leader, had his fears and difficulties.
His own followers were not easily managed. He had brought them together
from near and far with promise of easy victory over the English. After a
short struggle many of the tribes lost heart and were ready to go back
to their villages.
The Canadians were neutral and were supposed to sympathize with the
Indians; but Pontiac knew that many of them favored the English, and
were ready at the slightest offense to take the side of his enemies.
His campaign against the English had begun with failure. Treachery had
failed. He had put the English on their guard and must now use open
force.
To hold a horde of savages together, to keep the fickle Canadians
friendly, to take without cannon all the fortifications on the frontier,
were the tasks the Indian general had set himself.
[Illustration: PONTIAC'S ELOQUENCE]
Pontiac's personal influence over the Indians was unparalleled. He had
lost none of his power over them by the defeat of his plan to take
Detroit. No Indian dared reproach him with failure. All quailed before
his terrible rage and disappointment. They brought him the scalps of the
English they had slain. They sought to please him with loud outcries
against the English, and promises of the bloody work they would do. He
held all in awe of him. He commanded as if sure of being obeyed, and
punished the slightest disobedience with extreme severity.
But he did not govern by fear alone. He took care that his warriors
should not want for food; he took care to give them grounds for hope and
to keep them busy.
No preparations had been made for a long siege. When provisions failed
and the tribes were on the point of leaving, Pontiac had a conference
with some Canadians and arranged that they should furnish his people
with corn and meat. He had no money to pay for provisions, but he made
out notes promising to pay for them at some future time. These notes
were written on birch bark, and signed with the figure of an otter, the
totem of the great chief. Many of the farmers feared they would never
see the money promised them in these notes, but Pontiac paid them all
faithfully.
Pontiac knew how wasteful his people were, feasting in the day of plenty
without thought of the morrow. He therefore employed a Canadian as his
provision officer. This man had charge of the storehouse, and doled out
each morning the provisions for the day.
This novel arrangement increased the Indians' confidence in their
leader. Yet some grew restless and were on the point of giving up the
struggle as a failure.
On learning this, Pontiac sent out messengers to the Wyandot Indians,
ordering them to join him in his war against the British or prepare to
be wiped off the face of the earth. By this stroke Pontiac turned
threatened loss into gain. The support of the warlike Wyandots renewed
the courage of the faint-hearted, and for a time all thought of failure
ceased.
The chiefs conduct toward the Canadians was highly praiseworthy. They
had encouraged him to make war against the British by promising that the
French king would send him help. Week after week passed and no help
came. Pontiac's expectation of the arrival of a French army grew fainter
and fainter. Still he did not lose faith in the truth of the Canadians.
He protected them and their property from injury and theft; for there
were many lawless young warriors who were ready to do violence to the
French as well as to the English.
While pretending to sympathize with the Indians, many of the French
farmers were secretly helping the English by selling them food and
reporting the movements of the Indians. Pontiac heard many reports of
their faithlessness.
One stormy evening the chief entered the cabin of a Frenchman whom he
had known for many years. With only a nod for his host he sat down
before the dying fire. He sat there wrapt in his blanket for a long time
without a word. At last he faced the Frenchman and said: "Old friend, I
hear that the English have offered to give you a bushel of silver if you
will take them my scalp."
"It is false," cried the Frenchman in alarm. "I would not injure my
friend for many bushels of silver."
"Pontiac has no fear. Pontiac trusts his brother," the Indian replied,
and stretching himself upon a bench he was soon sound asleep. The
Frenchman could not be false to such faith and the chief slept unharmed.
While successfully keeping together his warriors and strengthening the
bond of friendship between the French and the Indians, Pontiac was
carrying on the war against the English with vigor. His camp near
Detroit was the center of action. From it Pontiac directed the war and
kept constant watch over the garrison. He prevented the besieged from
leaving their walls; he sent out parties to waylay the supplies the
British were expecting from the East; he planned and managed expeditions
against other forts held by the British.
