1763.
ROUT OF CUYLER'S DETACHMENT.--FATE OF THE FOREST GARRISONS.
While perils were thickening around the garrison of Detroit, the British
commander-in-chief at New York remained ignorant of its danger. Indeed, an
unwonted quiet had prevailed, of late, along the borders and about the
neighboring forts. With the opening of spring, a strong detachment had
been sent up the lakes, with a supply of provisions and ammunition for the
use of Detroit and the other western posts. The boats of this convoy were
now pursuing their course along the northern shore of Lake Erie; and
Gladwyn's garrison, aware of their approach, awaited their arrival with an
anxiety which every day increased.
Day after day passed on, and the red cross of St. George still floated
above Detroit. The keen-eyed watchfulness of the Indians had never abated;
and woe to the soldier who showed his head above the palisades, or exposed
his person before a loophole. Strong in his delusive hope of French
assistance, Pontiac had sent messengers to M. Neyon, commandant at the
Illinois, earnestly requesting that a force of regular troops might be
sent to his aid; and Gladwyn, on his side, had ordered one of the vessels
to Niagara, to hasten forward the expected convoy. The schooner set sail;
but on the next day, as she lay becalmed at the entrance of Lake Erie, a
multitude of canoes suddenly darted out upon her from the neighboring
shores. In the prow of the foremost the Indians had placed their prisoner,
Captain Campbell, with the dastardly purpose of interposing him as a
screen between themselves and the fire of the English. But the brave old
man called out to the crew to do their duty, without regard to him.
Happily, at that moment a fresh breeze sprang up; the flapping sails
stretched to the wind, and the schooner bore prosperously on her course
towards Niagara, leaving the savage flotilla far behind.[215]
The fort, or rather town, of Detroit had, by this time, lost its wonted
vivacity and life. Its narrow streets were gloomy and silent. Here and
there strolled a Canadian, in red cap and gaudy sash; the weary sentinel
walked to and fro before the quarters of the commandant; an officer,
perhaps, passed along with rapid step and anxious face; or an Indian girl,
the mate of some soldier or trader, moved silently by, in her finery of
beads and vermilion. Such an aspect as this the town must have presented
on the morning of the thirtieth of May, when, at about nine o'clock, the
voice of the sentinel sounded from the south-east bastion; and loud
exclamations, in the direction of the river, roused Detroit from its
lethargy. Instantly the place was astir. Soldiers, traders, and
_habitants_, hurrying through the water-gate, thronged the canoe wharf and
the narrow strand without. The half-wild _coureurs de bois_, the tall and
sinewy provincials, and the stately British soldiers, stood crowded
together, their uniforms soiled and worn, and their faces haggard with
unremitted watching. Yet all alike wore an animated and joyous look. The
long expected convoy was full in sight. On the farther side of the river,
at some distance below the fort, a line of boats was rounding the woody
projection, then called Montreal Point, their oars flashing in the sun,
and the red flag of England flying from the stern of the foremost.[216]
The toils and dangers of the garrison were drawing to an end. With one
accord, they broke into three hearty cheers, again and again repeated,
while a cannon, glancing from the bastion, sent its loud voice of defiance
to the enemy, and welcome to approaching friends. But suddenly every cheek
grew pale with horror. Dark naked figures were seen rising, with wild
gesture, in the boats, while, in place of the answering salute, the
distant yell of the war-whoop fell faintly on their ears. The convoy was
in the hands of the enemy. The boats had all been taken, and the troops of
the detachment slain or made captive. Officers and men stood gazing in
mournful silence, when an incident occurred which caused them to forget
the general calamity in the absorbing interest of the moment.
