THE SIEGE OF DETROIT
At the time of the Pontiac outbreak there were in the
vicinity of Fort Detroit between one thousand and two
thousand white inhabitants. Yet the place was little more
than a wilderness post. The settlers were cut off from
civilization and learned news of the great world outside
only in the spring, when the traders' boats came with
supplies. They were out of touch with Montreal and Quebec,
and it was difficult for them to realize that they were
subjects of the hated king of England. They had not lost
their confidence that the armies of France would yet be
victorious and sweep the British from the Great Lakes,
and in this opinion they were strengthened by traders
from the Mississippi, who came among them. But the change
of rulers had made little difference in their lives. The
majority of them were employed by traders, and the better
class contentedly cultivated their narrow farms and traded
with the Indians who periodically visited them.
The settlement was widely scattered, extending along the
east shore of the Detroit river for about eight miles
from Lake St Clair, and along the west shore for about
six miles, four above and two below the fort. On either
side of the river the fertile fields and the long row of
whitewashed, low-built houses, with their gardens and
orchards of apple and pear trees, fenced about with
rounded pickets, presented a picture of peace and plenty.
The summers of the inhabitants were enlivened by the
visits of the Indians and the traders; and in winter they
light-heartedly whiled away the tedious hours with gossip
and dance and feast, like the habitants along the Richelieu
and the St Lawrence.
The militia of the settlement, as we have seen, had been
deprived of their arms at the taking over of Detroit by
Robert Rogers; and for the most part the settlers maintained
a stolid attitude towards their conquerors, from whom
they suffered no hardship and whose rule was not galling.
The British had nothing to fear from them. But the Indians
were a force to be reckoned with. There were three Indian
villages in the vicinity--the Wyandot, on the east side
of the river, opposite the fort; the Ottawa, five miles
above, opposite Ile au Cochon (Belle Isle); and the
Potawatomi about two miles below the fort on the west
shore. The Ottawas here could muster 200 warriors, the
Potawatomis about 150, and the Wyandots 250, while near
at hand were the Chippewas, 320 strong. Pontiac, although
head chief of the Ottawas, did not live in the village,
but had his wigwam on Ile a la Peche, at the outlet of
Lake St Clair, a spot where whitefish abounded. Here he
dwelt with his squaws and papooses, not in 'grandeur,'
but in squalid savagery. Between the Indians and the
French there existed a most friendly relationship; many
of the habitants, indeed, having Indian wives.
Near the centre of the settlement, on the west bank of
the river, about twenty miles from Lake Erie, stood Fort
Detroit, a miniature town. It was in the form of a
parallelogram and was surrounded by a palisade twenty-five
feet high. According to a letter of an officer, the walls
had an extent of over one thousand paces. At each corner
was a bastion and over each gate a blockhouse. Within
the walls were about one hundred houses, the little
Catholic church of Ste Anne's, a council-house, officers'
quarters, and a range of barracks. Save for one or two
exceptions the buildings were of wood, thatched with bark
or straw, and stood close together. The streets were
exceedingly narrow; but immediately within the palisade
a wide road extended round the entire village. The
spiritual welfare of the French and Indian Catholics in
the garrison was looked after by Father Potier, a Jesuit,
whose mission was in the Wyandot village, and by Father
Bocquet, a Recollet, who lived within the fort; Major
Henry Gladwyn was in command. He had a hundred and twenty
soldiers, and two armed schooners, the _Gladwyn_ and the
_Beaver_, were in the river near by.
On the first day of May 1763, Pontiac came to the main
gate of the fort asking to be allowed to enter, as he
and the warriors with him, forty in all, desired to show
their love for the British by dancing the calumet or
peace dance. Gladwyn had not the slightest suspicion of
evil intent, and readily admitted them. The savages
selected a spot in front of the officers' houses; and
thirty of them went through their grotesque movements,
shouting and dancing to the music of the Indian drum,
and all the while waving their calumets in token of
friendship. While the dancers were thus engaged, the
remaining ten of the party were busily employed in
surveying the fort--noting the number of men and the
strength of the palisades. The dance lasted about an
hour. Presents were then distributed to the Indians, and
all took their departure.
