Chapter 17

1763.

THE MASSACRE.
The following morning was warm and sultry.  It was the fourth of June, the birthday of King George.  The discipline of the garrison was relaxed, and some license allowed to the soldiers.  Encamped in the woods, not far off, were a large number of Ojibwas, lately arrived; while several bands of the Sac Indians, from the River Wisconsin, had also erected their lodges in the vicinity.  Early in the morning, many Ojibwas came to the fort, inviting officers and soldiers to come out and see a grand game of ball, which was to be played between their nation and the Sacs.  In consequence, the place was soon deserted by half its tenants.  An outline of Michillimackinac, as far as tradition has preserved its general features, has already been given; and it is easy to conceive, with sufficient accuracy, the appearance it must have presented on this eventful morning.  The houses and barracks were so ranged as to form a quadrangle, enclosing an extensive area, upon which their doors all opened, while behind rose the tall palisades, forming a large external square.  The picturesque Canadian houses, with their rude porticoes, and projecting roofs of bark, sufficiently indicated the occupations of their inhabitants; for birch canoes were lying near many of them, and fishing-nets were stretched to dry in the sun.  Women and children were moving about the doors; knots of Canadian voyageurs reclined on the ground, smoking and conversing; soldiers were lounging listlessly at the doors and windows of the barracks, or strolling in careless undress about the area.
Without the fort the scene was of a very different character.  The gates were wide open, and soldiers were collected in groups under the shadow of the palisades, watching the Indian ball-play.  Most of them were without arms, and mingled among them were a great number of Canadians, while a  multitude of Indian squaws, wrapped in blankets, were conspicuous in the crowd.

Captain Etherington and Lieutenant Leslie stood near the gate, the former indulging his inveterate English propensity; for, as Henry informs us, he had promised the Ojibwas that he would bet on their side against the Sacs.  Indian chiefs and warriors were also among the spectators, intent, apparently, on watching the game, but with thoughts, in fact, far otherwise employed.

The plain in front was covered by the ball-players.  The game in which they were engaged, called baggattaway by the Ojibwas, is still, as it always has been, a favorite with many Indian tribes.  At either extremity of the ground, a tall post was planted, marking the stations of the rival parties.  The object of each was to defend its own post, and drive the ball to that of its adversary.  Hundreds of lithe and agile figures were leaping and bounding upon the plain.  Each was nearly naked, his loose black hair flying in the wind, and each bore in his hand a bat of a form peculiar to this game.  At one moment the whole were crowded together, a dense throng of combatants, all struggling for the ball; at the next, they were scattered again, and running over the ground like hounds in full cry.  Each, in his excitement, yelled and shouted at the height of his voice.  Rushing and striking, tripping their adversaries, or hurling them to the ground, they pursued the animating contest amid the laughter and applause of the spectators.  Suddenly, from the midst of the multitude, the ball soared into the air, and, descending in a wide curve, fell near the pickets of the fort.  This was no chance stroke.  It was part of a preconcerted stratagem to insure the surprise and destruction of the garrison.  As if in pursuit of the ball, the players turned and came rushing, a maddened and tumultuous throng, towards the gate.  In a moment they had reached it.  The amazed English had no time to think or act.  The shrill cries of the ball-players were changed to the ferocious war-whoop.  The warriors snatched from the squaws the hatchets, which the latter, with this design, had concealed beneath their blankets.  Some of the Indians assailed the spectators without, while others rushed into the fort, and all was carnage and confusion.  At the outset, several strong hands had fastened their  gripe upon Etherington and Leslie, and led them away from the scene of massacre towards the woods.  Within the area of the fort, the men were slaughtered without mercy.  But here the task of description may well be resigned to the pen of the trader, Henry.

“I did not go myself to see the match which was now to be played without the fort, because, there being a canoe prepared to depart on the following day for Montreal, I employed myself in writing letters to my friends; and even when a fellow-trader, Mr.  Tracy, happened to call upon me, saying that another canoe had just arrived from Detroit, and proposing that I should go with him to the beach, to inquire the news, it so happened that I still remained to finish my letters; promising to follow Mr.  Tracy in the course of a few minutes.  Mr.  Tracy had not gone more than twenty paces from my door, when I heard an Indian war-cry, and a noise of general confusion.

“Going instantly to my window, I saw a crowd of Indians, within the fort, furiously cutting down and scalping every Englishman they found: in particular, I witnessed the fate of Lieutenant Jamette.

“I had, in the room in which I was, a fowling-piece, loaded with swan shot.  This I immediately seized, and held it for a few minutes, waiting to hear the drum beat to arms.  In this dreadful interval I saw several of my countrymen fall, and more than one struggling between the knees of an Indian, who, holding him in this manner, scalped him while yet living.

