Bouquet continued his march down the valley of the Muskingum, until he

reached a spot where the broad meadows, which bordered the river, would

supply abundant grazing for the cattle and horses; while the terraces

above, shaded by forest-trees, offered a convenient site for an

encampment. Here he began to erect a small palisade work, as a depot for

stores and baggage. Before the task was complete, a deputation of chiefs

arrived, bringing word that their warriors were encamped, in great

numbers, about eight miles from the spot, and desiring Bouquet to appoint

the time and place for a council. He ordered them to meet him, on the next

day, at a point near the margin of the river, a little below the camp; and

thither a party of men was at once despatched, to erect a sort of rustic

arbor of saplings and the boughs of trees, large enough to shelter the

English officers and the Indian chiefs. With a host of warriors in the

neighborhood, who would gladly break in upon them, could they hope that

the attack would succeed, it behooved the English to use every precaution.

A double guard was placed, and a stringent discipline enforced.

In the morning, the little army moved in battle order to the place of

council. Here the principal officers assumed their seats under the canopy

of branches, while the glittering array of the troops was drawn out on the

meadow in front, in such a manner as to produce the most imposing effect

on the minds of the Indians, in whose eyes the sight of fifteen hundred

men under arms was a spectacle equally new and astounding. The perfect

order and silence of the far-extended lines; the ridges of bayonets

flashing in the sun; the fluttering tartans of the Highland regulars; the

bright red uniform of the Royal Americans; the darker garb and duller

trappings of the Pennsylvania troops, and the bands of Virginia

backwoodsmen, who, in fringed hunting-frocks and Indian moccasons, stood

leaning carelessly on their rifles,--all these combined to form a scene of

military pomp and power not soon to be forgotten.

At the appointed hour, the deputation appeared. The most prominent among

them were Kiashuta, chief of the band of Senecas who had deserted their

ancient homes to form a colony on the Ohio; Custaloga, chief of the

Delawares; and the head chief of the Shawanoes, whose name sets

orthography at defiance. As they approached, painted and plumed in all

their savage pomp, they looked neither to the right hand nor to the left,

not deigning, under the eyes of their enemy, to cast even a glance at the

military display around them. They seated themselves, with stern,

impassive looks, and an air of sullen dignity; while their sombre brows

betrayed the hatred still rankling in their hearts. After a few minutes

had been consumed in the indispensable ceremony of smoking, Turtle Heart,

a chief of the Delawares, and orator of the deputation, rose, bearing in

his hand a bag containing the belts of wampum. Addressing himself to the

English commander, he spoke as follows, delivering a belt for every clause

of his speech:--

"Brother, I speak in behalf of the three nations whose chiefs are here

present. With this belt I open your ears and your hearts, that you may

listen to my words.

"Brother, this war was neither your fault nor ours. It was the work of the

nations who live to the westward, and of our wild young men, who would

have killed us if we had resisted them. We now put away all evil from our

hearts; and we hope that your mind and ours will once more be united

together.

"Brother, it is the will of the Great Spirit that there should be peace

between us. We, on our side, now take fast hold of the chain of

friendship; but, as we cannot hold it alone, we desire that you will take

hold also, and we must look up to the Great Spirit, that he may make us

strong, and not permit this chain to fall from our hands.

"Brother, these words come from our hearts, and not from our lips. You

desire that we should deliver up your flesh and blood now captive among

us; and, to show you that we are sincere, we now return you as many of

them as we have at present been able to bring. [Here he delivered eighteen

white prisoners, who had been brought by the deputation to the council.]

You shall receive the rest as soon as we have time to collect them."[436]

In such figurative terms, not devoid of dignity, did the Indian orator sue

for peace to his detested enemies. When he had concluded, the chiefs of

every tribe rose in succession, to express concurrence in what he had

said, each delivering a belt of wampum and a bundle of small sticks; the

latter designed to indicate the number of English prisoners whom his

followers retained, and whom he pledged himself to surrender. In an Indian

council, when one of the speakers has advanced a matter of weight and

urgency, the other party defers his reply to the following day, that due

time may be allowed for deliberation. Accordingly, in the present

instance, the council adjourned to the next morning, each party retiring

to its respective camp. But, when day dawned, the weather had changed. The

valley of the Muskingum was filled with driving mist and rain, and the

meeting was in consequence postponed. On the third day, the landscape

brightened afresh, the troops marched once more to the place of council,

and the Indian chiefs convened to hear the reply of their triumphant foe.

It was not of a kind to please them. The opening words gave an earnest of

what was to come; for Bouquet discarded the usual address of an Indian

harangue: fathers, brothers, or children,--terms which imply a relation of

friendship, or a desire to conciliate,--and adopted a sterner and more

distant form.

"Sachems, war-chiefs, and warriors,[437] the excuses you have offered are

frivolous and unavailing, and your conduct is without defence or apology.

You could not have acted as you pretend to have done through fear of the

western nations; for, had you stood faithful to us, you knew that we would

have protected you against their anger; and as for your young men, it was

your duty to punish them, if they did amiss. You have drawn down our just

resentment by your violence and perfidy. Last summer, in cold blood, and

in a time of profound peace, you robbed and murdered the traders, who had

come among you at your own express desire. You attacked Fort Pitt, which

was built by your consent; and you destroyed our outposts and garrisons,

whenever treachery could place them in your power. You assailed our

troops--the same who now stand before you--in the woods at Bushy Run; and,

when we had routed and driven you off, you sent your scalping-parties to

the frontier, and murdered many hundreds of our people. Last July, when

the other nations came to ask for peace, at Niagara, you not only refused

to attend, but sent an insolent message instead, in which you expressed a

pretended contempt for the English; and, at the same time, told the

surrounding nations that you would never lay down the hatchet. Afterwards,

when Colonel Bradstreet came up Lake Erie, you sent a deputation of your

chiefs, and concluded a treaty with him; but your engagements were no

sooner made than broken; and, from that day to this, you have scalped and

butchered us without ceasing. Nay, I am informed that, when you heard that

this army was penetrating the woods, you mustered your warriors to attack

us, and were only deterred from doing so when you found how greatly we

outnumbered you. This is not the only instance of your bad faith; for,

since the beginning of the last war, you have made repeated treaties with

us, and promised to give up your prisoners; but you have never kept these

engagements, nor any others. We shall endure this no longer; and I am now

come among you to force you to make atonement for the injuries you have

done us. I have brought with me the relatives of those you have murdered.

They are eager for vengeance, and nothing restrains them from taking it

but my assurance that this army shall not leave your country until you

have given them an ample satisfaction.

"Your allies, the Ottawas, Ojibwas, and Wyandots, have begged for peace;

the Six Nations have leagued themselves with us; the great lakes and

rivers around you are all in our possession, and your friends the French

are in subjection to us, and can do no more to aid you. You are all in our

power, and, if we choose, we can exterminate you from the earth; but the

English are a merciful and generous people, averse to shed the blood even

of their greatest enemies; and if it were possible that you could convince

us that you sincerely repent of your past perfidy, and that we could

depend on your good behavior for the future, you might yet hope for mercy

and peace. If I find that you faithfully execute the conditions which I

shall prescribe, I will not treat you with the severity you deserve.

"I give you twelve days from this date to deliver into my hands all the

prisoners in your possession, without exception: Englishmen, Frenchmen,

women, and children; whether adopted into your tribes, married, or living

among you under any denomination or pretence whatsoever. And you are to

furnish these prisoners with clothing, provisions, and horses, to carry

them to Fort Pitt. When you have fully complied with these conditions, you

shall then know on what terms you may obtain the peace you sue for."

This speech, with the stern voice and countenance of the speaker, told

with chilling effect upon the awe-stricken hearers. It quelled their

native haughtiness, and sunk them to the depths of humiliation. Their

speeches in reply were dull and insipid, void of that savage eloquence,

which, springing from a wild spirit of independence, has so often

distinguished the forest orators. Judging the temper of their enemies by

their own insatiable thirst for vengeance, they hastened, with all the

alacrity of terror, to fulfil the prescribed conditions, and avert the

threatened ruin. They dispersed to their different villages, to collect

and bring in the prisoners; while Bouquet, on his part, knowing that his

best security for their good faith was to keep up the alarm which his

decisive measures had created, determined to march yet nearer to their

settlements. Still following the course of the Muskingum, he descended to

a spot near its confluence with its main branch, which might be regarded

as a central point with respect to the surrounding Indian villages. Here,

with the exception of the distant Shawanoe settlements, they were all

within reach of his hand, and he could readily chastise the first attempt

at deceit or evasion. The principal chiefs of each tribe had been forced

to accompany him as hostages.[438]

For the space of a day, hundreds of axes were busy at their work. The

trees were felled, the ground cleared, and, with marvellous rapidity, a

town sprang up in the heart of the wilderness, martial in aspect and

rigorous in discipline; with storehouses, hospitals, and works of defence,

rude sylvan cabins mingled with white tents, and the forest rearing its

sombre rampart around the whole. On one side of this singular encampment

was a range of buildings, designed to receive the expected prisoners; and

matrons, brought for this purpose with the army, were appointed to take

charge of the women and children among them. At the opposite side, a

canopy of branches, sustained on the upright trunks of young trees, formed

a rude council-hall, in keeping with the savage assembly for whose

reception it was designed.

And now, issuing from the forest, came warriors, conducting troops of

prisoners, or leading captive children,--wild young barbarians, born

perhaps among themselves, and scarcely to be distinguished from their own.

Yet, seeing the sullen reluctance which the Indians soon betrayed in this

ungrateful task, Bouquet thought it expedient to stimulate their efforts

by sending detachments of soldiers to each of the villages, still

retaining the chiefs in pledge for their safety. About this time, a

Canadian officer, named Hertel, with a party of Caughnawaga Indians,

arrived with a letter from Colonel Bradstreet, dated at Sandusky. The

writer declared that he was unable to remain longer in the Indian country,

and was on the point of retiring down Lake Erie with his army; a movement

which, at the least, was of doubtful necessity, and which might have

involved the most disastrous consequences. Had the tidings been received

but a few days sooner, the whole effect of Bouquet's measures would

probably have been destroyed, the Indians encouraged to resistance, and

the war brought to the arbitration of a battle, which must needs have been

a fierce and bloody one. But, happily for both parties, Bouquet now had

his enemies firmly in his grasp, and the boldest warrior dared not violate

the truce.

The messengers who brought the letter of Bradstreet brought also the

tidings that peace was made with the northern Indians; but stated, at the

same time, that these tribes had murdered many of their captives, and

given up but few of the remainder, so that no small number were still

within their power. The conduct of Bradstreet in this matter was the more

disgraceful, since he had been encamped for weeks almost within gunshot of

the Wyandot villages at Sandusky, where most of the prisoners were

detained. Bouquet, on his part, though separated from this place by a

journey of many days, resolved to take upon himself the duty which his

brother officer had strangely neglected. He sent an embassy to Sandusky,

demanding that the prisoners should be surrendered. This measure was in a

great degree successful. He despatched messengers soon after to the

principal Shawanoe village, on the Scioto, distant about eighty miles from

his camp, to rouse the inhabitants to a greater activity than they seemed

inclined to display. This was a fortunate step; for the Shawanoes of the

Scioto, who had been guilty of atrocious cruelties during the war, had

conceived the idea that they were excluded from the general amnesty, and

marked out for destruction. This notion had been propagated, and perhaps

suggested, by the French traders in their villages; and so thorough was

the conviction of the Shawanoes, that they came to the desperate purpose

of murdering their prisoners, and marching, with all the warriors they

could muster, to attack the English. This plan was no sooner formed than

the French traders opened their stores of bullets and gunpowder, and dealt

them out freely to the Indians. Bouquet's messengers came in time to

prevent the catastrophe, and relieve the terrors of the Shawanoes, by the

assurance that peace would be granted to them on the same conditions as to

the rest. Thus encouraged, they abandoned their design, and set out with

lighter hearts for the English camp, bringing with them a portion of their

prisoners. When about half-way on their journey, they were met by an

Indian runner, who told them that a soldier had been killed in the woods,

and their tribe charged with the crime. On hearing this, their fear

revived, and with it their former purpose. Having collected their

prisoners in a meadow, they surrounded the miserable wretches, armed with

guns, war-clubs, and bows and arrows, and prepared to put them to death.

But another runner arrived before the butchery began, and, assuring them

that what they had heard was false, prevailed on them once more to

proceed. They pursued their journey without farther interruption, and,

coming in safety to the camp, delivered the prisoners whom they had

brought.

These by no means included all of their captives, for nearly a hundred

were left behind, because they belonged to warriors who had gone to the

Illinois to procure arms and ammunition from the French; and there is no

authority in an Indian community powerful enough to deprive the meanest

warrior of his property, even in circumstances of the greatest public

exigency. This was clearly understood by the English commander, and he

therefore received the submission of the Shawanoes, at the same time

compelling them to deliver hostages for the future surrender of the

remaining prisoners.