Leaving the disappointed garrison, we will pass over to the principal
victims of this deplorable misfortune. In each of the boats, of which
there were eighteen, two or more of the captured soldiers, deprived of
their weapons, were compelled to act as rowers, guarded by several armed
savages, while many other Indians, for the sake of farther security,
followed the boats along the shore.[217] In the foremost, as it happened,
there were four soldiers and only three Indians. The larger of the two
vessels still lay anchored in the stream, about a bow-shot from the fort,
while her companion, as we have seen, had gone down to Niagara to hasten
up this very re-enforcement. As the boat came opposite this vessel, the
soldier who acted as steersman conceived a daring plan of escape. The
principal Indian sat immediately in front of another of the soldiers. The
steersman called, in English, to his comrade to seize the savage and throw
him overboard. The man answered that he was not strong enough; on which
the steersman directed him to change places with him, as if fatigued with
rowing, a movement which would excite no suspicion on the part of their
guard. As the bold soldier stepped forward, as if to take his companion's
oar, he suddenly seized the Indian by the hair, and, griping with the
other hand the girdle at his waist, lifted him by main force, and flung
him into the river. The boat rocked till the water surged over her
gunwale. The Indian held fast to his enemy's clothes, and, drawing
himself upward as he trailed alongside, stabbed him again and again with
his knife, and then dragged him overboard. Both went down the swift
current, rising and sinking; and, as some relate, perished, grappled in
each other's arms.[218] The two remaining Indians leaped out of the boat.
The prisoners turned, and pulled for the distant vessel, shouting aloud
for aid. The Indians on shore opened a heavy fire upon them, and many
canoes paddled swiftly in pursuit. The men strained with desperate
strength. A fate inexpressibly horrible was the alternative. The bullets
hissed thickly around their heads; one of them was soon wounded, and the
light birch canoes gained on them with fearful rapidity. Escape seemed
hopeless, when the report of a cannon burst from the side of the vessel.
The ball flew close past the boat, beating the water in a line of foam,
and narrowly missing the foremost canoe. At this, the pursuers drew back
in dismay; and the Indians on shore, being farther saluted by a second
shot, ceased firing, and scattered among the bushes. The prisoners soon
reached the vessel, where they were greeted as men snatched from the jaws
of fate; "a living monument," writes an officer of the garrison, "that
Fortune favors the brave."[219]
They related many particulars of the catastrophe which had befallen them
and their companions. Lieutenant Cuyler had left Fort Niagara as early as
the thirteenth of May, and embarked from Fort Schlosser, just above the
falls, with ninety-six men and a plentiful supply of provisions and
ammunition. Day after day he had coasted the northern shore of Lake Erie,
and seen neither friend nor foe amid those lonely forests and waters,
until, on the twenty-eighth of the month, he landed at Point Pelee, not
far from the mouth of the River Detroit. The boats were drawn on the
beach, and the party prepared to encamp. A man and a boy went to gather
firewood at a short distance from the spot, when an Indian leaped out of
the woods, seized the boy by the hair, and tomahawked him. The man ran
into camp with the alarm. Cuyler immediately formed his soldiers into a
semicircle before the boats. He had scarcely done so when the enemy opened
their fire. For an instant, there was a hot blaze of musketry on both
sides; then the Indians broke out of the woods in a body, and rushed
fiercely upon the centre of the line, which gave way in every part; the
men flinging down their guns, running in a blind panic to the boats, and
struggling with ill-directed efforts to shove them into the water. Five
were set afloat, and pushed off from the shore, crowded with the terrified
soldiers. Cuyler, seeing himself, as he says, deserted by his men, waded
up to his neck in the lake, and climbed into one of the retreating boats.
