DETROIT ONCE MORE
While Fort Pitt was holding out against the Ohio Indians
and Bouquet was forcing his way through the defiles of
the Alleghanies to its relief, Fort Detroit was still in
a state of siege. The defeat of Dalyell's force at Bloody
Run had given the Indians a greater degree of confidence.
They had not dared, however, to make a general assault,
but had merely kept the garrison aware of their presence
by desultory and irritating attacks.
Nothing of importance took place until September 3. On
this day the little _Gladwyn_, which had gone to the
Niagara with dispatches, entered the Detroit river on
her return trip. She was in charge of Captain Horst, who
was assisted by Jacobs as mate, and a crew of ten men.
There were likewise on board six Iroquois Indians. It
was a calm morning; and as the vessel lay with idly
flapping sails waiting for a wind, the Iroquois asked
permission to stretch their limbs on shore. Horst foolishly
granted their request, and as soon as they had made a
landing they disappeared into the forest, and no doubt
hurried to Pontiac's warriors to let them know how weakly
manned was the schooner. The weather continued calm, and
by nightfall the _Gladwyn_ was still nine miles below
the fort. As darkness fell on that moonless night the
captain, alarmed at the flight of the Iroquois, posted
a careful guard and had his cannon at bow and stern made
ready to resist attack. So dark was the night that it
was impossible to discern objects at any distance. Along
the black shore Indians were gathering, and soon a fleet
of canoes containing over three hundred warriors was
slowly and silently moving towards the becalmed _Gladwyn_.
So noiseless was their approach that they were within a
few yards of the vessel before a watchful sentry, the
boatswain, discerned them. At his warning cry the crew
leapt to their quarters. The bow gun thundered out, and
its flash gave the little band on the boat a momentary
glimpse of a horde of painted enemies. There was no time
to reload the gun. The canoes were all about the schooner,
and yelling warriors were clambering over the stern and
bow and swarming on the deck. The crew discharged their
muskets into the savages, and then seized spears and
hatchets and rushed madly at them, striking and stabbing
--determined at least to sell their lives dearly. For
a moment the Indians in the black darkness shrank back
from the fierce attack. But already Horst was killed and
several of the crew were down with mortal wounds. The
vessel seemed lost when Jacobs--a dare-devil seaman--now
in command, ordered his men to blow up the vessel. A
Wyandot brave with some knowledge of English caught the
words and shouted a warning to his comrades. In an instant
every warrior was over the side of the vessel, paddling
or swimming to get to safety. When morning broke not an
Indian was to be seen, and the little _Gladwyn_ sailed
in triumph to Fort Detroit. So greatly was the gallantry
of her crew appreciated that Amherst had a special medal
struck and given to each of the survivors.
Meanwhile, at Niagara, supplies were being conveyed over
the portage between the lower landing (now Lewiston) and
Fort Schlosser, in readiness for transport to the western
posts. The Senecas claimed the territory about Niagara,
and the invasion of their land had greatly irritated
them. They particularly resented the act of certain
squatters who, without their consent, had settled along
the Niagara portage. Fort Niagara was too strong to be
taken by assault; but the Senecas hoped, by biding their
time, to strike a deadly blow against parties conveying
goods over the portage. The opportunity came on September
14. On this day a sergeant and twenty-eight men were
engaged in escorting down to the landing a wagon-train
and pack-horses which had gone up to Fort Schlosser the
day before loaded with supplies. The journey up the river
had been successfully made, and the party were returning,
off their guard and without the slightest thought of
danger. But their every movement had been watched by
Indian scouts; and, at the Devil's Hole, a short distance
below the falls, five hundred warriors lay in ambush.
