1763.
THE INDIANS CONTINUE TO BLOCKADE DETROIT.
We return once more to Detroit and its beleaguered garrison. On the
nineteenth of June, a rumor reached them that one of the vessels had been
seen near Turkey Island, some miles below the fort, but that, the wind
failing her, she had dropped down with the current, to wait a more
favorable opportunity. It may be remembered that this vessel had, several
weeks before, gone down Lake Erie to hasten the advance of Cuyler's
expected detachment. Passing these troops on her way, she had held her
course to Niagara; and here she had remained until the return of Cuyler,
with the remnant of his men, made known the catastrophe that had befallen
him. This officer, and the survivors of his party, with a few other troops
spared from the garrison of Niagara, were ordered to embark in her, and
make the best of their way back to Detroit. They had done so, and now, as
we have seen, were almost within sight of the fort; but the critical part
of the undertaking yet remained. The river channel was in some places
narrow, and more than eight hundred Indians were on the alert to intercept
their passage.
For several days, the officers at Detroit heard nothing farther of the
vessel, when, on the twenty-third, a great commotion was visible among the
Indians, large parties of whom were seen to pass along the outskirts of
the woods, behind the fort. The cause of these movements was unknown till
evening, when M. Baby came in with intelligence that the vessel was again
attempting to ascend the river, and that all the Indians had gone to
attack her. Upon this, two cannon were fired, that those on board might
know that the fort still held out. This done, all remained in much anxiety
awaiting the result.
The schooner, late that afternoon, began to move slowly upward, with a
gentle breeze, between the main shore and the long-extended margin of
Fighting Island. About sixty men were crowded on board, of whom only ten
or twelve were visible on deck; the officer having ordered the rest to lie
hidden below, in hope that the Indians, encouraged by this apparent
weakness, might make an open attack. Just before reaching the narrowest
part of the channel, the wind died away, and the anchor was dropped.
Immediately above, and within gunshot of the vessel, the Indians had made
a breastwork of logs, carefully concealed by bushes, on the shore of
Turkey Island. Here they lay in force, waiting for the schooner to pass.
Ignorant of this, but still cautious and wary, the crew kept a strict
watch from the moment the sun went down.
Hours wore on, and nothing had broken the deep repose of the night. The
current gurgled with a monotonous sound around the bows of the schooner,
and on either hand the wooded shores lay amid the obscurity, black and
silent as the grave. At length, the sentinel could discern, in the
distance, various moving objects upon the dark surface of the water. The
men were ordered up from below, and all took their posts in perfect
silence. The blow of a hammer on the mast was to be the signal to fire.
The Indians, gliding stealthily over the water in their birch canoes, had,
by this time, approached within a few rods of their fancied prize, when
suddenly the dark side of the slumbering vessel burst into a blaze of
cannon and musketry, which illumined the night like a flash of lightning.
Grape- and musket-shot flew tearing among the canoes, destroying several
of them, killing fourteen Indians, wounding as many more, and driving the
rest in consternation to the shore.[232] Recovering from their surprise,
they began to fire upon the vessel from behind their breastwork; upon
which she weighed anchor, and dropped down once more beyond their reach,
into the broad river below. Several days afterwards, she again attempted
to ascend. This time, she met with better success; for, though the Indians
fired at her constantly from the shore, no man was hurt, and at length she
left behind her the perilous channels of the Islands. As she passed the
Wyandot village, she sent a shower of grape among its yelping inhabitants,
by which several were killed; and then, furling her sails, lay peacefully
at anchor by the side of her companion vessel, abreast of the fort.