IX. THE SIEGE OF DETROIT
The English at Detroit soon became accustomed to the discomforts and
alarms of the siege. The women no longer trembled when the Indian war
whoop sounded. The men no longer ran to the walls at the popping of
muskets. The smell of gunpowder, the whiz of bullets, had lost their
power to quicken the pulse.
The days dragged slowly on. A few wan-faced men worked, many lounged in
the narrow streets, playing games of chance, betting on the outcome of
the war, quarreling, complaining, boasting. Now they talked vauntingly,
telling tales of the Englishman's prowess and the Indian's cowardice.
Again, they told dismal stories of Indian cruelty and massacre, and
shook their heads over their own prospects.
But every idler had his firelock close at hand, and all the time the
sentinels on the bastions kept a sharp lookout. Every little while rapid
firing broke the monotony of the long watch; the rolling drum called the
garrison to the ramparts; wounded men groaned under the rough kindness
of the fort surgeon; the dead received the soldiers' burial. But over
all the old flag with its red cross, stained with rain and smoke,
flapped defiantly.
Major Gladwin went about with a cheerful face, but a heavy heart.
Provisions were fast melting away. It seemed scarcely possible that the
garrison would be able to hold out till the expected supplies arrived.
He decided to send one of the schooners to meet the provision boats, to
warn them of the hostility of the Indians and urge them to all speed.
They could ill spare any of the garrison, but food must be had. So, on a
bright spring morning one of the vessels weighed anchor and started for
the East. Before she left the Detroit River the wind died and her sails
hung limp.
As the boat lay helplessly drifting with the current a hundred canoes
darted out from the shore. In the foremost one the Indians had bound
their prisoner, Captain Campbell. The British saw, and were afraid to
fire lest they should shoot their countryman. Noticing their
hesitation, the brave old man called out: "Don't think of me. Do your
duty and fire." The man at the cannon still paused. A breeze stirred,
swelled the canvas, and the schooner flew like a great gull over the
blue waters far out of reach of the canoes.
After the boat left, a gloom settled upon the little garrison at
Detroit. With two boats in the harbor flight had seemed possible. Now
that one of them had gone, all felt that the siege meant victory or
death. The daily allowance of food grew smaller. The men became
exhausted with ceaseless watching. All hope was fixed on the expected
reinforcements.
On the thirteenth of May the sentinel announced that the long looked for
convoy was in sight. The good news spread rapidly. Soon the entire
population of the village was hurrying to the gate that led to the
river.
The hungry, haggard-looking men that crowded the wharf sent up cheer
after cheer as the boats approached with flags flying. Days of rest and
plenty seemed theirs again. Here were comrades to share their vigils.
Here was food to satisfy their hunger.
As the boats drew nearer, the cheers died in throats hoarse with horror.
No answering shout came from the boats. The English at the oars were not
their own masters. The long expected supplies had fallen into the hands
of the Indians. The men to whom the garrison had looked for help were
the prisoners of the enemy.
Two Englishmen escaped from their guards and succeeded in reaching the
fort where they told their story: Ninety men had started with large
stores of food and ammunition, early in the spring to reinforce Detroit.
Meeting the schooner from the fort and learning the danger and need of
the garrison, they had pushed on with all possible speed until they
reached the mouth of the Detroit River. That night, as the boats were
drawn up on the shore and the men were getting supper, their camp was
suddenly surprised by a horde of Wyandot Indians. The British made an
attempt to defend themselves. But the Indians were upon them brandishing
their tomahawks and yelling like demons. Panic fear seized the white
men. They dropped their guns, fled to the boats, jumped in and pushed
off. The exultant Indians pressed after them and succeeded in retaking
all but two of their overloaded boats. The savages were now taking their
prisoners, about sixty in number, to the camp of Pontiac, where they
would be tortured and put to death.
The success of this bold venture probably would have ended the siege of
Detroit with victory for Pontiac, had the Canadians been as loyal to the
Indians as they pretended. But while they were giving the chief
assurances of good will and future help, some of them were secretly
succoring the English. Under the cover of night they smuggled cattle and
sheep and hogs to the famishing garrison.
