country of the Ohio River and its many tributaries; and along the
cold waters of the Ottawa to the north, were visited in 1762 by
ambassadors from Pontiac. They carried with them a tomahawk stained
red and a war-belt of wampum, and, as they went from camp to camp,
they would fling down the tomahawk on the ground, hold the war-belt
above their heads, and deliver a long speech, urging the warriors
to join in the extermination of the English. Everywhere this appeal
was heard with nods and gesticulations of approval, and all of the
Algonquin nation--including the Wyandots, the Senecas, and several
tribes of the lower Mississippi--pledged themselves to aid in this
important movement. Of the powerful Iroquois nation of New York State
only the Senecas would join, but the force against the whites was so
overwhelming that it seemed hardly possible that the few scattered
English garrisons could escape a terrible slaughter. Yet, confident
in that supreme race confidence which has made the English the most
all-powerful nation since the Roman legions held dominion over the
greater part of Europe, the white garrisons of the wilderness kept
their posts in fancied peace and seclusion.
The dreary winter drew to a close, and the Indians hid their intentions
beneath calm and serious countenances. They still lounged about the
forts, begged for tobacco, gunpowder, and whiskey, and gave no sign of
intended wrong or violence. Yet they were busy sawing the muzzles of
their guns in half so that they could conceal them underneath their
blankets, were gathering a large supply of powder and ammunition from
the French traders, and were holding war-dances in their far-distant
habitation. Now and again intimations of their danger reached the
garrisons and startled them from their fancied security. An English
trader came into Detroit one day, and reported that he had heard a
half-breed scoundrel boast that before next summer he would have
English scalp-locks as a fringe to his hunting-shirt. The commander
of the garrison laughed at the tale. Later on--in March 1763--the
British commander Holmes, at Fort Miami, on the Maumee River (about one
hundred and ninety miles southwest from Detroit) was told of Pontiac's
conspiracy by a friendly Indian. "The warriors of the neighboring
village," said he, "have received a war-belt and bloodstained hatchet,
with a message urging them to destroy you and your soldiers. If you do
not kill them first, they will do so." Holmes believed the tale, called
the warriors together, and told them of his suspicions. The savages
acted as many of them have done under similar circumstances--confessed
that they had meditated an attack upon the garrison, said that a
neighboring tribe had told them they must do it, under pain of death,
and professed eternal love and good will towards the English. This
allayed the suspicions of the commander of Fort Maumee, but he reported
his discovery to Major Gladwyn, at Detroit, who, seeing the peaceful
condition of the Indians in the three villages near his own fort,
expressed the opinion that there was apparently some trouble among the
Indians, but that it would soon blow over. He little suspected that
Pontiac--the arch-conspirator--was in a village but a short distance
away, and that his heart was burning with revenge and hate against him
and his small garrison. He little believed that, as the savages came in
from their winter hunting grounds, on the approach of spring, and did
not come into the fort, as usual, they were fast making preparations
for an assault upon him. In a few weeks he was to learn more of the
Indians' character than he had ever suspected.
Pontiac had a small cabin of bark and rushes upon an island in Lake
St. Clair, and here, with his squaws and children, he waited for the
time to arrive when his braves would be ready to strike. His plan of
operations was to make a sudden and simultaneous attack upon all the
British forts on the Great Lakes and rivers of the Middle West--at St.
Joseph, Ouiantinon, Green Bay, Michillimackinac, Detroit, the Maumee,
and the Sandusky--and also upon the forts at Niagara, Presqu'-Isle, Le
Boeuf, Venango, and Pittsburg. Most of these strongholds were badly
protected; they were mere trading places, yet to the Indians they
seemed to be great obstacles. It was evident to the mighty war Chief
that the destruction of these posts and their garrisons would be a blow
from which the hated English could never recover. And, as he lay upon
his skins, looking out across the hazy waters of the Lake, his heart
beat with the fierceness of his passions, and the hot blood surged
tumultuously through his veins. All was going well with his plans; on
all sides his allies were preparing for the great blow, and, viewing
once more the supremacy of the French and of his own people, the fierce
light of ambition glittered in the eye of Pontiac, the red Napoleon.