The schooner brought to the garrison a much-needed supply of men,
ammunition, and provisions. She brought, also, the important tidings that
peace was at length concluded between France and England. The bloody and
momentous struggle of the French war, which had shaken North America since
the year 1755, had indeed been virtually closed by the victory on the
Plains of Abraham, and the junction of the three British armies at
Montreal. Yet up to this time, its embers had continued to burn, till at
length peace was completely established by formal treaty between the
hostile powers. France resigned her ambitious project of empire in
America, and ceded Canada and the region of the lakes to her successful
rival. By this treaty, the Canadians of Detroit were placed in a new
position. Hitherto they had been, as it were, prisoners on capitulation,
neutral spectators of the quarrel between their British conquerors and the
Indians; but now their allegiance was transferred from the crown of France
to that of Britain, and they were subjects of the English king. To many of
them the change was extremely odious, for they cordially hated the
British. They went about among the settlers and the Indians, declaring
that the pretended news of peace was only an invention of Major Gladwyn;
that the king of France would never abandon his children; and that a great
French army was even then ascending the St. Lawrence, while another was
approaching from the country of the Illinois.[233] This oft-repeated
falsehood was implicitly believed by the Indians, who continued firm in
the faith that their Great Father was about to awake from his sleep, and
wreak his vengeance upon the insolent English, who had intruded on his
domain.
Pontiac himself clung fast to this delusive hope; yet he was greatly vexed
at the safe arrival of the vessel, and the assistance she had brought to
the obstinate defenders of Detroit. He exerted himself with fresh zeal to
gain possession of the place, and attempted to terrify Gladwyn into
submission. He sent a message, in which he strongly urged him to
surrender, adding, by way of stimulus, that eight hundred more Ojibwas
were every day expected, and that, on their arrival, all his influence
could not prevent them from taking the scalp of every Englishman in the
fort. To this friendly advice Gladwyn returned a brief and contemptuous
answer.
Pontiac, having long been anxious to gain the Canadians as auxiliaries in
the war, now determined on a final effort to effect his object. For this
purpose, he sent messages to the principal inhabitants, inviting them to
meet him in council. In the Ottawa camp, there was a vacant spot, quite
level, and encircled by the huts of the Indians. Here mats were spread for
the reception of the deputies, who soon convened, and took their seats in
a wide ring. One part was occupied by the Canadians, among whom were
several whose withered, leathery features proclaimed them the patriarchs
of the secluded little settlement. Opposite these sat the stern-visaged
Pontiac, with his chiefs on either hand, while the intervening portions of
the circle were filled by Canadians and Indians promiscuously mingled.
Standing on the outside, and looking over the heads of this more dignified
assemblage, was a motley throng of Indians and Canadians, half-breeds,
trappers, and voyageurs, in wild and picturesque, though very dirty
attire. Conspicuous among them were numerous Indian dandies, a large class
in every aboriginal community, where they hold about the same relative
position as do their counterparts in civilized society. They were wrapped
in the gayest blankets, their necks adorned with beads, their cheeks
daubed with vermilion, and their ears hung with pendants. They stood
sedately looking on, with evident self-complacency, yet ashamed and afraid
to take their places among the aged chiefs and warriors of repute.
All was silent, and several pipes were passing round from hand to hand,
when Pontiac rose, and threw down a war-belt at the feet of the Canadians.
"My brothers," he said, "how long will you suffer this bad flesh to remain
upon your lands? I have told you before, and I now tell you again, that
when I took up the hatchet, it was for your good. This year the English
must all perish throughout Canada. The Master of Life commands it; and
you, who know him better than we, wish to oppose his will. Until now I
have said nothing on this matter. I have not urged you to take part with
us in the war. It would have been enough had you been content to sit quiet
on your mats, looking on, while we were fighting for you. But you have not
done so. You call yourselves our friends, and yet you assist the English
with provisions, and go about as spies among our villages. This must not
continue. You must be either wholly French or wholly English. If you are
French, take up that war-belt, and lift the hatchet with us; but if you
are English, then we declare war upon you. My brothers, I know this is a
hard thing. We are all alike children of our Great Father the King of
France, and it is hard to fight among brethren for the sake of dogs. But
there is no choice. Look upon the belt, and let us hear your answer."[234]
One of the Canadians, having suspected the purpose of Pontiac, had brought
with him, not the treaty of peace, but a copy of the capitulation of
Montreal with its dependencies, including Detroit. Pride, or some other
motive, restrained him from confessing that the Canadians were no longer
children of the King of France, and he determined to keep up the old
delusion that a French army was on its way to win back Canada, and
chastise the English invaders. He began his speech in reply to Pontiac by
professing great love for the Indians, and a strong desire to aid them in
the war. "But, my brothers," he added, holding out the articles of
capitulation, "you must first untie the knot with which our Great Father,
the King, has bound us. In this paper, he tells all his Canadian children
to sit quiet and obey the English until he comes, because he wishes to
punish his enemies himself. We dare not disobey him, for he would then be
angry with us. And you, my brothers, who speak of making war upon us if we
do not do as you wish, do you think you could escape his wrath, if you
should raise the hatchet against his French children? He would treat you
as enemies, and not as friends, and you would have to fight both English
and French at once. Tell us, my brothers, what can you reply to this?"