Pontiac now summoned the Indians about Detroit to another
council. On this occasion the chiefs and warriors assembled
in the council-house in the Potawatomi village south of
the fort. When all were gathered together Pontiac rose
and, as at the council at the river Ecorces, in a torrent
of words and with vehement gestures, denounced the British.
He declared that under the new occupancy of the forts in
the Indian country the red men were neglected and their
wants were no longer supplied as they had been in the
days of the French; that exorbitant prices were charged
by the traders for goods; that when the Indians were
departing for their winter camps to hunt for furs they
were no longer able to obtain ammunition and clothing on
credit; and, finally, that the British desired the death
of the Indians, and it was therefore necessary as an act
of self-preservation to destroy them. He once more
displayed the war-belt that he pretended to have received
from the king of France. This belt told him to strike in
his own interest and in the interest of the French. He
closed his speech by saying that he had sent belts to
the Chippewas of Saginaw and the Ottawas of Michilimackinac
and of the river La Tranche (the Thames). Seeing that
his words were greeted with grunts and shouts of approval
and that the assembled warriors were with him to a man,
Pontiac revealed a plan he had formed to seize the fort
and slaughter the garrison. He and some fifty chiefs and
warriors would wait on Gladwyn on the pretence of discussing
matters of importance. Each one would carry beneath his
blanket a gun, with the barrel cut short to permit of
concealment. Warriors and even women were to enter the
fort as if on a friendly visit and take up positions of
advantage in the streets, in readiness to strike with
tomahawks, knives, and guns, all which they were to have
concealed beneath their blankets. At the council Pontiac
was to address Gladwyn and, in pretended friendship, hand
him a wampum belt. If it were wise to strike, he would
on presenting the belt hold its reverse side towards
Gladwyn. This was to be the signal for attack. Instantly
blankets were to be thrown aside and the officers were
to be shot down. At the sound of firing in the council-room
the Indians in the streets were to fall on the garrison
and every British soldier was to be slain, care being
taken that no Frenchman suffered. The plan, by its
treachery, and by its possibilities of slaughter and
plunder, appealed to the savages; and they dispersed to
make preparations for the morning of the 7th, the day
chosen for carrying out the murderous scheme.
The plot was difficult to conceal. The aid of French
blacksmiths had to be sought to shorten the guns. Moreover,
the British garrison had some friends among the Indians.
Scarcely had the plot been matured when it was discussed
among the French, and on the day before the intended
massacre it was revealed to Gladwyn. His informant is
not certainly known. A Chippewa maiden, an old squaw,
several Frenchmen, and an Ottawa named Mahiganne have
been mentioned. It is possible that Gladwyn had it from
a number of sources, but most likely from Mahiganne. The
'Pontiac Manuscript,' probably the work of Robert Navarre,
the keeper of the notarial records of the settlement,
distinctly states that Mahiganne revealed the details of
the plot with the request that Gladwyn should not divulge
his name; for, should Pontiac learn, the informer would
surely be put to death. This would account for the fact
that Gladwyn, even in his report of the affair to Amherst,
gives no hint as to the person who told him.
Gladwyn at once made preparations to receive Pontiac and
his chiefs. On the night of the 6th instructions were
given to the soldiers and the traders within the fort to
make preparations to resist an attack, and the guards
were doubled. As the sentries peered out into the darkness
occasional yells and whoops and the beating of drums
reached their ears, telling of the war-dance that was
being performed in the Indian villages to hearten the
warriors for the slaughter.
Gladwyn determined to act boldly. On the morning of the
7th all the traders' stores were closed and every man
capable of bearing weapons was under arms; but the gates
were left open as usual, and shortly after daylight
Indians and squaws by twos and threes began to gather in
the fort as if to trade. At ten in the morning a line of
chiefs with Pontiac at their head filed along the road
leading to the river gate. All were painted and plumed
and each one was wrapped in a brightly coloured blanket.
