Chapter VI: Part 6

"Then we can tell you where he is," said one--a Major Sanford--"for a Wampanoag has just come to our camp and told us that, as Philip had killed his brother for giving him advice that displeased him, he had fled from him, fearing the same fate, and, in revenge, will tell us where to find him."

"Let me see him at once," cried Church. "We will immediately be upon King Philip's trail."

So, riding immediately into the camp where the Wampanoag had been taken, they found him willing to guide them to Philip's hiding place. The whole English force, marching with great speed, crossed the water at Bristol Ferry, and soon arrived shortly after midnight at the north end of a miry swamp near Mount Hope. A small force was sent into the underbrush at daybreak to beat up Philip's hiding place and drive him into flight, while soldiers and Indians were placed behind trees, all around the swamp, so as to stop him if he attempted to get out.

"I have placed my men so that it is scarce possible for Philip to escape," said Captain Church to a companion, when suddenly a shot whistled over their heads and the noise of a gun in the direction of Philip's camp was immediately followed by the sound of a volley.

Some of the soldiers had crept upon their stomachs close to the sleeping camp, when the Captain in charge saw an Indian looking at him from behind a stump. He consequently fired at him immediately, and thus the Indian camp was, in a second, thrown into confusion. The Indian who had been shot at had been missed. It was Philip, who, seizing his pouch, gun, and powder horn, plunged immediately into the swamp, clad only in his trousers and moccasins.

As the King of the Wampanoags dashed down one of the many trails leading into the undergrowth, he was seen by a soldier and a friendly Indian from their hiding place behind a tree. The soldier raised his gun to fire, but the morning mist had dampened his powder and his musket would not go off. But the Indian fired immediately, sending one bullet through the heart of King Philip, and another, two inches above it. The great chief fell upon his face in the mud, while the savage who had laid him low rushed to Church with the news, and, when the whole force was assembled and had been informed of Philip's fate, they greeted the information with loud cheers. The friendly Indians, seizing the body by the leggins, drew it out of the mud to the highland, where it was immediately cut up. The head was severed from the body, carried to Plymouth, set upon a pole and paraded through the streets. It was then placed in a conspicuous spot, where it remained for nearly twenty-five years.

The death of the mighty Sachem of the Wampanoags practically ended the war, although some Indians, in small parties, held out a bit longer throughout all of New England. Hostilities had lasted for more than a year, and had been disastrous to the settlers; for thirteen towns had been destroyed, six hundred buildings had been burned, six hundred men had been either killed or tomahawked; numberless cows, sheep and horses had been stolen, and great numbers of the men of New England had been disabled by wounds. There was hardly a family throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island that did not mourn its dead. The power of the Indians had been forever destroyed, for not only had many families been entirely obliterated, but hundreds had been driven to the far West, or had been captured, sent to the West Indies, and sold as slaves.

Philip had fought his fight, and had fallen, as a guardian of his own honor, a martyr to the soil of his fathers, and of the proud liberty which was his birthright. Never again was the Indian to possess the soil of New England and hunt in freedom and ease through its forests, as of yore. The Anglo-Saxon had conquered, and to the white man and his civilization the land was to forever belong. Thus the first great war between the different races ended just as all subsequent conflicts between the red men and the white were to terminate. The white man was to be found invincible.

PONTIAC: THE RED NAPOLEON

The war waged by King Philip had put an end to all further hindrance to the settlement of New England by the whites, and the hostile Indians had been wellnigh exterminated. But, as the restless settlers pressed westward, ever westward, to populate the untouched wilderness and to build hamlets and cultivate farms, it was only natural that the western Indians would view their advance with the same anger that had smouldered in the bosom of the chief Sachem of the Wampanoags. The French, in Canada, were more peaceably disposed towards the savages than were the English; they treated them with some consideration and kindness; sent their Jesuit Missionaries among them; and endeavored to teach them the ways of civilization. As the English pressed onward they were continually in altercations with the various tribes which lay in the path of their steady emigration, and they showed them little consideration, kindness, or toleration.

In 1755 war broke out between the French and English for the possession of America. Both were rival claimants for the soil of the New World, and the people of the northern English colonies had learned to regard their Canadian neighbors--the French--with the bitterest enmity. They hated them because they were of a different religious faith than their own, and they hated them because they were friends of the very Indians who made depredations upon their frontier settlements and slaughtered the peace-loving white settlers. The Indians were plyed with gifts and flattered by the French, so that, in the fierce struggle for the possession of America, the red warriors sided, for the most part, with those who held dominion over Canada and the Great Lakes. The English won the war, and thus the wilderness beyond the Allegheny mountains, over which France had claimed sovereignty, passed into the hands of her rival, who, with a force of but five or six hundred men, expected to keep it secure. Little apprehension was felt of an attack from the red inhabitants of the woods, and, as the French had signed a capitulation, the English considered themselves safe in the possession of this new-won territory. But they were far from being safe, and much fighting was still to be done before peace and tranquility were to come to the frontier.

