by, and, one evening, he entered his house, seated himself before
the fire and looked steadily at the glowing embers for a long time.
At length, raising his head, he said: "Friend, I have heard that the
English have offered you a bushel of silver for my scalp. Is it true?"
"The story is false," replied the Canadian. "I will never betray you,
for an instant." The Chief of the Ottawas keenly studied the features
of the white man for a number of minutes. "My brother has spoken the
truth," he said, "and I will show that I believe him by spending the
night at his house." So saying, he wrapped himself in his blanket, lay
down upon a bench, and slept peacefully until the morning, with perfect
confidence that no harm would be done him; which proves that, although
cruel and vindictive, he had trust and confidence in his friends.
Another anecdote also shows that his trust in his friends was sincere
and absolute. Shortly after the beginning of the siege a Captain Rogers
came up to Detroit, with a detachment of troops, and on landing sent
a bottle of brandy, by a friendly Indian, as a present to Pontiac--an
old-time friend and acquaintance. The Ottawas were always suspicious
that the English meant to poison them, and so those around the great
chief endeavored to persuade him that the brandy was drugged. Pontiac
quietly listened to what they had to say, and, as they ceased speaking,
replied: "I have saved this man Rogers' life. No man whose life I have
saved has the power to kill me, for when he and his men came, not
many moons ago, to demand the surrender of Detroit from the French,
I kept my Indians from attacking him. He knows this." So saying, he
immediately drank the brandy, which, of course, was perfectly pure, and
from which he suffered no evil effects.
Not long after his conversation with the Canadian, Pontiac discovered
that a few of the young Wyandot braves were stealing his white friend's
hogs and cattle, under cover of the darkness. He consequently decided
to put an end to these depredations, and, arriving at the white man's
home one evening, he walked to and fro, among the barns and enclosures,
waiting for a sight of the marauders. Nothing occurred until late in
the evening, when, looking keenly through the blackness, the great
Sachem of the Ottawas saw the dark forms of the thieves stealing
through the gloom. At this he walked up near to them, and thundered
in fierce tones: "Go back to your village, you Wyandot dogs. If you
tread again on this man's land you shall die!" The Wyandots trembled,
and slunk away abashed, while, from then on, the Canadian's property
was no longer molested. This well illustrates the power which Pontiac
exercised over the minds of his followers.
While perils were thickening around the brave garrison at Detroit,
the allied Indians had, meanwhile, not been idle. Late one afternoon
the soldiers of the garrison were startled by seeing a naked line of
warriors issuing from the woods near the fort, each painted black and
with a scalp fluttering from the end of a pole. They dismally howled a
death wail and shook their sticks at the fort, which made it only too
clear that some new disaster had befallen the English. Such was the
truth, for at nightfall a Canadian came to the gate with tidings that
Fort Sandusky had been taken and that all the garrison there had either
been slain or made captive.
It seems that--on the sixteenth of May--the commandant of the Fort
(Ensign Paully) had been informed that seven Indians were at the gate
to speak to him, and, as several of them were known to him, he ordered
them to be admitted. Arriving at his quarters, two of the visitors
seated themselves on either side of him, while the rest dispersed
themselves around the room. Pipes were lighted, and the conversation
began, when an Indian near the doorway suddenly made a signal with his
head. In a moment Paully was captured and bound, while the entire
garrison was shot down. The savages, conducting him to a canoe, soon
set fire to the fort and burned it to the ground. Paully was adopted by
a widow of the tribe, but subsequently made his escape and joined the
defenders of Detroit.
The port of St. Josephs lay at the mouth of the river of that name near
the head of Lake Michigan, and the fort, recently abandoned by the
French, was garrisoned by Ensign Schlosser, with a command of fourteen
men--a mere handful in the heart of a wilderness swarming with enemies.
Thus, when a large force of Pottawattamies of Detroit came to have a
friendly "talk," Schlosser was on his guard, for he feared treachery.
But this did him no good. The sentinel at the gate was tomahawked,
the Indians rushed into the fort, eleven Englishmen were killed, and
the rest were made prisoners. They were conducted to Detroit, where
Schlosser and three soldiers were exchanged for an equal number
of Indian captives who had fallen into the hands of the garrison.