When they entered the fort they were astonished to see
the warlike preparations, but stoically concealed their
surprise. Arrived in the council-chamber, the chiefs
noticed the sentinels standing at arms, the commandant
and his officers seated, their faces stern and set,
pistols in their belts and swords by their sides. So
perturbed were the chiefs by all this warlike display
that it was some time before they would take their seats
on the mats prepared for them. At length they recovered
their composure, and Pontiac broke the silence by asking
why so many of the young men were standing in the streets
with their guns. Answer was made through the interpreter
La Butte that it was for exercise and discipline. Pontiac
then addressed Gladwyn, vehemently protesting friendship.
All the time he was speaking Gladwyn bent on him a
scrutinizing gaze, and as the chief was about to present
the wampum belt, a signal was given and the drums crashed
out a charge. Every doubt was removed from Pontiac's
mind--his plot was discovered. His nervous hand lowered
the belt; but he recovered himself immediately and
presented it in the ordinary way. Gladwyn replied to his
speech sternly, but kindly, saying that he would have
the protection and friendship of the British so long as
he merited it. A few presents were then distributed among
the Indians, and the council ended. The chiefs, with
their blankets still tightly wrapped about them, filed
out of the council-room and scattered to their villages,
followed by the disappointed rabble of fully three hundred
Indians, who had assembled in the fort.
On the morrow, Pontiac, accompanied by three chiefs,
again appeared at the fort, bringing with him a pipe of
peace. When this had been smoked by the officers and
chiefs, he presented it to Captain Campbell, as a further
mark of friendship. The next day he was once more at the
gates seeking entrance. But he found them closed: Gladwyn
felt that the time had come to take no chances. This
morning a rabble of Potawatomis, Ottawas, Wyandots, and
Chippewas thronged the common just out of musket range.
On Pontiac's request for a conference with Gladwyn he
was sternly told that he might enter alone. The answer
angered him, and he strode back to his followers. Now,
with yells and war-whoops, parties of the savages bounded
away on a murderous mission. Half a mile behind the fort
an English woman, Mrs Turnbull, and her two sons cultivated
a small farm. All three were straightway slain. A party
of Ottawas leapt into their canoes and paddled swiftly
to Ile au Cochon, where lived a former sergeant, James
Fisher. Fisher was seized, killed, and scalped, his young
wife brutally murdered, and their two little children
carried into captivity. On this same day news was brought
to the fort that Sir Robert Davers and Captain Robertson
had been murdered three days before on Lake St Clair by,
Chippewas who were on their way from Saginaw to join
Pontiac's forces. Thus began the Pontiac War in the
vicinity of Detroit. For several months the garrison was
to know little rest.
That night at the Ottawa village arose the hideous din
of the war-dance, and while the warriors worked themselves
into a frenzy the squaws were busy breaking camp. Before
daylight the village was moved to the opposite side of
the river, and the wigwams were pitched near the mouth
of Parent's Creek, about a mile and a half above the
fort. On the morning of the 10th the siege began in
earnest. Shortly after daybreak the yells of a horde of
savages could be heard north and south and west. But few
of the enemy could be seen, as they had excellent shelter
behind barns, outhouses, and fences. For six hours they
kept up a continuous fire on the garrison, but wounded
only five men. The fort vigorously returned the fire,
and none of the enemy dared attempt to rush the palisades.
A cluster of buildings in the rear sheltered a particularly
ferocious set of savages. A three-pounder--the only
effective artillery in the fort--was trained on this
position; spikes were bound together with wire, heated
red-hot, and fired at the buildings. These were soon a
mass of flames, and the savages concealed behind them
fled for their lives.
