Chapter 12

1763.

PONTIAC AT THE SIEGE OF DETROIT.

On the morning after the detention of the officers, Pontiac crossed over, with several of his chiefs, to the Wyandot village.  A part of this tribe, influenced by Father Pothier, their Jesuit priest, had refused to take up arms against the English; but, being now threatened with destruction if they should longer remain neutral, they were forced to join the rest.  They stipulated, however, that they should be allowed time to hear mass, before dancing the war-dance.  To this condition Pontiac readily agreed, “although,” observes the chronicler in the fulness of his horror and detestation, “he himself had no manner of worship, and cared not for festivals or Sundays.” These nominal Christians of Father Pothier’s flock, together with the other Wyandots, soon distinguished themselves in the war; fighting better, it was said, than all the other Indians,—an instance of the marked superiority of the Iroquois over the Algonquin stock.

Having secured these new allies, Pontiac prepared to resume his operations with fresh vigor; and to this intent, he made an improved disposition of his forces.  Some of the Pottawattamies were ordered to lie in wait along the river bank, below the fort; while others concealed themselves in the woods, in order to intercept any Englishman who might approach by land or water.  Another band of the same tribe were to conceal themselves in the neighborhood of the fort, when no general attack was going forward, in order to shoot down any soldier or trader who might chance to expose his person.  On the eleventh of May, when these arrangements were complete, several Canadians came early in the morning to the fort, to offer what they called friendly advice.  It was to the effect that the garrison should at once abandon the place, as it would be stormed within an hour by fifteen hundred Indians.  Gladwyn refused, whereupon the Canadians departed; and  soon after some six hundred Indians began a brisk fusillade, which they kept up till seven o’clock in the evening.  A Canadian then appeared, bearing a summons from Pontiac, demanding the surrender of the fort, and promising that the English should go unmolested on board their vessels, leaving all their arms and effects behind.  Gladwyn again gave a flat refusal 

On the evening of that day, the officers met to consider what course of conduct the emergency required; and, as one of them writes, the commandant was almost alone in the opinion that they ought still to defend the place.  It seemed to the rest that the only course remaining was to embark and sail for Niagara.  Their condition appeared desperate; for, on the shortest allowance, they had scarcely provision enough to sustain the garrison three weeks, within which time there was little hope of succor.  The houses being, moreover, of wood, and chiefly thatched with straw, might be set on fire with burning missiles.  But the chief apprehensions of the officers arose from their dread that the enemy would make a general onset, and cut or burn their way through the pickets,—a mode of attack to which resistance would be unavailing.  Their anxiety on this score was relieved by a Canadian in the fort, who had spent half his life among Indians, and who now assured the commandant that every maxim of their warfare was opposed to such a measure.  Indeed, an Indian’s idea of military honor widely differs, as before observed, from that of a white man; for he holds it to consist no less in a wary regard to his own life than in the courage and impetuosity with which he assails his enemy.  His constant aim is to gain advantages without incurring loss.  He sets an inestimable value on the lives of his own party, and deems a victory dearly purchased by the death of a single warrior.  A war-chief attains the summit of his renown when he can boast that he has brought home a score of scalps without the loss of a man; and his reputation is wofully abridged if the mournful wailings of the women mingle with the exulting yells of the warriors.  Yet, with all his  subtlety and caution, the Indian is not a coward, and, in his own way of fighting, often exhibits no ordinary courage.  Stealing alone into the heart of an enemy’s country, he prowls around the hostile village, watching every movement; and when night sets in, he enters a lodge, and calmly stirs the decaying embers, that, by their light, he may select his sleeping victims.  With cool deliberation he deals the mortal thrust, kills foe after foe, and tears away scalp after scalp, until at length an alarm is given; then, with a wild yell, he bounds out into the darkness, and is gone.

