Part 14

Hours passed, the rapid current gurgled about the bow of the trim little vessel, and on either side frogs croaked from the black shores of the stream. Occasionally a night heron squawked in the marshy land near by, but nothing else disturbed the peace and quiet of the night. Suddenly the sentry started to his feet, for dark forms were seen moving upon the surface of the stream. "Indians! Indians!" he whispered, and, in a moment, the decks were crowded with soldiers, armed to the teeth. Meanwhile hundreds of canoes crept towards the vessel, and were within a few rods of their fancied prize, when a blow from a hammer sounded upon the foremast of the British boat. It was the signal to fire. Immediately a dull roar sounded through the still night, the sides of the vessel burst into a blaze of sheeted flame, and grape and musket shot tore into the clustering line of canoes. Fierce yells of pain and chagrin welled into the air as canoe after canoe sank before the fusillade, and, with fourteen of their number dead and dying, the remaining braves turned about and fled precipitously. But their friends opened a brisk fire from their log breastwork, so the vessel weighed anchor and dropped down stream with the current. When it again threw out the chain and swivel, not an Indian was to be seen.

For six days the vessel had to remain where she was, until a wind sprang up which was sufficiently strong to blow her up stream. So sails were hoisted and she tacked between the shores until the fort was reached. As she passed the Wyandot village the guns were brought to bear upon the wigwams, a shower of grapeshot was fired among them, and, before the yelling savages were fully aware of the nearness of the schooner, many of them had been struck down. The rest ran off, yelping like a band of those cur-dogs which follow every Indian encampment, and quickly scurried to the protection of the forest, while the welcome vessel furled her sails abreast of the fort and came peacefully to anchor. She brought much-needed ammunition and supplies, and the tidings that peace had, at last, been declared between France and England. This was heartily cheered by the brave defenders of Detroit, for now, with fresh supplies, more soldiers, and the renewed confidence which these could bring, they looked more cheerfully into the future. They were still in grave peril, and brave Major Gladwyn still counselled his men to use every care in watching the savages, both by night and by day, for their death chants sounded from the edge of the forest most ominously.

As Pontiac watched the frowning palisades which he could not subdue, his heart was black with anger. "You must destroy those boats of the English," said he to his followers. "When they are gone, we can starve the white men out; but we must sink or burn them." So the Ottawas speedily constructed a raft formed of two boats, secured together with a rope and filled with pitch pine, birch bark, and other easily lighted wood. This they set on fire, on the night of the tenth of July, and shoving it well out into the current with their canoes, watched it as it floated down upon the schooners, anchored before the fort. The soldiers saw the blazing peril as it journeyed slowly towards them and prepared themselves with boat hooks, oars, and buckets, to meet it, but a fortunate gust of wind blew the burning pile out into the stream, and it sailed by the two vessels, well beyond their bowsprits. A cheer went up from those upon the decks as the sputtering, gleaming mass floated slowly out of harm's way, lighting up the shores with an ominous and sinister glare, plainly revealing the white houses of the Canadian settlers on the banks. Far down the stream the fire was extinguished with a dull and sickening hiss.

But this was not the only attempt which the Indians made to put an end to the two schooners, for, upon the morning of July twelfth, the sentinel on duty saw a glowing spark of fire on the surface of the river, and soon another blazing raft bore down upon the vessels and their startled crews. The men watched the oncoming blaze with no particular terror, as they knew that they could push aside the burning logs with sticks and boat hooks, but they had no necessity to do this, as the raft was driven over towards the fort by the swift current, and glided swiftly by, lighting up the dark shores as it did so, disclosing the dusky forms of many naked spectators who stood there, expectantly awaiting the burning of the hated vessels. A gunner trained one of the cannon upon them in the bright light. Suddenly, with a deep boom, an iron ball crashed among the followers of Pontiac, who, with wild yells of defiance, dashed into the brush. The soldiers laughed derisively as their forms retreated into the gloom and burst into a song of jollification as the raft burned to the water's edge and the last gleaming spark was extinguished by the black waters of the rushing stream.