Presently the Indians grew tired of this useless warfare
and withdrew to their villages. Gladwyn, thinking that
he might bring Pontiac to terms, sent La Butte to ask
the cause of the attack and to say that the British were
ready to redress any wrongs from which the Indians might
be suffering. La Butte was accompanied by Jean Baptiste
Chapoton, a captain of the militia and a man of some
importance in the fort, and Jacques Godfroy, a trader
and likewise an officer of militia. It may be noted that
Godfroy's wife was the daughter of a Miami chief. The
ambassadors were received in a friendly manner by Pontiac,
who seemed ready to cease hostilities. La Butte returned
to the fort with some of the chiefs to report progress;
but when he went again to Pontiac he found that the Ottawa
chief had made no definite promise. It seems probable,
judging from their later actions, that Chapoton and
Godfroy had betrayed Gladwyn and urged Pontiac to force
the British out of the country. Pontiac now requested
that Captain Donald Campbell, who had been in charge of
Detroit before Gladwyn took over the command, should come
to his village to discuss terms. Campbell was confident
that he could pacify the Indians, and, accompanied by
Lieutenant George McDougall, he set out along the river
road for the Ottawas' encampment at Parent's Creek. As
the two officers crossed the bridge at the mouth of the
creek, they were met by a savage crowd--men, women, and
children--armed with sticks and clubs. The mob rushed at
them with yells and threatening gestures, and were about
to fall on the officers when Pontiac appeared and restored
order. A council was held, but as Campbell could get no
satisfaction he suggested returning to the fort. Thereupon
Pontiac remarked: 'My father will sleep to-night in the
lodges of his red children.' Campbell and McDougall were
given good quarters in the house of Jean Baptiste Meloche.
For nearly two months they were to be kept close prisoners.
So far only part of the Wyandots had joined Pontiac:
Father Potier had been trying to keep his flock neutral.
But on the 11th Pontiac crossed to the Wyandot village,
and threatened it with destruction if the warriors did
not take up the tomahawk. On this compulsion they consented,
no doubt glad of an excuse to be rid of the discipline
of their priest.
Another attack on the fort was made, this time by about
six hundred Indians; but it was as futile as the one of
the earlier day. Pontiac now tried negotiation. He summoned
Gladwyn to surrender, promising that the British should
be allowed to depart unmolested on their vessels. The
officers, knowing that their communications with the east
were cut, that food was scarce, that a vigorous assault
could not fail to carry the fort, urged Gladwyn to accept
the offer, but he sternly refused. He would not abandon
Detroit while one pound of food and one pound of powder
were left in the fort. Moreover, the treacherous conduct
of Pontiac convinced him that the troops and traders as
they left the fort would be plundered and slaughtered.
He rejected Pontiac's demands, and advised him to disperse
his people and save his ammunition for hunting.
At this critical moment Detroit was undoubtedly saved by
a French Canadian. But for Jacques Baby, the grim spectre
Starvation would have stalked through the little fortress.
Baby was a prosperous trader and merchant who, with his
wife Susanne Reaume, lived on the east shore of the river,
almost opposite the fort. He had a farm of one thousand
acres, two hundred of which were under cultivation. His
trading establishment was a low-built log structure eighty
feet long by twenty wide. He owned thirty slaves--twenty
men and ten women. He seems to have treated them kindly;
at any rate, they loyally did his will. Baby agreed to
get provisions into the fort by stealth; and on a dark
night, about a week after the siege commenced, Gladwyn
had a lantern displayed on a plank fixed at the water's
edge. Baby had six canoes in readiness; in each were
stowed two quarters of beef, three hogs, and six bags of
meal. All night long these canoes plied across the
half-mile stretch of water and by daylight sufficient
food to last the garrison for several weeks had been
delivered.
From day to day the Indians kept up a desultory firing,
while Gladwyn took precautions against a long siege. Food
was taken from the houses of the inhabitants and placed
in a common storehouse. Timber was torn from the walks
and used in the construction of portable bastions, which
were erected outside the fort. There being danger that
the roofs of the houses would be ignited by means of
fire-arrows, the French inhabitants of the fort were made
to draw water and store it in vessels at convenient
points. Houses, fences, and orchards in the neighbourhood
were destroyed and levelled, so that skulking warriors
could not find shelter. The front of the fort was
comparatively safe from attack, for the schooners guarded
the river gate, and the Indians had a wholesome dread of
these floating fortresses.
