Part 10 (2/2)

The gallant Dalzel was among those shot down by this fire. He died trying to save a wounded soldier from the scalping knife of the Indians.

In the confusion he was scarcely missed. The officers next in command took charge of the retreat. In the gray dawn the remnant of Dalzel's army reached the fort. The Indians went off, well satisfied with their night's work, to count their scalps and celebrate.

While the English lost about sixty men in this engagement, called the battle of b.l.o.o.d.y Ridge, the number of Indians killed and wounded was not greater than fifteen or twenty. The Indians considered it a great victory and fresh warriors flocked to the camp of the Indian commander who seemed to be a match for the English.

XI. THE END OF THE SIEGE

We have seen that after the battle of b.l.o.o.d.y Ridge many tribes that had before been afraid to take up the hatchet against the English, presented themselves at the camp of Pontiac, eager for a share in the victory at Detroit, which they thought would follow.

Yet that English stronghold, that log palisade, was a prize out of reach of the chief and his warriors. The Indians kept close watch. If a head appeared at a loophole, bang went an Indian's gun. If a point was left unguarded, there was the torch applied. Fire arrows whizzed over the rampart in the darkness, only to burn themselves out in the broad roadway between the wall and the buildings. Again and again hundreds of painted warriors danced about the fort yelling as if Detroit, like Jericho, might be taken with shouting. Their spent bullets pelted the old fort like harmless hail. They tried to rush upon the gate, but the fusilade from the block house and the fire-belching cannon of the British drove them back helter-skelter.

Late in September an incident occurred which increased the Indians' awe of the British. A scout brought word to Pontiac that a dispatch boat with a large store of provisions was on her way to the fort. As there were only twelve men aboard, her capture seemed an easy matter.

The Indians planned a midnight attack. Three hundred of them drifted down the river in their light birch canoes. The night was so dark and they came so noiselessly that the watching English did not know of their approach until they were within gunshot of the boat.

A cannon was fired, but its shot and sh.e.l.l went over the heads of the Indians and plowed up the black water beyond. The canoes were all about the s.h.i.+p and the savages, with knives in their teeth, were climbing up its sides. The crew fired once. One or two Indians fell back into the water; the rest came on. As they climbed nearer, the British charged them with bayonets, and hacked them with hatchets and knives. But where one man was driven back a dozen gained the deck.

The little crew defended themselves desperately; they were surrounded by brandished tomahawks; their captain had fallen; more than half their number were cut down. The Indians were raising their shout of triumph.

Then the order of Jacobs, the mate, rang out: ”Blow up the s.h.i.+p!” he said. One Indian understood and gave the alarm to his fellows. With one accord they threw down hatchets and knives and leaped into the river.

They made haste to reach the sh.o.r.e and left six bloodstained British sailors to take their boat in triumph to Detroit.

As autumn advanced the Indians grew weary of the long siege. The prospect of winter with no food, the continued resistance of the British, and the report that a large force of armed men was coming to relieve Detroit, discouraged them.

One tribe after another sent delegations to Major Gladwin to sue for peace. They told smooth stories. They had always loved the English, but Pontiac had compelled them to go to war. Now they were sorry they had obeyed him and longed to be at peace with their English brothers.

Gladwin understood their deceit, but as he was in need of winter supplies, readily granted them a truce. The various tribes broke up their camps and separated for the long winter hunt.

Pontiac and his Ottawas still held their ground without flinching.

”Surely,” thought the proud-hearted chief, ”our French father will send us help before long.”

One day, near the close of October, a messenger did come from the French. The letter he brought was from M. Neyon, the commandant of Fort Chartres, in the Illinois country. Pontiac had written to him asking for aid. What had he answered? He had told the truth. He had told Pontiac that the French in America were now the subjects of the English king, and so could not fight against his people.

When the great chief heard this he did not put on his war paint and lead his warriors against the defenseless French who had so long dealt falsely with him. He sat alone for a long time, thinking. The next day he sent a letter to Major Gladwin saying that he was now ready to bury the hatchet, and begging the English to forget the past.

Major Gladwin thought that the French were more to blame than the Indians in the war, and was willing to be at peace with his red neighbors. So he sent Pontiac a favorable reply. A few days later the stern-faced chief turned his back on Detroit, and began his march to the Maumee River, followed by his faithful braves.

XII. ALL ALONG THE FRONTIER

The plan of Pontiac had been to take the forts all along the frontier by strategy and then destroy the defenceless English settlements.

We have seen that while there were many French farmers living outside of the walls of Detroit there were very few English. And, in truth, in 1763, there were not many English settlers east of the Alleghany Mountains. Most of the forts that had been taken from the French, except those on the Mississippi River, were garrisoned with English. Within reach of the protection of these forts, lived some British traders and trappers, and a few venturesome settlers. But the Mohawk Valley in New York, and the Susquehanna, in Pennsylvania, really formed the western limit of extensive English settlement.

Pontiac's war belts had stirred up the Indians all along the border. In the summer of 1763, while he and the Ottawas and Ojibwas were besieging Detroit, the Delawares and Shawnees were laying waste the Pennsylvania frontier.

Backwoodsmen, trappers or travelers, venturing into the wilderness were shot down without warning. Men, women, and children were miserably slain. Isolated farmhouses were attacked, their inmates scalped, the cabins burned. Churches and schools added to the blaze that swept the wilderness from the Great Lakes to the Ohio. One after another the smaller forts were taken by the Indians.

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