Time passed on, and brought little change and no relief to the harassed and endangered garrison.  Day after day the Indians continued their attacks, until their war-cries and the rattle of their guns became familiar sounds.  For many weeks, no man lay down to sleep, except in his clothes, and with his weapons by his side.   Parties of volunteers sallied, from time to time, to burn the outbuildings which gave shelter to the enemy.  They cut down orchard trees, and levelled fences, until the ground about the fort was clear and open, and the enemy had no cover left from whence to fire.  The two vessels in the river, sweeping the northern and southern curtains of the works with their fire, deterred the Indians from approaching those points, and gave material aid to the garrison.  Still, worming their way through the grass, sheltering themselves behind every rising ground, the pertinacious savages would crawl close to the palisade, and shoot arrows, tipped with burning tow, upon the roofs of  the houses; but cisterns and tanks of water were everywhere provided against such an emergency, and these attempts proved abortive.  The little church, which stood near the palisade, was particularly exposed, and would probably have been set on fire, had not the priest of the settlement threatened Pontiac with the vengeance of the Great Spirit, should he be guilty of such sacrilege.  Pontiac, who was filled with eagerness to get possession of the garrison, neglected no expedient that his savage tactics could supply.  He went farther, and begged the French inhabitants to teach him the European method of attacking a fortified place by regular approaches; but the rude Canadians knew as little of the matter as he; or if, by chance, a few were better informed, they wisely preferred to conceal their knowledge.  Soon after the first attack, the Ottawa chief had sent in to Gladwyn a summons to surrender, assuring him that, if the place were at once given up, he might embark on board the vessels, with all his men; but that, if he persisted in his defence, he would treat him as Indians treat each other; that is, he would burn him alive.  To this Gladwyn made answer that he cared nothing for his threats.  The attacks were now renewed with increased activity, and the assailants were soon after inspired with fresh ardor by the arrival of a hundred and twenty Ojibwa warriors from Grand River.  Every man in the fort, officers, soldiers, traders, and engagés, now slept upon the ramparts; even in stormy weather none were allowed to withdraw to their quarters; yet a spirit of confidence and cheerfulness still prevailed among the weary garrison.

Meanwhile, great efforts were made to procure a supply of provisions.  Every house was examined, and all that could serve for food, even grease and tallow, was collected and placed in the public storehouse, compensation having first been made to the owners.  Notwithstanding these precautions Detroit must have been abandoned or destroyed, but for the assistance of a few friendly Canadians, and especially of M.  Baby, a prominent habitant, who lived on the opposite side of the river, and provided the garrison with cattle, hogs, and other supplies.  These, under cover of night, were carried from his farm to the fort in boats, the Indians long remaining ignorant of what was going forward.
They, on their part, began to suffer from hunger.  Thinking to have taken Detroit at a single stroke, they had neglected, with their usual improvidence, to provide against the exigencies of a siege; and now, in small parties, they would visit the Canadian families along the river shore, passing from house to house, demanding provisions, and threatening violence in case of refusal.  This was the more annoying, since the food thus obtained was wasted with characteristic recklessness.  Unable to endure it longer, the Canadians appointed a deputation of fifteen of the eldest among them to wait upon Pontiac, and complain of his followers’ conduct.  The meeting took place at a Canadian house, probably that of M.  Meloche, where the great chief had made his headquarters, and where the prisoners, Campbell and M’Dougal, were confined.

When Pontiac saw the deputation approaching along the river road, he was seized with an exceeding eagerness to know the purpose of their visit; for having long desired to gain the Canadians as allies against the English, and made several advances to that effect, he hoped that their present errand might relate to the object next his heart.  So strong was his curiosity, that, forgetting the ordinary rule of Indian dignity and decorum, he asked the business on which they had come before  they themselves had communicated it.  The Canadians replied, that they wished the chiefs to be convened, for they were about to speak upon a matter of much importance.  Pontiac instantly despatched messengers to the different camps and villages.  The chiefs, soon arriving at his summons, entered the apartment, where they seated themselves upon the floor, having first gone through the necessary formality of shaking hands with the Canadian deputies.  After a suitable pause, the eldest of the French rose, and heavily complained of the outrages which they had committed.  “You pretend,” he said, “to be friends of the French, and yet you plunder us of our hogs and cattle, you trample upon our fields of young corn, and when you enter our houses, you enter with tomahawk raised.  When your French father comes from Montreal with his great army, he will hear of what you have done, and, instead of shaking hands with you as brethren, he will punish you as enemies.”

