Part 12

The death of the mighty Sachem of the Wampanoags practically ended the war, although some Indians, in small parties, held out a bit longer throughout all of New England. Hostilities had lasted for more than a year, and had been disastrous to the settlers; for thirteen towns had been destroyed, six hundred buildings had been burned, six hundred men had been either killed or tomahawked; numberless cows, sheep and horses had been stolen, and great numbers of the men of New England had been disabled by wounds. There was hardly a family throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island that did not mourn its dead. The power of the Indians had been forever destroyed, for not only had many families been entirely obliterated, but hundreds had been driven to the far West, or had been captured, sent to the West Indies, and sold as slaves.

Philip had fought his fight, and had fallen, as a guardian of his own honor, a martyr to the soil of his fathers, and of the proud liberty which was his birthright. Never again was the Indian to possess the soil of New England and hunt in freedom and ease through its forests, as of yore. The Anglo-Saxon had conquered, and to the white man and his civilization the land was to forever belong. Thus the first great war between the different races ended just as all subsequent conflicts between the red men and the white were to terminate. The white man was to be found invincible.

PONTIAC: THE RED NAPOLEON

The war waged by King Philip had put an end to all further hindrance to the settlement of New England by the whites, and the hostile Indians had been wellnigh exterminated. But, as the restless settlers pressed westward, ever westward, to populate the untouched wilderness and to build hamlets and cultivate farms, it was only natural that the western Indians would view their advance with the same anger that had smouldered in the bosom of the chief Sachem of the Wampanoags. The French, in Canada, were more peaceably disposed towards the savages than were the English; they treated them with some consideration and kindness; sent their Jesuit Missionaries among them; and endeavored to teach them the ways of civilization. As the English pressed onward they were continually in altercations with the various tribes which lay in the path of their steady emigration, and they showed them little consideration, kindness, or toleration.

In 1755 war broke out between the French and English for the possession of America. Both were rival claimants for the soil of the New World, and the people of the northern English colonies had learned to regard their Canadian neighbors--the French--with the bitterest enmity. They hated them because they were of a different religious faith than their own, and they hated them because they were friends of the very Indians who made depredations upon their frontier settlements and slaughtered the peace-loving white settlers. The Indians were plyed with gifts and flattered by the French, so that, in the fierce struggle for the possession of America, the red warriors sided, for the most part, with those who held dominion over Canada and the Great Lakes. The English won the war, and thus the wilderness beyond the Allegheny mountains, over which France had claimed sovereignty, passed into the hands of her rival, who, with a force of but five or six hundred men, expected to keep it secure. Little apprehension was felt of an attack from the red inhabitants of the woods, and, as the French had signed a capitulation, the English considered themselves safe in the possession of this new-won territory. But they were far from being safe, and much fighting was still to be done before peace and tranquility were to come to the frontier.

The furthermost settlement of the English was at Detroit, between Lake Erie and Lake St. Clair, and upon the river of the same name. There were about twenty-five hundred inhabitants in this little community. Straggling huts were along the river banks, and in the centre was a fortified town, called the Fort, consisting of about a hundred houses surrounded by a palisade. A British garrison, consisting partly of regulars and partly of provincial rangers, was quartered in well-built barracks inside the town, or Fort. There were about one hundred and twenty soldiers, forty fur-traders, and a few half-breed scouts who could not be relied upon in case of a war with the redskins. Several light pieces of artillery were mounted upon the bastions, while two small armed schooners--the Beaver and the Gladwyn--lay anchored in the stream. The garrison was commanded by a splendid English officer, named Gladwyn, whose courage was that of a lion, and whose fighting qualities were far superior to most of the British officers who were engaged in the struggles upon the frontier. A large Indian village of the Pottawattamies was on the western shore of the river, a little below the fort; while, nearly opposite, on the eastern side, was a village of the Wyandots; and on the same side, five miles away, the Ottawas, under Chief Pontiac, had fixed their abode.

Although the Indians appeared to be on friendly terms with those in the town, the country had scarcely been transferred to the English--at the conclusion of the French and Indian war--when smothered murmurs of discontent began to be heard among all the Indian tribes of the interior. From the headwaters of the Potomac River to Lake Superior, and along the winding courses of the Mississippi, a deep-seated hatred of the English increased with great rapidity. When the French had held possession of Detroit and the forts upon the frontier, they had supplied the surrounding Indians with guns, ammunition and clothing, but the English would give them nothing. The French had been kind to the savages when they visited their forts, but the English received them with cold looks and harsh words, when, as was their custom, they would lounge about the fort and lazily stretch themselves out in the shadow of the walls. This was galling to their proud and haughty spirits. Then, too, the best lands of the red men were being invaded by white settlers and all remonstrances had been useless. The Delawares and Shawanoes, in particular, were highly exasperated at this, and their feelings were shared by all the surrounding tribes, in whose breasts slumbered a terrible hatred and distrust of the oncoming English, who had been their enemies in the late war and towards whom the Indians had the rancorous enmity that an Indian always feels against those to whom he has been opposed in battle.

Pontiac was principal chief of the Ottawas and head of a loose confederacy of the Ottawas, Ojibwas, and Pottawattamies. He was about fifty years of age: tall, sinewy, strong. Over those around him his authority was almost despotic, while his name was known and respected among all the savages who resided in the country, stretching from the Ohio River to the lowest waters of the Mississippi. He possessed great energy, craftiness, and oratorical prowess, while his courage in war was far-famed. It is said that he commanded the Ottawas in the defeat of General Braddock at Fort Du-Quesne--during the French and Indian war--and it is certain that he was treated with much honor by the French officers, for one of them had presented him with the regimentals of a soldier of that country, which he is only known to have worn upon one occasion. Not long before the beginning of the French and Indian war, he had saved the French garrison at Detroit from an attack from some discontented tribes of the North, who had marched to destroy it. For this he had been made much of by the French officers. "He puts on an air of majesty and princely grandeur," said Major Rogers, (one of his opponents), "and is greatly honored and revered by his subjects."

Pontiac saw that the Indian race was now confronted with a grave crisis, for, when Canada had become an English province, the tribes had sunk from their former position of importance. Up to this time, France and England--the two rival European nations--had kept each other in check upon the American continent and the Indians had been flattered by each, for their services were needed by both. Now the English had gained undisputed control of America, and the Indians, being no longer important as allies, were treated as animals of a lower order of intellect who could be trampled upon with impunity. Thus the mind of the wily Ottawa Chief conceived the idea of driving the English into the sea, of once more restoring the French to power, in the West, and thus to again place the Indians in their former position of influence. The French Canadians continually told him falsehoods, assuring him that the war had not been lost by the French, that the armies of King Louis were now on their way to recover Canada, and that the French and their red allies could soon drive the hated English away from their beloved country. Stirred by these lies, and urged on by revenge, ambition, and patriotism, Pontiac decided upon war.

The various Indian tribes which lived along the Mississippi; in the 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.