“At length, disappointed in the hope of seeing resistance made to the enemy, and sensible, of course, that no effort of my own unassisted arm could avail against four hundred Indians, I thought only of seeking shelter amid the slaughter which was raging.  I observed many of the Canadian inhabitants of the fort calmly looking on, neither opposing the Indians nor suffering injury; and from this circumstance, I conceived a hope of finding security in their houses.

“Between the yard door of my own house and that of M.  Langlade, my next neighbor, there was only a low fence, over which I easily climbed.  At my entrance, I found the whole family at the windows, gazing at the scene of blood before them.  I addressed myself immediately to M.  Langlade, begging that he would put me into some place of safety until the heat of the affair should be over; an act of charity by which he might, perhaps, preserve me from the general massacre; but while I uttered my petition, M.  Langlade, who had looked for a moment at me, turned again to the window, shrugging his shoulders, and intimating that he could do nothing for me—‘Que voudriez-vous que j’en ferais?’

“This was a moment for despair; but the next a Pani woman, a slave of M.  Langlade’s, beckoned me to follow her.  She brought me to a door, which she opened, desiring me to enter, and telling me that it led to the garret, where I must go and conceal myself.  I joyfully obeyed her directions; and she, having followed me up to the garret door, locked it after me, and, with great presence of mind, took away the key.

“This shelter obtained, if shelter I could hope to find it, I was naturally anxious to know what might still be passing without.  Through an aperture, which afforded me a view of the area of the fort, I beheld, in shapes the foulest and most terrible, the ferocious triumphs of barbarian conquerors.  The dead were scalped and mangled; the dying were writhing and shrieking under the unsatiated knife and tomahawk; and from the bodies of some, ripped open, their butchers were drinking the blood, scooped up in the hollow of joined hands, and quaffed amid shouts of rage and victory.  I was shaken not only with horror, but with fear.  The sufferings which I witnessed  I seemed on the point of experiencing.  No long time elapsed before every one being destroyed who could be found, there was a general cry of ‘All is finished.’ At the same instant I heard some of the Indians enter the house where I was.

“The garret was separated from the room below only by a layer of single boards, at once the flooring of the one and the ceiling of the other.  I could, therefore, hear every thing that passed; and the Indians no sooner came in than they inquired whether or not any Englishmen were in the house.  M.  Langlade replied, that ‘he could not say, he did not know of any,’ answers in which he did not exceed the truth; for the Pani woman had not only hidden me by stealth, but kept my secret and her own.  M.  Langlade was, therefore, as I presume, as far from a wish to destroy me as he was careless about saving me, when he added to these answers, that ‘they might examine for themselves, and would soon be satisfied as to the object of their question.’ Saying this, he brought them to the garret door.

“The state of my mind will be imagined.  Arrived at the door, some delay was occasioned by the absence of the key; and a few moments were thus allowed me, in which to look around for a hiding-place.  In one corner of the garret was a heap of those vessels of birch-bark used in maple-sugar making.

“The door was unlocked and opening, and the Indians ascending the stairs, before I had completely crept into a small opening which presented itself at one end of the heap.  An instant after, four Indians entered the room, all armed with tomahawks, and all besmeared with blood, upon every part of their bodies.

“The die appeared to be cast.  I could scarcely breathe; but I thought the throbbing of my heart occasioned a noise loud enough to betray me.  The Indians walked in every direction about the garret; and one of them approached me so closely, that, at a particular moment had he put forth his hand, he must have touched me.  Still I remained undiscovered; a circumstance to which the dark color of my clothes, and the want of light, in a room which had no window in the corner in which I was, must have contributed.  In a word, after  taking several turns in the room, during which they told M.  Langlade how many they had killed, and how many scalps they had taken, they returned downstairs; and I, with sensations not to be expressed, heard the door, which was the barrier between me and my fate, locked for the second time.

“There was a feather bed on the floor; and on this, exhausted as I was by the agitation of my mind, I threw myself down and fell asleep.  In this state I remained till the dusk of the evening, when I was awakened by a second opening of the door.  The person that now entered was M.  Langlade’s wife, who was much surprised at finding me, but advised me not to be uneasy, observing that the Indians had killed most of the English, but that she hoped I might myself escape.  A shower of rain having begun to fall, she had come to stop a hole in the roof.  On her going away, I begged her to send me a little water to drink, which she did.