The Indians, on their part, pushing two more afloat, went in pursuit of
the fugitives, three boat-loads of whom allowed themselves to be
recaptured without resistance; but the remaining two, in one of which was
Cuyler himself, made their escape.[220] They rowed all night, and landed
in the morning upon a small island. Between thirty and forty men, some of
whom were wounded, were crowded in these two boats; the rest, about sixty
in number, being killed or taken. Cuyler now made for Sandusky, which, on
his arrival, he found burnt to the ground. Immediately leaving the spot,
he rowed along the south shore to Presqu' Isle, from whence he proceeded
to Niagara and reported his loss to Major Wilkins, the commanding
officer.[221]
The actors in this bold and well-executed stroke were the Wyandots, who,
for some days, had lain in ambush at the mouth of the river, to intercept
trading boats or parties of troops. Seeing the fright and confusion of
Cuyler's men, they had forgotten their usual caution, and rushed upon them
in the manner described. The ammunition, provisions, and other articles,
taken in this attack, formed a valuable prize; but, unfortunately, there
was, among the rest, a great quantity of whiskey. This the Indians seized,
and carried to their respective camps, which, throughout the night,
presented a scene of savage revelry and riot. The liquor was poured into
vessels of birch-bark, or any thing capable of containing it; and the
Indians, crowding around, scooped it up in their cups and ladles, and
quaffed the raw whiskey like water. While some sat apart, wailing and
moaning in maudlin drunkenness, others were maddened to the ferocity of
wild beasts. Dormant jealousies were awakened, old forgotten quarrels
kindled afresh, and, had not the squaws taken the precaution of hiding all
the weapons they could find before the debauch began, much blood would, no
doubt, have been spilt. As it was, the savages were not entirely without
means of indulging their drunken rage. Many were wounded, of whom two died
in the morning; and several others had their noses bitten off,--a singular
mode of revenge, much in vogue upon similar occasions, among the Indians
of the upper lakes. The English were gainers by this scene of riot; for
late in the evening, two Indians, in all the valor and vain-glory of
drunkenness, came running directly towards the fort, boasting their
prowess in a loud voice; but being greeted with two rifle bullets, they
leaped into the air like a pair of wounded bucks, and fell dead on their
tracks.
It will not be proper to pass over in silence the fate of the unfortunate
men taken prisoners in this affair. After night had set in, several
Canadians came to the fort, bringing vague and awful reports of the scenes
that had been enacted at the Indian camp. The soldiers gathered round
them, and, frozen with horror, listened to the appalling narrative. A
cloud of deep gloom sank down upon the garrison, and none could help
reflecting how thin and frail a barrier protected them from a similar
fate. On the following day, and for several succeeding days, they beheld
frightful confirmation of the rumors they had heard. Naked corpses, gashed
with knives and scorched with fire, floated down on the pure waters of the
Detroit, whose fish came up to nibble at the clotted blood that clung to
their ghastly faces.[222]
Late one afternoon, at about this period of the siege, the garrison were
again greeted with the dismal cry of death, and a line of naked warriors
was seen issuing from the woods, which, like a wall of foliage, rose
beyond the pastures in rear of the fort. Each savage was painted black,
and each bore a scalp fluttering from the end of a pole. It was but too
clear that some new disaster had befallen; and in truth, before nightfall,
one La Brosse, a Canadian, came to the gate with the tidings that Fort
Sandusky had been taken, and all its garrison slain or made captive.[223]
This post had been attacked by the band of Wyandots living in its
neighborhood, aided by a detachment of their brethren from Detroit. Among
the few survivors of the slaughter was the commanding officer, Ensign
Paully, who had been brought prisoner to Detroit, bound hand and foot, and
solaced on the passage with the expectation of being burnt alive. On
landing near the camp of Pontiac, he was surrounded by a crowd of Indians,
chiefly squaws and children, who pelted him with stones, sticks, and
gravel, forcing him to dance and sing, though by no means in a cheerful
strain. A worse infliction seemed in store for him, when happily an old
woman, whose husband had lately died, chose to adopt him in place of the
deceased warrior. Seeing no alternative but the stake, Paully accepted the
proposal; and, having been first plunged in the river, that the white
blood might be washed from his veins, he was conducted to the lodge of the
widow, and treated thenceforth with all the consideration due to an Ottawa
warrior.
Gladwyn soon received a letter from him, through one of the Canadian
inhabitants, giving a full account of the capture of Fort Sandusky. On
the sixteenth of May--such was the substance of the communication--Paully
was informed that seven Indians were waiting at the gate to speak with
him. As several of the number were well known to him, he ordered them,
without hesitation, to be admitted. Arriving at his quarters, two of the
treacherous visitors seated themselves on each side of the commandant,
while the rest were disposed in various parts of the room. The pipes were
lighted, and the conversation began, when an Indian, who stood in the
doorway, suddenly made a signal by raising his head. Upon this, the
astonished officer was instantly pounced upon and disarmed; while, at the
same moment, a confused noise of shrieks and yells, the firing of guns,
and the hurried tramp of feet, sounded from the area of the fort without.