Band after band of captives had been daily arriving, until upwards of two

hundred were now collected in the camp; including, as far as could be

ascertained, all who had been in the hands of the Indians, excepting those

belonging to the absent warriors of the Shawanoes. Up to this time,

Bouquet had maintained a stern and rigorous demeanor; repressing his

natural clemency and humanity, refusing all friendly intercourse with the

Indians, and telling them that he should treat them as enemies until they

had fully complied with all the required conditions. In this, he displayed

his knowledge of their character; for, like all warlike savages, they are

extremely prone to interpret lenity and moderation into timidity and

indecision; and he who, from good-nature or mistaken philanthropy, is

betrayed into yielding a point which he has before insisted on, may have

deep cause to rue it. As their own dealings with their enemies are not

leavened with such humanizing ingredients, they can seldom comprehend

them; and to win over an Indian foe by kindness should only be attempted

by one who has already proved clearly that he is able and ready to subdue

him by force.

But now, when every condition was satisfied, such inexorable rigor was no

longer demanded; and, having convoked the chiefs in the sylvan

council-house, Bouquet signified his willingness to receive their offers

of peace.

"Brother," began the Indian orator, "with this belt of wampum I dispel the

black cloud that has hung so long over our heads, that the sunshine of

peace may once more descend to warm and gladden us. I wipe the tears from

your eyes, and condole with you on the loss of your brethren who have

perished in this war. I gather their bones together, and cover them deep

in the earth, that the sight of them may no longer bring sorrow to your

hearts; and I scatter dry leaves over the spot, that it may depart for

ever from memory.

"The path of peace, which once ran between your dwellings and mine, has of

late been choked with thorns and briers, so that no one could pass that

way; and we have both almost forgotten that such a path had ever been. I

now clear away all such obstructions, and make a broad, smooth road, so

that you and I may freely visit each other, as our fathers used to do. I

kindle a great council-fire, whose smoke shall rise to heaven, in view of

all the nations; while you and I sit together and smoke the peace-pipe at

its blaze."[439]

In this strain, the orator of each tribe, in turn, expressed the purpose

of his people to lay down their arms, and live for the future in

friendship with the English. Every deputation received a separate

audience, and the successive conferences were thus extended through

several days. To each and all, Bouquet made a similar reply, in words to

the following effect:--

"By your full compliance with the conditions which I imposed, you have

satisfied me of your sincerity, and I now receive you once more as

brethren. The King, my master, has commissioned me, not to make treaties

for him, but to fight his battles; and though I now offer you peace, it is

not in my power to settle its precise terms and conditions. For this, I

refer you to Sir William Johnson, his Majesty's agent and superintendent

for Indian affairs, who will settle with you the articles of peace, and

determine every thing in relation to trade. Two things, however, I shall

insist on. And, first, you are to give hostages, as security that you will

preserve good faith, and send, without delay, a deputation of your chiefs

to Sir William Johnson. In the next place, these chiefs are to be fully

empowered to treat in behalf of your nation; and you will bind yourselves

to adhere strictly to every thing they shall agree upon in your behalf."

These demands were readily complied with. Hostages were given, and chiefs

appointed for the embassy; and now, for the first time, Bouquet, to the

great relief of the Indians,--for they doubted his intentions,--extended

to them the hand of friendship, which he had so long withheld. A prominent

chief of the Delawares, too proud to sue for peace, had refused to attend

the council; on which Bouquet ordered him to be deposed, and a successor,

of a less obdurate spirit, installed in his place. The Shawanoes were the

last of the tribes admitted to a hearing; and the demeanor of their orator

clearly evinced the haughty reluctance with which he stooped to ask peace

of his mortal enemies.

"When you came among us," such were his concluding words, "you came with a

hatchet raised to strike us. We now take it from your hand, and throw it

up to the Great Spirit, that he may do with it what shall seem good in his

sight. We hope that you, who are warriors, will take hold of the chain of

friendship which we now extend to you. We, who are also warriors, will

take hold as you do; and we will think no more of war, in pity for our

women, children, and old men."[440]

On this occasion, the Shawanoe chiefs, expressing a hope for a renewal of

the friendship which in former years had subsisted between their people

and the English, displayed the dilapidated parchments of several treaties

made between their ancestors and the descendants of William

Penn,--documents, some of which had been preserved among them for more

than half a century, with the scrupulous respect they are prone to exhibit

for such ancestral records. They were told that, since they had not

delivered all their prisoners, they could scarcely expect to meet the same

indulgence which had been extended to their brethren; but that,

nevertheless, in full belief of their sincerity, the English would grant

them peace, on condition of their promising to surrender the remaining

captives early in the following spring, and giving up six of their chiefs

as hostages. These conditions were agreed to; and it may be added that, at

the appointed time, all the prisoners who had been left in their hands, to

the number of a hundred, were brought in to Fort Pitt, and delivered up to

the commanding officer.[441]

From the hard formalities and rigid self-control of an Indian

council-house, where the struggles of fear, rage, and hatred were deep

buried beneath a surface of iron immobility, we turn to scenes of a widely

different nature; an exhibition of mingled and contrasted passions, more

worthy the pen of the dramatist than that of the historian; who,

restricted to the meagre outline of recorded authority, can reflect but a

feeble image of the truth. In the ranks of the Pennsylvania troops, and

among the Virginia riflemen, were the fathers, brothers, and husbands of

those whose rescue from captivity was a chief object of the march.

Ignorant what had befallen them, and doubtful whether they were yet among

the living, these men had joined the army, in the feverish hope of winning

them back to home and civilization. Perhaps those whom they sought had

perished by the slow torments of the stake; perhaps by the more merciful

hatchet; or perhaps they still dragged out a wretched life in the midst of

a savage horde. There were instances in which whole families had been

carried off at once. The old, the sick, or the despairing, had been

tomahawked, as useless encumbrances; while the rest, pitilessly forced

asunder, were scattered through every quarter of the wilderness. It was a

strange and moving sight, when troop after troop of prisoners arrived in

succession--the meeting of husbands with wives, and fathers with children,

the reunion of broken families, long separated in a disastrous captivity;

and, on the other hand, the agonies of those who learned tidings of death

and horror, or groaned under the torture of protracted suspense. Women,

frantic between hope and fear, were rushing hither and thither, in search

of those whose tender limbs had, perhaps, long since fattened the cubs of

the she-wolf; or were pausing, in an agony of doubt, before some sunburnt

young savage, who, startled at the haggard apparition, shrank from his

forgotten parent, and clung to the tawny breast of his adopted mother.

Others were divided between delight and anguish: on the one hand, the joy

of an unexpected recognition; and, on the other, the misery of realized

fears, or the more intolerable pangs of doubts not yet resolved. Of all

the spectators of this tragic drama, few were obdurate enough to stand

unmoved. The roughest soldiers felt the contagious sympathy, and softened

into unwonted tenderness.

Among the children brought in for surrender, there were some, who,

captured several years before, as early, perhaps, as the French war, had

lost every recollection of friends and home. Terrified by the novel sights

around them, the flash and glitter of arms, and the strange complexion of

the pale-faced warriors, they screamed and struggled lustily when

consigned to the hands of their relatives. There were young women, too,

who had become the partners of Indian husbands; and who now, with all

their hybrid offspring, were led reluctantly into the presence of fathers

or brothers whose images were almost blotted from their memory. They stood

agitated and bewildered; the revival of old affections, and the rush of

dormant memories, painfully contending with more recent attachments, and

the shame of their real or fancied disgrace; while their Indian lords

looked on, scarcely less moved than they, yet hardening themselves with

savage stoicism, and standing in the midst of their enemies, imperturbable

as statues of bronze. These women were compelled to return with their

children to the settlements; yet they all did so with reluctance, and

several afterwards made their escape, eagerly hastening back to their

warrior husbands, and the toils and vicissitudes of an Indian wigwam.[442]

Day after day brought renewals of these scenes, deepening in interest as

they drew towards their close. A few individual incidents have been

recorded. A young Virginian, robbed of his wife but a few months before,

had volunteered in the expedition with the faint hope of recovering her;

and, after long suspense, had recognized her among a troop of prisoners,

bearing in her arms a child born during her captivity. But the joy of the

meeting was bitterly alloyed by the loss of a former child, not two years

old, captured with the mother, but soon taken from her, and carried, she

could not tell whither. Days passed on; they could learn no tidings of its

fate, and the mother, harrowed with terrible imaginations, was almost

driven to despair; when, at length, she discovered her child in the arms

of an Indian warrior, and snatched it with an irrepressible cry of

transport.

When the army, on its homeward march, reached the town of Carlisle, those

who had been unable to follow the expedition came thither in numbers, to

inquire for the friends they had lost. Among the rest was an old woman,

whose daughter had been carried off nine years before. In the crowd of

female captives, she discovered one in whose wild and swarthy features she

discerned the altered lineaments of her child; but the girl, who had

almost forgotten her native tongue, returned no sign of recognition to her

eager words, and the old woman bitterly complained that the daughter, whom

she had so often sung to sleep on her knee, had forgotten her in her old

age. Bouquet suggested an expedient which proves him a man of feeling and

perception. "Sing the song that you used to sing to her when a child." The

old woman obeyed; and a sudden start, a look of bewilderment, and a

passionate flood of tears, removed every doubt, and restored the long-lost

daughter to her mother's arms.[443]

The tender affections by no means form a salient feature in the Indian

character. They hold them in contempt, and scorn every manifestation of

them; yet, on this occasion, they would not be repressed, and the human

heart betrayed itself, though throbbing under a breastplate of ice. None

of the ordinary signs of emotion, neither tears, words, nor looks,

declared how greatly they were moved. It was by their kindness and

solicitude, by their attention to the wants of the captives, by their

offers of furs, garments, the choicest articles of food, and every thing

which in their eyes seemed luxury, that they displayed their sorrow at

parting from their adopted relatives and friends.[444] Some among them

went much farther, and asked permission to follow the army on its homeward

march, that they might hunt for the captives, and supply them with better

food than the military stores could furnish. A young Seneca warrior had

become deeply enamoured of a Virginian girl. At great risk of his life, he

accompanied the troops far within the limits of the settlements; and, at

every night's encampment, approaching the quarters of the captives as

closely as the sentinels would permit, he sat watching, with patient

vigilance, to catch a glimpse of his lost mistress.

The Indian women, whom no idea of honor compels to wear an iron mask, were

far from emulating the frigid demeanor of their lords. All day they ran

wailing through the camp; and, when night came, the hills and woods

resounded with their dreary lamentations.[445]

The word _prisoner_, as applied to captives taken by the Indians, is a

misnomer, and conveys a wholly false impression of their situation and

treatment. When the vengeance of the conquerors is sated; when they have

shot, stabbed, burned, or beaten to death, enough to satisfy the shades of

their departed relatives, they usually treat those who survive their wrath

with moderation and humanity; often adopting them to supply the place of

lost brothers, husbands, or children, whose names are given to the

successors thus substituted in their place. By a formal ceremony, the

white blood is washed from their veins; and they are regarded thenceforth

as members of the tribe, faring equally with the rest in prosperity or

adversity, in famine or abundance. When children are adopted in this

manner by Indian women, they nurture them with the same tenderness and

indulgence which they extend, in a remarkable degree, to their own

offspring; and such young women as will not marry an Indian husband are

treated with a singular forbearance, in which superstition, natural

temperament, and a sense of right and justice may all claim a share.[446]

The captive, unless he excites suspicion by his conduct, or exhibits

peculiar contumacy, is left with no other restraint than his own free

will. The warrior who captured him, or to whom he was assigned in the

division of the spoil, sometimes claims, it is true, a certain right of

property in him, to the exclusion of others; but this claim is soon

forgotten, and is seldom exercised to the inconvenience of the captive,

who has no other prison than the earth, the air, and the forest.[447] Five

hundred miles of wilderness, beset with difficulty and danger, are the

sole bars to his escape, should he desire to effect it; but, strange as it

may appear, this wish is apt to expire in his heart, and he often remains

to the end of his life a contented denizen of the woods.

Among the captives brought in for delivery were some bound fast to prevent

their escape; and many others, who, amid the general tumult of joy and

sorrow, sat sullen and scowling, angry that they were forced to abandon

the wild license of the forest for the irksome restraints of society.[448]

Thus to look back with a fond longing to inhospitable deserts, where men,

beasts, and Nature herself, seem arrayed in arms, and where ease,

security, and all that civilization reckons among the goods of life, are

alike cut off, may appear to argue some strange perversity or moral

malformation. Yet such has been the experience of many a sound and

healthful mind. To him who has once tasted the reckless independence, the

haughty self-reliance, the sense of irresponsible freedom, which the

forest life engenders, civilization thenceforth seems flat and stale. Its

pleasures are insipid, its pursuits wearisome, its conventionalities,

duties, and mutual dependence alike tedious and disgusting. The entrapped

wanderer grows fierce and restless, and pants for breathing-room. His

path, it is true, was choked with difficulties, but his body and soul were

hardened to meet them; it was beset with dangers, but these were the very

spice of his life, gladdening his heart with exulting self-confidence, and

sending the blood through his veins with a livelier current. The

wilderness, rough, harsh, and inexorable, has charms more potent in their

seductive influence than all the lures of luxury and sloth. And often he

on whom it has cast its magic finds no heart to dissolve the spell, and

remains a wanderer and an Ishmaelite to the hour of his death.[449]

There is a chord, in the breasts of most men, prompt to answer loudly or

faintly, as the case may be, to such rude appeals. But there is influence

of another sort, strongest with minds of the finest texture, yet sometimes

holding a controlling power over those who neither acknowledge nor suspect

its workings. There are few so imbruted by vice, so perverted by art and

luxury, as to dwell in the closest presence of Nature, deaf to her voice

of melody and power, untouched by the ennobling influences which mould and

penetrate the heart that has not hardened itself against them. Into the

spirit of such an one the mountain wind breathes its own freshness, and

the midsummer tempest, as it rends the forest, pours its own fierce

energy. His thoughts flow with the placid stream of the broad, deep river,

or dance in light with the sparkling current of the mountain brook. No

passing mood or fancy of his mind but has its image and its echo in the

wild world around him. There is softness in the mellow air, the warm

sunshine, and the budding leaves of spring; and in the forest flower,

which, more delicate than the pampered offspring of gardens, lifts its

tender head through the refuse and decay of the wilderness. But it is the

grand and heroic in the hearts of men which finds its worthiest symbol and

noblest inspiration amid these desert realms,--in the mountain, rearing

its savage head through clouds and sleet, or basking its majestic strength

in the radiance of the sinking sun; in the interminable forest, the

thunder booming over its lonely waste, the whirlwind tearing through its

inmost depths, or the sun at length setting in gorgeous majesty beyond its

waves of verdure. To the sick, the wearied, or the sated spirit, nature

opens a theatre of boundless life, and holds forth a cup brimming with

redundant pleasure. In the other joys of existence, fear is balanced

against hope, and satiety against delight; but here one may fearlessly

drink, gaining, with every draught, new vigor and a heightened zest, and

finding no dregs of bitterness at the bottom.