Even with this aid the prospects of the little garrison were dark
enough. Every wind seemed to blow them ill news.
One afternoon the guard at the fort heard a weird chant and saw issuing
from the distant forest a file of warriors whose naked bodies were
smeared with black paint. Every one of them carried a pole over his
shoulder, and the horrified watchers knew well enough that from the end
of each pole fluttered the scalp of some Englishman. They learned from
the Canadians that night that Fort Sandusky had been burned and its
garrison murdered.
A little later the Indians offered to exchange some prisoners with the
English. The victims thus released by the Indians proved to be from Fort
St. Joseph. They told how that fort had been treacherously taken and
burned, and all the inmates but themselves slain.
A traveling priest brought word that the plot which had failed at
Detroit had succeeded only too well at Michillimackinac. Next came
tidings of the massacres at Fort Ouatanon on the Wabash River and at
Fort Miamis, on the Maumee.
Nor was the tale of fire and blood yet ended. A fugitive from the camp
of Pontiac reached Detroit one afternoon. It proved to be Ensign
Christie, the commanding officer at Presqu' Isle, near the eastern end
of Lake Erie. His story was a thrilling one. He told how his little
garrison of twenty-seven men had fortified themselves in their block
house and made a fierce struggle to keep back the Indians and save their
stronghold from the flames; how at last the Indians had undermined their
fort and threatened to apply the torch above and below at once. Then to
escape death by fire the little band had listened to the promises of
the Indians and yielded themselves prisoners.
If these reports terrified the English at Detroit, they also
strengthened their determination not to surrender. In spite of fatigue,
hunger, and discouragement they fought stoutly on, until, at length,
there came a turn in the tide of ill fortune that had surged against
them.
On the nineteenth of June news reached them that the schooner which had
been sent to meet the provisions had returned and was entering the
Detroit River. This cheered all, for they knew that the boat had been to
Niagara for more supplies and more men. Still, they remembered the fate
of the provision boats, and were worried lest mischance should befall
the schooner.
Their anxiety increased when they saw the Indians going in large
companies down the river and heard from the Canadians that they were
planning to attack the schooner. The British at the fort fired two
cannon shots to let their countrymen know that they still held Detroit.
But several days passed before they heard anything of the boat. At last
they saw her sailing safely toward them.
There were waving caps, shouts of joy, and prayers of thanksgiving among
the little company of half-starved men who thronged at the gate to
welcome the newcomers.
They had heard that eight hundred more Ojibwa Indians were on their way
to increase the forces of Pontiac. But what were eight hundred Ojibwas
to sixty hardy sons of England and a schooner loaded with supplies and
cannon!
X. IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENTS
Hope grew strong in Pontiac's heart as week after week his tribes and
allies brought to his camp trophies of victory--guns, prisoners, scalps.
But Detroit troubled him. The most violent attacks produced no effect.
To starve the garrison seemed the only way to conquer it.
When, therefore, Pontiac's messengers had brought word that the schooner
was approaching he bent his whole energy to prevent her reaching
Detroit. Along the river where dense underwoods grew, hundreds of
Indians lay concealed with their canoes, waiting for the schooner.
When, in the darkness of a moonless night, they saw the great boat
sailing steadily up the narrow channel they paddled silently toward her,
dark specks on the breast of the dark, shining river. Nearer and nearer
they pressed. All was silent on the vessel. Surely no one had taken
alarm. Not a shot and they had reached the boat; they were clambering
like rats up its bulky sides--when lo! a sharp hammering on the mast
head, a flash of muskets in the dark, a cry of defeat and rage above the
din of battle! Cannon boomed; canoes flew high into the air; bullets did
their work.
For fourteen Indians the long struggle against the palefaces was over.
The rest scurried to the shore as best they could, some paddling, some
swimming. Once there, they took shelter behind some temporary
earthworks, and opened such a fierce fire on the schooner that it was
forced to drop down stream to a broader part of the river. For several
days they delayed the ship, but at length she sailed boldly past, and
was but little injured by the fire.
