but they would not listen to him. The young warriors no longer paid any
attention to what he said. They went on destroying property and killing
cattle.
After leaving Swansea, they went to Taunton and Middleboro, where they
burned several houses and killed a few persons. But troops soon arrived
from Boston and Plymouth, and in a few days the Indians were driven back
to their homes at Mount Hope.
The English hurried on after them, and the war that followed is known in
history as King Philip's War.
Philip and the Indians swam across Narragansett Bay and went to some of
their friends in the Connecticut Valley. There they obtained the help of
the Nipmucks, who had never been very friendly towards the English.
We do not know where Philip was during the war. He knew that he would be
held responsible for it, although he had done everything in his power to
prevent it. For a year the war was carried on, one hundred miles away
from his home, and never once was he known to have been connected with
any fighting, nor was he even seen by the English during that time. Some
of them thought that he was directing the war, but really it was carried
on by other tribes of Indians that had not been very friendly towards
the whites. The Wampanoags seem to have had very little connection with
the war.
The Indians attacked the English towns in the Connecticut Valley, and
the more exposed places on the frontier of the colony where the people
were few and scattered.
No battle was fought in the open field. The Indians did not fight in
that way. They secretly surrounded a town, rushed in from all sides,
killed as many people as possible, took what property they could carry
away, and burned all that remained.
They knew all the paths in the forests, swamps, and thickets. They were
fast runners, and went rapidly from town to town.
Their favorite method of fighting was in an ambuscade. That was
something peculiar to the Indians. The English had never heard of that
way of fighting before they came to America. The Indians would lie down
flat on the ground or stand behind trees or in a bush or thicket. When
the enemy came along with no suspicion that any one was near, the
Indians suddenly gave a yell and fired their arrows or guns at them.
This would startle them and generally cause them to run away.
[Illustration: HOUSE PROTECTED BY PALISADES]
The war was one of the most dreadful in the history of our country. A
farmer left his home in the morning not knowing whether he would ever
see his wife and children again. His gun was always in his hand.
Laborers were cut off in the field. Reapers, millers, women at home, and
people on their way to and from church were killed.
Nearly every town in the Connecticut Valley was destroyed by the
Indians, and the people suffered terribly. The Indians were very
successful during the first year of the war. They lost but few warriors
and did an immense amount of injury to the whites. This caused the young
warriors to believe that Philip and the old warriors were wrong, and
that it was really possible for them to drive the English from the
country.
XIII. THE LAST DAYS OF PHILIP
During the winter there was very little fighting. In the spring the
Indians did not fight with any spirit. They had begun to get tired of
the war. Many wished for peace. The Narragansetts who had been helping
in the war had suffered a terrible defeat from the English.
The English began to understand better the Indian method of fighting.
They attacked the Indians wherever they could find them. They surprised
several large forces of Indians in different places. Then it began to
look as if Philip and the old warriors were right and the young warriors
were wrong.
Several sachems had been killed. The Indians had no stores of corn. The
English tore up every field that the Indians planted. Finally, the
Indians gave up hope. They were being starved out. During the summer of
1676, large numbers of them surrendered to the whites.
Philip was not seen from the time he swam across Narragansett Bay until
in July, 1676, when he returned to his old home at Mount Hope. His wife
and son had been captured earlier in the spring, and he knew that the
cause of the Indians was lost.
He wanted to see his old home once more, the place where he had lived
for sixty years, but which he felt he was now going to lose forever. We
can see him as he returned to his home, now desolated by war, his wigwam
destroyed, his cornfield trodden down, his family taken from him, his
friends taken captive in the war. He felt that the war was wrong, that
his young warriors had been too hasty in starting it without making
proper preparations for it. He looked into the future. It seemed very
dark to him.
The war indeed was nearly over. The Wampanoags were talking about
surrendering. Philip knew that surrender meant death for him. He refused
even to think of it. When one of his warriors suggested it to him he
killed him on the spot.