Pontiac sat with his eyes riveted upon the ground, listening to every word that was spoken.  When the speaker had concluded, he returned the following answer:—
“Brothers:

“We have never wished to do you harm, nor allow any to be done you; but among us there are many young men who, though strictly watched, find opportunities of mischief.  It is not to revenge myself alone that I make war on the English.  It is to revenge you, my Brothers.  When the English insulted us, they insulted you also.  I know that they have taken away your arms, and made you sign a paper which they have sent home to their country.  Therefore you are left defenceless; and I mean now to revenge your cause and my own together.  I mean to destroy the English, and leave not one upon our lands.  You do not know the reasons from which I act.  I have told you those only which concern yourselves; but you will learn all in time.  You will cease then to think me a fool.  I know, my brothers, that there are many among you who take part with the English.  I am sorry for it, for their own sakes; for when our Father arrives, I shall point them out to him, and they will see whether they or I have most reason to be satisfied with the part we have acted.

“I do not doubt, my Brothers, that this war is very troublesome  to you, for our warriors are continually passing and repassing through your settlement.  I am sorry for it.  Do not think that I approve of the damage that is done by them; and, as a proof of this, remember the war with the Foxes, and the part which I took in it.  It is now seventeen years since the Ojibwas of Michillimackinac, combined with the Sacs and Foxes, came down to destroy you.  Who then defended you? Was it not I and my young men? Mickinac, great chief of all these nations, said in council that he would carry to his village the head of your commandant—that he would eat his heart and drink his blood.  Did I not take your part? Did I not go to his camp, and say to him, that if he wished to kill the French, he must first kill me and my warriors? Did I not assist you in routing them and driving them away? And now you think that I would turn my arms against you! No, my Brothers; I am the same French Pontiac who assisted you seventeen years ago.  I am a Frenchman, and I wish to die a Frenchman; and I now repeat to you that you and I are one—that it is for both our interests that I should be avenged.  Let me alone.  I do not ask you for aid, for it is not in your power to give it.  I only ask provisions for myself and men.  Yet, if you are inclined to assist me, I shall not refuse you.  It would please me, and you yourselves would be sooner rid of your troubles; for I promise you, that, as soon  as the English are driven out, we will go back to our villages, and there await the arrival of our French Father.  You have heard what I have to say; remain at peace, and I will watch that no harm shall be done to you, either by my men or by the other Indians.”

This speech is reported by a writer whose chief characteristic is the scrupulous accuracy with which he has chronicled minute details without interest or importance.  He neglects, moreover, no opportunity of casting ignominy and contempt upon the name of Pontiac.  His mind is of so dull and commonplace an order as to exclude the supposition that he himself is author of the words which he ascribes to the Ottawa chief, and the speech may probably be taken as a literal translation of the original.

As soon as the council broke up, Pontiac took measures for bringing the disorders complained of to a close, while, at the same time, he provided sustenance for his warriors; and, in doing this, he displayed a policy and forecast scarcely paralleled in the history of his race.  He first forbade the commission of farther outrage.  He next visited in turn the families of the Canadians, and, inspecting the property belonging to them, he assigned to each the share of provisions which it must furnish for the support of the Indians.  The contributions thus levied were all collected at the house of Meloche, near Parent’s Creek, whence they were regularly issued, as the exigence required, to the savages of the different camps.  As the character and habits of an Indian but ill qualify him to act the part of commissary, Pontiac in this matter availed himself of French assistance.

