PONTIAC RECOGNIZES THE TOTEM
The vexatious calm lasted for two days. During this time the schooner
_Gladwyn_ caught only such puffs of wind as carried her a few miles up
the river, and left her again anchored in the very narrowest part of
the channel, still some ten miles below the fort. No sign of human
presence had been discovered by those on board, no sound came from the
solemn forests. Shy water-fowl swam fearlessly on the unruffled
current that gurgled against the schooner's bow, and for aught their
senses could discover, her people might have been the sole occupants of
that beautiful, treacherous wilderness.
At sunset the distant boom of a heavy gun cheered their hearts with the
knowledge that Detroit still held out, and redoubled their desire to
gain its safe haven after their tedious voyage. Officers and men
walked the deck impatiently, and searched the sky for wind clouds,
while the sailors whistled shrilly for a breeze. But none came and the
night descended calm, dark, and still. As the slow hours dragged
themselves away, the ship's company, weary of the monotony of their
watch, sought their sleeping places, or found such scant comfort as the
decks afforded, until of them all only the sentry was awake.
Still the schooner was not unprepared for an attack. Her broadside
guns were loaded to the muzzle with grape and musket balls. Every man
on board was armed, even as he slept, and her only danger lay in being
boarded by an overwhelming number of the enemy, against whom the heavy
guns would thus be rendered ineffective. But the night wore on, and he
made no sign. The sentry relieved at midnight reported no cause for
alarm. The one who went off duty two hours later gave a similar
assurance of continued safety. His successor yawned sleepily as he
paced to and fro, and shivered with the chill that had crept into the
night. A slight mist was rising from the water, and through it even
the black outline of the forest was undistinguishable. As nothing
could be seen, the sentry gave over his pacing, and, leaning against
the foremast, devoted himself to listening. He even closed his eyes to
improve his hearing, and so stood halt musing, half dreaming of his
distant English home, until, suddenly from out of the blackness, there
rang a shout of warning. It was instantly followed by another, and a
confused tumult on the water at no great distance.
As the startled sentry echoed the alarm and sprang to the bulwarks, he
caught a glimpse of moving objects sweeping down on the slumbering
vessel. In another minute the enemy would have swarmed irresistibly
over her sides, and her fate would have been sealed. But, ere half
that time had elapsed, there burst from her such a blaze of cannon and
musketry that the night was illumined as though by a flash of
lightning. The schooner trembled to her keel with the concussion. The
advancing canoes were so torn and riddled, by the hail of grape and
bullets, that several of them sank, a score of their occupants were
killed, many more were wounded, and the survivors fled in consternation
to the shore. From there, behind a breastwork of logs, they opened a
harmless fire that was quickly silenced by the schooner's guns. Soon
afterwards, a favoring breeze springing up, she weighed anchor and made
her way in safety to the fort, to which she brought not only
reinforcements of troops, but a supply of ammunition and provisions,
without which the garrison must speedily have surrendered.
On the very night of all these happenings, the canoe containing Donald
Hester and Paymaster Bullen entered the Detroit river, and began to
stem its swift current, moving silently and in blackest shadows.
Hoping to run the long gantlet of the channels, and reach the fort
before daylight, they strained every nerve to the attainment of this
purpose. They, too, had heard the defiant boom of the distant sunset
gun, announcing to all the forest world that Detroit was still held for
England's king, and the sound gave them a new courage.
They had paddled for hours, and knew that midnight must be long past,
when, without the warning of sight or sound, they suddenly discovered
their craft to be surrounded by moving shadows. These were canoes
headed across the stream, and instantly Donald turned his craft in the
same direction, as though it belonged to the ghostly fleet. It was a
terrible situation, and one in which the slightest mistake would prove
fatal. Donald noticed Bullen's start on the discovery of their danger,
and blessed him for the coolness with which he continued the noiseless
dip of his paddle. His hope was to work toward the outer edge of the
fleet, and then slip away in the mist-clouds that were rising thinly
from the water before the other side of the river should be reached.
At the same time he wondered where these canoes could have come from,
and what was the cause of their mysterious movements; for, thinking
that the schooner he had seen two days before must long since have
reached the fort, it did not occur to him that she could be the object
of attraction.
Bullen was the first to see it. With a choking gasp he leaned back and
whispered hoarsely, "The schooner! We must warn them!"
"Certainly," replied Donald, promptly, as though it were a matter of
course that they should sacrifice themselves to save their friends.
Then he raised a shout so loud and far-reaching that it seemed as
though it must be heard even at the distant fort. It was instantly
echoed by another from Bullen. Then an Indian canoe crashed into
theirs, and in a moment they were struggling with half a dozen
infuriated savages. Ere the struggle was concluded, there came a blaze
of fire, a crash of thunder, the rending of wood, shrieks, and yells.