Thus, as spring came to the wilderness, and the leafy forests were
resounding with the chant of bright-colored birds, the wild death songs
of the Indians sounded harshly discordant from the depths of the green
wood.
On the afternoon of the fifth of May, a Canadian woman, called St.
Aubin, who was the wife of one of the principal settlers, crossed over
the Detroit River to obtain some maple sugar and venison from the
Ottawa Indians. When she entered the village, she was surprised to find
several of the warriors filing off the muzzles of their guns, so as to
reduce them to the length of about a yard, and upon her return home
she mentioned this to several of her neighbors. The blacksmith of the
village remarked that many of the Indians had been to his shop within
the past month, and had attempted to borrow files and saws for purposes
which they could not tell him of. These revelations excited the
suspicions of the older Canadians who had lived long among the Indians,
so, going to the Fort, one of them--as spokesman--told Major Gladwyn to
be upon his guard, for the Indians meditated treachery. The courteous
commandant treated this advice with scorn, and scoffed at the news of
an outbreak.
But, in a day or two, news came to him which changed his ideas very
materially. In the Pottawattamie village was an Ojibwa girl, called
Catherine, who was much attached to this gallant Major in charge of
the British troops. On the day following the first announcement of
trouble, she came to Gladwyn's quarters, bringing with her a pair of
elkskin moccasins which he had requested her to make, and, showed by
her downcast face and sad look that she had something unusual on her
mind. Her demeanor was so peculiar that Gladwyn called her to him and
requested that she tell him what weighed upon her spirits. "Promise me
that you will not betray me," said the Indian girl, "and I will reveal
my secret."
"I promise," answered the intrepid soldier.
"Then I will speak," continued the Ojibwa maiden. "Tomorrow Pontiac
will come to the fort with sixty of his chiefs. Each will be armed
with a gun cut short off and hidden beneath his blanket. Pontiac will
demand a council, and, after he has delivered his speech, he will
offer you a peace-belt of wampum, holding it in a reversed position.
This will be the signal for an attack. The chiefs will spring up and
fire upon the officers, and the Indians in the street will fall upon
the garrison. Every Englishman will be killed, but not the scalp of a
single Frenchman will be touched."
The English Major was now thoroughly aroused to his peril. He called
together his officers and told them what he had heard. Immediately,
every preparation was made to meet the expected attack, half the
garrison was ordered under arms, and all the officers made ready to
spend the night upon the ramparts, for, as the Indians nearly numbered
from six hundred to two thousand, the commandant feared that they
might learn that their plan had been discovered and would storm the
fort before morning. The sentries were doubled, and, again and again,
during the night, Gladwyn mounted the ramparts to look far out into the
gloom of the soft, moist air. The shrill piping of frogs sounded from
the still banks of the river, while, as the night wind swept across
the clearing before the doomed defenses, the sullen booming of Indian
drums, and the wild chorus of quavering yells came ominously to his
startled ears. The savages were holding their war dances around their
distant camp fires, and were preparing for their work of ruin and
destruction upon the following day.
Next morning the sun rose brightly and soon dissolved the waving
mist which hung over the river, disclosing to the eager eyes of the
sentries a fleet of birch-bark canoes, crossing from the other shore.
They seemed to be heavily laden and moved very slowly through the
water, propelled by two or three warriors in each. But there were ten
or fifteen warriors in every canoe, lying flat upon their faces, so
that their number would not arouse the suspicions of the keen-eyed
English troops. The frail boats reached the bank behind a cluster of
trees, the warriors sprang out, unnoticed, upon the shore, and soon
the common--behind the fort--was thronged with squaws, children, and
braves, some naked, and others brilliantly painted white, vermilion,
and pale blue. They moved restlessly to and fro, while many of the
savages, wrapped in their blankets, and holding them close up to their
faces, stalked up to the fort, scowling at the palisades and glowering
evilly at the sentries.
Meanwhile the alarmed Major in command of Detroit had not been idle.