Slowly the returning provision-train wound its way along
the bank of the Niagara. On the right were high cliffs,
thickly wooded; on the left a precipice, whose base was
fretted by the furious river. In the ears of the soldiers
and drivers sounded the thunderous roar of the mighty
cataract. As men and horses threaded their way past the
Devil's Hole savage yells burst from the thick wood on
their right, and simultaneously a fusillade from a hundred
muskets. The terrified horses sprang over the cliffs,
dragging wagons and drivers with them. When the smoke
cleared and the savages rushed forward, not a living
member of the escort nor a driver was to be seen. The
leader of the escort, Philip Stedman, had grasped the
critical character of the situation at the first outcry,
and, putting spurs to his horse, had dashed into the
bushes. A warrior had seized his rein; but Stedman had
struck him down and galloped free for Fort Schlosser. A
drummer-boy, in terror of his life, had leapt over the
cliff. By good fortune his drum-strap caught on the branch
of a dense tree; here he remained suspended until the
Indians left the spot, when he extricated himself. One
of the teamsters also escaped. He was wounded, but managed
to roll into the bushes, and found concealment in the
thick undergrowth. The terrific musketry fire was heard
at the lower landing, where a body of troops of the 60th
and 80th regiments were encamped. The soldiers hastily
armed themselves and in great disorder rushed to the aid
of the convoy. But the Indians were not now at the Devil's
Hole. The murderous work completed there, they had taken
up a position in a thick wood half a mile farther down,
where they silently waited. They had chosen well their
place of concealment; and the soldiers in their excitement
walked into the trap set for them. Suddenly the ominous
war-cries broke out, and before the troops could turn to
face the foe a storm of bullets had swept their left
flank. Then the warriors dashed from their ambush,
tomahawking the living and scalping both dead and dying.
In a few minutes five officers and seventy-six of the
rank and file were killed and eight wounded, and out of
a force of over one hundred men only twenty escaped
unhurt. The news of this second disaster brought Major
Wilkins up from Fort Niagara, with every available man,
to chastise the Indians. But when Wilkins and his men
arrived at the gruesome scene of the massacre not a red
man was to be found. The Indians had disappeared into
the forest, after having stripped their victims even of
clothing. With a heavy heart the troops marched back to
Niagara, mourning the loss of many gallant comrades. This
was the greatest disaster, in loss of life, of the Pontiac
War; but, like the defeat of Dalyell, it had little effect
on the progress of the campaign. The Indians did not
follow it up; with scalps and plunder they returned to
their villages to exult in wild orgies over the victory.
Detroit was still besieged; but the Indians were beginning
to weaken, and for the most part had given up hope of
forcing the garrison to surrender. They had been depending
almost wholly on the settlement for sustenance, and
provisions were running low. Ammunition, too, was well-nigh
exhausted. They had replenished their supply during the
summer by the captures they had made, by the plundering
of traders, and by purchase or gift from the French of
the Mississippi. Now they had little hope of capturing
more supply-boats; the traders were holding aloof; and,
since the arrival of definite news of the surrender to
Great Britain by France of the region east of the
Mississippi, supplies from the French had been stopped.
If the Indians were to escape starvation they must scatter
to their hunting-grounds. There was another reason why
many of the chiefs deemed it wise to leave the vicinity
of Detroit. They had learned that Major Wilkins was on
his way from Niagara with a strong force and a fleet of
bateaux loaded with ammunition and supplies. So, early
in October, the Potawatomis, Wyandots, and Chippewas held
a council and concluded to bury the hatchet and make
peace with Gladwyn. On the 12th of the month a delegation
from these tribes came to the fort bearing a pipe of
peace. Gladwyn knew from experience how little they were
to be trusted, but he gave them a seemingly cordial
welcome. A chief named Wapocomoguth acted as spokesman,
and stated that the tribes represented regretted 'their
bad conduct' and were ready to enter into a treaty of
peace. Gladwyn replied that it was not in his power to
grant peace to Indians who without cause had attacked
the troops of their father the king of England; only the
commander-in-chief could do that; but he consented to a
cessation of hostilities. He did this the more willingly
as the fort was short of food, and the truce would give
him a chance to lay in a fresh stock of provisions.
As the autumn frosts were colouring the maples with
brilliant hues, the Potawatomis, Wyandots, and Chippewas
set out for fields where game was plentiful; but for a
time Pontiac with his Ottawas remained, threatening the
garrison, and still strong in his determination to continue
the siege. During the summer he had sent ambassadors to
Fort Chartres on the Mississippi asking aid in fighting
what he asserted to be the battle of the French traders.