The furthermost settlement of the English was at Detroit, between Lake Erie and Lake St. Clair, and upon the river of the same name. There were about twenty-five hundred inhabitants in this little community. Straggling huts were along the river banks, and in the centre was a fortified town, called the Fort, consisting of about a hundred houses surrounded by a palisade. A British garrison, consisting partly of regulars and partly of provincial rangers, was quartered in well-built barracks inside the town, or Fort. There were about one hundred and twenty soldiers, forty fur-traders, and a few half-breed scouts who could not be relied upon in case of a war with the redskins. Several light pieces of artillery were mounted upon the bastions, while two small armed schooners--the Beaver and the Gladwyn--lay anchored in the stream. The garrison was commanded by a splendid English officer, named Gladwyn, whose courage was that of a lion, and whose fighting qualities were far superior to most of the British officers who were engaged in the struggles upon the frontier. A large Indian village of the Pottawattamies was on the western shore of the river, a little below the fort; while, nearly opposite, on the eastern side, was a village of the Wyandots; and on the same side, five miles away, the Ottawas, under Chief Pontiac, had fixed their abode.

Although the Indians appeared to be on friendly terms with those in the town, the country had scarcely been transferred to the English--at the conclusion of the French and Indian war--when smothered murmurs of discontent began to be heard among all the Indian tribes of the interior. From the headwaters of the Potomac River to Lake Superior, and along the winding courses of the Mississippi, a deep-seated hatred of the English increased with great rapidity. When the French had held possession of Detroit and the forts upon the frontier, they had supplied the surrounding Indians with guns, ammunition and clothing, but the English would give them nothing. The French had been kind to the savages when they visited their forts, but the English received them with cold looks and harsh words, when, as was their custom, they would lounge about the fort and lazily stretch themselves out in the shadow of the walls. This was galling to their proud and haughty spirits. Then, too, the best lands of the red men were being invaded by white settlers and all remonstrances had been useless. The Delawares and Shawanoes, in particular, were highly exasperated at this, and their feelings were shared by all the surrounding tribes, in whose breasts slumbered a terrible hatred and distrust of the oncoming English, who had been their enemies in the late war and towards whom the Indians had the rancorous enmity that an Indian always feels against those to whom he has been opposed in battle.

Pontiac was principal chief of the Ottawas and head of a loose confederacy of the Ottawas, Ojibwas, and Pottawattamies. He was about fifty years of age: tall, sinewy, strong. Over those around him his authority was almost despotic, while his name was known and respected among all the savages who resided in the country, stretching from the Ohio River to the lowest waters of the Mississippi. He possessed great energy, craftiness, and oratorical prowess, while his courage in war was far-famed. It is said that he commanded the Ottawas in the defeat of General Braddock at Fort Du-Quesne--during the French and Indian war--and it is certain that he was treated with much honor by the French officers, for one of them had presented him with the regimentals of a soldier of that country, which he is only known to have worn upon one occasion. Not long before the beginning of the French and Indian war, he had saved the French garrison at Detroit from an attack from some discontented tribes of the North, who had marched to destroy it. For this he had been made much of by the French officers. "He puts on an air of majesty and princely grandeur," said Major Rogers, (one of his opponents), "and is greatly honored and revered by his subjects."

Pontiac saw that the Indian race was now confronted with a grave crisis, for, when Canada had become an English province, the tribes had sunk from their former position of importance. Up to this time, France and England--the two rival European nations--had kept each other in check upon the American continent and the Indians had been flattered by each, for their services were needed by both. Now the English had gained undisputed control of America, and the Indians, being no longer important as allies, were treated as animals of a lower order of intellect who could be trampled upon with impunity. Thus the mind of the wily Ottawa Chief conceived the idea of driving the English into the sea, of once more restoring the French to power, in the West, and thus to again place the Indians in their former position of influence. The French Canadians continually told him falsehoods, assuring him that the war had not been lost by the French, that the armies of King Louis were now on their way to recover Canada, and that the French and their red allies could soon drive the hated English away from their beloved country. Stirred by these lies, and urged on by revenge, ambition, and patriotism, Pontiac decided upon war.

The various Indian tribes which lived along the Mississippi; in the country of the Ohio River and its many tributaries; and along the cold waters of the Ottawa to the north, were visited in 1762 by ambassadors from Pontiac. They carried with them a tomahawk stained red and a war-belt of wampum, and, as they went from camp to camp, they would fling down the tomahawk on the ground, hold the war-belt above their heads, and deliver a long speech, urging the warriors to join in the extermination of the English. Everywhere this appeal was heard with nods and gesticulations of approval, and all of the Algonquin nation--including the Wyandots, the Senecas, and several tribes of the lower Mississippi--pledged themselves to aid in this important movement. Of the powerful Iroquois nation of New York State only the Senecas would join, but the force against the whites was so overwhelming that it seemed hardly possible that the few scattered English garrisons could escape a terrible slaughter. Yet, confident in that supreme race confidence which has made the English the most all-powerful nation since the Roman legions held dominion over the greater part of Europe, the white garrisons of the wilderness kept their posts in fancied peace and seclusion.