The whole garrison was ordered under arms. Bayonets were placed in the
end of the muskets, revolvers were strapped to waists, powder horns
were filled to the brims. The English fur traders in the fort closed
their storehouses and armed their men, who, with long flintlocks,
scraggy beards, tawny hunting shirts, and weather-beaten faces,
looked as if they could put up a very excellent fight. All were cool,
confident, and ready for whatever might transpire.
It was not long before Pontiac, himself, approached at the head of
sixty Indian chiefs, all marching in single file. They were wrapped
to the throat in colored blankets and some had hawk, eagle, and raven
plumes fluttering from their heads, while others had shaved their
crowns, leaving only a scalp-lock hanging to one side. Their cheeks
were smeared with white lead, soot, ochre, and vermilion, while their
keen, beady eyes gleamed in their sockets vindictively, and gave them
a grim and horrible aspect. As they crossed the bridge leading over
a creek near by, a Canadian settler, named Beaufait, met them, and
stepped to one side in order to allow them to pass. This they did,
without glancing at him, but, as the last warrior approached, he
recognized him as an old friend and associate. Uttering a vindictive
"Ugh!" the warrior opened his blanket, disclosing the hidden gun, and,
pointing with his arm to the fort, showed by a wave of his hand that
he meant to use it with effect upon the English. The Canadian was too
startled to move and stood looking after them, like a person suddenly
paralyzed.
It was ten o'clock when the Chief of the Ottawas reached the fort,
and, at his request to be admitted, the gateway was immediately thrown
open to him. In an instant the cruel traitor was inside the palisade,
but, as his keen eye gazed around him, he started back, and a deep
ejaculation escaped from behind the folds of his gaudy blanket. The
sight that met his eyes might well have terrified his crafty soul, for
at a glance he saw that his long-meditated plot was ruined. Ranks of
red-coated soldiers stood upon either side of the gateway, their guns
at parade-rest, and their glittering bayonets flashing in the rays of
the gleaming sun. He pressed on with his followers, but, as he passed
the first house, he saw the motley collection of fur traders armed to
the teeth, standing upon the corner of the street, and glowering at him
and his warriors like fierce wolf-hounds on the leash. A drum beat, the
soldiers closed the gate and formed a double line in the rear, but,
regaining his composure, Pontiac strode forward into the narrow street,
while his chiefs, glancing uncertainly from side to side, marched after
their leader to the council chamber.
The council house was a large building near the river, and, as the
Indians entered, they saw Gladwyn, with several of his officers, seated
in readiness to receive them. The now cautious chiefs could not help
seeing that every British officer had a sword at his side and a brace
of pistols at his belt. Therefore, the red conspirators began to be
afraid, and, eying each other with uneasy glances, they began to back
away towards the doorway through which they had just entered. But
Pontiac strode before the commandant and spoke with a loud voice. "Why
do I see so many of my father's young men standing in the street with
their guns?" said he. "Is it for warfare against the French that they
are preparing?"
Gladwyn could not speak the Ottawa tongue, so replied through his
interpreter La Butte.
"I have ordered my soldiers under arms for the sake of order and
discipline," said he. "We are to hold a parade this afternoon."
Still gazing cautiously around them, the chiefs at length sat down
upon some mats on the floor, and, after a long pause, in which the
pipe of peace was passed cautiously around, Pontiac arose to address
the assembly. In his right hand was the belt of wampum, and, as he
addressed the officers, assuring them that he had come only to smoke
the pipe of peace and promote their friendship, the British soldiers
kept their eyes fastened upon it with looks of eager expectation.
Suddenly, he raised the belt as if to give the signal for attack, and,
as he did so, Major Gladwyn motioned slightly with his hand.
Immediately the roll of a drum sounded from beyond the doorway, the
rattle of muskets and tramp of many feet reverberated through the
silent hall, while the shrill blast of a bugle woke the echoes of the
almost silent fortification. Pontiac stood as if confounded, and, as
he saw the unruffled brow and keen eye of the British commandant fixed
full upon him, he turned and sat upon the ground in stupid amazement.