Having accomplished its work, the army left the Muskingum, and, retracing

its former course, arrived at Fort Pitt on the twenty-eighth of November.

The recovered captives were sent to their respective homes in Pennsylvania

or Virginia; and the provincial troops disbanded, not without warm praises

for the hardihood and steadiness with which they had met the difficulties

of the campaign. The happy issue of the expedition spread joy throughout

the country. At the next session of the Pennsylvania Assembly, one of its

first acts was to pass a vote of thanks to Colonel Bouquet, expressing in

earnest terms its sense of his services and personal merits, and conveying

its acknowledgments for the regard which he had constantly shown to the

civil rights of the inhabitants.[450] The Assembly of Virginia passed a

similar vote; and both houses concurred in recommending Bouquet to the

King for promotion.

Nevertheless, his position was far from being an easy or a pleasant one.

It may be remembered that the desertion of his newly levied soldiers had

forced him to ask Colonel Lewis to raise for him one or two companies of

Virginian volunteers. Virginia, which had profited by the campaign, though

contributing nothing to it, refused to pay these troops; and its agents

tried to throw the burden upon Bouquet in person. The Assembly of

Pennsylvania, with a justice and a generosity which went far to redeem the

past, came to his relief and assumed the debt, though not till he had

suffered the most serious annoyance. Certain recent military regulations

contributed at the same time to increase his vexation and his

difficulties. He had asked in vain, the year before, to be relieved from

his command. He now asked again, and the request was granted; on which he

wrote to Gage: "The disgust I have conceived from the ill-nature and

ingratitude of those individuals (_the Virginian officials_) makes me

accept with great satisfaction your obliging offer to discharge me of this

department, in which I never desire to serve again, nor, indeed, to be

commanding officer in any other, since the new regulations you were

pleased to communicate to me; being sensible of my inability to carry on

the service upon the terms prescribed."[451]

He was preparing to return to Europe, when he received the announcement of

his promotion to the rank of Brigadier General. He was taken completely by

surprise; for he had supposed that the rigid prescriptions of the service

had closed the path of advancement against him, as a foreigner. "I had,

to-day," he wrote to Gage, "the honor of your Excellency's letter of the

fifteenth instant. The unexpected honor, which his Majesty has

condescended to confer upon me, fills my heart with the utmost gratitude.

Permit me, sir, to express my sincere acknowledgments of my great

obligation to you.... The flattering prospect of preferment, open to the

other foreign officers by the removal of that dreadful barrier, gives me

the highest satisfaction, being convinced that his Majesty has no subjects

more devoted to his service."[452]

Among the letters of congratulation which he received from officers

serving under him is the following, from Captain George Etherington, of

the first battalion of the Royal American regiment, who commanded at

Michillimackinac when it was captured:--

"Lancaster, Pa., 19 April, 1765.

"Sir:

"Though I almost despair of this reaching you before you sail

for Europe, yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of giving you

joy on your promotion, and can with truth tell you that it gives

great joy to all the gentlemen of the battalion, for two

reasons: first, on your account; and, secondly, on our own, as

by that means we may hope for the pleasure of continuing under

your command.

"You can hardly imagine how this place rings with the news of

your promotion, for the townsmen and boors (_i.e., German

farmers_) stop us in the streets to ask if it is true that the

King has made Colonel Bouquet a general; and, when they are told

it is true, they march off with great joy; so you see the old

proverb wrong for once, which says, he that prospers is envied;

for sure I am that all the people here are more pleased with the

news of your promotion than they would be if the government

would take off the stamp duty....

"GEO. ETHERINGTON.

"BRIGADIER GENERAL HENRY BOUQUET."

"And," concludes Dr. William Smith, the chronicler of the campaign, "as he

is rendered as dear by his private virtues to those who have the honor of

his more intimate acquaintance, as he is by his military services to the

public, it is hoped he may long continue among us, where his experienced

abilities will enable him, and his love of the English constitution

entitle him, to fill any future trust to which his Majesty may be pleased

to call him." This hope was not destined to fulfilment. Bouquet was

assigned to the command of the southern military department; and, within

three years after his return from the Muskingum, he was attacked with a

fever at Pensacola, which closed the career of a gallant soldier and a

generous man.

The Delawares and Shawanoes, mindful of their engagement and of the

hostages which they had given to keep it, sent their deputies, within the

appointed time, to Sir William Johnson, who concluded a treaty with them;

stipulating, among the other terms, that they should grant free passage

through their country to English troops and travellers; that they should

make full restitution for the goods taken from the traders at the breaking

out of the war; and that they should aid their triumphant enemies in the

difficult task which yet remained to be accomplished,--that of taking

possession of the Illinois, and occupying its posts and settlements with

British troops.[453]

CHAPTER XXVIII.

1764.

THE ILLINOIS.

We turn to a region of which, as yet, we have caught but transient

glimpses; a region which to our forefathers seemed remote and strange, as

to us the mountain strongholds of the Apaches, or the wastes of farthest

Oregon. The country of the Illinois was chiefly embraced within the

boundaries of the state which now retains the name. Thitherward, from the

east, the west, and the north, three mighty rivers rolled their

tributary waters; while countless smaller streams--small only in

comparison--traversed the land with a watery network, impregnating the

warm soil with exuberant fecundity. From the eastward, the Ohio--La Belle

Riviere--pursued its windings for more than a thousand miles. The

Mississippi descended from the distant north; while from its fountains in

the west, three thousand miles away, the Missouri poured its torrent

towards the same common centre. Born among mountains, trackless even now,

except by the adventurous footstep of the trapper,--nurtured amid the

howling of beasts and the war-cries of savages, never silent in that

wilderness,--it holds its angry course through sun-scorched deserts, among

towers and palaces, the architecture of no human hand, among lodges of

barbarian hordes, and herds of bison blackening the prairie to the

horizon. Fierce, reckless, headstrong, exulting in its tumultuous force,

it plays a thousand freaks of wanton power; bearing away forests from its

shores, and planting them, with roots uppermost, in its quicksands;

sweeping off islands, and rebuilding them; frothing and raging in foam and

whirlpool, and, again, gliding with dwindled current along its sandy

channel. At length, dark with uncurbed fury, it pours its muddy tide into

the reluctant Mississippi. That majestic river, drawing life from the pure

fountains of the north, wandering among emerald prairies and wood-crowned

bluffs, loses all its earlier charm with this unhallowed union. At first,

it shrinks as with repugnance; and along the same channel the two streams

flow side by side, with unmingled waters. But the disturbing power

prevails at length; and the united torrent bears onward in its might,

boiling up from the bottom, whirling in many a vortex, flooding its shores

with a malign deluge fraught with pestilence and fever, and burying

forests in its depths, to insnare the heedless voyager. Mightiest among

rivers, it is the connecting link of adverse climates and contrasted

races; and, while at its northern source the fur-clad Indian shivers in

the cold, where it mingles with the ocean, the growth of the tropics

springs along its banks, and the panting negro cools his limbs in its

refreshing waters.

[Illustration: _A Plan of the several +Villages+ in the +Illinois

Country+, with Part of the +River Mississippi+ &c._]

To these great rivers and their tributary streams the country of the

Illinois owed its wealth, its grassy prairies, and the stately woods that

flourished on its deep, rich soil. This prolific land teemed with life. It

was a hunter's paradise. Deer grazed on its meadows. The elk trooped in

herds, like squadrons of cavalry. In the still morning, one might hear the

clatter of their antlers for half a mile over the dewy prairie. Countless

bison roamed the plains, filing in grave procession to drink at the

rivers, plunging and snorting among the rapids and quicksands, rolling

their huge bulk on the grass, rushing upon each other in hot encounter,

like champions under shield. The wildcat glared from the thicket; the

raccoon thrust his furry countenance from the hollow tree, and the opossum

swung, head downwards, from the overhanging bough.

With the opening spring, when the forests are budding into leaf, and the

prairies gemmed with flowers; when a warm, faint haze rests upon the

landscape,--then heart and senses are inthralled with luxurious beauty.

The shrubs and wild fruit-trees, flushed with pale red blossoms, and the

small clustering flowers of grape-vines, which choke the gigantic trees

with Laocoon writhings, fill the forest with their rich perfume. A few

days later, and a cloud of verdure overshadows the land; while birds

innumerable sing beneath its canopy, and brighten its shades with their

glancing hues.

Yet this western paradise is not free from the primal curse. The

beneficent sun, which kindles into life so many forms of loveliness and

beauty, fails not to engender venom and death from the rank slime of

pestilential swamp and marsh. In some stagnant pool, buried in the

jungle-like depths of the forest, where the hot and lifeless water reeks

with exhalations, the water-snake basks by the margin, or winds his

checkered length of loathsome beauty across the sleepy surface. From

beneath the rotten carcass of some fallen tree, the moccason thrusts out

his broad flat head, ready to dart on the intruder. On the dry,

sun-scorched prairie, the rattlesnake, a more generous enemy, reposes in

his spiral coil. He scorns to shun the eye of day, as if conscious of the

honor accorded to his name by the warlike race, who, jointly with him,

claim lordship over the land.[454] But some intrusive footstep awakes him

from his slumbers. His neck is arched; the white fangs gleam in his

distended jaws; his small eyes dart rays of unutterable fierceness; and

his rattles, invisible with their quick vibration, ring the sharp warning

which no man will dare to contemn.

The land thus prodigal of good and evil, so remote from the sea, so

primitive in its aspect, might well be deemed an undiscovered region,

ignorant of European arts; yet it may boast a colonization as old as that

of many a spot to which are accorded the scanty honors of an American

antiquity. The earliest settlement of Pennsylvania was made in 1681; the

first occupation of the Illinois took place in the previous year. La Salle

may be called the father of the colony. That remarkable man entered the

country with a handful of followers, bent on his grand scheme of

Mississippi discovery. A legion of enemies rose in his path; but neither

delay, disappointment, sickness, famine, open force, nor secret

conspiracy, could bend his soul of iron. Disasters accumulated upon him.

He flung them off, and still pressed forward to his object. His victorious

energy bore all before it; but the success on which he had staked his life

served only to entail fresh calamity, and an untimely death; and his best

reward is, that his name stands forth in history an imperishable monument

of heroic constancy. When on his way to the Mississippi, in the year 1680,

La Salle built a fort in the country of the Illinois; and, on his return

from the mouth of the great river, some of his followers remained, and

established themselves near the spot. Heroes of another stamp took up the

work which the daring Norman had begun. Jesuit missionaries, among the

best and purest of their order, burning with zeal for the salvation of

souls, and the gaining of an immortal crown, here toiled and suffered,

with a self-sacrificing devotion which extorts a tribute of admiration

even from sectarian bigotry. While the colder apostles of Protestantism

labored upon the outskirts of heathendom, these champions of the cross,

the forlorn hope of the army of Rome, pierced to the heart of its dark and

dreary domain, confronting death at every step, and well repaid for all,

could they but sprinkle a few drops of water on the forehead of a dying

child, or hang a gilded crucifix round the neck of some warrior, pleased

with the glittering trinket. With the beginning of the eighteenth century,

the black robe of the Jesuit was known in every village of the Illinois.