The dreary winter drew to a close, and the Indians hid their intentions beneath calm and serious countenances. They still lounged about the forts, begged for tobacco, gunpowder, and whiskey, and gave no sign of intended wrong or violence. Yet they were busy sawing the muzzles of their guns in half so that they could conceal them underneath their blankets, were gathering a large supply of powder and ammunition from the French traders, and were holding war-dances in their far-distant habitation. Now and again intimations of their danger reached the garrisons and startled them from their fancied security. An English trader came into Detroit one day, and reported that he had heard a half-breed scoundrel boast that before next summer he would have English scalp-locks as a fringe to his hunting-shirt. The commander of the garrison laughed at the tale. Later on--in March 1763--the British commander Holmes, at Fort Miami, on the Maumee River (about one hundred and ninety miles southwest from Detroit) was told of Pontiac's conspiracy by a friendly Indian. "The warriors of the neighboring village," said he, "have received a war-belt and bloodstained hatchet, with a message urging them to destroy you and your soldiers. If you do not kill them first, they will do so." Holmes believed the tale, called the warriors together, and told them of his suspicions. The savages acted as many of them have done under similar circumstances--confessed that they had meditated an attack upon the garrison, said that a neighboring tribe had told them they must do it, under pain of death, and professed eternal love and good will towards the English. This allayed the suspicions of the commander of Fort Maumee, but he reported his discovery to Major Gladwyn, at Detroit, who, seeing the peaceful condition of the Indians in the three villages near his own fort, expressed the opinion that there was apparently some trouble among the Indians, but that it would soon blow over. He little suspected that Pontiac--the arch-conspirator--was in a village but a short distance away, and that his heart was burning with revenge and hate against him and his small garrison. He little believed that, as the savages came in from their winter hunting grounds, on the approach of spring, and did not come into the fort, as usual, they were fast making preparations for an assault upon him. In a few weeks he was to learn more of the Indians' character than he had ever suspected.

Pontiac had a small cabin of bark and rushes upon an island in Lake St. Clair, and here, with his squaws and children, he waited for the time to arrive when his braves would be ready to strike. His plan of operations was to make a sudden and simultaneous attack upon all the British forts on the Great Lakes and rivers of the Middle West--at St. Joseph, Ouiantinon, Green Bay, Michillimackinac, Detroit, the Maumee, and the Sandusky--and also upon the forts at Niagara, Presqu'-Isle, Le Boeuf, Venango, and Pittsburg. Most of these strongholds were badly protected; they were mere trading places, yet to the Indians they seemed to be great obstacles. It was evident to the mighty war Chief that the destruction of these posts and their garrisons would be a blow from which the hated English could never recover. And, as he lay upon his skins, looking out across the hazy waters of the Lake, his heart beat with the fierceness of his passions, and the hot blood surged tumultuously through his veins. All was going well with his plans; on all sides his allies were preparing for the great blow, and, viewing once more the supremacy of the French and of his own people, the fierce light of ambition glittered in the eye of Pontiac, the red Napoleon. Thus, as spring came to the wilderness, and the leafy forests were resounding with the chant of bright-colored birds, the wild death songs of the Indians sounded harshly discordant from the depths of the green wood.

On the afternoon of the fifth of May, a Canadian woman, called St. Aubin, who was the wife of one of the principal settlers, crossed over the Detroit River to obtain some maple sugar and venison from the Ottawa Indians. When she entered the village, she was surprised to find several of the warriors filing off the muzzles of their guns, so as to reduce them to the length of about a yard, and upon her return home she mentioned this to several of her neighbors. The blacksmith of the village remarked that many of the Indians had been to his shop within the past month, and had attempted to borrow files and saws for purposes which they could not tell him of. These revelations excited the suspicions of the older Canadians who had lived long among the Indians, so, going to the Fort, one of them--as spokesman--told Major Gladwyn to be upon his guard, for the Indians meditated treachery. The courteous commandant treated this advice with scorn, and scoffed at the news of an outbreak.

But, in a day or two, news came to him which changed his ideas very materially. In the Pottawattamie village was an Ojibwa girl, called Catherine, who was much attached to this gallant Major in charge of the British troops. On the day following the first announcement of trouble, she came to Gladwyn's quarters, bringing with her a pair of elkskin moccasins which he had requested her to make, and, showed by her downcast face and sad look that she had something unusual on her mind. Her demeanor was so peculiar that Gladwyn called her to him and requested that she tell him what weighed upon her spirits. "Promise me that you will not betray me," said the Indian girl, "and I will reveal my secret."

"I promise," answered the intrepid soldier.

"Then I will speak," continued the Ojibwa maiden. "Tomorrow Pontiac will come to the fort with sixty of his chiefs. Each will be armed with a gun cut short off and hidden beneath his blanket. Pontiac will demand a council, and, after he has delivered his speech, he will offer you a peace-belt of wampum, holding it in a reversed position. This will be the signal for an attack. The chiefs will spring up and fire upon the officers, and the Indians in the street will fall upon the garrison. Every Englishman will be killed, but not the scalp of a single Frenchman will be touched."

