of 60 tons, and carrying 7 guns, above the Falls of Niagara, having laid the keel in July, 1679. There are always difficulties attending new enterprises, and La Salle's shipbuilding operations were frequently and annoyingly interfered with. The carpenter was an Italian, named Tuti, and he occupied seven months in building the craft. One day, an Indian, pretending to be drunk, attempted to stab the blacksmith, but that worthy son of Vulcan, like Bailie Nicol Jarvie, successfully defended himself with a red hot bar of iron. Again the savages tried to burn the ship, but were prevented by a woman. A squaw gave La Salle's people warning of the Indian's intention. Alarms were frequent, and only for Father Hennepin's exhortations, shipbuilding would have been abandoned to a later period, on the lake. But carpenter Tuti persevered, and amid enthusiastic cheering, the chanting of a Te Deum, and the firing of guns, she was safely launched. The "Cataraqui" was square rigged. She was a kind of brigantine, not unlike a Dutch galliot of the present day, with a broad elevated bow and a broad elevated stern. Very flat in the bottom, she looked much larger than she really was, and when her "great" guns were fired off, the Indians stared marvellously at the floating fort. With the aid of tow-lines and sails the Niagara River was with difficulty ascended, and on the 7th of August, 1679, the first vessel that ever sat upon the lakes entered Lake Erie. The day was beautifully calm, and the explorers chanted Te Deums, and fired off guns, to the no small consternation, perhaps amusement, of the Senecas. In four days they sailed through the lake, and entering the River Detroit they sailed up it to Lake St. Clair, and in twelve days more Lake Huron was entered. In that lake storms and calms were alternately encountered. On one occasion the wind blew so strongly, that La Salle's man of war was driven across to Saginaw Bay. But worse weather was yet in store for La Salle. A tempest swept over the lake, and topmasts and yards were let go by the run. There was neither anchorage nor shelter, and La Salle and all his crew, now terribly frightened, prayed and prepared for death. Only the pilot swore. He anathematized the fresh water. It was bad enough to perish in the open ocean, but something terrible to be drowned in a nasty fresh water lake, to be devoured, perhaps, by an ichthyosaurus. Prayers and curses seemingly had produced the desired effect; indeed, the pilot's anathematizing was prayer; but such prayer is not by any means to be recommended. It would be as well to curse as only to pray when fear is excited. Prayer, doubtless, often is, but never ought to be, the effect of fear. Prayer should be the holy offering up of reasonable desires to the Creator, and in times of danger there should be confidence in the Creator as all powerful, and in ourselves as the instruments of the Creator. However, favored with less adverse winds, the exploring expedition reached Michillimacinac, and anchored in 60 fathoms, living on delicious trout, white fish, and sturgeon. From thence entering Lake Michigan, they proceeded to an Island at the mouth of Green Bay, where La Salle loaded his ship with furs and sent her back to Niagara. The cargo was rich. It was valued at 50,000 livres. The blaspheming pilot and five men were sent off with the vessel, but whether the craft foundered in Lake Huron or was piratically visited by the Indians, she was no more heard of. Two years elapsed before La Salle or Father Hennepin learned the fate of the "Cataraqui" and her blasphemous pilot. They perseveringly pushed their way down the Mississippi and reached the Atlantic, thus discovering the mouths of a stream which has been a great source of wealth to our enterprising neighbours. In two years he turned his steps to Quebec, and going home to France was appointed Governor of the territory he had discovered. He was the first Governor of Louisiana, a territory ceded by Napoleon I. to the United States, in 1803. The unlucky Governor was not destined to reach his government. La Salle, in command of four ships, with settlers, sailed from Rochelle, on the 24th of July, 1689. He was ignorant of the exact geographical situation of the mouths of the Mississippi, but passing through the Antilles, reached Florida, where he was murdered by his own people—a melancholy and lamentable fate for one of whom all Frenchmen may justly boast. Canada now numbered 8,000 souls, including converted Indians; and French America extended from Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia through the St. Lawrence and the great lakes to the Pacific, and from the great lakes again to the ocean through the Mississippi, all the westward of even that stream being French soil. Yet it was only nominally so. The Indians were virtually the owners of the soil, those spots on which forts or trading posts had been erected or established, only excepted.