It soon ceased, however, and Paully, led by his captors from the room, saw
the parade ground strown with the corpses of his murdered garrison. At
nightfall, he was conducted to the margin of the lake, where several birch
canoes lay in readiness; and as, amid thick darkness, the party pushed out
from shore, the captive saw the fort, lately under his command, bursting
on all sides into sheets of flame.[224]
Soon after these tidings of the loss of Sandusky, Gladwyn's garrison heard
the scarcely less unwelcome news that the strength of their besiegers had
been re-enforced by two strong bands of Ojibwas. Pontiac's forces in the
vicinity of Detroit now amounted, according to Canadian computation, to
about eight hundred and twenty warriors. Of these, two hundred and fifty
were Ottawas, commanded by himself in person; one hundred and fifty were
Pottawattamies, under Ninivay; fifty were Wyandots, under Takee; two
hundred were Ojibwas, under Wasson; and added to these were a hundred and
seventy of the same tribe, under their chief, Sekahos.[225] As the
warriors brought their squaws and children with them, the whole number of
savages congregated about Detroit no doubt exceeded three thousand; and
the neighboring fields and meadows must have presented a picturesque and
stirring scene.
The sleepless garrison, worn by fatigue and ill fare, and harassed by
constant petty attacks, were yet farther saddened by the news of disaster
which thickened from every quarter. Of all the small posts scattered at
intervals through the vast wilderness to the westward of Niagara and Fort
Pitt, it soon appeared that Detroit alone had been able to sustain itself.
For the rest, there was but one unvaried tale of calamity and ruin. On the
fifteenth of June, a number of Pottawattamies were seen approaching the
gate of the fort, bringing with them four English prisoners, who proved to
be Ensign Schlosser, lately commanding at St. Joseph's, together with
three private soldiers. The Indians wished to exchange them for several of
their own tribe, who had been for nearly two months prisoners in the fort.
After some delay, this was effected; and the garrison then learned the
unhappy fate of their comrades at St. Joseph's. This post stood at the
mouth of the River St. Joseph's, near the head of Lake Michigan, a spot
which had long been the site of a Roman Catholic mission. Here, among the
forests, swamps, and ocean-like waters, at an unmeasured distance from any
abode of civilized man, the indefatigable Jesuits had labored more than
half a century for the spiritual good of the Pottawattamies, who lived in
great numbers near the margin of the lake. As early as the year 1712, as
Father Marest informs us, the mission was in a thriving state, and around
it had gathered a little colony of the forest-loving Canadians. Here, too,
the French government had established a military post, whose garrison, at
the period of our narrative, had been supplanted by Ensign Schlosser, with
his command of fourteen men, a mere handful, in the heart of a wilderness
swarming with insidious enemies. They seem, however, to have apprehended
no danger, when, on the twenty-fifth of May, early in the morning, the
officer was informed that a large party of the Pottawattamies of Detroit
had come to pay a visit to their relatives at St. Joseph's. Presently, a
chief, named Washashe, with three or four followers, came to his quarters,
as if to hold a friendly "talk;" and immediately after a Canadian came in
with intelligence that the fort was surrounded by Indians, who evidently
had hostile intentions. At this, Schlosser ran out of the apartment, and
crossing the parade, which was full of Indians and Canadians, hastily
entered the barracks. These were also crowded with savages, very insolent
and disorderly. Calling upon his sergeant to get the men under arms, he
hastened out again to the parade, and endeavored to muster the Canadians
together; but while busying himself with these somewhat unwilling
auxiliaries, he heard a wild cry from within the barracks. Instantly all
the Indians in the fort rushed to the gate, tomahawked the sentinel, and
opened a free passage to their comrades without. In less than two minutes,
as the officer declares, the fort was plundered, eleven men were killed,
and himself, with the three survivors, made prisoners, and bound fast.
They then conducted him to Detroit, where he was exchanged as we have
already seen.[226]
Three days after these tidings reached Detroit, Father Jonois, a Jesuit
priest of the Ottawa mission near Michillimackinac, came to Pontiac's
camp, together with the son of Minavavana, great chief of the Ojibwas, and
several other Indians. On the following morning, he appeared at the gate
of the fort, bringing a letter from Captain Etherington, commandant at
Michillimackinac. The commencement of the letter was as follows:--
"Michillimackinac, 12 June, 1763.