The English soon learned that Philip had returned to his old home. They
surrounded him. On the twelfth day of August, 1676, he was shot in an
ambuscade by the brother of the Indian he had killed for suggesting that
he surrender.
And now, see how barbarous the English settlers could be. They cut off
his hands and quartered his body, leaving it to decay on four trees.
They carried his head to Plymouth, and placed it on the end of a pole.
Then they appointed a public day of thanksgiving.
Philip's wife and children were taken to the Bermudas and sold as
slaves, in common with the other Indians captured in the war. Thus the
Wampanoag tribe of Indians came to an end.
Philip was unjustly blamed by the Plymouth people for starting the war.
They thought that he was in league with several other tribes in New
England and New York, and that he intended to drive out the English if
he could. That was why they fought so desperately, and at the end of the
war removed the remnants of the tribe from New England. It is true that
the Indians would have been obliged to move in time. Philip undoubtedly
saw that, but he believed that peace was best and he urged it on his
followers. The English did not know this, and the result was that Philip
was held responsible for a war which he had opposed from the outset.
THE STORY OF
PONTIAC
BY
FRANCES M. PERRY
THE STORY OF PONTIAC
I. THE MEETING OF PONTIAC AND THE ENGLISH
Though the French were still fighting stubbornly at sea, the French war
was over in America. Canada had been surrendered to the British, and
England's banners waved over Quebec. Yet the tidings of defeat had not
reached the French garrisons on the Great Lakes.
In the fall of 1760 Major Robert Rogers, with two hundred British
rangers, set out in fifteen whale boats, to carry to the interior the
news of the surrender and to take possession of the French forts on the
lakes.
This was a somewhat dangerous task. For, although no resistance was to
be feared from the French, the savages who were in league with them
could not be counted on to understand or believe the changed state of
affairs. Indeed, it was doubtful if they would even allow the British a
hearing before attacking them.
Rogers and his men, however, coasted along the shores of Lake Erie
without adventure until early in November. Then the weather became so
stormy and the lake so rough that the commander decided to go ashore and
camp in the forest until the tempest had passed.
The rangers were glad to feel the solid earth under their feet and to
find shelter from the driving wind and rain. Nevertheless, they soon
realized that the forest was not without its dangers.
They had not been long ashore when a large band of Indians entered the
camp. These Indians said that Pontiac, chief of the Ottawas, had sent
them before him to demand of the Englishmen how they dared to come into
his country without his permission.
Before nightfall the famous warrior himself stood in the presence of the
English commander and his officers and spoke in this fashion:
"Englishmen, I am Pontiac, greatest councilor and warrior of the
Ottawas. This land belongs to my people. You are the enemies of my
people. You are the enemies of our brothers, the French. Why do you
bring armed warriors into my country without asking my consent? You can
not go farther until Pontiac leaves your path."
[Illustration: PONTIAC AND ROGERS]
To this haughty speech Rogers answered: "Brother, we come to tell you
that the war is over. Our mighty English warriors have made your French
brothers shake with fear. We have slain their war chiefs; we have taken
their strong villages. They have begged us for mercy. They have promised
to be the dutiful and obedient children of the English king if we will
lay down the hatchet and fight against them no more. They have given us
their guns, their forts, and all the land of Canada. I have come into
your country to take Detroit. I shall not fight with your brothers, the
French; I shall not shoot them. I shall show their commander a paper and
he will pull down his flag and he and his men will come out of the fort
and give me their guns. Then I shall go in with my men and put up my
flag.
"The English king is terrible in war. He could punish the Indians and
make them cry for mercy, as he has the French. But he is kind and offers
to his red children the chain of friendship. If you accept it he is
ready to shut his eyes to the mischief the French have put you up to in
the past, and to protect you with his strong arm."
Pontiac listened gravely to every word the white man spoke. But his dark
face gave no token of what was passing in his mind. Now, Indians despise
rashness, and it is their custom to deliberate over night before
answering any important question. So, with the dignity of one who knows
no fear and craves no favor, the greatest councilor of the Ottawas
replied simply: "Englishmen, I shall stand in your path till morning. In
the meantime if your warriors are cold or hungry the hands of my people
are open to you." Then he and his chiefs withdrew, and slipped silently
back through the dripping forest to their camp.