Pontiac was sorely vexed that the ship had succeeded in reaching the
garrison. He and his people looked upon the boats with almost
superstitious horror. Their dislike was not lessened when one day the
smaller schooner made her way against wind and current up to Pontiac's
village, and there sent shot and shell roaring through the frail
dwellings.
Though no loss of life resulted, the Indians were greatly alarmed.
Pontiac moved his camp to a safer place and then turned his attention to
destroying the ships. Early in July he made his first attempt.
Two large boats filled with birch bark and pitch pine were tied together
and set on fire. They were then cut loose and left to float down stream.
Keenly the Indians watched; keenly, the English. Would the fireboats go
close enough? the first wondered with bated breath. Would they come too
close? questioned the British. Woe on the one hand, joy on the other!
the space between the ships and the flaming craft widens--the fireboats
float harmlessly down the river. A second and a third attempt to burn
the boats failed. Fortune seemed to favor the English.
Pontiac began to despair of taking Detroit unaided. He called a council
of the French. He reminded them that the English were their enemies as
well as his. He charged them with helping the English and told them that
the time had come for them to choose sides and fight with him or against
him. He then offered them the war belt. His hope was that they would
take it up and join him against the English.
Now, the Canadians had become by the terms of the treaty that closed the
French war, British subjects, but they were ashamed or afraid to admit
it, and still deceived the Indians. They told Pontiac that much as it
would please them to fight with him against the English, they must obey
the commands of their father, the King of France, who had bidden them to
remain at peace until his coming. They added that he, with a great army,
was already on the St. Lawrence and would soon arrive to punish the
enemies of his children and reward their friends. They advised the
chieftain not to make an enemy of his mighty friend.
When the French speaker had finished, there was a short silence. Then an
old trapper came forward, and, picking up the war belt, declared that he
was ready to take sides with the Indians against the English. Several of
his rough comrades followed his example.
Pontiac's hope of gaining aid from the French was thus not utterly
defeated. Besides, he still believed their talk about the coming of the
French king. So the French and Indians continued friends.
Some of the tribes growing restless, now made peace with the English and
deserted Pontiac. But a greater blow than the desertion of a few tribes
was in store for the chief.
Late in July he learned that twenty-two barges bearing large supplies of
food and ammunition and almost three hundred men had made their way up
the Detroit River in safety, protected by a dense fog. The news came so
late that it was impossible for the Indians to oppose the progress of
the boats, and they reached the fort with little resistance.
At about two o'clock in the morning of the second day after the arrival
of this convoy, Pontiac's spies brought him word that the English were
coming against his camp with a great force.
Swiftly and silently the Ottawas broke their camp, and with some Ojibwas
started to meet the British. On reaching the site of their former camp,
about a mile and a half above the fort, near the bridge that crossed a
little stream, called from that night Bloody Run, they formed an ambush
and waited for the British.
They had barely time to hide behind their old earthworks, natural ridges
and piles of brush. Already they heard the barking of watchdogs at the
farmhouses along the river road, and the tramp of many feet. They
listened and discovered that the enemy outnumbered them. What of that!
The night was dark. They knew their ground. Their scouts would soon
bring other tribes to help them.
Every Indian was out of sight; every gun was loaded. The tramp of feet
drew nearer. A dark mass of marching men came in sight. The quick steps
of the advanced guard rang on the wooden bridge. All else was still. The
vanguard had crossed the bridge and the main body of the English had
started over, when, in front, to right, to left, burst blood curdling
yells, blazed a fatal volley of muskets.
Back only, lay safety. Those who had not fallen in the first charge
turned and fled, followed by a rain of bullets. Panic spread along the
line. But the brave leader of the English, Captain Dalzel, sprang to the
front and rallied his men. They made a bold charge, as they thought,
into the midst of the enemy; but they found none to resist them. Every
Indian had vanished. They pressed bravely on in search of their
assailants; but the night was black and the way was rough and
unfamiliar. Whenever they reached a place of difficulty the Indians
unexpectedly renewed their attack.