About the middle of the month the _Gladwyn_ sailed down
the Detroit to meet a convoy that was expected with
provisions and ammunition from Fort Schlosser. At the
entrance to Lake Erie, as the vessel lay becalmed in the
river, she was suddenly beset by a swarm of savages in
canoes; and Pontiac's prisoner, Captain Campbell, appeared
in the foremost canoe, the savages thinking that the
British would not fire on them for fear of killing him.
Happily, a breeze sprang up and the schooner escaped to
the open lake. There was no sign of the convoy; and the
_Gladwyn_ sailed for the Niagara, to carry to the officers
there tidings of the Indian rising in the west.
On May 30 the watchful sentries at Detroit saw a line of
bateaux flying the British flag rounding a point on the
east shore of the river. This was the expected convoy
from Fort Schlosser, and the cannon boomed forth a welcome.
But the rejoicings of the garrison were soon stilled.
Instead of British cheers, wild war-whoops resounded from
the bateaux. The Indians had captured the convoy and were
forcing their captives to row. In the foremost boat were
four soldiers and three savages. Nearing the fortress
one of the soldiers conceived the daring plan of
overpowering the Indian guard and escaping to the _Beaver_,
which lay anchored in front of the fort. Seizing the
nearest savage he attempted to throw him into the river;
but the Indian succeeded in stabbing him, and both fell
overboard and were drowned. The other savages, dreading
capture, leapt out of the boat and swam ashore. The bateau
with the three soldiers in it reached the _Beaver_, and
the provisions and ammunition it contained were taken to
the fort. The Indians in the remaining bateaux, warned
by the fate of the leading vessel, landed on the east
shore; and, marching their prisoners overland past the
fort, they took them across the river to Pontiac's camp,
where most of them were put to death with fiendish cruelty.
The soldiers who escaped to the _Beaver_ told the story
of the ill-fated convoy. On May 13 Lieutenant Abraham
Cuyler, totally ignorant of the outbreak of hostilities
at Detroit, had left Fort Schlosser with ninety-six men
in ten bateaux. They had journeyed in leisurely fashion
along the northern shore of Lake Erie, and by the 28th
had reached Point Pelee, about thirty miles from the
Detroit river. Here a landing was made, and while tents
were being pitched a band of painted savages suddenly
darted out of the forest and attacked a man and a boy
who were gathering wood. The man escaped, but the boy
was tomahawked and scalped. Cuyler drew up his men in
front of the boats, and a sharp musketry fire followed
between the Indians, who were sheltered by a thick wood,
and the white men on the exposed shore. The raiders were
Wyandots from Detroit, the most courageous and intelligent
savages in the region. Seeing that Cuyler's men were
panic-stricken, they broke from their cover, with unusual
boldness for Indians, and made a mad charge. The soldiers,
completely unnerved by the savage yells and hurtling
tomahawks, threw down their arms and dashed in confusion
to the boats. Five they succeeded in pushing off, and
into these they tumbled without weapons of defence. Cuyler
himself was left behind wounded; but he waded out, and
was taken aboard under a brisk fire from the shore. The
Indians then launched two of the abandoned boats, rushed
in pursuit of the fleeing soldiers, speedily captured
three of the boats, and brought them ashore in triumph.
The two others, in one of which was Cuyler, hoisted sail
and escaped. The Indians, as we have seen, brought the
captured boats and their prisoners to Detroit. Cuyler
had directed his course to Sandusky, but finding the
blockhouse there burnt to the ground, he had rowed eastward
to Presqu'isle, and then hastened to Niagara to report
the disaster.
The siege of Detroit went on. Towards the middle of June,
Jacques Baby brought word to the commandant that the
_Gladwyn_ was returning from the Niagara with supplies
and men, and that the Indians were making preparations
to capture her. A few miles below Detroit lay Fighting
Island; between it and the east shore, Turkey Island.