Defying the wiles of Satan and the malice of his emissaries, the Indian

sorcerers; exposed to the rage of the elements, and every casualty of

forest life, they followed their wandering proselytes to war and to the

chase; now wading through morasses, now dragging canoes over rapids and

sandbars; now scorched with heat on the sweltering prairie, and now

shivering houseless in the blasts of January. At Kaskaskia and Cahokia

they established missions, and built frail churches from the bark of

trees, fit emblems of their own transient and futile labors. Morning and

evening, the savage worshippers sang praises to the Virgin, and knelt in

supplication before the shrine of St. Joseph.[455]

Soldiers and fur-traders followed where these pioneers of the church had

led the way. Forts were built here and there throughout the country, and

the cabins of settlers clustered about the mission-houses. The new

colonists, emigrants from Canada or disbanded soldiers of French

regiments, bore a close resemblance to the settlers of Detroit, or the

primitive people of Acadia; whose simple life poetry has chosen as an

appropriate theme, but who, nevertheless, are best contemplated from a

distance. The Creole of the Illinois, contented, light-hearted, and

thriftless, by no means fulfilled the injunction to increase and multiply;

and the colony languished in spite of the fertile soil. The people labored

long enough to gain a bare subsistence for each passing day, and spent the

rest of their time in dancing and merry-making, smoking, gossiping, and

hunting. Their native gayety was irrepressible, and they found means to

stimulate it with wine made from the fruit of the wild grape-vines. Thus

they passed their days, at peace with themselves, hand and glove with

their Indian neighbors, and ignorant of all the world beside. Money was

scarcely known among them. Skins and furs were the prevailing currency,

and in every village a great portion of the land was held in common. The

military commandant, whose station was at Fort Chartres, on the

Mississippi, ruled the colony with a sway absolute as that of the Pacha of

Egypt, and judged civil and criminal cases without right of appeal. Yet

his power was exercised in a patriarchal spirit, and he usually commanded

the respect and confidence of the people. Many years later, when, after

the War of the Revolution, the Illinois came under the jurisdiction of the

United States, the perplexed inhabitants, totally at a loss to understand

the complicated machinery of republicanism, begged to be delivered from

the intolerable burden of self-government, and to be once more subjected

to a military commandant.[456]

The Creole is as unchanging in his nature and habits as the Indian

himself. Even at this day, one may see, along the banks of the

Mississippi, the same low-browed cottages, with their broad eaves and

picturesque verandas, which, a century ago, were clustered around the

mission-house at Kaskaskia; and, entering, one finds the inmate the same

lively, story-telling, and pipe-smoking being that his ancestor was before

him. Yet, with all his genial traits, the rough world deals hardly with

him. He lives a mere drone in the busy hive of an American population. The

living tide encroaches on his rest, as the muddy torrent of the great

river chafes away the farm and homestead of his fathers. Yet he contrives

to be happy, though looking back regretfully to the better days of old.

At the date of this history, the population of the colony, exclusive of

negroes, who, in that simple community, were treated rather as humble

friends than as slaves, did not exceed two thousand souls, distributed in

several small settlements. There were about eighty houses at Kaskaskia,

forty or fifty at Cahokia, a few at Vincennes and Fort Chartres, and a few

more scattered in small clusters upon the various streams. The

agricultural portion of the colonists were, as we have described them,

marked with many weaknesses, and many amiable virtues; but their morals

were not improved by a large admixture of fur-traders,--reckless,

harebrained adventurers, who, happily for the peace of their relatives,

were absent on their wandering vocation during the greater part of the

year.[457]

Swarms of vagabond Indians infested the settlements; and, to people of any

other character, they would have proved an intolerable annoyance. But the

easy-tempered Creoles made friends and comrades of them; ate, drank,

smoked, and often married with them. They were a debauched and drunken

rabble, the remnants of that branch of the Algonquin stock known among the

French as the Illinois, a people once numerous and powerful, but now

miserably enfeebled, and corrupted by foreign wars, domestic dissensions,

and their own licentious manners. They comprised the broken fragments of

five tribes,--the Kaskaskias, Cahokias, Peorias, Mitchigamias, and

Tamaronas. Some of their villages were in the close vicinity of the Creole

settlements. On a hot summer morning, they might be seen lounging about

the trading-house, basking in the sun, begging for a dram of whiskey, or

chaffering with the hard-featured trader for beads, tobacco, gunpowder,

and red paint.

About the Wabash and its branches, to the eastward of the Illinois, dwelt

tribes of similar lineage, but more warlike in character, and less corrupt

in manners. These were the Miamis, in their three divisions, their near

kindred, the Piankishaws, and a portion of the Kickapoos. There was

another settlement of the Miamis upon the River Maumee, still farther to

the east; and it was here that Bradstreet's ambassador, Captain Morris,

had met so rough a welcome. The strength of these combined tribes was very

considerable; and, one and all, they looked with wrath and abhorrence on

the threatened advent of the English.

CHAPTER XXIX.

1763-1765.

PONTIAC RALLIES THE WESTERN TRIBES.

When, by the treaty of Paris, in 1763, France ceded to England her

territories east of the Mississippi, the Illinois was of course included

in the cession. Scarcely were the articles signed, when France, as if

eager to rob herself, at one stroke, of all her western domain, threw away

upon Spain the vast and indefinite regions beyond the Mississippi,

destined at a later day to return to her hands, and finally to swell the

growing empire of the United States. This transfer to Spain was for some

time kept secret; but orders were immediately sent to the officers

commanding at the French posts within the territory ceded to England, to

evacuate the country whenever British troops should appear to occupy it.

These orders reached the Illinois towards the close of 1763. Some time,

however, must necessarily elapse before the English could take possession;

for the Indian war was then at its height, and the country was protected

from access by a broad barrier of savage tribes, in the hottest ferment of

hostility.

The colonists, hating the English with a more than national hatred, deeply

imbittered by years of disastrous war, received the news of the treaty

with disgust and execration. Many of them left the country, loath to dwell

under the shadow of the British flag. Of these, some crossed the

Mississippi to the little hamlet of St. Genevieve, on the western bank;

others followed the commandant, Neyon de Villiers, to New Orleans; while

others, taking with them all their possessions, even to the frames and

clapboarding of their houses, passed the river a little above Cahokia, and

established themselves at a beautiful spot on the opposite shore, where a

settlement was just then on the point of commencement. Here a line of

richly wooded bluffs rose with easy ascent from the margin of the water;

while from their summits extended a wide plateau of fertile prairie,

bordered by a framework of forest. In the shadow of the trees, which

fringed the edge of the declivity, stood a newly-built storehouse, with a

few slight cabins and works of defence, belonging to a company of

fur-traders. At their head was Pierre Laclede, who had left New Orleans

with his followers in August, 1763; and, after toiling for three months

against the impetuous stream of the Mississippi, had reached the Illinois

in November, and selected the spot alluded to as the site of his first

establishment. To this he gave the name of St. Louis.[458] Side by side

with Laclede, in his adventurous enterprise, was a young man, slight in

person, but endowed with a vigor and elasticity of frame which could

resist heat or cold, fatigue, hunger, or the wasting hand of time. Not all

the magic of a dream, nor the enchantments of an Arabian tale, could

outmatch the waking realities which were to rise upon the vision of Pierre

Chouteau. Where, in his youth, he had climbed the woody bluff, and looked

abroad on prairies dotted with bison, he saw, with the dim eye of his old

age, the land darkened for many a furlong with the clustered roofs of the

western metropolis. For the silence of the wilderness, he heard the clang

and turmoil of human labor, the din of congregated thousands; and where

the great river rolled down through the forest, in lonely grandeur, he saw

the waters lashed into foam beneath the prows of panting steamboats,

flocking to the broad levee.[459]

In the summer of 1764, the military commandant, Neyon, had abandoned the

country in disgust, and gone down to New Orleans, followed by many of the

inhabitants; a circumstance already mentioned. St. Ange de Bellerive

remained behind to succeed him. St. Ange was a veteran Canadian officer,

the same who, more than forty years before, had escorted Father Charlevoix

through the country, and who is spoken of with high commendation by the

Jesuit traveller and historian. He took command of about forty men, the

remnant of the garrison of Fort Chartres; which, remote as it was, was

then esteemed one of the best constructed military works in America. Its

ramparts of stone, garnished with twenty cannon, scowled across the

encroaching Mississippi, destined, before many years, to ingulf curtain

and bastion in its ravenous abyss.

St. Ange's position was by no means an enviable one. He had a critical

part to play. On the one hand, he had been advised of the cession to the

English, and ordered to yield up the country whenever they should arrive

to claim it. On the other, he was beset by embassies from Pontiac, from

the Shawanoes, and from the Miamis, and plagued day and night by an

importunate mob of Illinois Indians, demanding arms, ammunition, and

assistance against the common enemy. Perhaps, in his secret heart, St.

Ange would have rejoiced to see the scalps of all the Englishmen in the

backwoods fluttering in the wind over the Illinois wigwams; but his

situation forbade him to comply with the solicitations of his intrusive

petitioners, and it is to be hoped that some sense of honor and humanity

enforced the dictates of prudence. Accordingly, he cajoled them with

flatteries and promises, and from time to time distributed a few presents

to stay their importunity, still praying daily that the English might

appear and relieve him from his uneasy dilemma.[460]

While Laclede was founding St. Louis, while the discontented settlers of

the Illinois were deserting their homes, and while St. Ange was laboring

to pacify his Indian neighbors, all the tribes from the Maumee to the

Mississippi were in a turmoil of excitement. Pontiac was among them,

furious as a wild beast at bay. By the double campaign of 1764, his best

hopes had been crushed to the earth; but he stood unshaken amidst the

ruin, and still struggled with desperate energy to retrieve his broken

cause. On the side of the northern lakes, the movements of Bradstreet had

put down the insurrection of the tribes, and wrested back the military

posts which cunning and treachery had placed within their grasp. In the

south, Bouquet had forced to abject submission the warlike Delawares and

Shawanoes, the warriors on whose courage and obstinacy Pontiac had

grounded his strongest confidence. On every hand defeat and disaster were

closing around him. One sanctuary alone remained, the country of the

Illinois. Here the flag of France still floated on the banks of the

Mississippi, and here no English foot had dared to penetrate. He resolved

to invoke all his resources, and bend all his energies to defend this last

citadel.[461]

He was not left to contend unaided. The fur-trading French, living at the

settlements on the Mississippi, scattered about the forts of Ouatanon,

Vincennes, and Miami, or domesticated among the Indians of the Rivers

Illinois and Wabash, dreaded the English as dangerous competitors in their

vocation, and were eager to bar them from the country. They lavished

abuse and calumny on the objects of their jealousy, and spared no

falsehood which ingenious malice and self-interest could suggest. They

gave out that the English were bent on the ruin of the tribes, and to that

end were stirring them up to mutual hostility. They insisted that, though

the armies of France had been delayed so long, they were nevertheless on

their way, and that the bayonets of the white-coated warriors would soon

glitter among the forests of the Mississippi. Forged letters were sent to

Pontiac, signed by the King of France, exhorting him to stand his ground

but a few weeks longer, and all would then be well. To give the better

coloring to their falsehoods, some of these incendiaries assumed the

uniform of French officers, and palmed themselves off upon their credulous

auditors as ambassadors from the king. Many of the principal traders

distributed among the warriors supplies of arms and ammunition, in some

instances given gratuitously, and in others sold on credit, with the

understanding that payment should be made from the plunder of the

English.[462]

Now that the insurrection in the east was quelled, and the Delawares and

Shawanoes were beaten into submission, it was thought that the English

would lose no time in taking full possession of the country, which, by

the peace of 1763, had been transferred into their hands. Two principal

routes would give access to the Illinois. Troops might advance from the

south up the great natural highway of the Mississippi, or they might

descend from the east by way of Fort Pitt and the Ohio. In either case, to

meet and repel them was the determined purpose of Pontiac.

In the spring, or early summer, he had come to the Illinois and visited

the commandant, Neyon, who was then still at his post. Neyon's greeting

was inauspicious. He told his visitor that he hoped he had returned at

last to his senses. Pontiac laid before him a large belt of wampum. "My

Father," he said, "I come to invite you and all your allies to go with me

to war against the English." Neyon asked if he had not received his

message of the last autumn, in which he told him that the French and

English were thenceforth one people; but Pontiac persisted, and still

urged him to take up the hatchet. Neyon at length grew angry, kicked away

the wampum belt, and demanded if he could not hear what was said to him.

Thus repulsed, Pontiac asked for a keg of rum. Which being given him, he

caused to be carried to a neighboring Illinois village; and, with the help

of this potent auxiliary, made the assembled warriors join him in the

war-song.[463]

It does not appear that, on this occasion, he had any farther success in

firing the hearts of the Illinois. He presently returned to his camp on

the Maumee, where, by a succession of ill-tidings, he learned the

humiliation of his allies, and the triumph of his enemies. Towards the

close of autumn, he again left the Maumee; and, followed by four hundred

warriors, journeyed westward, to visit in succession the different tribes,

and gain their co-operation in his plans of final defence. Crossing over

to the Wabash, he passed from village to village, among the Kickapoos, the

Piankishaws, and the three tribes of the Miamis, rousing them by his

imperious eloquence, and breathing into them his own fierce spirit of

resistance. Thence, by rapid marches through forests and over prairies, he

reached the banks of the Mississippi, and summoned the four tribes of the

Illinois to a general meeting. But these degenerate savages, beaten by

the surrounding tribes for many a generation past, had lost their warlike

spirit; and, though abundantly noisy and boastful, showed no zeal for

fight, and entered with no zest into the schemes of the Ottawa war-chief.