The English rangers slept with their guns at hand that night. They knew
the pride and might and treachery of Pontiac, and they feared him. They
felt as if they were in a trap, with the raging sea before them and the
forest alive with pitiless savages behind.
But they need have had no fear, for the great chief thought not of
massacre that night. He thought of the English who stood ready to avenge
any harm done to their brothers; of his own race dependent on the white
men for rum, for wampum, for guns and powder and bullets. Clearly the
Indians must have friends among the palefaces. The French were their
"brothers." They had given them presents, had married their maidens, had
traded, hunted, and gone to battle with them. The English were their
foes. But they were many and strong. They had beaten the French and
taken their guns. The red men must let their hatred sleep for awhile.
They would smoke the pipe of peace with the English, and the English
would give them presents: tobacco and rum, guns and powder.
[Illustration: WAMPUM]
Having reached this conclusion, Pontiac and his chiefs returned to
Rogers's camp on the following morning. There they smoked the calumet
with the English and exchanged presents and promises of kindness and
friendship. The men who had met as enemies parted as friends.
Years later, when British armies were marching against Indians whose
tomahawks were red with English blood, Pontiac's faith in the friendship
of Rogers remained unshaken. The latter sent to the chief a bottle of
rum. When advised not to drink it lest it should contain poison, Pontiac
replied: "I did not save from death on the shores of Lake Erie a man who
would to-day poison me," and he drained the bottle without hesitation.
[Illustration: CALUMET]
Though a single Indian and a single Englishman could thus overcome their
distrust for each other, the feelings of the two races could not be so
easily altered. The Indians looked upon the English as cruel robbers,
whose object was to drive them from their homes and possess their lands.
They thought of them as enemies too powerful to be withstood by open
force and therefore to be met only with cunning and deception. Many of
the English looked upon the savages as ignorant, filthy, and treacherous
beings, little better than wild beasts, and thought that the world would
be better off without them. Yet for the present both were glad to be at
peace.
The Indians found that Major Rogers had spoken truly about Detroit. When
they saw the large French garrison yield without resistance they were
filled with wonder, and said to one another: "These English are a
terrible people. It is well we have made friends with them."
By "making friends" with the English, the Indians had no notion of
accepting them as masters. The French had seemed pleasant neighbors and
valuable friends. When they occupied the fort the Indians had always
found a warm welcome there. Their chiefs had been treated with great
pomp and ceremony. They had received rich presents and great promises.
They expected the English to show them the same consideration. But they
were disappointed. The new masters of the fort had little patience with
the Indian idlers, who loafed about at the most inconvenient times in
the most inconvenient places, always begging, and often sullen and
insolent. They frequently ordered them in no mild terms to be off. The
chiefs received cold looks and short answers where they had looked for
flattery and presents.
The Indians resented the conduct of the English bitterly, and when
Pontiac learned that they claimed the lands of his tribe, he said within
himself: "The hatred of the Ottawas has slept long enough. It is time
for it to wake and destroy these British who treat the red man as if he
had no right to the land where he was born."
II. PONTIAC'S CHILDHOOD
We love our country principally because of the political freedom its
government allows us. As we study its history, the lives of its heroes,
and the struggles they have made for the liberties we enjoy, our
patriotism grows stronger.
Pontiac loved his country, too, but in a much simpler and more personal
way, as you will understand when you have learned about the proud
chieftain's boyhood and youth.
[Illustration: SQUAW WITH PAPPOOSE]
The birds scarcely know the forest so well as he did. When he was a tiny
baby,--a fat, brown, little pappoose,--his mother used to bundle him up
in skins, strap him to a board, and carry him on her back when she went
to gather the bark of the young basswood tree for twine. As the strong
young squaw sped along the narrow path, soft and springing to her
moccasined feet with its depth of dried pine needles, the baby on her
back was well content. Even if he felt cross and fretful the regular
motion pleased him; the cool dim green of the forest rested him; the
sweet smell of the pines soothed him; and the gentle murmur of the wind
in the tree tops soon lulled him to sleep.