Soon after the failure of this affair, the savages were busily seen constructing another raft of larger dimensions. The gallant Major in charge of Detroit was now determined to protect his vessels from further harm, and so procured a number of boats which he moored across the stream with hawsers, at some distance above the schooners, so that if any rafts should drop down the river they would lodge against these before they struck the sides of the two vessels. When the followers of Pontiac saw this they were very angry and it is said that they stood upon the shores and shook their clenched fists vindictively at the soldiers, for they now saw that their attempts to burn the vessels would be fruitless. Pontiac, himself, was somewhat disheartened at the turn which affairs were taking, but his heart was cheered, a few days later, by the appearance of an Abenaki brave from lower Canada who told him that the King of France--the Indians' Great Father--was advancing up the St. Lawrence River with a large and formidable army. This untruth was believed by the leader of the uprising, and, when a body of Wyandot warriors came in, not long afterwards, with the news that every English fortification, save that of Fort Du Quesne, had fallen before the onslaughts of the savages, the heart of Pontiac was glad, and he bitterly upbraided his own followers for not having sufficient courage to subdue the handful of Englishmen and trappers in Detroit.

Really the Indians had done well, for they had persisted in the siege for two full months, which was an extraordinarily long time for savages to remain constant to anything. Their usual method was to make a quick attack and to then retreat, if unsuccessful. Yet here--under guidance of the Great Pontiac--they had steadily persevered in hemming in the doughty garrison for a long and tedious period of from between two to three months. The only way in which they could possibly subdue the English would be by scaling the palisades, and, although they twice attempted this feat, none had the courage to complete the task after the garrison began to pour hot volleys into the ranks of the attackers. Pontiac, himself, should have led the advance, but even he did not have sufficient nerve to mount the log breastworks of Detroit.

What the spirit of the doughty Gladwyn was on this occasion is easily seen from the following letter. On July the ninth he wrote to a friend in the East, and his missive was carried past the Indians by a trusty scout.

"You have long ago heard of our pleasant situation. Was it not very agreeable to hear every day of the savages cutting, carving, boiling, and eating our companions? To see every day dead bodies floating down the river, mangled and disfigured? But Britons, you know, never shrink; we always appeared gay, to spite the rascals. They boiled and ate Sir Robert Deras, and we are informed by Mr. Paully, who escaped the other day from one of the stations--surprised at the breaking out of the war, and commanded by himself--that he had seen an Indian have the skin of Captain Robertson's arm for a tobacco pouch.

"Three days ago, a party of us went to demolish a breastwork they had made. We finished our work and were returning home, but the fort espying a party of Indians coming up, as if they intended to fight, we were ordered back, made our dispositions, and advanced briskly. Our front was fired upon warmly and we returned the fire for about five minutes. In the meantime, Captain Hobkins, with about twenty men, filed off to the left, and about twenty French volunteers filed off to the right, and got between them and their fires. The villains immediately fled, and we returned, as was prudent; for a sentry I had placed behind me informed me that he saw a body of them coming down the woods, and our party, being about eighty, was not able to cope with their united bands. In short, we beat them handsomely, and yet did not much hurt to them, for they ran extremely well. We only killed their leader and wounded three others. One of them fired at me at the distance of fifteen or twenty paces, but I suppose my terrible visage made him tremble. I think I shot him."

Gladwyn says: "Britons, you know, never shrink," and, in this one phrase lies the secret of the white man's success against the redskins. For, with order, knowledge of firearms, the construction of fortifications, houses, and redoubts, and obedience to the commands of their officers, this mere handful of soldiers had been able to stand off the overwhelming masses of the enemy with apparent ease. Then, too, combined with a knowledge of fighting, they possessed the spirit which "never shrank." Their hearts were big with courage--that courage for which the Britons have always been noted: that bulldog courage which carried them up the sides of Bunker Hill right into the bullets of the American forces, although they could have easily conquered their opponents by an advance upon the right flank; that resolution which later on was to sacrifice numberless brave men at Modder River and Spion Kop in South Africa needlessly, and, to our way of thinking, unintelligently. For here, as at Bunker Hill, red-coated and tartaned British soldiers marched courageously and firmly, straight up to the breastworks of the enemy, there to be mown down by thousands, when a flanking movement could easily have dislodged the foe. One cannot fail to admire such bravery, for, like Burnsides' frontal attack at Fredericksburg during the Civil War in America, such courage is great and awe-inspiring, but ill-advised. We are thrilled by it, yet we cannot applaud.

While the siege progressed at Detroit, a force gathered at Niagara to relieve the garrison, and, in the meanwhile, the Indians made a violent and fierce attack upon the fortifications upon the New York and Pennsylvania frontier. Fort Le Boeuf and Fort Venango fell before the wiles of the savages and only their smouldering ruins marked where traders, soldiers, homesteaders, and red men had once congregated in apparent peace and good will. At Fort Pitt (formerly Fort Du Quesne), every preparation was made for an attack from the Indians.