On the river bank, not far from the house of Meloche, lived an old Canadian, named Quilleriez, a man of exceeding vanity and self-conceit, and noted in the settlement for the gayety of his attire.  He wore moccasons of the most elaborate pattern, and a sash plentifully garnished with beads and wampum.  He was continually intermeddling in the affairs of the Indians, being anxious to be regarded as the  leader or director among them.  Of this man Pontiac evidently made a tool, employing him, together with several others, to discharge, beneath his eye, the duties of his novel commissariat.  Anxious to avoid offending the French, yet unable to make compensation for the provisions he had exacted, Pontiac had recourse to a remarkable expedient, suggested, no doubt, by one of these European assistants.  He issued promissory notes, drawn upon birch-bark, and signed with the figure of an otter, the totem to which he belonged; and we are told by a trustworthy authority that they were all faithfully redeemed.  In this, as in several other instances, he exhibits an openness of mind and a power of adaptation not a little extraordinary among a people whose intellect will rarely leave the narrow and deeply cut channels in which it has run for ages, who reject instruction, and adhere with rigid tenacity to ancient ideas and usages.  Pontiac always exhibited an eager desire for knowledge.  Rogers represents him as earnest to learn the military art as practised among Europeans, and as inquiring curiously into the mode of making cloth, knives, and the other articles of Indian trade.  Of his keen and subtle genius we have the following singular testimony from the pen of General Gage: “From a paragraph of M.  D’Abbadie’s letter, there is reason to judge of Pontiac, not only as a savage possessed of the most refined cunning and treachery natural to the Indians, but as a person of extraordinary abilities.  He says that he keeps two secretaries, one to write for him, and the other to read the letters  he receives, and he manages them so as to keep each of them ignorant of what is transacted by the other.”

Major Rogers, a man familiar with the Indians, and an acute judge of mankind, speaks in the highest terms of Pontiac’s character and talents.  “He puts on,” he says, “an air of majesty and princely grandeur, and is greatly honored and revered by his subjects.”
In the present instance, few durst infringe the command he had given, that the property of the Canadians should be respected; indeed, it is said that none of his followers would cross the cultivated fields, but always followed the beaten paths; in such awe did they stand of his displeasure.

Pontiac’s position was very different from that of an ordinary military leader.  When we remember that his authority, little sanctioned by law or usage, was derived chiefly from the force of his own individual mind, and that it was exercised over a people singularly impatient of restraint, we may better appreciate the commanding energy that could hold control over spirits so intractable.

The glaring faults of Pontiac’s character have already appeared too clearly.  He was artful and treacherous, bold, fierce, ambitious, and revengeful; yet the following anecdotes will evince that noble and generous thought was no stranger to the savage hero of this dark forest tragedy.  Some time after the period of which we have been speaking, 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.  The Indians had always been suspicious that the English meant to poison them.  Those around the chief, endeavored to persuade him that the brandy was drugged.  Pontiac listened to what they said, and, as soon as they had concluded, poured out a cup of the liquor, and immediately drank it, saying that the man whose life he had saved had no power to kill him.  He referred to his having prevented the Indians from attacking Rogers and his party when on their way to demand the surrender of Detroit.  The story may serve as a counterpart to the well-known anecdote of Alexander the Great and his physician.

Pontiac had been an old friend of Baby; and one evening, at an early period of the siege, he entered his house, and, seating himself by the fire, looked for some time steadily at the embers.  At length, raising his head, he said he had heard that the English had offered the Canadian a bushel of silver for the scalp of his friend.  Baby declared that the story was false, and protested that he would never betray him.  Pontiac for a moment keenly studied his features.  “My brother has spoken the truth,” he said, “and I will show that I believe him.” He remained in the house through the evening, and, at its close, wrapped himself in his blanket, and lay down upon a bench, where he slept in full confidence till morning.

Another anecdote, from the same source, will exhibit the power which he exercised over the minds of his followers.  A few young Wyandots were in the habit of coming, night after night, to the house of Baby, to steal hogs and cattle.  The latter complained of the theft to Pontiac, and desired his protection.  Being at that time ignorant of the intercourse between Baby and the English, Pontiac hastened to the assistance of his friend, and, arriving about nightfall at the house, walked to and fro among the barns and enclosures.  At a late hour, he distinguished the dark forms of the plunderers stealing through the gloom.  “Go back to your village, you Wyandot dogs,” said the Ottawa chief; “if you tread again on this man’s land, you shall die.” They slunk back abashed; and from that time forward the Canadian’s property was safe.  The Ottawas had no political connection with the Wyandots, who speak a language radically distinct.  Over them he could claim no legitimate authority; yet his powerful spirit forced respect and obedience from all who approached him.