The English Major was now thoroughly aroused to his peril. He called together his officers and told them what he had heard. Immediately, every preparation was made to meet the expected attack, half the garrison was ordered under arms, and all the officers made ready to spend the night upon the ramparts, for, as the Indians nearly numbered from six hundred to two thousand, the commandant feared that they might learn that their plan had been discovered and would storm the fort before morning. The sentries were doubled, and, again and again, during the night, Gladwyn mounted the ramparts to look far out into the gloom of the soft, moist air. The shrill piping of frogs sounded from the still banks of the river, while, as the night wind swept across the clearing before the doomed defenses, the sullen booming of Indian drums, and the wild chorus of quavering yells came ominously to his startled ears. The savages were holding their war dances around their distant camp fires, and were preparing for their work of ruin and destruction upon the following day.

Next morning the sun rose brightly and soon dissolved the waving mist which hung over the river, disclosing to the eager eyes of the sentries a fleet of birch-bark canoes, crossing from the other shore. They seemed to be heavily laden and moved very slowly through the water, propelled by two or three warriors in each. But there were ten or fifteen warriors in every canoe, lying flat upon their faces, so that their number would not arouse the suspicions of the keen-eyed English troops. The frail boats reached the bank behind a cluster of trees, the warriors sprang out, unnoticed, upon the shore, and soon the common--behind the fort--was thronged with squaws, children, and braves, some naked, and others brilliantly painted white, vermilion, and pale blue. They moved restlessly to and fro, while many of the savages, wrapped in their blankets, and holding them close up to their faces, stalked up to the fort, scowling at the palisades and glowering evilly at the sentries.

Meanwhile the alarmed Major in command of Detroit had not been idle. The whole garrison was ordered under arms. Bayonets were placed in the end of the muskets, revolvers were strapped to waists, powder horns were filled to the brims. The English fur traders in the fort closed their storehouses and armed their men, who, with long flintlocks, scraggy beards, tawny hunting shirts, and weather-beaten faces, looked as if they could put up a very excellent fight. All were cool, confident, and ready for whatever might transpire.

It was not long before Pontiac, himself, approached at the head of sixty Indian chiefs, all marching in single file. They were wrapped to the throat in colored blankets and some had hawk, eagle, and raven plumes fluttering from their heads, while others had shaved their crowns, leaving only a scalp-lock hanging to one side. Their cheeks were smeared with white lead, soot, ochre, and vermilion, while their keen, beady eyes gleamed in their sockets vindictively, and gave them a grim and horrible aspect. As they crossed the bridge leading over a creek near by, a Canadian settler, named Beaufait, met them, and stepped to one side in order to allow them to pass. This they did, without glancing at him, but, as the last warrior approached, he recognized him as an old friend and associate. Uttering a vindictive "Ugh!" the warrior opened his blanket, disclosing the hidden gun, and, pointing with his arm to the fort, showed by a wave of his hand that he meant to use it with effect upon the English. The Canadian was too startled to move and stood looking after them, like a person suddenly paralyzed.

It was ten o'clock when the Chief of the Ottawas reached the fort, and, at his request to be admitted, the gateway was immediately thrown open to him. In an instant the cruel traitor was inside the palisade, but, as his keen eye gazed around him, he started back, and a deep ejaculation escaped from behind the folds of his gaudy blanket. The sight that met his eyes might well have terrified his crafty soul, for at a glance he saw that his long-meditated plot was ruined. Ranks of red-coated soldiers stood upon either side of the gateway, their guns at parade-rest, and their glittering bayonets flashing in the rays of the gleaming sun. He pressed on with his followers, but, as he passed the first house, he saw the motley collection of fur traders armed to the teeth, standing upon the corner of the street, and glowering at him and his warriors like fierce wolf-hounds on the leash. A drum beat, the soldiers closed the gate and formed a double line in the rear, but, regaining his composure, Pontiac strode forward into the narrow street, while his chiefs, glancing uncertainly from side to side, marched after their leader to the council chamber.

The council house was a large building near the river, and, as the Indians entered, they saw Gladwyn, with several of his officers, seated in readiness to receive them. The now cautious chiefs could not help seeing that every British officer had a sword at his side and a brace of pistols at his belt. Therefore, the red conspirators began to be afraid, and, eying each other with uneasy glances, they began to back away towards the doorway through which they had just entered. But Pontiac strode before the commandant and spoke with a loud voice. "Why do I see so many of my father's young men standing in the street with their guns?" said he. "Is it for warfare against the French that they are preparing?"

Gladwyn could not speak the Ottawa tongue, so replied through his interpreter La Butte.

"I have ordered my soldiers under arms for the sake of order and discipline," said he. "We are to hold a parade this afternoon."

Still gazing cautiously around them, the chiefs at length sat down upon some mats on the floor, and, after a long pause, in which the pipe of peace was passed cautiously around, Pontiac arose to address the assembly. In his right hand was the belt of wampum, and, as he addressed the officers, assuring them that he had come only to smoke the pipe of peace and promote their friendship, the British soldiers kept their eyes fastened upon it with looks of eager expectation. Suddenly, he raised the belt as if to give the signal for attack, and, as he did so, Major Gladwyn motioned slightly with his hand.

Immediately the roll of a drum sounded from beyond the doorway, the rattle of muskets and tramp of many feet reverberated through the silent hall, while the shrill blast of a bugle woke the echoes of the almost silent fortification. Pontiac stood as if confounded, and, as he saw the unruffled brow and keen eye of the British commandant fixed full upon him, he turned and sat upon the ground in stupid amazement.