This news was followed by the announcement that Fort Miami had also
capitulated to the Indians, while painted warriors passing along the
opposite bank in great numbers--a short time afterwards--announced by
their yells that Presqu' Isle had also succumbed to their treachery.
Le Boeuf, Venango, and Michillimackinac likewise capitulated, and only
Detroit and Fort Pitt, in Pennsylvania, held out against the fury of
Chief Pontiac and his confederacy.
The fate of Michillimackinac was particularly depressing, as the
garrison there had been a good one of about thirty-five men, with
their officers. The Commandant--Captain Etherington--had been told by
a Canadian trader that the Indian had formed a design to destroy, not
only his garrison, but all the English on the lakes, but to this he not
only turned a deaf ear, but also threatened to send prisoner to Detroit
the next person who should disturb him with such tidings. Therefore,
the fate which awaited him could possibly have been averted had he not
shown the same contempt for danger that lured many an Englishman upon
the frontier to his doom.
The fourth of June was a warm and sultry day, and, as it was the
birthday of King George of England, the discipline of the garrison was
relaxed. Many of the soldiers were allowed to go outside the palisade,
leaving just enough behind to act as sentinels and patrols in the fort.
Encamped in the woods, not far distant, were a large number of Ojibwas
and Sacs, who, early in the morning, informed the soldiers that they
were to play a game of _baggattaway_, or lacrosse. The British were
invited to come out and view the game, and, in consequence, the fort
was soon deserted. Captain Etherington stood near the gate talking to
some Indian chiefs. The soldiers stood--for the most part unarmed--in
the shadow of the palisades, while a number of Indian squaws, wrapped
in blankets, lounged near the entrance to the fort. Hundreds of lithe
warriors rushed about the plain, with bats in their hands, endeavoring
to catch the ball and hurl it through their adversaries' goal, while
their whoops and yells were mingled with the cheers of the eager
spectators.
Thus the game continued, when suddenly, from the midst of the
multitude, the ball soared into the air, and, descending in a wide
curve, fell near the doorway of the fort. Immediately the entire
mass of whooping savages had followed it, and, as they dashed to the
doorway, their shrill cries were turned to the death-bringing war
whoop. This was not a hasty assault. It was a preconceived stratagem
to surprise and destroy the unsuspecting British troops. And, as the
ball-players ran by their women, they snatched the hatchets which the
latter had concealed beneath their blankets. The startled English
had no time to run and seize their muskets. They were struck down by
the infuriated warriors, butchered upon the spot, and soon the quiet
parade ground was red with the blood of the defenseless garrison.
Thus the fate of Michillimackinac was similar to that of every other
fortification upon the Great Lakes.
Meanwhile the garrison at Detroit was eagerly awaiting the arrival of
reinforcements from Fort Niagara. The siege was being so vigorously
pushed that soldiers, merchants, and servants were upon the ramparts
every night, no one sleeping in a house, except the sick and wounded
in the hospital. Naturally, then, they were much overjoyed when--on
May 30th--the English sentinel on duty announced that a fleet of boats
was coming around the point, at a place called the Huron Church. The
garrison flocked to the bastions, and, for a moment, hope shone upon
the haggard countenances of all. But, as the boats drew nearer, the
Indian death-cry sounded from them, and they were seen to be full of
painted warriors instead of white troops. Then the fact dawned upon
the defenders of Detroit--the detachment had been captured by the
followers of Pontiac.
This was the truth, for, their approach having been ascertained by the
great leader, he had stationed a body of warriors to intercept the
progress of the relieving party at Point Pelée. Twenty small batteaux,
manned with a considerable number of soldiers and laden with stores,
landed here in the evening. The Indians watched their movements from
the brush and fell upon them about daylight. One officer and thirty men
escaped upon the lake, but the others were either killed or captured.
The line of barges ascended the Detroit River near the opposite shore,
escorted by the Indians on the bank and guarded by detachments in each
boat, in full view of the garrison and of the French settlement near by.