Towards the end of July the messengers had returned with
word from Neyon de Villiers, the commandant of Fort
Chartres, saying that he must await more definite news
as to whether peace had been concluded between France
and England. Pontiac still hoped; and, after his allies
had deserted, he waited at his camp above Detroit for
further word from Neyon. On the last day of October Louis
Cesair Dequindre arrived at Detroit from Fort Chartres,
with the crushing answer that Neyon de Villiers could
give him no aid. England and France were at peace, and
Neyon advised the Ottawas--no doubt with reluctance, and
only because of the demand of Amherst--to bury the hatchet
and give up the useless contest. To continue the struggle
for the present would be vain. Pontiac, though enraged
by the desertion of his allies, and by what seemed to
him the cowardly conduct of the French, determined at
once to accept the situation, sue for peace, and lay
plans for future action. So far he had been fighting
ostensibly for the restoration of French rule. In future,
whatever scheme he might devise, his struggle must be
solely in the interests of the red man. Next day he sent
a letter to Gladwyn begging that the past might be
forgotten. His young men, he said, had buried their
hatchets, and he declared himself ready not only to make
peace, but also to 'send to all the nations concerned in
the war' telling them to cease hostilities. No trust
could Gladwyn put in Pontiac's words; yet he assumed a
friendly bearing towards the treacherous conspirator,
who for nearly six months had given him no rest. Gladwyn's
views of the situation at this time are well shown in a
report he made to Amherst. The Indians, he said, had lost
many of their best warriors, and would not be likely
again to show a united front. It was in this report that
he made the suggestion, unique in warfare, of destroying
the Indians by the free sale of rum to them. 'If your
Excellency,' he wrote, 'still intends to punish them
further for their barbarities, it may easily be done
without any expense to the Crown, by permitting a free
sale of rum, which will destroy them more effectually
than fire and sword.' He thought that the French had been
the real plotters of the Indian war: 'I don't imagine
there will be any danger of their [the Indians] breaking
out again, provided some examples are made of our good
friends, the French, who set them on.'
Pontiac and his band of savages paddled southward for
the Maumee, and spent the winter among the Indians along
its upper waters. Again he broke his plighted word and
plotted a new confederacy, greater than the Three Fires,
and sent messengers with wampum belts and red hatchets
to all the tribes as far south as the mouth of the
Mississippi and as far north as the Red River. But his
glory had departed. He could call; but the warriors would
not come when he summoned them.
Fort Detroit was freed from hostile Indians, and the
soldiers could go to rest without expecting to hear the
call to arms. But before the year closed it was to be
the witness of still another tragedy. Two or three weeks
after the massacre at the Devil's Hole, Major Wilkins
with some six hundred troops started from Fort Schlosser
with a fleet of bateaux for Detroit. No care seems to
have been taken to send out scouts to learn if the forest
bordering the river above the falls was free from Indians,
and, as the bateaux were slowly making their way against
the swift stream towards Lake Erie, they were savagely
attacked from the western bank by Indians in such force
that Wilkins was compelled to retreat to Fort Schlosser.
It was not until November that another attempt was made
to send troops and provisions to Detroit. Early in this
month Wilkins once more set out from Fort Schlosser, this
time with forty-six bateaux heavily laden with troops,
provisions, and ammunition. While they were in Lake Erie
there arose one of the sudden storms so prevalent on the
Great Lakes in autumn. Instead of creeping along the
shore, the bateaux were in mid-lake, and before a landing
could be made the gale was on them in all its fury. There
was a wild race for land; but the choppy, turbulent sea
beat upon the boats, of which some were swamped and the
crews plunged into the chilly waters. They were opposite
a forbidding shore, called by Wilkins Long Beach, but
there was no time to look for a harbour. An attempt was
made to land, with disastrous results. In all sixteen
boats were sunk; three officers, four sergeants, and
sixty-three privates were drowned. The thirty bateaux
brought ashore were in a sinking condition; half the
provisions were lost and the remainder water-soaked. The
journey to Detroit was out of the question. The few
provisions saved would not last the remnant of Wilkins's
own soldiers for a month, and the ammunition was almost
entirely lost. Even if they succeeded in arriving safely
at Detroit, they would only be an added burden to Gladwyn;
and so, sick at heart from failure and the loss of
comrades, the survivors beat their way back to the Niagara.
A week or two later a messenger arrived at Fort Detroit
bearing news of the disaster. The scarcity of provisions
at Detroit was such that Gladwyn decided to reduce his
garrison. Keeping about two hundred men in the fort, he
sent the rest to Niagara. Then the force remaining at
Detroit braced themselves to endure a hard, lonely winter.
Theirs was not a pleasant lot. Never was garrison duty
enjoyable during winter in the northern parts of North
America, but in previous winters at Detroit the friendly
intercourse between the soldiers and the settlers had made
the season not unbearable. Now, so many of the French had
been sympathizers with the besieging Indians, and, indeed,
active in aiding them, that the old relations could not be
resumed. So, during this winter of 1763-64, the garrison
for the most part held aloof from the French settlers, and
performed their weary round of military duties, longing
for spring and the sight of a relieving force.