Pontiac for a moment sat silent, mortified, and perplexed; but his
purpose was not destined to be wholly defeated. "Among the French," says
the writer of the diary, "were many infamous characters, who, having no
property, cared nothing what became of them." Those mentioned in these
opprobrious terms were a collection of trappers, voyageurs, and
nondescript vagabonds of the forest, who were seated with the council, or
stood looking on, variously attired in greasy shirts, Indian leggins, and
red woollen caps. Not a few among them, however, had thought proper to
adopt the style of dress and ornament peculiar to the red men, who were
their usual associates, and appeared among their comrades with paint
rubbed on their cheeks, and feathers dangling from their hair. Indeed,
they aimed to identify themselves with the Indians, a transformation by
which they gained nothing; for these renegade whites were held in light
esteem, both by those of their own color and the savages themselves. They
were for the most part a light and frivolous crew, little to be relied on
for energy or stability; though among them were men of hard and ruffian
features, the ringleaders and bullies of the voyageurs, and even a terror
to the _Bourgeois_[235] himself. It was one of these who now took up the
war-belt, and declared that he and his comrades were ready to raise the
hatchet for Pontiac. The better class of Canadians were shocked at this
proceeding, and vainly protested against it. Pontiac, on his part, was
much pleased at such an accession to his forces, and he and his chiefs
shook hands, in turn, with each of their new auxiliaries. The council had
been protracted to a late hour. It was dark before the assembly dissolved,
"so that," as the chronicler observes, "these new Indians had no
opportunity of displaying their exploits that day." They remained in the
Indian camp all night, being afraid of the reception they might meet among
their fellow-whites in the settlement. The whole of the following morning
was employed in giving them a feast of welcome. For this entertainment a
large number of dogs were killed, and served up to the guests; none of
whom, according to the Indian custom on such formal occasions, were
permitted to take their leave until they had eaten the whole of the
enormous portion placed before them.
Pontiac derived little advantage from his Canadian allies, most of whom,
fearing the resentment of the English and the other inhabitants, fled,
before the war was over, to the country of the Illinois.[236] On the night
succeeding the feast, a party of the renegades, joined by about an equal
number of Indians, approached the fort, and intrenched themselves, in
order to fire upon the garrison. At daybreak, they were observed, the gate
was thrown open, and a file of men, headed by Lieutenant Hay, sallied to
dislodge them. This was effected without much difficulty. The Canadians
fled with such despatch, that all of them escaped unhurt, though two of
the Indians were shot.
It happened that among the English was a soldier who had been prisoner,
for several years, among the Delawares, and who, while he had learned to
hate the whole race, at the same time had acquired many of their habits
and practices. He now ran forward, and, kneeling on the body of one of the
dead savages, tore away the scalp, and shook it, with an exultant cry,
towards the fugitives.[237] This act, as afterwards appeared, excited
great rage among the Indians.
Lieutenant Hay and his party, after their successful sally, had retired to
the fort; when, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, a man was seen
running towards it, closely pursued by Indians. On his arriving within
gunshot, they gave over the chase, and the fugitive came panting beneath
the stockade, where a wicket was flung open to receive him. He proved to
be the commandant of Sandusky, who, having, as before mentioned, been
adopted by the Indians, and married to an old squaw, now seized the first
opportunity of escaping from her embraces.