In the foremost boat were four soldiers and only three savages, and,
as the shallop came opposite the larger of the two sloops which lay
anchored before the fort, the one who acted as steersman determined
to escape. He called out in English to his companion, who was near
one of the Indians, and told him to throw the Indian overboard. The
soldier answered that he was not strong enough; whereupon the steersman
directed him to change places with him, as if tired out from rowing,
so that no suspicion would be excited in the minds of the guard. The
soldier who had conceived the plot now slipped forward, as if to take
his companion's oar, but, instead of doing so, he suddenly seized the
Indian by the hair, and, gripping him by the waist with the other
hand, lifted him from the seat and threw him into the river. As the
savage shot out over the gunwale, he seized fast to the clothes of
the soldier, and, drawing himself up out of the water, stabbed him
again and again with his knife. This knocked the Englishman overboard,
and, holding fast to the redskin, both went down the current, rising
and sinking in the swift tide, and grappling in the embrace of death.
Meanwhile the two other Indians had leaped out of the boat, while the
soldiers turned about, and pulled for the neighboring vessel, crying
aloud for assistance as they did so. But the Indians in the other
canoes came after them in hot pursuit, while the followers of Pontiac
on the bank kept up a rapid fire upon them with their muskets. It
seemed as if they must be captured, for the bullets hissed about their
heads and the birch-bark canoes gained upon them with every thrust of
the paddle. Escape seemed impossible, when suddenly a cannon blazed
from the side of the vessel, and a ball, flying past the boat, just
escaped hitting the foremost canoe. This was enough for the Indians.
They withdrew in fear and dismay; while a second ball, exploding among
the warriors on the shore, made them take to the bushes. With a few
lusty heaves the soldiers reached the side of the vessel where they
were warmly greeted, as men coming from the jaws of death, and as a
living monument to the old adage that "Fortune favors the brave." Lest
the other prisoners might escape, they were immediately landed by
the Indians, and were marched to a point well beyond the view of the
garrison at Detroit. In the morning their scarred and mutilated bodies
began to float by the fort, on the surface of the water, warning the
soldiers what would be their fate, should they fail to hold out against
the ferocious warriors of Pontiac's Confederacy.
During the month of June another attempt to relieve the garrison proved
to be more successful than the last. One of the two vessels, anchored
near the fort, had been sent to Niagara for men and for supplies. She
had a safe passage, and, before long, arrived at the mouth of the river
with about fifty soldiers on board, and a goodly supply of stores. The
Indians saw her coming up the stream, realized that they must sink her
if they could, and consequently surrounded her in their canoes and
pumped lead at her sides, as if they hoped to scuttle her with bullet
holes. But the vessel kept on, until it reached a very narrow part of
the river where the wind died away, and so the anchor was dropped.
Immediately above this place the Indians had made a breastwork of logs,
carefully concealed in the bushes, and behind this they lay in force,
waiting for the schooner to pass. This the crew were not aware of, but,
from the moment the sun went down, they kept a keen watch upon the
waters of the river.
Hours passed, the rapid current gurgled about the bow of the trim
little vessel, and on either side frogs croaked from the black shores
of the stream. Occasionally a night heron squawked in the marshy
land near by, but nothing else disturbed the peace and quiet of the
night. Suddenly the sentry started to his feet, for dark forms were
seen moving upon the surface of the stream. "Indians! Indians!" he
whispered, and, in a moment, the decks were crowded with soldiers,
armed to the teeth. Meanwhile hundreds of canoes crept towards the
vessel, and were within a few rods of their fancied prize, when a blow
from a hammer sounded upon the foremast of the British boat. It was
the signal to fire. Immediately a dull roar sounded through the still
night, the sides of the vessel burst into a blaze of sheeted flame, and
grape and musket shot tore into the clustering line of canoes. Fierce
yells of pain and chagrin welled into the air as canoe after canoe
sank before the fusillade, and, with fourteen of their number dead and
dying, the remaining braves turned about and fled precipitously. But
their friends opened a brisk fire from their log breastwork, so the
vessel weighed anchor and dropped down stream with the current. When it
again threw out the chain and swivel, not an Indian was to be seen.
