Part 13

Gladwyn now rose to speak, and, as he did so, his eye flashed fire and determination. "Friendship and protection shall be given you as long as you deserve it, O chiefs," said he, "but as soon as you show that you are not deserving of our friendship, then you will see our vengeance. We wish to be at peace with our red brethren, but, if you injure a single one of our Great Father's children, then our friendship shall be at an end, forever." At this he sat down and the council closed with a speech by Pontiac in which he said that he would return in a few days with his squaws and children, for he wanted them to shake hands with their fathers, the English. Gladwyn did not make reply to this. At his command, the gates of the fort were thrown aside, the cowering savages filed out into the open, and, with a sigh of relief, the British soldiers mounted the ramparts and watched their retreating forms as they disappeared in the distance. The great plot of the crafty Pontiac had been a complete failure.

Furious with rage and disappointment, the mighty chief of the Ottawas withdrew to his camp, bitterly cursing the turn of fortune, but resolved to visit the English once more, and to convince them if possible that their suspicions against him were unfounded. So, early the next day, he came to the fort with three of his chiefs, bearing in his right hand the sacred calumet or peace pipe. He was permitted to enter, and, offering it to Gladwyn and his officers, addressed them as follows: "My fathers, evil birds have sung lies into your ears. We that stand before you are friends of the English. We love them as our brothers, and, to prove our love, we have come this day to smoke the pipe of peace." At his departure, he presented the pipe to one of the British soldiers as a token of his regard, while in the afternoon the Indians engaged in a game of ball on the flat plain near the fort. Pontiac went to the Pottawattamie village and had a long consultation upon the best method of gaining an entrance to the fort, for he now saw that the white men had been keen enough to see through his evil designs.

Early next day the garrison saw the common behind the fort fairly swarming with Indians, and Pontiac, advancing from the black crowd of painted warriors, approached the gate. He walked up to it and attempted to open the door, but it was fast closed against him. "Open, open, to me," he shouted to the sentinels, "I would speak with Major Gladwyn." To this the Major himself replied, stating that he might enter, if he wished to, alone, but that the crowd he had brought with him must remain outside. Intense hatred and malice shone in the eyes of the Ottawa chief, as he saw that he could not pass the gates, and, with a fierce gesture of his arm, he turned abruptly from the palisade and walked off to his followers, who, in black multitudes, lay upon the ground just beyond reach of the guns of the bastions. It was time to throw off the mask of dissimulation.

As the soldiers of the garrison gazed after his retreating figure, they saw the Indians leap from their positions, "yelping like a lot of devils," and begin to run, in a body, towards the house of an old English woman who lived at a distant part of the common with her family. With fierce blows of their tomahawks and war clubs they soon beat down the doors, and, in a moment more, the long scalp-yell told only too plainly what had been the fate of the inmates. While this was occurring another large body ran, whooping and yelping, to the river bank, and, leaping into their birch-bark canoes, paddled with speed to an island in the river where lived an old English sergeant called Fisher. He was soon routed out of the cellar, where he had taken refuge, was dragged outside, and murdered. Every Englishman in the fort, whether officer, trader, or soldier, was now ordered under arms. Gladwyn, himself, walked the ramparts throughout the night. He expected an attack in the morning, and his expectations were fully realized.

When the sleepy sentinels on the ramparts saw the first red tinge of dawn tint the hazy east, next morn, a savage chorus of war whoops arose from every side of the fort. The men leaped to their posts on the bastion and behind the loopholes of the palisade, and, as they did so, a vast swarm of savage warriors--Wyandots, Pottawattamies, and Ojibwas--rushed furiously at the walls, discharging their guns incessantly, and screeching like so many wildcats. But, as they came near enough to be seen, suddenly they scampered behind barns and fences, skulked behind bushes, or lay flat upon their stomachs in hollows of the ground. Each--with a mouth filled with bullets--charged and fired recklessly, while uttering the most blood-curdling yells. They were naked, painted all colors of the rainbow, and with the agility of monkeys dodged the shot from the cannon of the fort. Every loophole was a target for their bullets, but they were poor shots and hardly ever hit the mark. The soldiers, on the other hand, took deliberate aim, and now and again a painted devil would leap high into the air with a fierce yell of pain, showing that some good, British lead had taken effect. A host of Indians found shelter behind a cluster of outbuildings, but a cannon, loaded with red-hot spikes, was aimed at the strategic point. The wooden houses were soon in flames, and the savages fled, howling dismally, while the soldiers peppered them with ball, as they decamped. Gladwyn walked continually among his men, encouraging them by word and gesture, while the stern features of Pontiac could be seen eagerly watching the turn of events from a hillock in the rear of his barbarous crew.