"Sir:
"Notwithstanding what I wrote you in my last, that all the
savages were arrived, and that every thing seemed in perfect
tranquillity, yet on the second instant the Chippeways, who
live in a plain near this fort, assembled to play ball, as they
had done almost every day since their arrival. They played from
morning till noon; then, throwing their ball close to the gate,
and observing Lieutenant Lesley and me a few paces out of it,
they came behind us, seized and carried us into the woods.
"In the mean time, the rest rushed into the fort, where they
found their squaws, whom they had previously planted there, with
their hatchets hid under their blankets, which they took, and in
an instant killed Lieutenant Jamet, and fifteen rank and file,
and a trader named Tracy. They wounded two, and took the rest of
the garrison prisoners, five of whom they have since killed.
"They made prisoners all the English traders, and robbed them of
every thing they had; but they offered no violence to the
persons or property of any of the Frenchmen."
Captain Etherington next related some particulars of the massacre at
Michillimackinac, sufficiently startling, as will soon appear. He spoke in
high terms of the character and conduct of Father Jonois, and requested
that Gladwyn would send all the troops he could spare up Lake Huron, that
the post might be recaptured from the Indians, and garrisoned afresh.
Gladwyn, being scarcely able to defend himself, could do nothing for the
relief of his brother officer, and the Jesuit set out on his long and
toilsome canoe voyage back to Michillimackinac.[227] The loss of this
place was a very serious misfortune, for, next to Detroit, it was the most
important post on the upper lakes.
The next news which came in was that of the loss of Ouatanon, a fort
situated upon the Wabash, a little below the site of the present town of
La Fayette. Gladwyn received a letter from its commanding officer,
Lieutenant Jenkins, informing him that, on the first of June, he and
several of his men had been made prisoners by stratagem, on which the rest
of the garrison had surrendered. The Indians, however, apologized for
their conduct, declaring that they acted contrary to their own
inclinations, and that the surrounding tribes compelled them to take up
the hatchet.[228] These excuses, so consolatory to the sufferers, might
probably have been founded in truth, for these savages were of a character
less ferocious than many of the others, and as they were farther removed
from the settlements, they had not felt to an equal degree the effects of
English insolence and encroachment.
Close upon these tidings came the news that Fort Miami was taken. This
post, standing on the River Maumee, was commanded by Ensign Holmes. And
here I cannot but remark on the forlorn situation of these officers,
isolated in the wilderness, hundreds of miles, in some instances, from any
congenial associates, separated from every human being except the rude
soldiers under their command, and the white or red savages who ranged the
surrounding woods. Holmes suspected the intention of the Indians, and was
therefore on his guard, when, on the twenty-seventh of May, a young
Indian girl, who lived with him, came to tell him that a squaw lay
dangerously ill in a wigwam near the fort, and urged him to come to her
relief. Having confidence in the girl, Holmes forgot his caution and
followed her out of the fort. Pitched at the edge of a meadow, hidden from
view by an intervening spur of the woodland, stood a great number of
Indian wigwams. When Holmes came in sight of them, his treacherous
conductress pointed out that in which the sick woman lay. He walked on
without suspicion; but, as he drew near, two guns flashed from behind the
hut, and stretched him lifeless on the grass. The shots were heard at the
fort, and the sergeant rashly went out to learn the reason of the firing.
He was immediately taken prisoner, amid exulting yells and whoopings. The
soldiers in the fort climbed upon the palisades, to look out, when
Godefroy, a Canadian, and two other white men, made their appearance, and
summoned them to surrender; promising that, if they did so, their lives
should be spared, but that otherwise they would all be killed without
mercy. The men, being in great terror, and without a leader, soon threw
open the gate, and gave themselves up as prisoners.[229]
Had detachments of Rogers's Rangers garrisoned these posts, or had they
been held by such men as the Rocky Mountain trappers of the present day,
wary, skilful, and almost ignorant of fear, some of them might, perhaps,
have been saved; but the soldiers of the 60th Regiment, though many of
them were of provincial birth, were not suited by habits and discipline
for this kind of service.