Through him, the garrison learned the unhappy tidings that Captain
Campbell was killed. This gentleman, from his high personal character, no
less than his merit as an officer, was held in general esteem; and his
fate excited a feeling of anger and grief among all the English in
Detroit. It appeared that the Indian killed and scalped, in the skirmish
of that morning, was nephew to Wasson, chief of the Ojibwas. On hearing of
his death, the enraged uncle had immediately blackened his face in sign of
revenge, called together a party of his followers, and repairing to the
house of Meloche, where Captain Campbell was kept prisoner, had seized
upon him, and bound him fast to a neighboring fence, where they shot him
to death with arrows. Others say that they tomahawked him on the spot; but
all agree that his body was mutilated in a barbarous manner. His heart is
said to have been eaten by his murderers, to make them courageous; a
practice not uncommon among Indians, after killing an enemy of
acknowledged bravery. The corpse was thrown into the river, and afterwards
brought to shore and buried by the Canadians. According to one authority,
Pontiac was privy to this act; but a second, equally credible, represents
him as ignorant of it, and declares that Wasson fled to Saginaw to escape
his fury; while a third affirms that the Ojibwas carried off Campbell by
force from before the eyes of the great chief.[238] The other captive,
M'Dougal, had previously escaped.
The two armed schooners, anchored opposite the fort, were now become
objects of awe and aversion to the Indians. This is not to be wondered at,
for, besides aiding in the defence of the place, by sweeping two sides of
it with their fire, they often caused great terror and annoyance to the
besiegers. Several times they had left their anchorage, and, taking up a
convenient position, had battered the Indian camps and villages with no
little effect. Once in particular,--and this was the first attempt of the
kind,--Gladwyn himself, with several of his officers, had embarked on
board the smaller vessel, while a fresh breeze was blowing from the
north-west. The Indians, on the banks, stood watching her as she tacked
from shore to shore, and pressed their hands against their mouths in
amazement, thinking that magic power alone could enable her thus to make
her way against wind and current.[239] Making a long reach from the
opposite shore, she came on directly towards the camp of Pontiac, her
sails swelling, her masts leaning over till the black muzzles of her guns
almost touched the river. The Indians watched her in astonishment. On she
came, till their fierce hearts exulted in the idea that she would run
ashore within their clutches, when suddenly a shout of command was heard
on board, her progress was arrested, she rose upright, and her sails
flapped and fluttered as if tearing loose from their fastenings. Steadily
she came round, broadside to the shore; then, leaning once more to the
wind, bore away gallantly on the other tack. She did not go far. The
wondering spectators, quite at a loss to understand her movements, soon
heard the hoarse rattling of her cable, as the anchor dragged it out, and
saw her furling her vast white wings. As they looked unsuspectingly on, a
puff of smoke was emitted from her side; a loud report followed; then
another and another; and the balls, rushing over their heads, flew through
the midst of their camp, and tore wildly among the forest-trees beyond.
All was terror and consternation. The startled warriors bounded away on
all sides; the squaws snatched up their children, and fled screaming; and,
with a general chorus of yells, the whole encampment scattered in such
haste, that little damage was done, except knocking to pieces their frail
cabins of bark.[240]
This attack was followed by others of a similar kind; and now the Indians
seemed resolved to turn all their energies to the destruction of the
vessel which caused them such annoyance. On the night of the tenth of
July, they sent down a blazing raft, formed of two boats, secured together
with a rope, and filled with pitch-pine, birch-bark, and other
combustibles, which, by good fortune, missed the vessel, and floated down
the stream without doing injury. All was quiet throughout the following
night; but about two o'clock on the morning of the twelfth, the sentinel
on duty saw a glowing spark of fire on the surface of the river, at some
distance above. It grew larger and brighter; it rose in a forked flame,
and at length burst forth into a broad conflagration. In this instance,
too, fortune favored the vessel; for the raft, which was larger than the
former, passed down between her and the fort, brightly gilding her tracery
of ropes and spars, lighting up the old palisades and bastions of Detroit,
disclosing the white Canadian farms and houses along the shore, and
revealing the dusky margin of the forest behind. It showed, too, a dark
group of naked spectators, who stood on the bank to watch the effect of
their artifice, when a cannon flashed, a loud report broke the stillness,
and before the smoke of the gun had risen, these curious observers had
vanished. The raft floated down, its flames crackling and glaring wide
through the night, until it was burnt to the water's edge, and its last
hissing embers were quenched in the river.