“As night was now advancing, I continued to lie on the bed, ruminating on my condition, but unable to discover a resource from which I could hope for life.  A flight to Detroit had no probable chance of success.  The distance from Michillimackinac was four hundred miles; I was without provisions, and the whole length of the road lay through Indian countries, countries of an enemy in arms, where the first man whom I should meet would kill me.  To stay where I was, threatened nearly the same issue.  As before, fatigue of mind, and not tranquillity, suspended my cares, and procured me farther sleep.
“The respite which sleep afforded me during the night was put an end to by the return of morning.  I was again on the rack of apprehension.  At sunrise, I heard the family stirring; and, presently after, Indian voices, informing M.  Langlade that they had not found my hapless self among the dead, and they supposed me to be somewhere concealed.  M.  Langlade appeared, from what followed, to be, by this time, acquainted with the place of my retreat; of which, no doubt, he had been informed by his wife.  The poor woman, as soon as the Indians mentioned me, declared to her husband, in the French tongue, that he should no longer keep me in his house, but deliver me up to my pursuers; giving as a reason for this measure, that, should the Indians discover his instrumentality in  my concealment, they might revenge it on her children, and that it was better that I should die than they.  M.  Langlade resisted, at first, this sentence of his wife, but soon suffered her to prevail, informing the Indians that he had been told I was in his house; that I had come there without his knowledge, and that he would put me into their hands.  This was no sooner expressed than he began to ascend the stairs, the Indians following upon his heels.
“I now resigned myself to the fate with which I was menaced; and, regarding every effort at concealment as vain, I rose from the bed, and presented myself full in view to the Indians, who were entering the room.  They were all in a state of intoxication, and entirely naked, except about the middle.  One of them, named Wenniway, whom I had previously known, and who was upwards of six feet in height, had his entire face and body covered with charcoal and grease, only that a white spot, of two inches in diameter, encircled either eye.  This man, walking up to me, seized me, with one hand, by the collar of the coat, while in the other he held a large carving-knife, as if to plunge it into my breast; his eyes, meanwhile, were fixed steadfastly on mine.  At length, after some seconds of the most anxious suspense, he dropped his arm, saying, ‘I won’t kill you!’ To this he added, that he had been frequently engaged in wars against the English, and had brought away many scalps; that, on a certain occasion, he had lost a brother, whose name was Musinigon, and that I should be called after him.

“A reprieve, upon any terms, placed me among the living, and gave me back the sustaining voice of hope; but Wenniway ordered me downstairs, and there informing me that I was to be taken to his cabin, where, and indeed everywhere else, the Indians were all mad with liquor, death again was threatened, and not as possible only, but as certain.  I mentioned my fears on this subject to M.  Langlade, begging him to represent the danger to my master.  M.  Langlade, in this instance, did not withhold his compassion; and Wenniway immediately consented that I should remain where I was, until he found another opportunity to take me away.”

Scarcely, however, had he been gone an hour, when an Indian came to the house, and directed Henry to follow him to the Ojibwa camp.  Henry knew this man, who was largely in his debt, and some time before, on the trader’s asking him for payment, the Indian had declared, in a significant tone, that he would pay him soon.  There seemed at present good ground to suspect his intention; but, having no choice, Henry was obliged to follow him.  The Indian led the way out of the gate; but, instead of going towards the camp, he moved with a quick step in the direction of the bushes and sand-hills behind the fort.  At this, Henry’s suspicions were confirmed.  He refused to proceed farther, and plainly told his conductor that he believed he meant to kill him.  The Indian coolly replied that he was quite right in thinking so, and at the same time, seizing the prisoner by the arm, raised his knife to strike him in the breast.  Henry parried the blow, flung the Indian from him, and ran for his life.  He gained the gate of the fort, his enemy close at his heels, and, seeing Wenniway standing in the centre of the area, called upon him for protection.  The chief ordered the Indian to desist; but the latter, who was foaming at the mouth with rage, still continued to pursue Henry, vainly striking at him with his knife.  Seeing the door of Langlade’s house wide open, the trader darted in, and at length found himself in safety.  He retired once more to his garret, and lay down, feeling, as he declares, a sort of conviction that no Indian had power to harm him.

This confidence was somewhat shaken when, early in the night, he was startled from sleep by the opening of the door.  A light gleamed in upon him, and he was summoned to descend.  He did so, when, to his surprise and joy, he found, in the room below, Captain Etherington, Lieutenant Leslie, and Mr.  Bostwick, a trader, together with Father Jonois, the Jesuit priest from L’Arbre Croche.  The Indians were bent on enjoying that night a grand debauch upon the liquor they had seized; and the chiefs, well knowing the extreme danger to which the prisoners would be exposed during these revels, had conveyed them all into the fort, and placed them in charge of the Canadians.