For six days the vessel had to remain where she was, until a wind
sprang up which was sufficiently strong to blow her up stream. So
sails were hoisted and she tacked between the shores until the fort
was reached. As she passed the Wyandot village the guns were brought
to bear upon the wigwams, a shower of grapeshot was fired among them,
and, before the yelling savages were fully aware of the nearness of
the schooner, many of them had been struck down. The rest ran off,
yelping like a band of those cur-dogs which follow every Indian
encampment, and quickly scurried to the protection of the forest,
while the welcome vessel furled her sails abreast of the fort and came
peacefully to anchor. She brought much-needed ammunition and supplies,
and the tidings that peace had, at last, been declared between France
and England. This was heartily cheered by the brave defenders of
Detroit, for now, with fresh supplies, more soldiers, and the renewed
confidence which these could bring, they looked more cheerfully into
the future. They were still in grave peril, and brave Major Gladwyn
still counselled his men to use every care in watching the savages,
both by night and by day, for their death chants sounded from the edge
of the forest most ominously.
As Pontiac watched the frowning palisades which he could not subdue,
his heart was black with anger. "You must destroy those boats of the
English," said he to his followers. "When they are gone, we can starve
the white men out; but we must sink or burn them." So the Ottawas
speedily constructed a raft formed of two boats, secured together with
a rope and filled with pitch pine, birch bark, and other easily lighted
wood. This they set on fire, on the night of the tenth of July, and
shoving it well out into the current with their canoes, watched it
as it floated down upon the schooners, anchored before the fort. The
soldiers saw the blazing peril as it journeyed slowly towards them and
prepared themselves with boat hooks, oars, and buckets, to meet it, but
a fortunate gust of wind blew the burning pile out into the stream, and
it sailed by the two vessels, well beyond their bowsprits. A cheer went
up from those upon the decks as the sputtering, gleaming mass floated
slowly out of harm's way, lighting up the shores with an ominous and
sinister glare, plainly revealing the white houses of the Canadian
settlers on the banks. Far down the stream the fire was extinguished
with a dull and sickening hiss.
But this was not the only attempt which the Indians made to put an
end to the two schooners, for, upon the morning of July twelfth, the
sentinel on duty saw a glowing spark of fire on the surface of the
river, and soon another blazing raft bore down upon the vessels and
their startled crews. The men watched the oncoming blaze with no
particular terror, as they knew that they could push aside the burning
logs with sticks and boat hooks, but they had no necessity to do this,
as the raft was driven over towards the fort by the swift current,
and glided swiftly by, lighting up the dark shores as it did so,
disclosing the dusky forms of many naked spectators who stood there,
expectantly awaiting the burning of the hated vessels. A gunner trained
one of the cannon upon them in the bright light. Suddenly, with a deep
boom, an iron ball crashed among the followers of Pontiac, who, with
wild yells of defiance, dashed into the brush. The soldiers laughed
derisively as their forms retreated into the gloom and burst into a
song of jollification as the raft burned to the water's edge and the
last gleaming spark was extinguished by the black waters of the rushing
stream.
Soon after the failure of this affair, the savages were busily seen
constructing another raft of larger dimensions. The gallant Major
in charge of Detroit was now determined to protect his vessels from
further harm, and so procured a number of boats which he moored across
the stream with hawsers, at some distance above the schooners, so that
if any rafts should drop down the river they would lodge against these
before they struck the sides of the two vessels. When the followers
of Pontiac saw this they were very angry and it is said that they
stood upon the shores and shook their clenched fists vindictively at
the soldiers, for they now saw that their attempts to burn the vessels
would be fruitless. Pontiac, himself, was somewhat disheartened at the
turn which affairs were taking, but his heart was cheered, a few days
later, by the appearance of an Abenaki brave from lower Canada who told
him that the King of France--the Indians' Great Father--was advancing
up the St. Lawrence River with a large and formidable army. This
untruth was believed by the leader of the uprising, and, when a body of
Wyandot warriors came in, not long afterwards, with the news that every
English fortification, save that of Fort Du Quesne, had fallen before
the onslaughts of the savages, the heart of Pontiac was glad, and he
bitterly upbraided his own followers for not having sufficient courage
to subdue the handful of Englishmen and trappers in Detroit.