Pontiac had his own way of dealing with such spirits. "If you hesitate,"

he exclaimed, frowning on the cowering assembly, "I will consume your

tribes as the fire consumes the dry grass on the prairie." The doubts of

the Illinois vanished like the mist, and with marvellous alacrity they

declared their concurrence in the views of the orator. Having secured

these allies, such as they were, Pontiac departed, and hastened to Fort

Chartres. St. Ange, so long tormented with embassy after embassy, and mob

after mob, thought that the crowning evil was come at last, when he saw

the arch-demon Pontiac enter at the gate, with four hundred warriors at

his back. Arrived at the council-house, Pontiac addressed the commandant

in a tone of great courtesy: "Father, we have long wished to see you, to

shake hands with you, and, whilst smoking the calumet of peace, to recall

the battles in which we fought together against the misguided Indians and

the English dogs. I love the French, and I have come hither with my

warriors to avenge their wrongs."[464] Then followed a demand for arms,

ammunition, and troops, to act in concert with the Indian warriors. St.

Ange was forced to decline rendering the expected aid; but he sweetened

his denial with soothing compliments, and added a few gifts, to remove any

lingering bitterness. Pontiac would not be appeased. He angrily complained

of such lukewarm friendship, where he had looked for ready sympathy and

support. His warriors pitched their lodges about the fort, and threatening

symptoms of an approaching rupture began to alarm the French.

In the mean time, Pontiac had caused his squaws to construct a belt of

wampum of extraordinary size, six feet in length, and four inches wide. It

was wrought from end to end with the symbols of the various tribes and

villages, forty-seven in number, still leagued together in his

alliance.[465] He consigned it to an embassy of chosen warriors,

directing them to carry it down the Mississippi, displaying it, in turn,

at every Indian village along its banks; and exhorting the inhabitants, in

his name, to watch the movements of the English, and repel any attempt

they might make to ascend the river. This done, they were to repair to New

Orleans, and demand from the governor, M. D'Abbadie, the aid which St.

Ange had refused. The bark canoes of the embassy put out from the shore,

and whirled down the current like floating leaves in autumn.

Soon after their departure, tidings came to Fort Chartres, which caused a

joyous excitement among the Indians, and relieved the French garrison from

any danger of an immediate rupture. In our own day, the vast distance

between the great city of New Orleans and the populous state of Illinois

has dwindled into insignificance beneath the magic of science; but at the

date of this history, three or four months were often consumed in the

upward passage, and the settlers of the lonely forest colony were

sometimes cut off from all communication with the world for half a year

together. The above-mentioned tidings, interesting as they were, had

occupied no less time in their passage. Their import was as follows:--

Very early in the preceding spring, an English officer, Major Loftus,

having arrived at New Orleans with four hundred regulars, had attempted to

ascend the Mississippi, to take possession of Fort Chartres and its

dependent posts. His troops were embarked in large and heavy boats. Their

progress was slow; and they had reached a point not more than eighty

leagues above New Orleans, when, one morning, their ears were greeted with

the crack of rifles from the thickets of the western shore; and a soldier

in the foremost boat fell, with a mortal wound. The troops, in dismay,

sheered over towards the eastern shore; but, when fairly within gunshot, a

score of rifles obscured the forest edge with smoke, and filled the

nearest boat with dead and wounded men. On this, they steered for the

middle of the river, where they remained for a time, exposed to a dropping

fire from either bank, too distant to take effect.

The river was high, and the shores so flooded, that nothing but an Indian

could hope to find foothold in the miry labyrinth. Loftus was terrified;

the troops were discouraged, and a council of officers determined that to

advance was impossible. Accordingly, with their best despatch, they

steered back for New Orleans, where they arrived without farther accident;

and where the French, in great glee at their discomfiture, spared no

ridicule at their expense. They alleged, and with much appearance of

truth, that the English had been repulsed by no more than thirty warriors.

Loftus charged D'Abbadie with having occasioned his disaster by stirring

up the Indians to attack him. The governor called Heaven to witness his

innocence; and, in truth, there is not the smallest reason to believe him

guilty of such villany.[466] Loftus, who had not yet recovered from his

fears, conceived an idea that the Indians below New Orleans were preparing

an ambuscade to attack him on his way back to his station at Pensacola;

and he petitioned D'Abbadie to interfere in his behalf. The latter, with

an ill-dissembled sneer, offered to give him and his troops an escort of

French soldiers to protect them. Loftus rejected the humiliating proposal,

and declared that he only wished for a French interpreter, to confer with

any Indians whom he might meet by the way. The interpreter was furnished;

and Loftus returned in safety to Pensacola, his detachment not a little

reduced by the few whom the Indians had shot, and by numbers who,

disgusted by his overbearing treatment, had deserted to the French.[467]

The futile attempt of Loftus to ascend the Mississippi was followed, a few

months after, by another equally abortive. Captain Pittman came to New

Orleans with the design of proceeding to the Illinois, but was deterred by

the reports which reached him concerning the temper of the Indians. The

latter, elated beyond measure by their success against Loftus, and

excited, moreover, by the messages and war-belt of Pontiac, were in a

state of angry commotion, which made the passage too hazardous to be

attempted. Pittman bethought himself of assuming the disguise of a

Frenchman, joining a party of Creole traders, and thus reaching his

destination by stealth; but, weighing the risk of detection, he abandoned

this design also, and returned to Mobile.[468] Between the Illinois and

the settlements around New Orleans, the Mississippi extended its enormous

length through solitudes of marsh and forest, broken here and there by a

squalid Indian village; or, at vast intervals, by one or two military

posts, erected by the French, and forming the resting-places of the

voyager. After the failure of Pittman, more than a year elapsed before an

English detachment could succeed in passing this great thoroughfare of the

wilderness, and running the gauntlet of the savage tribes who guarded its

shores. It was not till the second of December, 1765, that Major Farmar,

at the head of a strong body of troops, arrived, after an uninterrupted

voyage, at Fort Chartres, where the flag of his country had already

supplanted the standard of France.[469]

To return to our immediate theme. The ambassadors, whom Pontiac had sent

from Fort Chartres in the autumn of 1764, faithfully acquitted themselves

of their trust. They visited the Indian villages along the river banks,

kindling the thirst for blood and massacre in the breasts of the inmates.

They pushed their sanguinary mission even to the farthest tribes of

Southern Louisiana, to whom the great name of Pontiac had long been known,

and of late made familiar by repeated messages and embassies.[470] This

portion of their task accomplished, they repaired to New Orleans, and

demanded an audience of the governor.

New Orleans was then a town of about seven thousand white inhabitants,

guarded from the river floods by a levee extending for fifty miles along

the banks. The small brick houses, one story in height, were arranged with

geometrical symmetry, like the squares of a chess-board. Each house had

its yard and garden, and the town was enlivened with the verdure of trees

and grass. In front, a public square, or parade ground, opened upon the

river, enclosed on three sides by the dilapidated church of St. Louis, a

prison, a convent, government buildings, and a range of barracks. The

place was surrounded by a defence of palisades strong enough to repel an

attack of Indians, or insurgent slaves.[471]

When Pontiac's ambassadors entered New Orleans, they found the town in a

state of confusion. It had long been known that the regions east of the

Mississippi had been surrendered to England; a cession from which,

however, New Orleans and its suburbs had been excepted by a special

provision. But it was only within a few weeks that the dismayed

inhabitants had learned that their mother country had transferred her

remaining American possessions to the crown of Spain, whose government and

people they cordially detested. With every day they might expect the

arrival of a Spanish governor and garrison. The French officials, whose

hour was drawing to its close, were making the best of their short-lived

authority by every species of corruption and peculation; and the

inhabitants were awaiting, in anger and repugnance, the approaching

change, which was to place over their heads masters whom they hated. The

governor, D'Abbadie, an ardent soldier and a zealous patriot, was so

deeply chagrined at what he conceived to be the disgrace of his country,

that his feeble health gave way, and he betrayed all the symptoms of a

rapid decline.

Haggard with illness, and bowed down with shame, the dying governor

received the Indian envoys in the council-hall of the province, where he

was never again to assume his seat of office. Besides the French officials

in attendance, several English officers, who chanced to be in the town,

had been invited to the meeting, with the view of soothing the jealousy

with which they regarded all intercourse between the French and the

Indians. A Shawanoe chief, the orator of the embassy, displayed the great

war-belt, and opened the council. "These red dogs," he said, alluding to

the color of the British uniform, "have crowded upon us more and more; and

when we ask them by what right they come, they tell us that you, our

French fathers, have given them our lands. We know that they lie. These

lands are neither yours nor theirs, and no man shall give or sell them

without our consent. Fathers, we have always been your faithful children;

and we now have come to ask that you will give us guns, powder, and lead,

to aid us in this war."

D'Abbadie replied in a feeble voice, endeavoring to allay their vindictive

jealousy of the English, and promising to give them all that should be

necessary to supply their immediate wants. The council then adjourned

until the following day; but, in the mean time, the wasted strength of the

governor gave way beneath a renewed attack of his disorder; and, before

the appointed hour arrived, he had breathed his last, hurried to a

premature death by the anguish of mortified pride and patriotism. M.

Aubry, his successor, presided in his place, and received the savage

embassy. The orator, after the solemn custom of his people, addressed him

in a speech of condolence, expressing his deep regret for D'Abbadie's

untimely fate.[472] A chief of the Miamis then rose to speak, with a

scowling brow, and words of bitterness and reproach. "Since we last sat on

these seats, our ears have heard strange words. When the English told us

that they had conquered you, we always thought that they lied; but now we

have learned that they spoke the truth. We have learned that you, whom we

have loved and served so well, have given the lands that we dwell upon to

your enemies and ours. We have learned that the English have forbidden you

to send traders to our villages to supply our wants; and that you, whom we

thought so great and brave, have obeyed their commands like women, leaving

us to starve and die in misery. We now tell you, once for all, that our

lands are our own; and we tell you, moreover, that we can live without

your aid, and hunt, and fish, and fight, as our fathers did before us. All

that we ask of you is this: that you give us back the guns, the powder,

the hatchets, and the knives which we have worn out in fighting your

battles. As for you," he exclaimed, turning to the English officers, who

were present as on the preceding day,--"as for you, our hearts burn with

rage when we think of the ruin you have brought on us." Aubry returned but

a weak answer to the cutting attack of the Indian speaker. He assured the

ambassadors that the French still retained their former love for the

Indians, that the English meant them no harm, and that, as all the world

were now at peace, it behooved them also to take hold of the chain of

friendship. A few presents were then distributed, but with no apparent

effect. The features of the Indians still retained their sullen scowl; and

on the morrow their canoes were ascending the Mississippi on their

homeward voyage.[473]

CHAPTER XXX.

1765.

RUIN OF THE INDIAN CAUSE.

The repulse of Loftus, and rumors of the fierce temper of the Indians who

guarded the Mississippi, convinced the commander-in-chief that to reach

the Illinois by the southern route was an enterprise of no easy

accomplishment. Yet, at the same time, he felt the strong necessity of a

speedy military occupation of the country; since, while the _fleur de lis_

floated over a single garrison in the ceded territory, it would be

impossible to disabuse the Indians of the phantom hope of French

assistance, to which they clung with infatuated tenacity. The embers of

the Indian war would never be quenched until England had enforced all her

claims over her defeated rival. Gage determined to despatch a force from

the eastward, by way of Fort Pitt and the Ohio; a route now laid open by

the late success of Bouquet, and the submission of the Delawares and

Shawanoes.

To prepare a way for the passage of the troops, Sir William Johnson's

deputy, George Croghan, was ordered to proceed in advance, to reason with

the Indians as far as they were capable of reasoning; to soften their

antipathy to the English, to expose the falsehoods of the French, and to

distribute presents among the tribes by way of propitiation.[474] The

mission was a critical one; but, so far as regarded the Indians, Croghan

was well fitted to discharge it. He had been for years a trader among the

western tribes, over whom he had gained much influence by a certain vigor

of character, joined to a wary and sagacious policy, concealed beneath a

bluff demeanor. Lieutenant Fraser, a young officer of education and

intelligence, was associated with him. He spoke French, and, in other

respects also, supplied qualifications in which his rugged colleague was

wanting. They set out for Fort Pitt in February, 1765; and after

traversing inhospitable mountains, and valleys clogged with snow, reached

their destination at about the same time that Pontiac's ambassadors were

entering New Orleans, to hold their council with the French.

A few days later, an incident occurred, which afterwards, through the

carousals of many a winter evening, supplied an absorbing topic of

anecdote and boast to the braggadocio heroes of the border. A train of

pack-horses, bearing the gifts which Croghan was to bestow upon the

Indians, followed him towards Fort Pitt, a few days' journey in the rear

of his party. Under the same escort came several companies of traders,

who, believing that the long suspended commerce with the Indians was about

to be reopened, were hastening to Fort Pitt with a great quantity of

goods, eager to throw them into the market the moment the prohibition

should be removed. There is reason to believe that Croghan had an interest

in these goods, and that, under pretence of giving presents, he meant to

open a clandestine trade.[475] The Paxton men, and their kindred spirits

of the border, saw the proceeding with sinister eyes. In their view, the

traders were about to make a barter of the blood of the people; to place

in the hands of murdering savages the means of renewing the devastation to

which the reeking frontier bore frightful witness. Once possessed with

this idea, they troubled themselves with no more inquiries; and, having

tried remonstrances in vain, they adopted a summary mode of doing

themselves justice. At the head of the enterprise was a man whose name had

been connected with more praiseworthy exploits, James Smith, already

mentioned as leading a party of independent riflemen, for the defence of

the borders, during the bloody autumn of 1763. He now mustered his old

associates, made them resume their Indian disguise, and led them to their

work with characteristic energy and address.