The savages, whose eyes were accustomed to the darkness, saw the enemy
after a parley return to the bridge. There, half of the men mounted
guard while the others took up the dead and wounded and carried them to
two armed boats that had accompanied them down the river.
Seeing that a return to the fort was intended, the Indians turned back
in large numbers to form another ambuscade at a point where several
houses and barns stood near the road and cut the English off from the
fort.
They again allowed the vanguard to pass unmolested and surprised the
center with a galling fire. The soldiers, confused by the weird and
terrible cries of the savages and the blaze of musketry, blinded by
smoke and flash, and stung by pelting bullets, huddled together like
sheep.
Captain Dalzel, though severely wounded, by commanding, imploring,
fairly driving his men with his sword, at last succeeded in regaining
order. He made a charge and as usual the Indians fled before the attack.
As soon as the English attempted to continue their retreat the Indians
were upon them again, firing from every fence and thicket.
The gallant Dalzel was among those shot down by this fire. He died
trying to save a wounded soldier from the scalping knife of the Indians.
In the confusion he was scarcely missed. The officers next in command
took charge of the retreat. In the gray dawn the remnant of Dalzel's
army reached the fort. The Indians went off, well satisfied with their
night's work, to count their scalps and celebrate.
While the English lost about sixty men in this engagement, called the
battle of Bloody Ridge, the number of Indians killed and wounded was not
greater than fifteen or twenty. The Indians considered it a great
victory and fresh warriors flocked to the camp of the Indian commander
who seemed to be a match for the English.
XI. THE END OF THE SIEGE
We have seen that after the battle of Bloody Ridge many tribes that had
before been afraid to take up the hatchet against the English, presented
themselves at the camp of Pontiac, eager for a share in the victory at
Detroit, which they thought would follow.
Yet that English stronghold, that log palisade, was a prize out of reach
of the chief and his warriors. The Indians kept close watch. If a head
appeared at a loophole, bang went an Indian's gun. If a point was left
unguarded, there was the torch applied. Fire arrows whizzed over the
rampart in the darkness, only to burn themselves out in the broad
roadway between the wall and the buildings. Again and again hundreds of
painted warriors danced about the fort yelling as if Detroit, like
Jericho, might be taken with shouting. Their spent bullets pelted the
old fort like harmless hail. They tried to rush upon the gate, but the
fusilade from the block house and the fire-belching cannon of the
British drove them back helter-skelter.
Late in September an incident occurred which increased the Indians' awe
of the British. A scout brought word to Pontiac that a dispatch boat
with a large store of provisions was on her way to the fort. As there
were only twelve men aboard, her capture seemed an easy matter.
The Indians planned a midnight attack. Three hundred of them drifted
down the river in their light birch canoes. The night was so dark and
they came so noiselessly that the watching English did not know of their
approach until they were within gunshot of the boat.
A cannon was fired, but its shot and shell went over the heads of the
Indians and plowed up the black water beyond. The canoes were all about
the ship and the savages, with knives in their teeth, were climbing up
its sides. The crew fired once. One or two Indians fell back into the
water; the rest came on. As they climbed nearer, the British charged
them with bayonets, and hacked them with hatchets and knives. But where
one man was driven back a dozen gained the deck.
The little crew defended themselves desperately; they were surrounded by
brandished tomahawks; their captain had fallen; more than half their
number were cut down. The Indians were raising their shout of triumph.
Then the order of Jacobs, the mate, rang out: "Blow up the ship!" he
said. One Indian understood and gave the alarm to his fellows. With one
accord they threw down hatchets and knives and leaped into the river.
They made haste to reach the shore and left six bloodstained British
sailors to take their boat in triumph to Detroit.
As autumn advanced the Indians grew weary of the long siege. The
prospect of winter with no food, the continued resistance of the
British, and the report that a large force of armed men was coming to
relieve Detroit, discouraged them.