Really the Indians had done well, for they had persisted in the siege
for two full months, which was an extraordinarily long time for savages
to remain constant to anything. Their usual method was to make a quick
attack and to then retreat, if unsuccessful. Yet here--under guidance
of the Great Pontiac--they had steadily persevered in hemming in the
doughty garrison for a long and tedious period of from between two to
three months. The only way in which they could possibly subdue the
English would be by scaling the palisades, and, although they twice
attempted this feat, none had the courage to complete the task after
the garrison began to pour hot volleys into the ranks of the attackers.
Pontiac, himself, should have led the advance, but even he did not
have sufficient nerve to mount the log breastworks of Detroit.
What the spirit of the doughty Gladwyn was on this occasion is easily
seen from the following letter. On July the ninth he wrote to a friend
in the East, and his missive was carried past the Indians by a trusty
scout.
"You have long ago heard of our pleasant situation. Was it not very
agreeable to hear every day of the savages cutting, carving, boiling,
and eating our companions? To see every day dead bodies floating down
the river, mangled and disfigured? But Britons, you know, never shrink;
we always appeared gay, to spite the rascals. They boiled and ate Sir
Robert Deras, and we are informed by Mr. Paully, who escaped the other
day from one of the stations--surprised at the breaking out of the war,
and commanded by himself--that he had seen an Indian have the skin of
Captain Robertson's arm for a tobacco pouch.
"Three days ago, a party of us went to demolish a breastwork they
had made. We finished our work and were returning home, but the fort
espying a party of Indians coming up, as if they intended to fight, we
were ordered back, made our dispositions, and advanced briskly. Our
front was fired upon warmly and we returned the fire for about five
minutes. In the meantime, Captain Hobkins, with about twenty men, filed
off to the left, and about twenty French volunteers filed off to the
right, and got between them and their fires. The villains immediately
fled, and we returned, as was prudent; for a sentry I had placed
behind me informed me that he saw a body of them coming down the woods,
and our party, being about eighty, was not able to cope with their
united bands. In short, we beat them handsomely, and yet did not much
hurt to them, for they ran extremely well. We only killed their leader
and wounded three others. One of them fired at me at the distance of
fifteen or twenty paces, but I suppose my terrible visage made him
tremble. I think I shot him."
Gladwyn says: "Britons, you know, never shrink," and, in this one
phrase lies the secret of the white man's success against the
redskins. For, with order, knowledge of firearms, the construction of
fortifications, houses, and redoubts, and obedience to the commands of
their officers, this mere handful of soldiers had been able to stand
off the overwhelming masses of the enemy with apparent ease. Then, too,
combined with a knowledge of fighting, they possessed the spirit which
"never shrank." Their hearts were big with courage--that courage for
which the Britons have always been noted: that bulldog courage which
carried them up the sides of Bunker Hill right into the bullets of
the American forces, although they could have easily conquered their
opponents by an advance upon the right flank; that resolution which
later on was to sacrifice numberless brave men at Modder River and
Spion Kop in South Africa needlessly, and, to our way of thinking,
unintelligently. For here, as at Bunker Hill, red-coated and tartaned
British soldiers marched courageously and firmly, straight up to the
breastworks of the enemy, there to be mown down by thousands, when
a flanking movement could easily have dislodged the foe. One cannot
fail to admire such bravery, for, like Burnsides' frontal attack at
Fredericksburg during the Civil War in America, such courage is great
and awe-inspiring, but ill-advised. We are thrilled by it, yet we
cannot applaud.
While the siege progressed at Detroit, a force gathered at Niagara
to relieve the garrison, and, in the meanwhile, the Indians made a
violent and fierce attack upon the fortifications upon the New York
and Pennsylvania frontier. Fort Le Boeuf and Fort Venango fell before
the wiles of the savages and only their smouldering ruins marked where
traders, soldiers, homesteaders, and red men had once congregated in
apparent peace and good will. At Fort Pitt (formerly Fort Du Quesne),
every preparation was made for an attack from the Indians.