Including officers, soldiers, and traders, they amounted to about twenty men, being nearly all who had escaped the massacre.

When Henry entered the room, he found his three companions in misfortune engaged in anxious debate.  These men had supped full of horrors; yet they were almost on the point of risking a renewal of the bloodshed from which they had just escaped.  The temptation was a strong one.  The fort was this evening actually in the hands of the white men.  The Indians, with their ordinary recklessness and improvidence, had neglected even to place a guard within the palisades.  They were now, one and all, in their camp, mad with liquor, and the fort was occupied by twenty Englishmen, and about three hundred Canadians, principally voyageurs.  To close the gates, and set the Indians at defiance, seemed no very difficult matter.  It might have been attempted, but for the dissuasions of the Jesuit, who had acted throughout the part of a true friend of humanity, and who now strongly represented the probability that the Canadians would prove treacherous, and the certainty that a failure would involve destruction to every Englishman in the place.  The idea was therefore abandoned, and Captain Etherington, with his companions, that night shared Henry’s garret, where they passed the time in condoling with each other on their common misfortune.

A party of Indians came to the house in the morning, and ordered Henry to follow them out.  The weather had changed, and a cold storm had set in.  In the dreary and forlorn area of the fort were a few of the Indian conquerors, though the main body were still in their camp, not yet recovered from the effects of their last night’s carouse.  Henry’s conductors led him to a house, where, in a room almost dark, he saw two traders and a soldier imprisoned.  They were released, and directed to follow the party.  The whole then proceeded together to the lake shore, where they were to embark for the Isles du Castor.  A chilling wind blew strongly from the north-east, and the lake was covered with mists, and tossing angrily.  Henry stood shivering on the beach, with no other upper garment than a shirt, drenched with the cold rain.  He asked Langlade, who was near him, for a blanket, which the latter refused unless security were given for payment.  Another Canadian proved more merciful, and Henry received a covering from the weather.  With his three companions, guarded by seven Indians, he embarked in the canoe, the soldier being tied by his neck to one of the cross-bars of the vessel.  The  thick mists and the tempestuous weather compelled them to coast the shore, close beneath the wet dripping forests.  In this manner they had proceeded about eighteen miles, and were approaching L’Arbre Croche, when an Ottawa Indian came out of the woods, and called to them from the beach, inquiring the news, and asking who were their prisoners.  Some conversation followed, in the course of which the canoe approached the shore, where the water was very shallow.  All at once, a loud yell was heard, and a hundred Ottawas, rising from among the trees and bushes, rushed into the water, and seized upon the canoe and prisoners.  The astonished Ojibwas remonstrated in vain.  The four Englishmen were taken from them, and led in safety to the shore.  Good will to the prisoners, however, had by no means prompted the Ottawas to this very unexpected proceeding.  They were jealous and angry that the Ojibwas should have taken the fort without giving them an opportunity to share in the plunder; and they now took this summary mode of asserting their rights.

The chiefs, however, shook Henry and his companions by the hand, professing great good will, assuring them, at the same time, that the Ojibwas were carrying them to the Isles du Castor merely to kill and eat them.  The four prisoners, the sport of so many changing fortunes, soon found themselves embarked in an Ottawa canoe, and on their way back to Michillimackinac.  They were not alone.  A flotilla of canoes accompanied them, bearing a great number of Ottawa warriors; and before the day was over, the whole had arrived at the fort.  At this time, the principal Ojibwa encampment was near the woods, in full sight of the landing-place.  Its occupants, astonished at this singular movement on the part of their rivals, stood looking on in silent amazement, while the Ottawa warriors, well armed, filed into the fort, and took possession of it.

This conduct is not difficult to explain, when we take into consideration the peculiarities of the Indian character.  Pride and jealousy are always strong and active elements in it.  The Ottawas deemed themselves insulted because the Ojibwas had undertaken an enterprise of such importance without consulting them, or asking their assistance.  It may be added, that the  Indians of L’Arbre Croche were somewhat less hostile to the English than the neighboring tribes; for the great influence of the priest Jonois seems always to have been exerted on the side of peace.

The English prisoners looked upon the new-comers as champions and protectors, and conceived hopes from their interference not destined to be fully realized.  On the morning after their arrival, the Ojibwa chiefs invited the principal men of the Ottawas to hold a council with them, in a building within the fort.  They placed upon the floor a valuable present of goods, which were part of the plunder they had taken; and their great war-chief, Minavavana, who had conducted the attack, rose and addressed the Ottawas.