Gladwyn now rose to speak, and, as he did so, his eye flashed fire and determination. "Friendship and protection shall be given you as long as you deserve it, O chiefs," said he, "but as soon as you show that you are not deserving of our friendship, then you will see our vengeance. We wish to be at peace with our red brethren, but, if you injure a single one of our Great Father's children, then our friendship shall be at an end, forever." At this he sat down and the council closed with a speech by Pontiac in which he said that he would return in a few days with his squaws and children, for he wanted them to shake hands with their fathers, the English. Gladwyn did not make reply to this. At his command, the gates of the fort were thrown aside, the cowering savages filed out into the open, and, with a sigh of relief, the British soldiers mounted the ramparts and watched their retreating forms as they disappeared in the distance. The great plot of the crafty Pontiac had been a complete failure.

Furious with rage and disappointment, the mighty chief of the Ottawas withdrew to his camp, bitterly cursing the turn of fortune, but resolved to visit the English once more, and to convince them if possible that their suspicions against him were unfounded. So, early the next day, he came to the fort with three of his chiefs, bearing in his right hand the sacred calumet or peace pipe. He was permitted to enter, and, offering it to Gladwyn and his officers, addressed them as follows: "My fathers, evil birds have sung lies into your ears. We that stand before you are friends of the English. We love them as our brothers, and, to prove our love, we have come this day to smoke the pipe of peace." At his departure, he presented the pipe to one of the British soldiers as a token of his regard, while in the afternoon the Indians engaged in a game of ball on the flat plain near the fort. Pontiac went to the Pottawattamie village and had a long consultation upon the best method of gaining an entrance to the fort, for he now saw that the white men had been keen enough to see through his evil designs.

Early next day the garrison saw the common behind the fort fairly swarming with Indians, and Pontiac, advancing from the black crowd of painted warriors, approached the gate. He walked up to it and attempted to open the door, but it was fast closed against him. "Open, open, to me," he shouted to the sentinels, "I would speak with Major Gladwyn." To this the Major himself replied, stating that he might enter, if he wished to, alone, but that the crowd he had brought with him must remain outside. Intense hatred and malice shone in the eyes of the Ottawa chief, as he saw that he could not pass the gates, and, with a fierce gesture of his arm, he turned abruptly from the palisade and walked off to his followers, who, in black multitudes, lay upon the ground just beyond reach of the guns of the bastions. It was time to throw off the mask of dissimulation.

As the soldiers of the garrison gazed after his retreating figure, they saw the Indians leap from their positions, "yelping like a lot of devils," and begin to run, in a body, towards the house of an old English woman who lived at a distant part of the common with her family. With fierce blows of their tomahawks and war clubs they soon beat down the doors, and, in a moment more, the long scalp-yell told only too plainly what had been the fate of the inmates. While this was occurring another large body ran, whooping and yelping, to the river bank, and, leaping into their birch-bark canoes, paddled with speed to an island in the river where lived an old English sergeant called Fisher. He was soon routed out of the cellar, where he had taken refuge, was dragged outside, and murdered. Every Englishman in the fort, whether officer, trader, or soldier, was now ordered under arms. Gladwyn, himself, walked the ramparts throughout the night. He expected an attack in the morning, and his expectations were fully realized.

When the sleepy sentinels on the ramparts saw the first red tinge of dawn tint the hazy east, next morn, a savage chorus of war whoops arose from every side of the fort. The men leaped to their posts on the bastion and behind the loopholes of the palisade, and, as they did so, a vast swarm of savage warriors--Wyandots, Pottawattamies, and Ojibwas--rushed furiously at the walls, discharging their guns incessantly, and screeching like so many wildcats. But, as they came near enough to be seen, suddenly they scampered behind barns and fences, skulked behind bushes, or lay flat upon their stomachs in hollows of the ground. Each--with a mouth filled with bullets--charged and fired recklessly, while uttering the most blood-curdling yells. They were naked, painted all colors of the rainbow, and with the agility of monkeys dodged the shot from the cannon of the fort. Every loophole was a target for their bullets, but they were poor shots and hardly ever hit the mark. The soldiers, on the other hand, took deliberate aim, and now and again a painted devil would leap high into the air with a fierce yell of pain, showing that some good, British lead had taken effect. A host of Indians found shelter behind a cluster of outbuildings, but a cannon, loaded with red-hot spikes, was aimed at the strategic point. The wooden houses were soon in flames, and the savages fled, howling dismally, while the soldiers peppered them with ball, as they decamped. Gladwyn walked continually among his men, encouraging them by word and gesture, while the stern features of Pontiac could be seen eagerly watching the turn of events from a hillock in the rear of his barbarous crew.

So the fight waged for six hours, but, as the sun grew hot overhead, the yelping masses of Indians became weary of their useless efforts. Gradually their rifle fire ceased, their war whoops died away, and their painted bodies began to disappear from the fence rails, bushes, and houses, which partly hid them from the eyes of the garrison. Few had been hit by bullets from the fort, for few had exposed themselves. Among the garrison only five men had been wounded and these not seriously. The first honor of the fight for the possession of Detroit had thus distinctly been with the British troops, and Major Gladwyn smiled with pleasure as he gazed out across the river at the clusters of Indian tepees which sheltered those who were thirsting for his lifeblood and for that of his men. Provisions were scarce, but the courage of his soldiers was not lacking, and he determined to fight to the last ditch rather than to capitulate to such an enemy.