This formidable stockade (where now is the city of Pittsburg) had three hundred and thirty soldiers, traders, and hardy backwoodsmen in the garrison, with numbers of women and children. In command was Captain Simeon Ecuyer, a brave Swiss officer who had enlisted with the British and who was as doughty a warrior as the stubborn Gladwyn,--and with an equal contempt for the red men. "I believe from what I hear that I am surrounded by Indians," he wrote to his commanding officer in the settlements, two hundred miles away. "I tremble for our outposts. I neglect nothing to give them a good reception, and I expect to be attacked tomorrow morning. Please God I may be, I am fairly well prepared. Everybody is at work, and I do not sleep; but I tremble lest my messenger should be cut off." Well might he tremble, for the Tuscaroras and the Delawares were gathering in force to attack the fort, burn it to the ground, and, if possible, to massacre the captured garrison. Rumors of terrible outrages upon the settlers came hourly to the ears of the startled soldiers. Men, women and children flocked to the protection of the walls of the fort, while it became dangerous to venture outside the palisades, as the few who did were shot and scalped by lurking Indians. All night the savages fired upon the sentinels, and soon during the day no one dared to put his head above the rampart, because of the hidden redskins on the edge of the forest. It was apparent that the surrounding woods were full of Indians, whose numbers daily increased, though they made no attempt at a general attack upon the frowning log walls of Fort Pitt, where, with courage, cheer, and resolution, those within waited for the onslaught which they knew to be at hand.

Finally, on a bright June day, numbers of painted warriors appeared in the cleared lands behind the fort, drove off the horses which were grazing there, killed a herd of cattle belonging to the soldiers, and then began a hot fire at the stockades, which soon broke with a dull roar from every thicket of the forest. In reply, the garrison turned some howitzers upon the woodland, touched them off, and, as the iron shells burst in the dense underbrush with a loud and ominous report, the frightened red men could be seen scurrying out of harm's way, in every direction. The day wore to a close, and, as darkness settled upon the forest, the flashes from the guns of the Indians grew less; gradually their weird war whoops melted away, and in their place sounded the shrill piping of frogs. As darkness came, occasionally the sharp crack of a rifle warned the sentinels on the ramparts that the savages were still upon the alert.

Next morning gallant Ecuyer was watching the woodland through a glass, when several painted warriors strode from the shade of the trees to the ditch beyond the palisades. One of them stepped forward, and, proclaiming that he was a great chief of the Delawares called Turtle's Heart, addressed the garrison with the following words:

"My brothers, we that stand here are your friends; but we have bad news to tell you. Six great nations of Indians have taken up the hatchet, and have cut off all the English garrisons, excepting yours. They are now on their way to destroy you also.

"My brothers, we are your friends, and we wish to save your lives. What we desire you to do is this: You must leave this fort, with all your women and children, and go down to the English settlements, where you will be safe. There are many bad Indians already here, but we will protect you from them. You must go at once, because if you wait till the six nations arrive here, you will all be killed, and we can do nothing to protect you."

Certainly this was a bold proposal to an old warhorse like Ecuyer, and, like a true English bulldog, he voiced a reply which made the Indians wince. He spoke in loud and eloquent tones, so that all could not fail to hear him.

"My brothers," said he, "we are very grateful for your kindness, though we are convinced that you must be mistaken in what you have told us about the forts being captured. As for ourselves, we have plenty of provisions, and are able to keep the fort against all the nations of Indians that may dare to attack it. We are very well off in this place, and we mean to stay here.

"My brothers, as you have shown yourselves such true friends, we feel bound in gratitude to inform you that an army of six thousand English will shortly arrive here, and that another army of three thousand is gone up the lakes to punish the Ottawas and Ojibwas. A third has gone to the frontiers of Virginia, where they will be joined by your enemies, the Cherokees and Catawbas, who are coming here to destroy you. Therefore, take pity on your women and children, and get out of the way as soon as possible. We have told you this in confidence, out of our great solicitude lest any of you should be hurt, and we hope that you will not tell the other Indians, lest they should escape from our vengeance."

At the close of this speech the Indians withdrew, but it could be easily seen that the tale of the approach of the three armies had the desired effect, for the faces of some of the braves showed fear and consternation. Next day most of the savages moved away from the neighborhood and marched to meet a great body of warriors who were advancing from the westward to make an attack upon the fort, while the garrison labored with vim to make the palisades shot proof, to fill up a part of the palisades which had fallen into the ramparts, and to construct a fire engine, so that any flames which came from the burning arrows of the Indians could be extinguished with ease. But for several weeks no attacks came from the skulking foes, although they frequently appeared in the vicinity of the stockade and fired random shots at the sentinels. All communication was cut off with the settlements, and the soldiers nerved themselves for the coming affray which they knew would be a desperate affair.