Here the savages had erected a breastwork, so carefully
concealed that it would be difficult even for the keenest
eyes to detect its presence. The vessel would have to
pass within easy range of this barricade; and it was the
plan of the Indians to dart out in their canoes as the
schooner worked up-stream, seize her, and slay her crew.
On learning this news Gladwyn ordered cannon to be fired
to notify the captain that the fort still held out, and
sent a messenger to meet the vessel with word of the
plot. It happened that the _Gladwyn_ was well manned and
prepared for battle. On board was Cuyler with twenty-two
survivors of the ill-starred convoy, besides twenty-eight
men of Captain Hopkins's company. To deceive the Indians
as to the number of men, all the crew and soldiers, save
ten or twelve, were concealed in the hold; to invite
attack, the vessel advanced boldly up-stream, and at
nightfall cast anchor in the narrow channel in front of
Turkey Island. About midnight the Indians stealthily
boarded their canoes and cautiously, but confidently,
swept towards her with muffled paddles. The _Gladwyn_
was ready for them. Not a sound broke the silence of the
night as the Indians approached the schooner; when suddenly
the clang of a hammer against the mast echoed over the
calm waters, the signal to the soldiers in the hold. The
Indians were almost on their prey; but before they had
time to utter the war-whoop, the soldiers had come up
and had attacked the savages with bullets and cannon
shot. Shrieks of death arose amid the din of the firing
and the splash of swimmers hurriedly making for the shore
from the sinking canoes. In a moment fourteen Indians
were killed and as many more wounded. From behind the
barricade the survivors began a harmless musketry fire
against the schooner, which simply weighed anchor and
drifted down-stream to safety. A day or two later she
cleared Turkey Island and reached the fort, pouring a
shattering broadside into the Wyandot village as she
passed it. Besides the troops, the _Gladwyn_ had on board
a precious cargo of a hundred and fifty barrels of
provisions and some ammunition. She had not run the
blockade unscathed, for in passing Turkey Island one
sergeant and four men had been wounded. There was rejoicing
in the fort when the reinforcement marched in. This
additional strength in men and provisions, it was expected,
would enable the garrison to hold out for at least another
month, within which time soldiers would arrive in sufficient
force to drive the Indians away.
In the meantime Pontiac was becoming alarmed. He had
expected an easy victory, and was not prepared for a
protracted siege. He had drawn on the French settlers
for supplies; his warriors had slain cattle and taken
provisions without the consent of the owners. Leaders in
the settlement now waited on Pontiac, making complaint.
He professed to be fighting for French rule, and expressed
sorrow at the action of his young men, promising that in
future the French should be paid. Acting, no doubt, on
the suggestion of some of his French allies, he made a
list of the inhabitants, drew on each for a definite
quantity of supplies, and had these deposited at Meloche's
house near his camp on Parent's Creek. A commissary was
appointed to distribute the provisions as required. In
payment he issued letters of credit, signed with his
totem, the otter. It is said that all of them were
afterwards redeemed; but this is almost past belief in
the face of what actually happened.
From the beginning of the siege Pontiac had hoped that
the French traders and settlers would join him to force
the surrender of the fort. The arrival of the reinforcement
under Cuyler made him despair of winning without their
assistance, and early in July he sent his Indians to the
leading inhabitants along the river, ordering them to a
council, at which he hoped by persuasion or threats to
make them take up arms. This council was attended by such
settlers as Robert Navarre, Zacharie Sicotte, Louis
Campau, Antoine Cuillerier, Francois Meloche, all men of
standing and influence. In his address to them Pontiac
declared: 'If you are French, accept this war-belt for
yourselves, or your young men, and join us; if you are
English, we declare war upon you.'
The _Gladwyn_ had brought news of the Peace of Paris
between France and England. Many of the settlers had been
hoping that success would crown the French arms in Europe
and that Canada would be restored. Some of those at the
council said that these articles of peace were a mere
ruse on the part of Gladwyn to gain time. Robert Navarre,
who had published the articles of peace to the French
and Indians, and several others were friendly to the
British, but the majority of those present were unfriendly.