Still under the impression that the whole affair was a sudden outbreak of no particular importance, and that the anger of the Indians would soon subside, Major Gladwyn, being in great want of provisions, opened negotiations with the savages, under cover of which he hoped to smuggle in necessary supplies from the French Canadians, whom the followers of Pontiac would not attack. Some of his officers advised him to embark the troops aboard the two sloops and depart for Niagara, but to this advice the gallant soldier would not listen. Three ambassadors were, therefore, sent to the Indian camp, among whom was a Major Campbell, a brave and hardy officer. Five or six of the French also went along.

Pontiac took the ambassadors by the hand and led them to his camp, where, after a long conference, Campbell appreciated his danger and asked to be allowed to retire. "My father," said the Ottawa chief to him, "you will sleep tonight in the lodges of your red children." Thus the gallant officer was betrayed into the hands of the enemy, nor did he ever live to again see the British garrison, as an Indian warrior murdered him shortly afterwards.

Word was then sent by Pontiac to the fort that the troops should immediately surrender, lay down their arms, as their fathers, the French, had been obliged to do, leave the cannon, magazines, and merchants' goods, and the two vessels, and be escorted in batteaux (long boats) by the Indians to Niagara. To this Major Gladwyn answered that his commanding officer had not sent him there to deliver up the fort to Indians or anybody else, and he would, therefore, defend it as long as a single man could stand at his side. So day after day the Indians continued their attacks until their shrill whoops and the rattle of their guns became familiar sounds. For weeks none of the soldiers lay down to sleep, except in their clothes, and their guns were always loaded and standing at their sides. The outbuildings, which gave shelter to the Indians, were burned down by volunteers from the palisades, while orchard trees and fences were leveled near the fort so that the savage enemy had no cover to shelter him. Still, worming themselves along in the grass, the savages would crawl close to the bastions, and shoot arrows, tipped with burning tow, upon the roofs of the houses. Tanks of water were everywhere provided for fire, and, although the thatched roofs were frequently alight, they were always extinguished before the blaze had any headway.

Pontiac was furious with anger at not reducing the fort, and begged the French inhabitants to teach him the foreign method of making ditches and trenches in order to approach a fortification, under cover. But the ignorant Canadians knew nothing of civilized warfare and could not aid him. One hundred and twenty Ojibwa warriors now joined the forces of Pontiac and assisted in the attack, while every man in the fort slept upon the ramparts, even in the stormiest of weather, and repelled every attempt of the savages to rush the defenses.

Pontiac had a friend, called Baby--a French Canadian--who lived near by, and, one evening, he entered his house, seated himself before the fire and looked steadily at the glowing embers for a long time. At length, raising his head, he said: "Friend, I have heard that the English have offered you a bushel of silver for my scalp. Is it true?" "The story is false," replied the Canadian. "I will never betray you, for an instant." The Chief of the Ottawas keenly studied the features of the white man for a number of minutes. "My brother has spoken the truth," he said, "and I will show that I believe him by spending the night at his house." So saying, he wrapped himself in his blanket, lay down upon a bench, and slept peacefully until the morning, with perfect confidence that no harm would be done him; which proves that, although cruel and vindictive, he had trust and confidence in his friends.

Another anecdote also shows that his trust in his friends was sincere and absolute. Shortly after the beginning of the siege a Captain Rogers came up to Detroit, with a detachment of troops, and on landing sent a bottle of brandy, by a friendly Indian, as a present to Pontiac--an old-time friend and acquaintance. The Ottawas were always suspicious that the English meant to poison them, and so those around the great chief endeavored to persuade him that the brandy was drugged. Pontiac quietly listened to what they had to say, and, as they ceased speaking, replied: "I have saved this man Rogers' life. No man whose life I have saved has the power to kill me, for when he and his men came, not many moons ago, to demand the surrender of Detroit from the French, I kept my Indians from attacking him. He knows this." So saying, he immediately drank the brandy, which, of course, was perfectly pure, and from which he suffered no evil effects.

Not long after his conversation with the Canadian, Pontiac discovered that a few of the young Wyandot braves were stealing his white friend's hogs and cattle, under cover of the darkness. He consequently decided to put an end to these depredations, and, arriving at the white man's home one evening, he walked to and fro, among the barns and enclosures, waiting for a sight of the marauders. Nothing occurred until late in the evening, when, looking keenly through the blackness, the great Sachem of the Ottawas saw the dark forms of the thieves stealing through the gloom. At this he walked up near to them, and thundered in fierce tones: "Go back to your village, you Wyandot dogs. If you tread again on this man's land you shall die!" The Wyandots trembled, and slunk away abashed, while, from then on, the Canadian's property was no longer molested. This well illustrates the power which Pontiac exercised over the minds of his followers.