When the mother clambered over a large tree trunk that had fallen across
the path and the little pappoose was jolted wide awake, he did not cry.
His beady black eyes followed every stray sunbeam and every bounding
rabbit, or chance bird with wonder and delight. When his mother went to
work she placed his rude cradle beside a tree where he could look on,
out of harm's way. He was very little trouble, and she always took him
with her when she went to get cedar bark, to gather rushes for mats and
herbs for dyes, to pick up fagots for the fire, or to get sap from the
sugar tree. So it happened that when he grew up Pontiac could not
remember a time when the dark forest did not seem like home to him.
[Illustration: INDIAN SQUAW AT WORK]
As soon as he was old enough to understand words, he heard his mother
laughing with her neighbors about the men in the village who stayed
about their wigwams like women. Now, he thought that a wigwam or bark
lodge was a very pleasant place. The small, dark, oven-shaped room,
smoky and foul with the smell of fish and dirt, was home to him--the mud
floor, worn smooth and hard with use, was strewn with mats and skins
which served for chairs and beds. There was a fireplace in the center,
and over it a rack on which smoked fish hung, well out of the reach of
the wolf-like dogs that lay about gnawing at old bones. It was usually
dry in wet weather, warm in cold weather, and cool when the sun was hot.
It was where he went for food when he was hungry; it was where he slept
on soft buffalo robes and bear skins when he was tired; it was where he
heard good stories, and, best of all, it was where his mother spent most
of her time.
But before Pontiac was many years old he knew that the wigwam was the
place for women and children, and that it was a shame for a man not to
follow the deer through the forest, and go upon the warpath. He saw that
if a man stayed at home and loved ease and comfort his squaw would scold
him with a shrill tongue. But if he went off to hunt, it was different.
Then, when he came home for a short time, he might lounge on a bear skin
while his squaw worked hard to make him happy, cooking his meals,
fetching clear water from the spring, and dressing the skins he had
brought from the hunt.
Pontiac liked to watch his mother while she stood weaving the wet rushes
into mats to cover the lodge in summer, or while she sat on the floor
with her feet crossed under her, making baskets out of sweet grass or
embroidering with brightly dyed porcupine quills. But if he showed his
pleasure or offered to help her, she looked stern and shook her head,
saying, "Go out into the field and run; then you will be swift when you
are a man;" or "go into the forest and shoot rabbits with your little
bow and arrow, so that you may one day be a great hunter like your
father."
All this made little Pontiac feel that the great fields and forests were
his--his to find his pleasure in while he was a boy; his to find his
work in when he should become a man.
He learned, too, that his very life depended on the forests he loved. He
could never forget the cruel winter days when he had asked his mother
again and again for fish and meat, and she had told him to be still and
wait till his father brought meat from the forest. And he had waited
there long with his hollow-eyed mother, crouching before the feeble
fire, starving with hunger. He had strained his ears toward the great
white forest only to hear the wail of the winds and the howl of the
wolves. But at last the yelp of the dogs was sure to be heard, and then
the half-frozen hunters would appear, dragging the deer over the crusted
snow.
III. PONTIAC'S EDUCATION
Pontiac's father was a war chief. But it did not follow that therefore
Pontiac would be a war chief. He would have to prove himself strong and
brave, a good hunter and a good warrior, or his tribe would choose some
more able leader.
Pontiac, like most small boys, took his father for his pattern. His
ambition was to be like him. But he was told early, "Be a good Indian.
Be a good Ottawan. Be true to your tribe. Be a strong man and help your
people. But don't think about being chief. The greatest brave must be
chief of the Ottawas."
Yet, Indians love glory and perhaps in the bottom of their hearts
Pontiac's father and mother hoped that he would one day be a chieftain.
At any rate they did all they could to train him to be a worthy Indian.