Gladwyn now rose to speak, and, as he did so, his eye flashed fire and
determination. "Friendship and protection shall be given you as long as
you deserve it, O chiefs," said he, "but as soon as you show that you
are not deserving of our friendship, then you will see our vengeance.
We wish to be at peace with our red brethren, but, if you injure a
single one of our Great Father's children, then our friendship shall be
at an end, forever." At this he sat down and the council closed with a
speech by Pontiac in which he said that he would return in a few days
with his squaws and children, for he wanted them to shake hands with
their fathers, the English. Gladwyn did not make reply to this. At his
command, the gates of the fort were thrown aside, the cowering savages
filed out into the open, and, with a sigh of relief, the British
soldiers mounted the ramparts and watched their retreating forms as
they disappeared in the distance. The great plot of the crafty Pontiac
had been a complete failure.
Furious with rage and disappointment, the mighty chief of the Ottawas
withdrew to his camp, bitterly cursing the turn of fortune, but
resolved to visit the English once more, and to convince them if
possible that their suspicions against him were unfounded. So, early
the next day, he came to the fort with three of his chiefs, bearing in
his right hand the sacred calumet or peace pipe. He was permitted to
enter, and, offering it to Gladwyn and his officers, addressed them
as follows: "My fathers, evil birds have sung lies into your ears. We
that stand before you are friends of the English. We love them as our
brothers, and, to prove our love, we have come this day to smoke the
pipe of peace." At his departure, he presented the pipe to one of the
British soldiers as a token of his regard, while in the afternoon the
Indians engaged in a game of ball on the flat plain near the fort.
Pontiac went to the Pottawattamie village and had a long consultation
upon the best method of gaining an entrance to the fort, for he now
saw that the white men had been keen enough to see through his evil
designs.
Early next day the garrison saw the common behind the fort fairly
swarming with Indians, and Pontiac, advancing from the black crowd of
painted warriors, approached the gate. He walked up to it and attempted
to open the door, but it was fast closed against him. "Open, open, to
me," he shouted to the sentinels, "I would speak with Major Gladwyn."
To this the Major himself replied, stating that he might enter, if
he wished to, alone, but that the crowd he had brought with him must
remain outside. Intense hatred and malice shone in the eyes of the
Ottawa chief, as he saw that he could not pass the gates, and, with a
fierce gesture of his arm, he turned abruptly from the palisade and
walked off to his followers, who, in black multitudes, lay upon the
ground just beyond reach of the guns of the bastions. It was time to
throw off the mask of dissimulation.
As the soldiers of the garrison gazed after his retreating figure,
they saw the Indians leap from their positions, "yelping like a lot
of devils," and begin to run, in a body, towards the house of an old
English woman who lived at a distant part of the common with her
family. With fierce blows of their tomahawks and war clubs they soon
beat down the doors, and, in a moment more, the long scalp-yell told
only too plainly what had been the fate of the inmates. While this
was occurring another large body ran, whooping and yelping, to the
river bank, and, leaping into their birch-bark canoes, paddled with
speed to an island in the river where lived an old English sergeant
called Fisher. He was soon routed out of the cellar, where he had taken
refuge, was dragged outside, and murdered. Every Englishman in the
fort, whether officer, trader, or soldier, was now ordered under arms.
Gladwyn, himself, walked the ramparts throughout the night. He expected
an attack in the morning, and his expectations were fully realized.
When the sleepy sentinels on the ramparts saw the first red tinge of
dawn tint the hazy east, next morn, a savage chorus of war whoops
arose from every side of the fort. The men leaped to their posts on
the bastion and behind the loopholes of the palisade, and, as they
did so, a vast swarm of savage warriors--Wyandots, Pottawattamies,
and Ojibwas--rushed furiously at the walls, discharging their guns
incessantly, and screeching like so many wildcats. But, as they came
near enough to be seen, suddenly they scampered behind barns and
fences, skulked behind bushes, or lay flat upon their stomachs in
hollows of the ground. Each--with a mouth filled with bullets--charged
and fired recklessly, while uttering the most blood-curdling yells.