The government agents and traders were in the act of passing the verge of

the frontiers. Their united trains amounted to seventy pack-horses,

carrying goods to the value of more than four thousand pounds; while

others, to the value of eleven thousand, were waiting transportation at

Fort Loudon. Advancing deeper among the mountains, they began to descend

the valley at the foot of Sidling Hill. The laden horses plodded knee-deep

in snow. The mountains towered above the wayfarers in gray desolation; and

the leafless forest, a mighty AEolian harp, howled dreary music to the wind

of March. Suddenly, from behind snow-beplastered trunks and shaggy bushes

of evergreen, uncouth apparitions started into view. Wild visages

protruded, grotesquely horrible with vermilion and ochre, white lead and

soot; stalwart limbs appeared, encased in buck-skin; and rusty rifles

thrust out their long muzzles. In front, and flank, and all around them,

white puffs of smoke and sharp reports assailed the bewildered senses of

the travellers, who were yet more confounded by the hum of bullets shot by

unerring fingers within an inch of their ears. "Gentlemen," demanded the

traders, in deprecating accents, "what would you have us do?" "Unpack your

horses," roared a voice from the woods, "pile your goods in the road, and

be off." The traders knew those with whom they had to deal. Hastening to

obey the mandate, they departed with their utmost speed, happy that their

scalps were not numbered with the booty. The spoilers appropriated to

themselves such of the plunder as pleased them, made a bonfire of the

rest, and went on their way rejoicing. The discomfited traders repaired to

Fort Loudon, and laid their complaints before Lieutenant Grant, the

commandant; who, inflamed with wrath and zealous for the cause of justice,

despatched a party of soldiers, seized several innocent persons, and

lodged them in the guard-house.[476] In high dudgeon at such an infraction

of their liberties, the borderers sent messengers through the country,

calling upon all good men to rise in arms. Three hundred obeyed the

summons, and pitched their camp on a hill opposite Fort Loudon; a rare

muster of desperadoes, yet observing a certain moderation in their wildest

acts, and never at a loss for a plausible reason to justify any pranks

which it might please them to exhibit. By some means, they contrived to

waylay and capture a considerable number of the garrison, on which the

commandant condescended to send them a flag of truce, and offer an

exchange of prisoners. Their object thus accomplished, and their

imprisoned comrades restored to them, the borderers dispersed for the

present to their homes. Soon after, however, upon the occurrence of some

fresh difficulty, the commandant, afraid or unable to apprehend the

misdoers, endeavored to deprive them of the power of mischief by sending

soldiers to their houses and carrying off their rifles. His triumph was

short; for, as he rode out one afternoon, he fell into an ambuscade of

countrymen, who, dispensing with all forms of respect, seized the incensed

officer, and detained him in an uncomfortable captivity until the rifles

were restored. From this time forward, ruptures were repeatedly occurring

between the troops and the frontiersmen; and the Pennsylvania border

retained its turbulent character until the outbreak of the Revolutionary

War.[477]

Whatever may have been Croghan's real attitude in this affair, the border

robbers had wrought great injury to his mission; since the agency most

potent to gain the affections of an Indian had been completely paralyzed

in the destruction of the presents. Croghan found means, however,

partially to repair his loss from the storehouse of Fort Pitt, where the

rigor of the season and the great depth of the snow forced him to remain

several weeks. This cause alone would have served to detain him; but he

was yet farther retarded by the necessity of holding a meeting with the

Delawares and Shawanoes, along whose southern borders he would be

compelled to pass. An important object of the proposed meeting was to urge

these tribes to fulfil the promise they had made, during the previous

autumn, to Colonel Bouquet, to yield up their remaining prisoners, and

send deputies to treat of peace with Sir William Johnson; engagements

which, when Croghan arrived at the fort, were as yet unfulfilled, though,

as already mentioned, they were soon after complied with.

Immediately on his arrival, he had despatched messengers inviting the

chiefs to a council; a summons which they obeyed with their usual

reluctance and delay, dropping in, band after band, with such tardiness

that a month was consumed before a sufficient number were assembled.

Croghan then addressed them, showing the advantages of peace, and the

peril which they would bring on their own heads by a renewal of the war;

and urging them to stand true to their engagements, and send their

deputies to Johnson as soon as the melting of the snows should leave the

forest pathways open. Several replies, all of a pacific nature, were made

by the principal chiefs; but the most remarkable personage who appeared at

the council was the Delaware prophet mentioned in an early portion of the

narrative, as having been strongly instrumental in urging the tribes to

war by means of pretended or imaginary revelations from the Great

Spirit.[478] He now delivered a speech by no means remarkable for

eloquence, yet of most beneficial consequence; for he intimated that the

Great Spirit had not only revoked his sanguinary mandates, but had

commanded the Indians to lay down the hatchet, and smoke the pipe of

peace.[479] In spite of this auspicious declaration, and in spite of the

chastisement and humiliation of the previous autumn, Croghan was privately

informed that a large party among the Indians still remained balanced

between their anger and their fears; eager to take up the hatchet, yet

dreading the consequences which the act might bring. Under this cloudy

aspect of affairs, he was doubly gratified when a party of Shawanoe

warriors arrived, bringing with them the prisoners whom they had promised

Colonel Bouquet to surrender; and this faithful adherence to their word,

contrary alike to Croghan's expectations, and to the prophecies of those

best versed in Indian character, made it apparent that, whatever might be

the sentiments of the turbulent among them, the more influential portion

were determined on a pacific attitude.

These councils, and the previous delays, consumed so much time, that

Croghan became fearful that the tribes of the Illinois might, meanwhile,

commit themselves by some rash outbreak, which would increase the

difficulty of reconciliation. In view of this danger, his colleague,

Lieutenant Fraser, volunteered to proceed in advance, leaving Croghan to

follow when he had settled affairs at Fort Pitt. Fraser departed,

accordingly, with a few attendants. The rigor of the season had now begun

to relent, and the ice-locked Ohio was flinging off its wintry fetters.

Embarked in a birch canoe, and aided by the current, Fraser floated

prosperously downwards for a thousand miles, and landed safely in the

country of the Illinois. Here he found the Indians in great destitution,

and in a frame of mind which would have inclined them to peace but for the

secret encouragement they received from the French. A change, however,

soon took place. Boats arrived from New Orleans, loaded with a great

quantity of goods, which the French, at that place, being about to abandon

it, had sent in haste to the Illinois. The traders' shops at Kaskaskia

were suddenly filled again. The Indians were delighted; and the French,

with a view to a prompt market for their guns, hatchets, and gunpowder,

redoubled their incitements to war. Fraser found himself in a hornet's

nest. His life was in great danger; but Pontiac, who was then at

Kaskaskia, several times interposed to save him. The French traders picked

a quarrel with him, and instigated the Indians to kill him; for it was

their interest that the war should go on. A party of them invited Pontiac

to dinner; plied him with whiskey; and, having made him drunk, incited him

to have Fraser and his servant seized. They were brought to the house

where the debauch was going on; and here, among a crowd of drunken

Indians, their lives hung by a hair. Fraser writes, "He (Pontiac) and his

men fought all night about us. They said we would get off next day if they

should not prevent our flight by killing us. This Pontiac would not do.

All night they did nothing else but sing the death song; but my servant

and I, with the help of an Indian who was sober, defended ourselves till

morning, when they thought proper to let us escape. When Pontiac was

sober, he made me an apology for his behavior; and told me it was owing to

bad counsel he had got that he had taken me; but that I need not fear

being taken in that manner for the future."[480]

Fraser's situation was presently somewhat improved by a rumor that an

English detachment was about to descend the Ohio. The French traders,

before so busy with their falsehoods and calumnies, now held their peace,

dreading the impending chastisement. They no longer gave arms and

ammunition to the Indians; and when the latter questioned them concerning

the fabrication of a French army advancing to the rescue, they treated the

story as unfounded, or sought to evade the subject. St. Ange, too, and the

other officers of the crown, confiding in the arrival of the English,

assumed a more decisive tone; refusing to give the Indians presents,

telling them that thenceforward they must trust to the English for

supplies, reproving them for their designs against the latter, and

advising them to remain at peace.[481]

Nevertheless, Fraser's position was neither safe nor pleasant. He could

hear nothing of Croghan, and he was almost alone, having sent away all his

men; except his servant, to save them from being abused and beaten by the

Indians. He had discretionary orders to go down to Mobile and report to

the English commandant there; and of these he was but too glad to avail

himself. He descended the Mississippi in disguise, and safely reached New

Orleans.[482]

Apparently, it was about this time that an incident took place, mentioned,

with evident satisfaction, in a letter of the French commandant, Aubry.

The English officers in the south, unable to send troops up the

Mississippi, had employed a Frenchman, whom they had secured in their

interest, to ascend the river with a boat-load of goods, which he was

directed to distribute among the Indians, to remove their prejudice

against the English and pave the way to reconciliation. Intelligence of

this movement reached the ears of Pontiac, who, though much pleased with

the approaching supplies, had no mind that they should be devoted to serve

the interests of his enemies. He descended to the river bank with a body

of his warriors; and as La Garantais, the Frenchman, landed, he seized him

and his men, flogged them severely, robbed them of their cargo, and

distributed the goods with exemplary impartiality among his delighted

followers.[483]

Notwithstanding this good fortune, Pontiac daily saw his followers

dropping off from their allegiance; for even the boldest had lost heart.

Had any thing been wanting to convince him of the hopelessness of his

cause, the report of his ambassadors returning from New Orleans would have

banished every doubt. No record of his interview with them remains; but it

is easy to conceive with what chagrin he must have learned that the

officer of France first in rank in all America had refused to aid him, and

urged the timid counsels of peace. The vanity of those expectations, which

had been the mainspring of his enterprise, now rose clear and palpable

before him; and, with rage and bitterness, he saw the rotten foundation of

his hopes sinking into dust, and the whole structure of his plot crumbling

in ruins about him.

All was lost. His allies were falling off, his followers deserting him.

To hold out longer would be destruction, and to fly was scarcely an easier

task. In the south lay the Cherokees, hereditary enemies of his people. In

the west were the Osages and Missouries, treacherous and uncertain

friends, and the fierce and jealous Dahcotah. In the east the forests

would soon be filled with English traders, and beset with English troops;

while in the north his own village of Detroit lay beneath the guns of the

victorious garrison. He might, indeed, have found a partial refuge in the

remoter wilderness of the upper lakes; but those dreary wastes would have

doomed him to a life of unambitious exile. His resolution was taken. He

determined to accept the peace which he knew would be proffered, to smoke

the calumet with his triumphant enemies, and patiently await his hour of

vengeance.[484]

The conferences at Fort Pitt concluded, Croghan left that place on the

fifteenth of May, and embarked on the Ohio, accompanied by several

Delaware and Shawanoe deputies, whom he had persuaded those newly

reconciled tribes to send with him, for the furtherance of his mission. At

the mouth of the Scioto, he was met by a band of Shawanoe warriors, who,

in compliance with a message previously sent to them, delivered into his

hands seven intriguing Frenchmen, who for some time past had lived in

their villages. Thence he pursued his voyage smoothly and prosperously,

until, on the eighth of June, he reached a spot a little below the mouth

of the Wabash. Here he landed with his party; when suddenly the hideous

war-whoop, the explosion of musketry, and the whistling of arrows greeted

him from the covert of the neighboring thickets. His men fell thick about

him. Three Indians and two white men were shot dead on the spot; most of

the remainder were wounded; and on the next instant the survivors found

themselves prisoners in the hands of eighty yelling Kickapoos, who

plundered them of all they had. No sooner, however, was their prey fairly

within their clutches, than the cowardly assailants began to apologize for

what they had done, saying it was all a mistake, and that the French had

set them on by telling them that the Indians who accompanied Croghan were

Cherokees, their mortal enemies; excuses utterly without foundation, for

the Kickapoos had dogged the party for several days, and perfectly

understood its character.[485]

It is superfluous to inquire into the causes of this attack. No man

practically familiar with Indian character need be told the impossibility

of foreseeing to what strange acts the wayward impulses of this

murder-loving race may prompt them. Unstable as water, capricious as the

winds, they seem in some of their moods like ungoverned children fired

with the instincts of devils. In the present case, they knew that they

hated the English,--knew that they wanted scalps; and thinking nothing of

the consequences, they seized the first opportunity to gratify their rabid

longing. This done, they thought it best to avert any probable effects of

their misconduct by such falsehoods as might suggest themselves to their

invention.

Still apologizing for what they had done, but by no means suffering their

prisoners to escape, they proceeded up the Wabash, to the little French

fort and settlement of Vincennes, where, to his great joy, Croghan found

among the assembled Indians some of his former friends and acquaintance.

They received him kindly, and sharply rebuked the Kickapoos, who, on their

part, seemed much ashamed and crestfallen. From Vincennes the English were

conducted, in a sort of honorable captivity, up the river to Ouatanon,

where they arrived on the twenty-third, fifteen days after the attack, and

where Croghan was fortunate enough to find a great number of his former

Indian friends, who received him, to appearance at least, with much

cordiality. He took up his quarters in the fort, where there was at this

time no garrison, a mob of French traders and Indians being the only

tenants of the place. For several days, his time was engrossed with

receiving deputation after deputation from the various tribes and

sub-tribes of the neighborhood, smoking pipes of peace, making and

hearing speeches, and shaking hands with greasy warriors, who, one and

all, were strong in their professions of good will, promising not only to

regard the English as their friends, but to aid them, if necessary, in

taking possession of the Illinois.