Sicotte told Pontiac that, while the heads of families
could not take up arms, there were three hundred young
men about Detroit who would willingly join him. These
words were probably intended to humour the chief; but
there were those who took the belt and commenced recruiting
among their fellows. The settlers who joined Pontiac were
nearly all half-breeds or men mated with Indian wives.
Others, such as Pierre Reaume and Louis Campau, believing
their lives to be in danger on account of their loyalty
to the new rulers, sought shelter in the fort.
By July 4 the Indians, under the direction of French
allies, had strongly entrenched themselves and had begun
a vigorous attack. But a force of about sixty men marched
out from the fort and drove them from the position. In
the retreat two Indians were killed, and one of the
pursuing soldiers, who had been a prisoner among the
Indians and had learned the ways of savage warfare,
scalped one of the fallen braves. The victim proved to
be a nephew of the chief of the Saginaw Chippewas, who
now claimed life for life, and demanded that Captain
Campbell should be given up to him. According to the
'Pontiac Manuscript' Pontiac acquiesced, and the Saginaw
chief killed Campbell 'with a blow of his tomahawk, and
after cast him into the river.' Campbell's fellow-prisoner
McDougall, along with two others, had escaped to the fort
some days before.
The investment continued, although the attacks became
less frequent. The schooners manoeuvring in the river
poured broadsides into the Indian villages, battering
down the flimsy wigwams. Pontiac moved his camp from the
mouth of Parent's Creek to a position nearer Lake St
Clair, out of range of their guns, and turned his thoughts
to contrive some means of destroying the troublesome
vessels. He had learned from the French of the attempt
with fire-ships against the British fleet at Quebec, and
made trial of a similar artifice. Bateaux were joined
together, loaded with inflammable material, ignited, and
sent on their mission but these 'fire-ships' floated
harmlessly past the schooners and burnt themselves out.
Then for a week the Indians worked on the construction of
a gigantic fire-raft, but nothing came of this ambitious
scheme.
It soon appeared that Pontiac was beginning to lose his
hold on the Indians. About the middle of July ambassadors
from the Wyandots and Potawatomis came to the fort with an
offer of peace, protesting, after the Indian manner, love
and friendship for the British. After much parleying they
surrendered their prisoners and plunder; but, soon after,
a temptation irresistible to their treacherous natures
offered itself, and they were again on the war-path.
Amherst at New York had at last been aroused to the
danger; and Captain James Dalyell had set out from Fort
Schlosser with twenty-two barges, carrying nearly three
hundred men, with cannon and supplies, for the relief of
Detroit. The expedition skirted the southern shore of
Lake Erie until it reached Sandusky. The Wyandot villages
here were found deserted. After destroying them Dalyell
shaped his course for the Detroit river. Fortune favoured
the expedition. Pontiac was either ignorant of its approach
or unable to mature a plan to check its advance. Through
the darkness and fog of the night of July 28 the barges
cautiously crept up-stream, and when the morning sun of
the 29th lifted the mists from the river they were in
full view of the fort. Relief at last! The weary watching
of months was soon to end. The band of the fort was
assembled, and the martial airs of England floated on
the morning breeze. Now it was that the Wyandots and
Potawatomis, although so lately swearing friendship to
the British, thought the opportunity too good to be lost.
In passing their villages the barges were assailed by a
musketry fire, which killed two and wounded thirteen of
Dalyell's men. But the soldiers, with muskets and swivels,
replied to the attack, and put the Indians to flight.
Then the barges drew up before the fort to the welcome
of the anxious watchers of Detroit.
The reinforcement was composed of men of the 55th and
8th regiments, and of twenty Rangers under Major Robert
Rogers. Like their commander, Dalyell, many of them were
experienced in Indian fighting and were eager to be at
Pontiac and his warriors. Dalyell thought that Pontiac
might be taken by surprise, and urged on Gladwyn the
advisability of an immediate advance. To this Gladwyn
was averse; but Dalyell was insistent, and won his point.