To Donald also came oblivion; while Bullen first found himself in the
water, then dragged from it into a canoe, and a moment later a
helplessly bound captive at the mercy of an enraged foe.
The failure of his carefully planned attack on the schooner was a
bitter blow to Pontiac, the haughty chieftain, who was striving to
drive the red-coated invaders from the land still claimed by his
people. The prize for which he had schemed and fought so long had been
within his grasp only to be snatched away at the last moment. Already
had his war-parties captured all the British posts west of the Niagara
save only Detroit and Fort Pitt. Already was the crimson wave of war
lapping the frontier settlements, and driving them back. Thus far his
warriors had been everywhere victorious, and this was their first
repulse. Could he have captured that schooner with all that it
contained, and turned its guns against the slight defences of Detroit,
that place must speedily have fallen. Then, with his entire force, he
would have been free to sweep resistlessly down the Alleghany to lower
the last English flag west of the mountains. But his certain victory
had been turned into disaster by a cry of warning from the very midst
of the attacking fleet. It was incredible! Who had uttered that cry?
What had come over his warriors, that such a thing could be possible?
In his rage, Pontiac ordered that the prisoners be securely guarded
until he could invent some punishment adequate to their offence.
Should they escape, it should be meted out to their guards. Then, too,
let the warriors who had admitted those white men to their ranks look
to themselves; for if any were found who had played traitor, their fate
should be such that for generations the mere telling of it would chill
the blood of all hearers. Thus spake Pontiac, and the forest warriors
trembled before the wrath of their mighty chief.
On the following day he sat moodily in his lodge on a small island at
the head of the river, whither he was accustomed to retreat for quiet
and meditation. Only his favorite daughter was with him, and she was
striving in vain to find words of comfort that should banish the dark
cloud from his face. To this place, according to his order, were
brought the prisoners who had defeated his plan of attack on the
schooner, that he might pronounce judgment upon them. One lay on the
ground before the entrance to the lodge, covered with blood and
apparently lifeless, while the other, clad in a tattered blanket and
tightly bound, stood dejectedly beside him.
"Why bring ye dead men to this place?" demanded Pontiac, spurning the
prostrate form with his foot. "Take the scalp, and throw the body to
the fishes."
"He is not dead. He still breathes," answered one of the warriors who
had brought the prisoners.
"It matters not. Still do as I said."
As the warrior drew his scalping-knife and stooped to obey, the Indian
girl, leaning forward to obtain a better view of him whose case was
thus summarily disposed, uttered a cry of dismay, grasped the warrior's
arm, and spoke a few hurried words to her father.
[Illustration: Pontiac discovers that Donald is tattooed with the Magic
Circle.]
The great chief started, drew his own knife, and knelt beside the
unconscious form. The other Indians imagined he was about to slay the
youth with his own hand, and thus avenge the grievous injury inflicted
upon their cause. Instead of so doing, Pontiac merely slit open the
sleeve of Donald's hunting-shirt, and gazed intently for a moment at
the mark thus disclosed. His stern face grew almost tender with the
remembrance of the laughing child who had saved his own life so many
years before. Then rising, and turning to his warriors, he said:--
"He is of the Totem of the Bear, and is sealed with the symbol of the
magic circle. We may not kill him, for he is favored of the Great
Spirit. Lift him within the lodge, and keep to yourselves the secret
of his presence in this place.
"As for this other,"--here he gazed sternly at poor Bullen, who, while
rejoicing that the mystical marking on his friend's arm seemed about to
do him good service once more, wished he knew what was to be his own
fate. "As for this other," repeated Pontiac, "this hairless dog of an
Englishman, take him to the Ottawa village, and deliver him to the
tormentors, nor ever let me set eyes on him again."
Thus saying, the chieftain, whose commands none dared disobey, entered
the lodge whither Donald had been tenderly conveyed, and where the
chief's daughter was already bathing his wounds.
Then the others seized the little paymaster, hurried him to the canoe
in which he had been brought, and departed with all speed for the
Ottawa village, which was located near the river bank some two miles
above the fort. Here the arrival of the prisoner, and the announcement
of the sentence passed upon him, was received with yells of approval
and every manifestation of savage joy. But there were some who shook
their heads dubiously. They were of the war-party recently returned
from Presque Isle; and, recalling the marvellous things done by this
white medicine man, they were still fearful of his power. The
majority, however, paid slight attention to these croakers, and the
work of preparation for the forthcoming spectacle was pushed with eager
haste.