Though twice defeated, the Indians would not abandon their plan, but, soon
after this second failure, began another raft, of different construction
from the former, and so large that they thought it certain to take effect.
Gladwyn, on his part, provided boats which were moored by chains at some
distance above the vessels, and made other preparations of defence, so
effectual that the Indians, after working four days upon the raft, gave
over their undertaking as useless. About this time, a party of Shawanoe
and Delaware Indians arrived at Detroit, and were received by the Wyandots
with a salute of musketry, which occasioned some alarm among the English,
who knew nothing of its cause. They reported the progress of the war in
the south and east; and, a few days after, an Abenaki, from Lower Canada,
also made his appearance, bringing to the Indians the flattering falsehood
that their Great Father, the King of France, was at that moment advancing
up the St. Lawrence with his army. It may here be observed, that the name
of Father, given to the Kings of France and England, was a mere title of
courtesy or policy; for, in his haughty independence, the Indian yields
submission to no man.
It was now between two and three months since the siege began; and if one
is disposed to think slightingly of the warriors whose numbers could avail
so little against a handful of half-starved English and provincials, he
has only to recollect, that where barbarism has been arrayed against
civilization, disorder against discipline, and ungoverned fury against
considerate valor, such has seldom failed to be the result.
At the siege of Detroit, the Indians displayed a high degree of
comparative steadiness and perseverance; and their history cannot furnish
another instance of so large a force persisting so long in the attack of a
fortified place. Their good conduct may be ascribed to their deep rage
against the English, to their hope of speedy aid from the French, and to
the controlling spirit of Pontiac, which held them to their work. The
Indian is but ill qualified for such attempts, having too much caution for
an assault by storm, and too little patience for a blockade. The Wyandots
and Pottawattamies had shown, from the beginning, less zeal than the other
nations; and now, like children, they began to tire of the task they had
undertaken. A deputation of the Wyandots came to the fort, and begged for
peace, which was granted them; but when the Pottawattamies came on the
same errand, they insisted, as a preliminary, that some of their people,
who were detained prisoners by the English, should first be given up.
Gladwyn demanded, on his part, that the English captives known to be in
their village should be brought to the fort, and three of them were
accordingly produced. As these were but a small part of the whole, the
deputies were sharply rebuked for their duplicity, and told to go back for
the rest. They withdrew angry and mortified; but, on the following day, a
fresh deputation of chiefs made their appearance, bringing with them six
prisoners. Having repaired to the council-room, they were met by Gladwyn,
attended only by one or two officers. The Indians detained in the fort
were about to be given up, and a treaty concluded, when one of the
prisoners declared that there were several others still remaining in the
Pottawattamie village. Upon this, the conference was broken off, and the
deputies ordered instantly to depart. On being thus a second time
defeated, they were goaded to such a pitch of rage, that, as afterwards
became known, they formed the desperate resolution of killing Gladwyn on
the spot, and then making their escape in the best way they could; but,
happily, at that moment the commandant observed an Ottawa among them, and,
resolving to seize him, called upon the guard without to assist in doing
so. A file of soldiers entered, and the chiefs, seeing it impossible to
execute their design, withdrew from the fort, with black and sullen brows.
A day or two afterwards, however, they returned with the rest of the
prisoners, on which peace was granted them, and their people set at
liberty.[241]