By the following night all was in readiness. At two
o'clock in the morning of the 31st the river gate was
thrown open and about two hundred and fifty men filed out.
Heavy clouds hid both moon and stars, and the air was
oppressively hot. The soldiers marched along the dusty
road, guided by Baby and St Martin, who had volunteered
for the work. Not a sound save their own dull tramp broke
the silence. On their right gleamed the calm river, and
keeping pace with them were two large bateaux armed with
swivels. Presently, as the troops passed the farm-houses,
drowsy watch-dogs caught the sound of marching feet and
barked furiously. Pontiac's camp, however, was still far
away; this barking would not alarm the Indians. But the
soldiers did not know that they had been betrayed by a
spy of Pontiac's within the fort, nor did they suspect
that snake-like eyes were even then watching their advance.
At length Parent's Creek was reached, where a narrow
wooden bridge spanned the stream a few yards from its
mouth. The advance-guard were half-way over the bridge,
and the main body crowding after them, when, from a black
ridge in front, the crackle of musketry arose, and half
the advance-guard fell. The narrow stream ran red with
their blood, and ever after this night it was known as
Bloody Run. On the high ground to the north of the creek
a barricade of cordwood had been erected, and behind this
and behind barns and houses and fences, and in the
corn-fields and orchards, Indians were firing and yelling
like demons. The troops recoiled, but Dalyell rallied
them; again they crowded to the bridge. There was another
volley and another pause. With reckless bravery the
soldiers pressed across the narrow way and rushed to the
spot where the musket-flashes were seen. They won the
height, but not an Indian was there. The musket-flashes
continued and war-whoops sounded from new shelters. The
bateaux drew up alongside the bridge, and the dead and
wounded were taken on board to be carried to the fort.
It was useless to attempt to drive the shifty savages
from their lairs, and so the retreat was sounded. Captain
Grant, in charge of the rear company, led his men back
across the bridge while Dalyell covered the retreat; and
now the fight took on a new aspect. As the soldiers
retreated along the road leading to the fort, a destructive
fire poured upon them from houses and barns, from behind
fences, and from a newly dug cellar. With the river on
their left, and with the enemy before and behind as well
as on their sight, they were in danger of being annihilated.
Grant ordered his men to fix bayonets: a dash was made
where the savages were thickest, and they were scattered.
As the fire was renewed panic seized the troops. But
Dalyell came up from the rear, and with shouts and threats
and flat of sword restored order. Day was breaking; but
a thick fog hung over the scene, under cover of which
the Indians continued the attack. The house of Jacques
Campau, a trader, sheltered a number of Indians who were
doing most destructive work. Rogers and a party of his
Rangers attacked the house, and, pounding in the doors,
drove out their assailants. From Campau's house Rogers
covered the retreat of Grant's company, but was himself
in turn besieged. By this time the armed bateaux, which
had borne the dead and wounded to the fort, had returned,
and, opening fire with their swivels on the Indians
attacking Rogers, drove them off; the Rangers joined
Grant's company, and all retreated for the fort. The
shattered remnant of Dalyell's confident forces arrived
at Fort Detroit at eight in the morning, after six hours
of marching and desperate battle, exhausted and crestfallen.
Dalyell had been slain--an irreparable loss. The casualty
list was twenty killed and forty-two wounded. The Indians
had suffered but slightly. However, they gained but little
permanent advantage from the victory, as the fort had
still about three hundred effective men, with ample
provisions and ammunition, and could defy assault and
withstand a protracted siege.
In this fight Chippewas and Ottawas took the leading
part. The Wyandots had, however, at the sound of firing
crossed the river, and the Potawatomis also had joined
in the combat, in spite of the truce so recently made
with Gladwyn. At the battle of Bloody Run at least eight
hundred warriors were engaged in the endeavour to cut
off Dalyell's men. There was rejoicing in the Indian
villages, and more British scalps adorned the warriors'
wigwams. Runners were sent out to the surrounding nations
with news of the victory, and many recruits were added
to Pontiac's forces.