Finally, on the twenty-sixth of July, a small party of Indians approached the gate bearing a flag of truce, and requesting that they be admitted. They were brought inside, and again--in a long and pompous address--requested the English to withdraw, or they would be overwhelmed by the attack of their own braves, assisted by Pontiac's Ottawas. But, although listening to them with respect, Ecuyer was not to be frightened by savage bravado. "I have warriors, ammunition, and provisions enough to defend this place for three years" he replied, "and against all the Indians on earth. We shall not abandon Fort Pitt as long as a white man lives in America. I despise the Ottawas of Pontiac, and am very much surprised at our brothers, the Delawares, for proposing to us to leave this place and go home. This is our home. You have attacked us without reason or provocation. You have murdered and plundered our warriors and traders; you have taken our horses and cattle; and at the same time you tell us that your hearts are good towards your brethren, the English. How can I have faith in you? Therefore, now, brothers, I will advise you to go home to your towns and to take care of your wives and children. Moreover, I tell you that if any of you appear again about this fort, I will throw bombshells, which will burst and blow you to atoms, and I will fire a cannon among you loaded with a whole bag full of bullets. Therefore, take care, for I don't want to hurt you."

The chiefs departed, glowering with anger and hatred, and bitterly disappointed in not gaining a bloodless possession of the fort, while the men of the garrison nerved themselves for the impending attack. On the night succeeding the conference it came. At dusk, dark forms could be seen stealing from the edge of the woodland. Hundreds of savages crawled as noiselessly as possible towards the log stockade, many of them dropping down behind the banks of the river and digging holes in the earth with their knives, so that they could be sheltered from the bullets from the fort. Silently and surely they made their line around the palisades, and, when the first flush of dawn reddened the East, a wild war whoop announced that the attack was to begin. Immediately a gruelling fire was opened upon the silent walls of Fort Pitt, bullets and arrows flew thick and fast into the palisades, but hiding behind the stout log breastwork, the garrison paid little heed to the rain of shot and other missiles. Occasionally a red man would expose his head from one of the holes in the bank, whereupon a dozen rifles would speak from the stockade, and as many bullets would whizz past the ears of the wily brave. Several were hit and died where they fell, and, although the Royal American troops had on the customary red uniforms which offered a bright mark to the Indians, not a single one was killed. Ecuyer ran among his men, exhorting them to do their best, and himself firing a rifle from the ramparts at the screeching savages. In broken English he was yelling defiance at the redskins, when an arrow hit him in the leg and pierced him through. Pulling it out immediately, he continued to direct the fire of his own men with as much spirit as before, and, when approached by the backwoodsmen with the request that they be allowed to make a sortie against the foe, called out with much spirit: "Allow you to go outside, my hearties? No, by Heaven, you are too valuable to me to permit me to risk even one of your necks in the open. Fight here, my boys, and we'll make good my boast to the redskins that I can hold this fort against all the Indians in the woods. Lie low, shoot straight, and when you see an Indian's head be sure that you hit it." As he ceased speaking a burning arrow flew into the stockade and ignited the roof of one of the houses, while the women and children--much terrified--rushed into the street with wails of distress. The savages fairly howled with joy when they saw the flames burst from the thatched roof, but water from the fire engine quickly put out the blaze, and, as several of the Indians exposed themselves in order to fire more arrows into the fort, they were killed by well-directed volleys of the Royal Americans. As darkness shut down upon the first day of fighting, there had been nothing accomplished by the besiegers.

For five days the redskins continued their screeching, howling, and desultory firing upon the palisades. As at Detroit, they did not have the heart to rush the stockade, and, as at Detroit, their irregular attack did little damage. The troops enjoyed the fun, shot carefully and did some damage. "The redskins were well under cover and so were we," wrote the gallant Ecuyer to Sir Geoffrey Amherst. "They did us no harm: nobody killed, seven wounded, and I, myself, slightly. Their attack lasted five days and five nights. We are certain of having killed and wounded twenty of them, without reckoning those we could not see die. I let nobody fire until he had marked his man; and not an Indian could show his nose without being pricked with a bullet, for I have some good shots here. Our men are doing admirably, regulars and the rest. All that they ask is to go out and fight. I am fortunate to have the honor of commanding such brave men. I only wish the Indians had ventured an assault. They would have remembered it to the thousandth generation. I forgot to tell you that they threw fire-arrows to burn our works, but they could not reach the buildings, nor even the rampart. Only two arrows came into the fort, one of which had the insolence to make free with my left leg."