So the fight waged for six hours, but, as the sun grew hot overhead, the yelping masses of Indians became weary of their useless efforts. Gradually their rifle fire ceased, their war whoops died away, and their painted bodies began to disappear from the fence rails, bushes, and houses, which partly hid them from the eyes of the garrison. Few had been hit by bullets from the fort, for few had exposed themselves. Among the garrison only five men had been wounded and these not seriously. The first honor of the fight for the possession of Detroit had thus distinctly been with the British troops, and Major Gladwyn smiled with pleasure as he gazed out across the river at the clusters of Indian tepees which sheltered those who were thirsting for his lifeblood and for that of his men. Provisions were scarce, but the courage of his soldiers was not lacking, and he determined to fight to the last ditch rather than to capitulate to such an enemy.

Still under the impression that the whole affair was a sudden outbreak of no particular importance, and that the anger of the Indians would soon subside, Major Gladwyn, being in great want of provisions, opened negotiations with the savages, under cover of which he hoped to smuggle in necessary supplies from the French Canadians, whom the followers of Pontiac would not attack. Some of his officers advised him to embark the troops aboard the two sloops and depart for Niagara, but to this advice the gallant soldier would not listen. Three ambassadors were, therefore, sent to the Indian camp, among whom was a Major Campbell, a brave and hardy officer. Five or six of the French also went along.

Pontiac took the ambassadors by the hand and led them to his camp, where, after a long conference, Campbell appreciated his danger and asked to be allowed to retire. "My father," said the Ottawa chief to him, "you will sleep tonight in the lodges of your red children." Thus the gallant officer was betrayed into the hands of the enemy, nor did he ever live to again see the British garrison, as an Indian warrior murdered him shortly afterwards.

Word was then sent by Pontiac to the fort that the troops should immediately surrender, lay down their arms, as their fathers, the French, had been obliged to do, leave the cannon, magazines, and merchants' goods, and the two vessels, and be escorted in batteaux (long boats) by the Indians to Niagara. To this Major Gladwyn answered that his commanding officer had not sent him there to deliver up the fort to Indians or anybody else, and he would, therefore, defend it as long as a single man could stand at his side. So day after day the Indians continued their attacks until their shrill whoops and the rattle of their guns became familiar sounds. For weeks none of the soldiers lay down to sleep, except in their clothes, and their guns were always loaded and standing at their sides. The outbuildings, which gave shelter to the Indians, were burned down by volunteers from the palisades, while orchard trees and fences were leveled near the fort so that the savage enemy had no cover to shelter him. Still, worming themselves along in the grass, the savages would crawl close to the bastions, and shoot arrows, tipped with burning tow, upon the roofs of the houses. Tanks of water were everywhere provided for fire, and, although the thatched roofs were frequently alight, they were always extinguished before the blaze had any headway.

Pontiac was furious with anger at not reducing the fort, and begged the French inhabitants to teach him the foreign method of making ditches and trenches in order to approach a fortification, under cover. But the ignorant Canadians knew nothing of civilized warfare and could not aid him. One hundred and twenty Ojibwa warriors now joined the forces of Pontiac and assisted in the attack, while every man in the fort slept upon the ramparts, even in the stormiest of weather, and repelled every attempt of the savages to rush the defenses.

Pontiac had a friend, called Baby--a French Canadian--who lived near 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.