They were naked, painted all colors of the rainbow, and with the
agility of monkeys dodged the shot from the cannon of the fort. Every
loophole was a target for their bullets, but they were poor shots
and hardly ever hit the mark. The soldiers, on the other hand, took
deliberate aim, and now and again a painted devil would leap high into
the air with a fierce yell of pain, showing that some good, British
lead had taken effect. A host of Indians found shelter behind a cluster
of outbuildings, but a cannon, loaded with red-hot spikes, was aimed
at the strategic point. The wooden houses were soon in flames, and
the savages fled, howling dismally, while the soldiers peppered them
with ball, as they decamped. Gladwyn walked continually among his
men, encouraging them by word and gesture, while the stern features
of Pontiac could be seen eagerly watching the turn of events from a
hillock in the rear of his barbarous crew.
So the fight waged for six hours, but, as the sun grew hot overhead,
the yelping masses of Indians became weary of their useless efforts.
Gradually their rifle fire ceased, their war whoops died away, and
their painted bodies began to disappear from the fence rails, bushes,
and houses, which partly hid them from the eyes of the garrison. Few
had been hit by bullets from the fort, for few had exposed themselves.
Among the garrison only five men had been wounded and these not
seriously. The first honor of the fight for the possession of Detroit
had thus distinctly been with the British troops, and Major Gladwyn
smiled with pleasure as he gazed out across the river at the clusters
of Indian tepees which sheltered those who were thirsting for his
lifeblood and for that of his men. Provisions were scarce, but the
courage of his soldiers was not lacking, and he determined to fight to
the last ditch rather than to capitulate to such an enemy.
Still under the impression that the whole affair was a sudden outbreak
of no particular importance, and that the anger of the Indians would
soon subside, Major Gladwyn, being in great want of provisions, opened
negotiations with the savages, under cover of which he hoped to smuggle
in necessary supplies from the French Canadians, whom the followers of
Pontiac would not attack. Some of his officers advised him to embark
the troops aboard the two sloops and depart for Niagara, but to this
advice the gallant soldier would not listen. Three ambassadors were,
therefore, sent to the Indian camp, among whom was a Major Campbell, a
brave and hardy officer. Five or six of the French also went along.
Pontiac took the ambassadors by the hand and led them to his camp,
where, after a long conference, Campbell appreciated his danger and
asked to be allowed to retire. "My father," said the Ottawa chief to
him, "you will sleep tonight in the lodges of your red children." Thus
the gallant officer was betrayed into the hands of the enemy, nor did
he ever live to again see the British garrison, as an Indian warrior
murdered him shortly afterwards.
Word was then sent by Pontiac to the fort that the troops should
immediately surrender, lay down their arms, as their fathers, the
French, had been obliged to do, leave the cannon, magazines, and
merchants' goods, and the two vessels, and be escorted in batteaux
(long boats) by the Indians to Niagara. To this Major Gladwyn answered
that his commanding officer had not sent him there to deliver up the
fort to Indians or anybody else, and he would, therefore, defend it
as long as a single man could stand at his side. So day after day the
Indians continued their attacks until their shrill whoops and the
rattle of their guns became familiar sounds. For weeks none of the
soldiers lay down to sleep, except in their clothes, and their guns
were always loaded and standing at their sides. The outbuildings, which
gave shelter to the Indians, were burned down by volunteers from the
palisades, while orchard trees and fences were leveled near the fort
so that the savage enemy had no cover to shelter him. Still, worming
themselves along in the grass, the savages would crawl close to the
bastions, and shoot arrows, tipped with burning tow, upon the roofs
of the houses. Tanks of water were everywhere provided for fire, and,
although the thatched roofs were frequently alight, they were always
extinguished before the blaze had any headway.
Pontiac was furious with anger at not reducing the fort, and begged the
French inhabitants to teach him the foreign method of making ditches
and trenches in order to approach a fortification, under cover. But the
ignorant Canadians knew nothing of civilized warfare and could not aid
him. One hundred and twenty Ojibwa warriors now joined the forces of
Pontiac and assisted in the attack, while every man in the fort slept
upon the ramparts, even in the stormiest of weather, and repelled every
attempt of the savages to rush the defenses.