While these amicable conferences were in progress, a miscreant Frenchman

came from the Mississippi with a message from a chief of that region,

urging the Indians of Ouatanon to burn the Englishman alive. Of this

proposal the Indians signified their strong disapprobation, and assured

the startled envoy that they would stand his friends,--professions the

sincerity of which, happily for him, was confirmed by the strong guaranty

of their fears.

The next arrival was that of Maisonville, a messenger from St. Ange,

requesting Croghan to come to Fort Chartres, to adjust affairs in that

quarter. The invitation was in accordance with Croghan's designs; and he

left the fort on the following day, attended by Maisonville, and a

concourse of the Ouatanon Indians, who, far from regarding him as their

prisoner, were now studious to show him every mark of respect. He had

advanced but a short distance into the forest when he met Pontiac himself,

who was on his way to Ouatanon, followed by a numerous train of chiefs and

warriors. He gave his hand to the English envoy, and both parties returned

together to the fort. Its narrow precincts were now crowded with Indians,

a perilous multitude, dark, malignant, inscrutable; and it behooved the

Englishman to be wary, in his dealings with them, since a breath might

kindle afresh the wildfire in their hearts.

At a meeting of the chiefs and warriors, Pontiac offered the calumet and

belt of peace, and professed his concurrence with the chiefs of Ouatanon

in the friendly sentiments which they expressed towards the English. The

French, he added, had deceived him, telling him and his people that the

English meant to enslave the Indians of the Illinois, and turn loose upon

them their enemies the Cherokees. It was this which drove him to arms; and

now that he knew the story to be false, he would no longer stand in the

path of the English. Yet they must not imagine that, in taking possession

of the French forts, they gained any right to the country; for the French

had never bought the land, and lived upon it by sufferance only.

As this meeting with Pontiac and the Illinois chiefs made it needless for

Croghan to advance farther on his western journey, he now bent his

footsteps towards Detroit, and, followed by Pontiac and many of the

principal chiefs, crossed over to Fort Miami, and thence descended the

Maumee, holding conferences at the several villages which he passed on his

way. On the seventeenth of August, he reached Detroit, where he found a

great gathering of Indians, Ottawas, Pottawattamies, and Ojibwas; some

encamped about the fort, and others along the banks of the River Rouge.

They obeyed his summons to a meeting with alacrity, partly from a desire

to win the good graces of a victorious enemy, and partly from the

importunate craving for liquor and presents, which never slumbers in an

Indian breast. Numerous meetings were held; and the old council-hall where

Pontiac had essayed his scheme of abortive treachery was now crowded with

repentant warriors, anxious, by every form of submission, to appease the

conqueror. Their ill success, their fears of chastisement, and the

miseries they had endured from the long suspension of the fur-trade, had

banished from their minds every thought of hostility. They were glad, they

said, that the dark clouds were now dispersing, and the sunshine of peace

once more returning; and since all the nations to the sunrising had taken

their great father the King of England by the hand, they also wished to do

the same. They now saw clearly that the French were indeed conquered; and

thenceforth they would listen no more to the whistling of evil birds, but

lay down the war-hatchet, and sit quiet on their mats. Among those who

appeared to make or renew their submission was the Grand Sauteur, who had

led the massacre at Michillimackinac, and who, a few years after, expiated

his evil deeds by a bloody death. He now pretended great regret for what

he had done. "We red people," he said, "are a very jealous and foolish

people; but, father, there are some among the white men worse than we are,

and they have told us lies, and deceived us. Therefore we hope you will

take pity on our women and children, and grant us peace." A band of

Pottawattamies from St. Joseph's were also present, and, after excusing

themselves for their past conduct by the stale plea of the uncontrollable

temper of their young men, their orator proceeded as follows:--

"We are no more than wild creatures to you, fathers, in understanding;

therefore we request you to forgive the past follies of our young people,

and receive us for your children. Since you have thrown down our former

father on his back, we have been wandering in the dark, like blind people.

Now you have dispersed all this darkness, which hung over the heads of the

several tribes, and have accepted them for your children, we hope you will

let us partake with them the light, that our women and children may enjoy

peace. We beg you to forget all that is past. By this belt we remove all

evil thoughts from your hearts.

"Fathers, when we formerly came to visit our fathers the French, they

always sent us home joyful; and we hope you, fathers, will have pity on

our women and young men, who are in great want of necessaries, and not let

us go home to our towns ashamed."

On the twenty-seventh of August, Croghan held a meeting with the Ottawas,

and the other tribes of Detroit and Sandusky; when, adopting their own

figurative language, he addressed them in the following speech, in which,

as often happened when white men borrowed the tongue of the forest orator,

he lavished a more unsparing profusion of imagery than the Indians

themselves:--

"Children, we are very glad to see so many of you here present at your

ancient council-fire, which has been neglected for some time past; since

then, high winds have blown, and raised heavy clouds over your country. I

now, by this belt, rekindle your ancient fire, and throw dry wood upon it,

that the blaze may ascend to heaven, so that all nations may see it, and

know that you live in peace and tranquillity with your fathers the

English.

"By this belt I disperse all the black clouds from over your heads, that

the sun may shine clear on your women and children, that those unborn may

enjoy the blessings of this general peace, now so happily settled between

your fathers the English and you, and all your younger brethren to the

sunsetting.

"Children, by this belt I gather up all the bones of your deceased

friends, and bury them deep in the ground, that the buds and sweet flowers

of the earth may grow over them, that we may not see them any more.

"Children, with this belt I take the hatchet out of your hands, and pluck

up a large tree, and bury it deep, so that it may never be found any more;

and I plant the tree of peace, which all our children may sit under, and

smoke in peace with their fathers.

"Children, we have made a road from the sunrising to the sunsetting. I

desire that you will preserve that road good and pleasant to travel upon,

that we may all share the blessings of this happy union."

On the following day, Pontiac spoke in behalf of the several nations

assembled at the council.

"Father, we have all smoked out of this pipe of peace. It is your

children's pipe; and as the war is all over, and the Great Spirit and

Giver of Light, who has made the earth and every thing therein, has

brought us all together this day for our mutual good, I declare to all

nations that I have settled my peace with you before I came here, and now

deliver my pipe to be sent to Sir William Johnson, that he may know I have

made peace, and taken the King of England for my father, in presence of

all the nations now assembled; and whenever any of those nations go to

visit him, they may smoke out of it with him in peace. Fathers, we are

obliged to you for lighting up our old council-fire for us, and desiring

us to return to it; but we are now settled on the Miami River, not far

from hence: whenever you want us, you will find us there."[486]

"Our people," he added, "love liquor, and if we dwelt near you in our old

village of Detroit, our warriors would be always drunk, and quarrels would

arise between us and you." Drunkenness was, in truth, the bane of the

whole unhappy race; but Pontiac, too thoroughly an Indian in his virtues

and his vices to be free from its destructive taint, concluded his speech

with the common termination of an Indian harangue, and desired that the

rum barrel might be opened, and his thirsty warriors allowed to drink.

At the end of September, having brought these protracted conferences to a

close, Croghan left Detroit, and departed for Niagara, whence, after a

short delay, he passed eastward, to report the results of his mission to

the commander-in-chief. But before leaving the Indian country, he exacted

from Pontiac a promise that in the spring he would descend to Oswego, and,

in behalf of the tribes lately banded in his league, conclude a treaty of

peace and amity with Sir William Johnson.[487]

Croghan's efforts had been attended with signal success. The tribes of the

west, of late bristling in defiance, and hot for fight, had craved

forgiveness, and proffered the calumet. The war was over; the last

flickerings of that wide conflagration had died away; but the embers still

glowed beneath the ashes, and fuel and a breath alone were wanting to

rekindle those desolating fires.

In the mean time, a hundred Highlanders of the 42d Regiment, those

veterans whose battle-cry had echoed over the bloodiest fields of America,

had left Fort Pitt under command of Captain Sterling, and, descending the

Ohio, arrived at Fort Chartres just as the snows of early winter began to

whiten the naked forests.[488] The flag of France descended from the

rampart; and with the stern courtesies of war, St. Ange yielded up his

post, the citadel of the Illinois, to its new masters. In that act was

consummated the double triumph of British power in America. England had

crushed her hereditary foe; and France, in her fall, had left to

irretrievable ruin the savage tribes to whom her policy and self-interest

had lent a transient support.

CHAPTER XXXI.

1766-1769.

DEATH OF PONTIAC.

The Winter passed quietly away. Already the Indians began to feel the

blessings of returning peace in the partial reopening of the fur-trade;

and the famine and nakedness, the misery and death, which through the

previous season had been rife in their encampments, were exchanged for

comparative comfort and abundance. With many precautions, and in meagre

allowances, the traders had been permitted to throw their goods into the

Indian markets; and the starving hunters were no longer left, as many of

them had been, to gain precarious sustenance by the bow, the arrow, and

the lance--the half-forgotten weapons of their fathers. Some troubles

arose along the frontiers of Pennsylvania and Virginia. The reckless

borderers, in contempt of common humanity and prudence, murdered several

straggling Indians, and enraged others by abuse and insult; but these

outrages could not obliterate the remembrance of recent chastisement, and,

for the present at least, the injured warriors forbore to draw down the

fresh vengeance of their destroyers.

Spring returned, and Pontiac remembered the promise he had made to visit

Sir William Johnson at Oswego. He left his encampment on the Maumee,

accompanied by his chiefs, and by an Englishman named Crawford, a man of

vigor and resolution, who had been appointed, by the superintendent, to

the troublesome office of attending the Indian deputation, and supplying

their wants.[489]

We may well imagine with what bitterness of mood the defeated war-chief

urged his canoe along the margin of Lake Erie, and gazed upon the

horizon-bounded waters, and the lofty shores, green with primeval verdure.

Little could he have dreamed, and little could the wisest of that day have

imagined, that, within the space of a single human life, that lonely lake

would be studded with the sails of commerce; that cities and villages

would rise upon the ruins of the forest; and that the poor mementoes of

his lost race--the wampum beads, the rusty tomahawk, and the arrowhead of

stone, turned up by the ploughshare--would become the wonder of

schoolboys, and the prized relics of the antiquary's cabinet. Yet it

needed no prophetic eye to foresee that, sooner or later, the doom must

come. The star of his people's destiny was fading from the sky; and, to a

mind like his, the black and withering future must have stood revealed in

all its desolation.

The birchen flotilla gained the outlet of Lake Erie, and, shooting

downwards with the stream, landed beneath the palisades of Fort Schlosser.

The chiefs passed the portage, and, once more embarking, pushed out upon

Lake Ontario. Soon their goal was reached, and the cannon boomed hollow

salutation from the batteries of Oswego.

Here they found Sir William Johnson waiting to receive them, attended by

the chief sachems of the Iroquois, whom he had invited to the spot, that

their presence might give additional weight and solemnity to the meeting.

As there was no building large enough to receive so numerous a concourse,

a canopy of green boughs was erected to shade the assembly from the sun;

and thither, on the twenty-third of July, repaired the chiefs and warriors

of the several nations. Here stood the tall figure of Sir William Johnson,

surrounded by civil and military officers, clerks, and interpreters; while

before him reclined the painted sachems of the Iroquois, and the great

Ottawa war-chief, with his dejected followers.

Johnson opened the meeting with the usual formalities, presenting his

auditors with a belt of wampum to wipe the tears from their eyes, with

another to cover the bones of their relatives, another to open their ears

that they might hear, and another to clear their throats that they might

speak with ease. Then, amid solemn silence, Pontiac's great peace-pipe was

lighted and passed round the assembly, each man present inhaling a whiff

of the sacred smoke. These tedious forms, together with a few speeches of

compliment, consumed the whole morning; for this savage people, on whose

supposed simplicity poets and rhetoricians have lavished their praises,

may challenge the world to outmatch their bigoted adherence to usage and

ceremonial.

On the following day, the council began in earnest, and Sir William

Johnson addressed Pontiac and his attendant chiefs.

"Children, I bid you heartily welcome to this place; and I trust that the

Great Spirit will permit us often to meet together in friendship, for I

have now opened the door and cleared the road, that all nations may come

hither from the sunsetting. This belt of wampum confirms my words.

"Children, it gave me much pleasure to find that you who are present

behaved so well last year, and treated in so friendly a manner Mr.

Croghan, one of my deputies; and that you expressed such concern for the

bad behavior of those, who, in order to obstruct the good work of peace,

assaulted and wounded him, and killed some of his party, both whites and

Indians; a thing before unknown, and contrary to the laws and customs of

all nations. This would have drawn down our strongest resentment upon

those who were guilty of so heinous a crime, were it not for the great

lenity and kindness of your English father, who does not delight in

punishing those who repent sincerely of their faults.

"Children, I have now, with the approbation of General Gage (your father's

chief warrior in this country), invited you here in order to confirm and

strengthen your proceedings with Mr. Croghan last year. I hope that you

will remember all that then passed, and I desire that you will often

repeat it to your young people, and keep it fresh in your minds.