While perils were thickening around the brave garrison at Detroit, the allied Indians had, meanwhile, not been idle. Late one afternoon the soldiers of the garrison were startled by seeing a naked line of warriors issuing from the woods near the fort, each painted black and with a scalp fluttering from the end of a pole. They dismally howled a death wail and shook their sticks at the fort, which made it only too clear that some new disaster had befallen the English. Such was the truth, for at nightfall a Canadian came to the gate with tidings that Fort Sandusky had been taken and that all the garrison there had either been slain or made captive.

It seems that--on the sixteenth of May--the commandant of the Fort (Ensign Paully) had been informed that seven Indians were at the gate to speak to him, and, as several of them were known to him, he ordered them to be admitted. Arriving at his quarters, two of the visitors seated themselves on either side of him, while the rest dispersed themselves around the room. Pipes were lighted, and the conversation began, when an Indian near the doorway suddenly made a signal with his head. In a moment Paully was captured and bound, while the entire garrison was shot down. The savages, conducting him to a canoe, soon set fire to the fort and burned it to the ground. Paully was adopted by a widow of the tribe, but subsequently made his escape and joined the defenders of Detroit.

The port of St. Josephs lay at the mouth of the river of that name near the head of Lake Michigan, and the fort, recently abandoned by the French, was garrisoned by Ensign Schlosser, with a command of fourteen men--a mere handful in the heart of a wilderness swarming with enemies. Thus, when a large force of Pottawattamies of Detroit came to have a friendly "talk," Schlosser was on his guard, for he feared treachery. But this did him no good. The sentinel at the gate was tomahawked, the Indians rushed into the fort, eleven Englishmen were killed, and the rest were made prisoners. They were conducted to Detroit, where Schlosser and three soldiers were exchanged for an equal number of Indian captives who had fallen into the hands of the garrison. This news was followed by the announcement that Fort Miami had also capitulated to the Indians, while painted warriors passing along the opposite bank in great numbers--a short time afterwards--announced by their yells that Presqu' Isle had also succumbed to their treachery. Le Boeuf, Venango, and Michillimackinac likewise capitulated, and only Detroit and Fort Pitt, in Pennsylvania, held out against the fury of Chief Pontiac and his confederacy.

The fate of Michillimackinac was particularly depressing, as the garrison there had been a good one of about thirty-five men, with their officers. The Commandant--Captain Etherington--had been told by a Canadian trader that the Indian had formed a design to destroy, not only his garrison, but all the English on the lakes, but to this he not only turned a deaf ear, but also threatened to send prisoner to Detroit the next person who should disturb him with such tidings. Therefore, the fate which awaited him could possibly have been averted had he not shown the same contempt for danger that lured many an Englishman upon the frontier to his doom.

The fourth of June was a warm and sultry day, and, as it was the birthday of King George of England, the discipline of the garrison was relaxed. Many of the soldiers were allowed to go outside the palisade, leaving just enough behind to act as sentinels and patrols in the fort. Encamped in the woods, not far distant, were a large number of Ojibwas and Sacs, who, early in the morning, informed the soldiers that they were to play a game of _baggattaway_, or lacrosse. The British were invited to come out and view the game, and, in consequence, the fort was soon deserted. Captain Etherington stood near the gate talking to some Indian chiefs. The soldiers stood--for the most part unarmed--in the shadow of the palisades, while a number of Indian squaws, wrapped in blankets, lounged near the entrance to the fort. Hundreds of lithe warriors rushed about the plain, with bats in their hands, endeavoring to catch the ball and hurl it through their adversaries' goal, while their whoops and yells were mingled with the cheers of the eager spectators.

Thus the game continued, when suddenly, from the midst of the multitude, the ball soared into the air, and, descending in a wide curve, fell near the doorway of the fort. Immediately the entire mass of whooping savages had followed it, and, as they dashed to the doorway, their shrill cries were turned to the death-bringing war whoop. This was not a hasty assault. It was a preconceived stratagem to surprise and destroy the unsuspecting British troops. And, as the ball-players ran by their women, they snatched the hatchets which the latter had concealed beneath their blankets. The startled English had no time to run and seize their muskets. They were struck down by the infuriated warriors, butchered upon the spot, and soon the quiet parade ground was red with the blood of the defenseless garrison. Thus the fate of Michillimackinac was similar to that of every other fortification upon the Great Lakes.

Meanwhile the garrison at Detroit was eagerly awaiting the arrival of reinforcements from Fort Niagara. The siege was being so vigorously pushed that soldiers, merchants, and servants were upon the ramparts every night, no one sleeping in a house, except the sick and wounded in the hospital. Naturally, then, they were much overjoyed when--on May 30th--the English sentinel on duty announced that a fleet of boats was coming around the point, at a place called the Huron Church. The garrison flocked to the bastions, and, for a moment, hope shone upon the haggard countenances of all. But, as the boats drew nearer, the Indian death-cry sounded from them, and they were seen to be full of painted warriors instead of white troops. Then the fact dawned upon the defenders of Detroit--the detachment had been captured by the followers of Pontiac.

This was the truth, for, their approach having been ascertained by the great leader, he had stationed a body of warriors to intercept the progress of the relieving party at Point Pelée. Twenty small batteaux, manned with a considerable number of soldiers and laden with stores, landed here in the evening. The Indians watched their movements from the brush and fell upon them about daylight. One officer and thirty men escaped upon the lake, but the others were either killed or captured. The line of barges ascended the Detroit River near the opposite shore, escorted by the Indians on the bank and guarded by detachments in each boat, in full view of the garrison and of the French settlement near by.