[Illustration: INDIAN WARRIOR]
They were sometimes very severe with him. If he was rude to strangers or
to old people; if he lost his temper and threw ashes at his comrades; if
he told a falsehood, he was beaten. He had broken the laws of the Great
Spirit, and the Great Spirit had commanded that parents should beat
their children with rods when they did wrong. The boy understood this
and he tried to take his punishment bravely that he might regain the
good will of the Great Spirit. He stood quite still and endured heavy
blows without whimpering or flinching.
He learned, too, to endure hunger and great fatigue without complaint.
He raced, and swam, and played ball, and wrestled with other boys till
his body was strong and straight and supple. He played at hunting and
war in the forest, until his eyes became so sharp that no sign of man or
beast escaped them.
But he did not depend altogether on his eyes for information. He could
find his way through a forest in the dark, where the dense foliage hid
the stars. Perhaps the wind told him the direction by the odors it
brought. He could tell what kind of trees grew about him by the feel of
their bark, by their odor, by the sound of the wind in the branches. He
did not have to think much about his course when on a journey. His feet
seemed to know the way home, or to the spring, or to the enemy's camp.
And if he had traveled through a wilderness once he knew the way the
next time as well as any boy knows his way to school.
While Pontiac was training his body, his parents took care that he
should not grow up in ignorance of the religion and the history of his
people. He heard much about the Great Spirit who could see all he did
and was angry when he said or did anything dishonest or cowardly.
The laws of the Great Spirit were fixed in the boy's mind, for his
mother was always repeating them to him. She would say as he left the
wigwam: "Honor the gray-headed person," or "Thou shalt not mimic the
thunder;" "Thou shalt always feed the hungry and the stranger," or "Thou
shalt immerse thyself in the river at least ten times in succession in
the early part of the spring, so that thy body may be strong and thy
feet swift to chase the game and to follow the warpath."[1]
[Footnote 1: Translated from the Ottawa language by A. Blackbird.]
In the evenings the older members of the family and some visiting
Indians sat around the fire and told stones about the Great Spirit and
many other strange beings, some good and some evil. They told, too,
wonderful tales about omens and charms. The same story was told over and
over again, so that in time little Pontiac knew by heart the legends of
the Ottawas. He remembered and firmly believed all his life stories that
as a child he listened to with awe, in his father's wigwam.
In the same way he heard about the great deeds of the warriors of his
tribe; and he came to think there were no people in the world quite
equal to the Ottawas. He heard of other tribes that were their foes and
he was eager to go to war against them.
As he grew older he heard a good deal about men, not only of another
tribe but of another race, the palefaces, who were trying to get the
lands of the Indians. Then he thought less about being an Ottawa and
conquering other Indians; while every day he felt more and more that he
was an Indian and must conquer the white man. He wished he could unite
the tribes in friendship and lead them against these strangers who were
so many and so strong, and who had come to drive the Indians from their
homes and hunting grounds.
Such thoughts made Pontiac very serious. Obeying the commands of the
Great Spirit, the young Indian often blackened his face with a mixture
of charcoal and fish-oil, and went into the depths of the forest, where
he remained for days without food, praying and thinking earnestly about
the future.
He formed his own plans, but he hid them in his heart. He practised
keeping his feelings and thoughts to himself, and spoke only when he was
very sure he was right. This habit soon gained him a reputation for
gravity and wisdom.
IV. THE CHIEF
When he was old enough to go to battle with the tried warriors, Pontiac
took many scalps and distinguished himself for courage. He was,
therefore, amid great feasting and rejoicing, made a war chief of the
Ottawas.
His influence increased rapidly. The young men of his tribe felt sure of
success when they followed Pontiac to battle. His very name made his
foes tremble.
In the council, too, his power grew. His words seemed wise to the gray
heads, and the young warriors were ready to take up the hatchet or lay
it down at his bidding. Because of his eloquence and wisdom, Pontiac was
made sachem, so that he not only led his people to battle, but also
ruled them in time of peace. He was called the greatest councilor and
warrior of the Ottawas; yet he was not content.