The loss of Presqu' Isle will close this catalogue of calamity. Rumors of
it first reached Detroit on the twentieth of June, and, two days after,
the garrison heard those dismal cries announcing scalps and prisoners,
which, of late, had grown mournfully familiar to their ears. Indians were
seen passing in numbers along the opposite bank of the river, leading
several English prisoners, who proved to be Ensign Christie, the
commanding officer at Presqu' Isle, with those of his soldiers who
survived.
On the third of June, Christie, then safely ensconced in the fort which he
commanded, had written as follows to his superior officer, Lieutenant
Gordon, at Venango: "This morning Lieutenant Cuyler of Queen's Company of
Rangers came here, and gave me the following melancholy account of his
whole party being cut off by a large body of Indians at the mouth of the
Detroit River." Here follows the story of Cuyler's disaster, and Christie
closes as follows: "I have sent to Niagara a letter to the Major, desiring
some more ammunition and provisions, and have kept six men of Lieutenant
Cuyler's, as I expect a visit from the hell-hounds. I have ordered
everybody here to move into the blockhouse, and shall be ready for them,
come when they will."
Fort Presqu' Isle stood on the southern shore of Lake Erie, at the site of
the present town of Erie. It was an important post to be commanded by an
Ensign, for it controlled the communication between the lake and Fort
Pitt; but the blockhouse, to which Christie alludes, was supposed to make
it impregnable against Indians. This blockhouse, a very large and strong
one, stood at an angle of the fort, and was built of massive logs, with
the projecting upper story usual in such structures, by means of which a
vertical fire could be had upon the heads of assailants, through openings
in the projecting part of the floor, like the _machicoulis_ of a mediaeval
castle. It had also a kind of bastion, from which one or more of its walls
could be covered by a flank fire. The roof was of shingles, and might
easily be set on fire; but at the top was a sentry-box or look-out, from
which water could be thrown. On one side was the lake, and on the other a
small stream which entered it. Unfortunately, the bank of this stream rose
in a high steep ridge within forty yards of the blockhouse, thus affording
a cover to assailants, while the bank of the lake offered them similar
advantages on another side.
After his visit from Cuyler, Christie, whose garrison now consisted of
twenty-seven men, prepared for a stubborn defence. The doors of the
blockhouse, and the sentry-box at the top, were lined to make them
bullet-proof; the angles of the roof were covered with green turf as a
protection against fire-arrows, and gutters of bark were laid in such a
manner that streams of water could be sent to every part. His expectation
of a "visit from the hell-hounds" proved to be perfectly well founded.
About two hundred of them had left Detroit expressly for this object. At
early dawn on the fifteenth of June, they were first discovered stealthily
crossing the mouth of the little stream, where the bateaux were drawn up,
and crawling under cover of the banks of the lake and of the adjacent
saw-pits. When the sun rose, they showed themselves, and began their
customary yelling. Christie, with a very unnecessary reluctance to begin
the fray, ordered his men not to fire till the Indians had set the
example. The consequence was, that they were close to the blockhouse
before they received the fire of the garrison; and many of them sprang
into the ditch, whence, being well sheltered, they fired at the loopholes,
and amused themselves by throwing stones and handfuls of gravel, or, what
was more to the purpose, fire-balls of pitch. Some got into the fort and
sheltered themselves behind the bakery and other buildings, whence they
kept up a brisk fire; while others pulled down a small outhouse of plank,
of which they made a movable breastwork, and approached under cover of it
by pushing it before them. At the same time, great numbers of them lay
close behind the ridges by the stream, keeping up a rattling fire into
every loophole, and shooting burning arrows against the roof and sides of
the blockhouse. Some were extinguished with water, while many dropped out
harmless after burning a small hole. The Indians now rolled logs to the
top of the ridges, where they made three strong breastworks, from behind
which they could discharge their shot and throw their fireworks with
greater effect. Sometimes they would try to dart across the intervening
space and shelter themselves with their companions in the ditch, but all
who attempted it were killed or wounded. And now the hard-beset little
garrison could see them throwing up earth and stones behind the nearest
breastwork. Their implacable foes were undermining the blockhouse. There
was little time to reflect on this new danger; for another, more
imminent, soon threatened them. The barrels of water, always kept in the
building, were nearly emptied in extinguishing the frequent fires; and
though there was a well close at hand, in the parade ground, it was death
to approach it. The only resource was to dig a subterranean passage to it.