In the foremost boat were four soldiers and only three savages, and, as the shallop came opposite the larger of the two sloops which lay anchored before the fort, the one who acted as steersman determined to escape. He called out in English to his companion, who was near one of the Indians, and told him to throw the Indian overboard. The soldier answered that he was not strong enough; whereupon the steersman directed him to change places with him, as if tired out from rowing, so that no suspicion would be excited in the minds of the guard. The soldier who had conceived the plot now slipped forward, as if to take his companion's oar, but, instead of doing so, he suddenly seized the Indian by the hair, and, gripping him by the waist with the other hand, lifted him from the seat and threw him into the river. As the savage shot out over the gunwale, he seized fast to the clothes of the soldier, and, drawing himself up out of the water, stabbed him again and again with his knife. This knocked the Englishman overboard, and, holding fast to the redskin, both went down the current, rising and sinking in the swift tide, and grappling in the embrace of death. Meanwhile the two other Indians had leaped out of the boat, while the soldiers turned about, and pulled for the neighboring vessel, crying aloud for assistance as they did so. But the Indians in the other canoes came after them in hot pursuit, while the followers of Pontiac on the bank kept up a rapid fire upon them with their muskets. It seemed as if they must be captured, for the bullets hissed about their heads and the birch-bark canoes gained upon them with every thrust of the paddle. Escape seemed impossible, when suddenly a cannon blazed from the side of the vessel, and a ball, flying past the boat, just escaped hitting the foremost canoe. This was enough for the Indians. They withdrew in fear and dismay; while a second ball, exploding among the warriors on the shore, made them take to the bushes. With a few lusty heaves the soldiers reached the side of the vessel where they were warmly greeted, as men coming from the jaws of death, and as a living monument to the old adage that "Fortune favors the brave." Lest the other prisoners might escape, they were immediately landed by the Indians, and were marched to a point well beyond the view of the garrison at Detroit. In the morning their scarred and mutilated bodies began to float by the fort, on the surface of the water, warning the soldiers what would be their fate, should they fail to hold out against the ferocious warriors of Pontiac's Confederacy.

During the month of June another attempt to relieve the garrison proved to be more successful than the last. One of the two vessels, anchored near the fort, had been sent to Niagara for men and for supplies. She had a safe passage, and, before long, arrived at the mouth of the river with about fifty soldiers on board, and a goodly supply of stores. The Indians saw her coming up the stream, realized that they must sink her if they could, and consequently surrounded her in their canoes and pumped lead at her sides, as if they hoped to scuttle her with bullet holes. But the vessel kept on, until it reached a very narrow part of the river where the wind died away, and so the anchor was dropped. Immediately above this place the Indians had made a breastwork of logs, carefully concealed in the bushes, and behind this they lay in force, waiting for the schooner to pass. This the crew were not aware of, but, from the moment the sun went down, they kept a keen watch upon the waters of the river.

Hours passed, the rapid current gurgled about the bow of the trim little vessel, and on either side frogs croaked from the black shores of the stream. Occasionally a night heron squawked in the marshy land near by, but nothing else disturbed the peace and quiet of the night. Suddenly the sentry started to his feet, for dark forms were seen moving upon the surface of the stream. "Indians! Indians!" he whispered, and, in a moment, the decks were crowded with soldiers, armed to the teeth. Meanwhile hundreds of canoes crept towards the vessel, and were within a few rods of their fancied prize, when a blow from a hammer sounded upon the foremast of the British boat. It was the signal to fire. Immediately a dull roar sounded through the still night, the sides of the vessel burst into a blaze of sheeted flame, and grape and musket shot tore into the clustering line of canoes. Fierce yells of pain and chagrin welled into the air as canoe after canoe sank before the fusillade, and, with fourteen of their number dead and dying, the remaining braves turned about and fled precipitously. But their friends opened a brisk fire from their log breastwork, so the vessel weighed anchor and dropped down stream with the current. When it again threw out the chain and swivel, not an Indian was to be seen.

For six days the vessel had to remain where she was, until a wind sprang up which was sufficiently strong to blow her up stream. So sails were hoisted and she tacked between the shores until the fort was reached. As she passed the Wyandot village the guns were brought to bear upon the wigwams, a shower of grapeshot was fired among them, and, before the yelling savages were fully aware of the nearness of the schooner, many of them had been struck down. The rest ran off, yelping like a band of those cur-dogs which follow every Indian encampment, and quickly scurried to the protection of the forest, while the welcome vessel furled her sails abreast of the fort and came peacefully to anchor. She brought much-needed ammunition and supplies, and the tidings that peace had, at last, been declared between France and England. This was heartily cheered by the brave defenders of Detroit, for now, with fresh supplies, more soldiers, and the renewed confidence which these could bring, they looked more cheerfully into the future. They were still in grave peril, and brave Major Gladwyn still counselled his men to use every care in watching the savages, both by night and by day, for their death chants sounded from the edge of the forest most ominously.