"Children, you begin already to see the fruits of peace, from the number

of traders and plenty of goods at all the garrisoned posts; and our

enjoying the peaceable possession of the Illinois will be found of great

advantage to the Indians in that country. You likewise see that proper

officers, men of honor and probity, are appointed to reside at the posts,

to prevent abuses in trade, to hear your complaints, and to lay before me

such of them as they cannot redress.[490] Interpreters are likewise sent

for the assistance of each of them; and smiths are sent to the posts to

repair your arms and implements. All this, which is attended with a great

expense, is now done by the great King, your father, as a proof of his

regard; so that, casting from you all jealousy and apprehension, you

should now strive with each other who should show the most gratitude to

this best of princes. I do now, therefore, confirm the assurances which I

give you of his Majesty's good will, and do insist on your casting away

all evil thoughts, and shutting your ears against all flying idle reports

of bad people."

The rest of Johnson's speech was occupied in explaining to his hearers the

new arrangements for the regulation of the fur-trade; in exhorting them to

forbear from retaliating the injuries they might receive from reckless

white men, who would meet with due punishment from their own countrymen;

and in urging them to deliver up to justice those of their people who

might be guilty of crimes against the English. "Children," he concluded,

"I now, by this belt, turn your eyes to the sunrising, where you will

always find me your sincere friend. From me you will always hear what is

true and good; and I charge you never more to listen to those evil birds,

who come, with lying tongues, to lead you astray, and to make you break

the solemn engagements which you have entered into, in presence of the

Great Spirit, with the King your father and the English people. Be strong,

then, and keep fast hold of the chain of friendship, that your children,

following your example, may live happy and prosperous lives."

Pontiac made a brief reply, and promised to return on the morrow an answer

in full. The meeting then broke up.

The council of the next day was opened by the Wyandot chief, Teata, in a

short and formal address; at the conclusion of which Pontiac himself

arose, and addressed the superintendent in words, of which the following

is a translation:

"Father, we thank the Great Spirit for giving us so fine a day to meet

upon such great affairs. I speak in the name of all the nations to the

westward, of whom I am the master. It is the will of the Great Spirit that

we should meet here to-day; and before him I now take you by the hand. I

call him to witness that I speak from my heart; for since I took Colonel

Croghan by the hand last year, I have never let go my hold, for I see that

the Great Spirit will have us friends.

"Father, when our great father of France was in this country, I held him

fast by the hand. Now that he is gone, I take you, my English father, by

the hand, in the name of all the nations, and promise to keep this

covenant as long as I shall live."

Here he delivered a large belt of wampum.

"Father, when you address me, it is the same as if you addressed all the

nations of the west. Father, this belt is to cover and strengthen our

chain of friendship, and to show you that, if any nation shall lift the

hatchet against our English brethren, we shall be the first to feel it and

resent it."

Pontiac next took up in succession the various points touched upon in the

speech of the superintendent, expressing in all things a full compliance

with his wishes. The succeeding days of the conference were occupied with

matters of detail relating chiefly to the fur-trade, all of which were

adjusted to the apparent satisfaction of the Indians, who, on their part,

made reiterated professions of friendship. Pontiac promised to recall the

war-belts which had been sent to the north and west, though, as he

alleged, many of them had proceeded from the Senecas, and not from him;

adding that, when all were gathered together, they would be more than a

man could carry. The Iroquois sachems then addressed the western nations,

exhorting them to stand true to their engagements, and hold fast the chain

of friendship; and the councils closed on the thirty-first, with a

bountiful distribution of presents to Pontiac and his followers[491].

Thus ended this memorable meeting, in which Pontiac sealed his submission

to the English, and renounced for ever the bold design by which he had

trusted to avert or retard the ruin of his race. His hope of seeing the

empire of France restored in America was scattered to the winds, and with

it vanished every rational scheme of resistance to English encroachment.

Nothing now remained but to stand an idle spectator, while, in the north

and in the south, the tide of British power rolled westward in resistless

might; while the fragments of the rival empire, which he would fain have

set up as a barrier against the flood, lay scattered a miserable wreck;

and while the remnant of his people melted away or fled for refuge to

remoter deserts. For them the prospects of the future were as clear as

they were calamitous. Destruction or civilization--between these lay their

choice; and few who knew them could doubt which alternative they would

embrace.

Pontiac, his canoe laden with the gifts of his enemy, steered homeward for

the Maumee; and in this vicinity he spent the following winter, pitching

his lodge in the forest with his wives and children, and hunting like an

ordinary warrior. With the succeeding spring, 1767, fresh murmurings of

discontent arose among the Indian tribes, from the lakes to the Potomac,

the first precursors of the disorders which, a few years later, ripened

into a brief but bloody war along the borders of Virginia. These

threatening symptoms might easily be traced to their source. The

incorrigible frontiersmen had again let loose their murdering

propensities; and a multitude of squatters had built their cabins on

Indian lands beyond the limits of Pennsylvania, adding insult to

aggression, and sparing neither oaths, curses, nor any form of abuse and

maltreatment against the rightful owners of the soil.[492] The new

regulations of the fur-trade could not prevent disorders among the

reckless men engaged in it. This was particularly the case in the region

of the Illinois, where the evil was aggravated by the renewed intrigues of

the French, and especially of those who had fled from the English side of

the Mississippi, and made their abode around the new settlement of St.

Louis.[493] It is difficult to say how far Pontiac was involved in this

agitation. It is certain that some of the English traders regarded him

with jealousy and fear, as prime mover of the whole, and eagerly watched

an opportunity to destroy him.

The discontent among the tribes did not diminish with the lapse of time;

yet for many months we can discern no trace of Pontiac. Records and

traditions are silent concerning him. It is not until April, 1769, that he

appears once more distinctly on the scene.[494] At about that time he came

to the Illinois, with what design does not appear, though his movements

excited much uneasiness among the few English in that quarter. Soon after

his arrival, he repaired to St. Louis, to visit his former acquaintance,

St. Ange, who was then in command at that post, having offered his

services to the Spaniards after the cession of Louisiana. After leaving

the fort, Pontiac proceeded to the house of which young Pierre Chouteau

was an inmate; and to the last days of his protracted life, the latter

could vividly recall the circumstances of the interview. The savage chief

was arrayed in the full uniform of a French officer, which had been

presented to him as a special mark of respect and favor by the Marquis of

Montcalm, towards the close of the French war, and which Pontiac never had

the bad taste to wear, except on occasions when he wished to appear with

unusual dignity. St. Ange, Chouteau, and the other principal inhabitants

of the infant settlement, whom he visited in turn, all received him

cordially, and did their best to entertain him and his attendant chiefs.

He remained at St. Louis for two or three days, when, hearing that a large

number of Indians were assembled at Cahokia, on the opposite side of the

river, and that some drinking bout or other social gathering was in

progress, he told St. Ange that he would cross over to see what was going

forward. St. Ange tried to dissuade him, and urged the risk to which he

would expose himself; but Pontiac persisted, boasting that he was a match

for the English, and had no fear for his life. He entered a canoe with

some of his followers, and Chouteau never saw him again.

He who, at the present day, crosses from the city of St. Louis to the

opposite shore of the Mississippi, and passes southward through a forest

festooned with grape-vines, and fragrant with the scent of flowers, will

soon emerge upon the ancient hamlet of Cahokia. To one fresh from the busy

suburbs of the American city, the small French houses, scattered in

picturesque disorder, the light-hearted, thriftless look of their inmates,

and the woods which form the background of the picture, seem like the

remnants of an earlier and simpler world. Strange changes have passed

around that spot. Forests have fallen, cities have sprung up, and the

lonely wilderness is thronged with human life. Nature herself has taken

part in the general transformation; and the Mississippi has made a fearful

inroad, robbing from the luckless Creoles a mile of rich meadow and

woodland. Yet, in the midst of all, this relic of the lost empire of

France has preserved its essential features through the lapse of a

century, and offers at this day an aspect not widely different from that

which met the eye of Pontiac, when he and his chiefs landed on its shore.

The place was full of Illinois Indians; such a scene as in our own time

may often be met with in some squalid settlement of the border, where the

vagabond guests, bedizened with dirty finery, tie their small horses in

rows along the fences, and stroll idly among the houses, or lounge about

the dramshops. A chief so renowned as Pontiac could not remain long among

the friendly Creoles of Cahokia without being summoned to a feast; and at

such primitive entertainment the whiskey-bottle would not fail to play its

part. This was in truth the case. Pontiac drank deeply, and, when the

carousal was over, strode down the village street to the adjacent woods,

where he was heard to sing the medicine songs, in whose magic power he

trusted as the warrant of success in all his undertakings.

An English trader, named Williamson, was then in the village. He had

looked on the movements of Pontiac with a jealousy probably not diminished

by the visit of the chief to the French at St. Louis; and he now resolved

not to lose so favorable an opportunity to despatch him. With this view,

he gained the ear of a strolling Indian, belonging to the Kaskaskia tribe

of the Illinois, bribed him with a barrel of liquor, and promised him a

farther reward if he would kill the chief. The bargain was quickly made.

When Pontiac entered the forest, the assassin stole close upon his track;

and, watching his moment, glided behind him, and buried a tomahawk in his

brain.

The dead body was soon discovered, and startled cries and wild howlings

announced the event. The word was caught up from mouth to mouth, and the

place resounded with infernal yells. The warriors snatched their weapons.

The Illinois took part with their guilty countryman; and the few followers

of Pontiac, driven from the village, fled to spread the tidings and call

the nations to revenge. Meanwhile the murdered chief lay on the spot where

he had fallen, until St. Ange, mindful of former friendship, sent to claim

the body, and buried it with warlike honors, near his fort of St.

Louis.[495]

Thus basely perished this champion of a ruined race. But could his shade

have revisited the scene of murder, his savage spirit would have exulted

in the vengeance which overwhelmed the abettors of the crime. Whole tribes

were rooted out to expiate it. Chiefs and sachems, whose veins had

thrilled with his eloquence; young warriors, whose aspiring hearts had

caught the inspiration of his greatness, mustered to revenge his fate;

and, from the north and the east, their united bands descended on the

villages of the Illinois. Tradition has but faintly preserved the memory

of the event; and its only annalists, men who held the intestine feuds of

the savage tribes in no more account than the quarrels of panthers or

wildcats, have left but a meagre record. Yet enough remains to tell us

that over the grave of Pontiac more blood was poured out in atonement,

than flowed from the veins of the slaughtered heroes on the corpse of

Patroclus; and the remnant of the Illinois who survived the carnage

remained for ever after sunk in utter insignificance.[496]

Neither mound nor tablet marked the burial-place of Pontiac. For a

mausoleum, a city has risen above the forest hero; and the race whom he

hated with such burning rancor trample with unceasing footsteps over his

forgotten grave.

_Appendix A._

THE IROQUOIS.--EXTENT OF THEIR CONQUESTS.--POLICY PURSUED

TOWARDS THEM BY THE FRENCH AND THE ENGLISH.--MEASURES OF SIR

WILLIAM JOHNSON.

1. TERRITORY OF THE IROQUOIS. (Vol. I. p. 19.)

Extract from a Letter--Sir W. Johnson to the Board of Trade, November 13,

1763:--

My Lords:

In obedience to your Lordships' commands of the 5th of August

last, I am now to lay before you the claims of the Nations

mentioned in the State of the Confederacies. The Five Nations

have in the last century subdued the Shawanese, Delawares,

Twighties, and Western Indians, so far as Lakes Michigan and

Superior, received them into an alliance, allowed them the

possession of the lands they occupied, and have ever since been

in peace with the greatest part of them; and such was the

prowess of the Five Nations' Confederacy, that had they been

properly supported by us, they would have long since put a

period to the Colony of Canada, which alone they were near

effecting in the year 1688. Since that time, they have admitted

the Tuscaroras from the Southward, beyond Oneida, and they have

ever since formed a part of that Confederacy.

As original proprietors, this Confederacy claim the country of

their residence, south of Lake Ontario to the great Ridge of the

Blue Mountains, with all the Western Part of the Province of New

York towards Hudson River, west of the Catskill, thence to Lake

Champlain, and from Regioghne, a Rock at the East side of said

Lake, to Oswegatche or La Gallette, on the River St. Lawrence,

(having long since ceded their claim north of said line in favor

of the Canada Indians, as Hunting-ground,) thence up the River

St. Lawrence, and along the South side of Lake Ontario to

Niagara.

In right of conquest, they claim all the country (comprehending

the Ohio) along the great Ridge of Blue Mountains at the back of

Virginia, thence to the head of Kentucky River, and down the

same to the Ohio above the Rifts, thence Northerly to the South

end of Lake Michigan, then along the Eastern shore of said lake

to Michillimackinac, thence Easterly across the North end of

Lake Huron to the great Ottawa River, (including the Chippewa or

Mississagey County,) and down the said River to the Island of

Montreal. However, these more distant claims being possessed by

many powerful nations, the Inhabitants have long begun to

render themselves independent, by the assistance of the French,

and the great decrease of the Six Nations; but their claim to

the Ohio, and thence to the Lakes, is not in the least disputed

by the Shawanese, Delawares, &c., who never transacted any sales

of land or other matters without their consent, and who sent

Deputies to the grand Council at Onondaga on all important

occasions.

2. FRENCH AND ENGLISH POLICY TOWARDS THE IROQUOIS.--MEASURES

OF SIR WILLIAM JOHNSON. (Vol. I. pp. 74-78.)

Extract from a Letter--Sir W. Johnson to the Board of Trade, May 24,

1765:--