The floor was torn up; and while some of the men fired their heated
muskets from the loopholes, the rest labored stoutly at this cheerless
task. Before it was half finished, the roof was on fire again, and all the
water that remained was poured down to extinguish it. In a few moments,
the cry of fire was again raised, when a soldier, at imminent risk of his
life, tore off the burning shingles and averted the danger.
By this time it was evening. The garrison had had not a moment's rest
since the sun rose. Darkness brought little relief, for guns flashed all
night from the Indian intrenchments. In the morning, however, there was a
respite. The Indians were ominously quiet, being employed, it seems, in
pushing their subterranean approaches, and preparing fresh means for
firing the blockhouse. In the afternoon the attack began again. They set
fire to the house of the commanding officer, which stood close at hand,
and which they had reached by means of their trenches. The pine logs
blazed fiercely, and the wind blew the flame against the bastion of the
blockhouse, which scorched, blackened, and at last took fire; but the
garrison had by this time dug a passage to the well, and, half stifled as
they were, they plied their water-buckets with such good will that the
fire was subdued, while the blazing house soon sank to a glowing pile of
embers. The men, who had behaved throughout with great spirit, were now,
in the words of their officer, "exhausted to the greatest extremity;" yet
they still kept up their forlorn defence, toiling and fighting without
pause within the wooden walls of their dim prison, where the close and
heated air was thick with the smoke of gunpowder. The firing on both sides
lasted through the rest of the day, and did not cease till midnight, at
which hour a voice was heard to call out, in French, from the enemy's
intrenchments, warning the garrison that farther resistance would be
useless, since preparations were made for setting the blockhouse on fire,
above and below at once. Christie demanded if there were any among them
who spoke English; upon which, a man in the Indian dress came out from
behind the breastwork. He was a soldier, who, having been made prisoner
early in the French war, had since lived among the savages, and now
espoused their cause, fighting with them against his own countrymen. He
said that if they yielded, their lives should be spared; but if they
fought longer, they must all be burnt alive. Christie told them to wait
till morning for his answer. They assented, and suspended their fire.
Christie now asked his men, if we may believe the testimony of two of
them, "whether they chose to give up the blockhouse, or remain in it and
be burnt alive?" They replied that they would stay as long as they could
bear the heat, and then fight their way through.[230] A third witness,
Edward Smyth, apparently a corporal, testifies that all but two of them
were for holding out. He says that when his opinion was asked, he replied
that, having but one life to lose, he would be governed by the rest; but
that at the same time he reminded them of the recent treachery at Detroit,
and of the butchery at Fort William Henry, adding that, in his belief,
they themselves could expect no better usage.
When morning came, Christie sent out two soldiers as if to treat with the
enemy, but, in reality, as he says, to learn the truth of what they had
told him respecting their preparations to burn the blockhouse. On reaching
the breastwork, the soldiers made a signal, by which their officer saw
that his worst fears were well founded. In pursuance of their orders, they
then demanded that two of the principal chiefs should meet with Christie
midway between the breastwork and the blockhouse. The chiefs appeared
accordingly; and Christie, going out, yielded up the blockhouse; having
first stipulated that the lives of all the garrison should be spared, and
that they might retire unmolested to the nearest post. The soldiers, pale
and haggard, like men who had passed through a fiery ordeal, now issued
from their scorched and bullet-pierced stronghold. A scene of plunder
instantly began. Benjamin Gray, a Scotch soldier, who had just been
employed, on Christie's order, in carrying presents to the Indians, seeing
the confusion, and hearing a scream from a sergeant's wife, the only woman
in the garrison, sprang off into the woods and succeeded in making his way
to Fort Pitt with news of the disaster. It is needless to say that no
faith was kept with the rest, and they had good cause to be thankful that
they were not butchered on the spot. After being detained for some time in
the neighborhood, they were carried prisoners to Detroit, where Christie
soon after made his escape, and gained the fort in safety.[231]
After Presqu' Isle was taken, the neighboring posts of Le B[oe]uf and
Venango shared its fate; while farther southward, at the forks of the
Ohio, a host of Delaware and Shawanoe warriors were gathering around Fort
Pitt, and blood and havoc reigned along the whole frontier.