Their conduct, he said, had greatly surprised him.  They had betrayed the common cause, and opposed the will of the Great Spirit, who had decreed that every Englishman must die.  Excepting them, all the Indians had raised the hatchet.  Pontiac had taken Detroit, and every other fort had also been destroyed.  The English were meeting with destruction throughout the whole world, and the King of France was awakened from his sleep.  He exhorted them, in conclusion, no longer to espouse the cause of the English, but, like their brethren, to lift the hatchet against them.

When Minavavana had concluded his speech, the council adjourned until the next day; a custom common among Indians, in order that the auditors may have time to ponder with due deliberation upon what they have heard.  At the next meeting, the Ottawas expressed a readiness to concur with the views of the Ojibwas.  Thus the difference between the two tribes was at length amicably adjusted.  The Ottawas returned to the Ojibwas some of the prisoners whom they had taken from them; still, however, retaining the officers and several of the soldiers.  These they soon after carried to L’Arbre Croche, where they were treated with kindness, probably owing to the influence of Father Jonois.  The priest went down to Detroit with a letter from Captain Etherington, acquainting Major Gladwyn with the loss of Michillimackinac, and entreating that a force might be sent immediately to his aid.  The letter, as we have seen, was safely delivered; but Gladwyn was, of course, unable to render the required assistance.

Though the Ottawas and Ojibwas had come to terms, they still looked on each other with distrust, and it is said that the former never forgot the slight that had been put upon them.  The Ojibwas took the prisoners who had been returned to them from the fort, and carried them to one of their small villages, which stood near the shore, at no great distance to the south-east.  Among the other lodges was a large one, of the kind often seen in Indian villages, erected for use on public occasions, such as dances, feasts, or councils.  It was now to serve as a prison.  The soldiers were bound together, two and two, and farther secured by long ropes tied round their necks, and fastened to the pole which supported the lodge in the centre.  Henry and the other traders escaped this rigorous treatment.  The spacious lodge was soon filled with Indians, who came to look at their captives, and gratify themselves by deriding and jeering at them.  At the head of the lodge sat the great war-chief Minavavana, side by side with Henry’s master, Wenniway.  Things had remained for some time in this position, when Henry observed an Indian stooping to enter at the low aperture which served for a door, and, to his great joy, recognized his friend and brother, Wawatam, whom he had last seen on the day before the massacre.  Wawatam said nothing; but, as he passed the trader, he shook him by the hand, in token of encouragement, and, proceeding to the head of the lodge, sat down with Wenniway and the war-chief.  After he had smoked with them for a while in silence, he rose and went out again.  Very soon he came back, followed by his squaw, who brought in her hands a valuable present, which she laid at the feet of the two chiefs.  Wawatam then addressed them in the following speech:

“Friends and relations, what is it that I shall say? You know what I feel.  You all have friends, and brothers, and children, whom as yourselves you love; and you,—what would you experience, did you, like me, behold your dearest friend—your brother—in the condition of a slave; a slave, exposed every moment to insult, and to menaces of death? This case,  as you all know, is mine.  See there, [pointing to Henry,] my friend and brother among slaves,—himself a slave!

“You all well know that, long before the war began, I adopted him as my brother.  From that moment he became one of my family, so that no change of circumstances could break the cord which fastened us together.

“He is my brother; and because I am your relation, he is therefore your relation too; and how, being your relation, can he be your slave?

“On the day on which the war began, you were fearful lest, on this very account, I should reveal your secret.  You requested, therefore, that I would leave the fort, and even cross the lake.  I did so; but I did it with reluctance.  I did it with reluctance, notwithstanding that you, Minavavana, who had the command in this enterprise, gave me your promise that you would protect my friend, delivering him from all danger, and giving him safely to me.

“The performance of this promise I now claim.  I come not with empty hands to ask it.  You, Minavavana, best know whether or not, as it respects yourself, you have kept your word; but I bring these goods to buy off every claim which any man among you all may have on my brother as his prisoner.”

To this speech the war-chief returned a favorable answer.  Wawatam’s request was acceded to, the present was accepted, and the prisoner released.  Henry soon found himself in the lodge of his friend, where furs were spread for him to lie upon, food and drink brought for his refreshment, and every thing done to promote his comfort that Indian hospitality could suggest.  As he lay in the lodge, on the day after his release, he heard a loud noise from within the prison-house, which stood close at hand, and, looking through a crevice in the bark, he saw the dead bodies of seven soldiers dragged out.  It appeared that a noted chief had just arrived from his wintering ground.  Having come too late to take part in the grand achievement of his countrymen, he was anxious to manifest to all present his entire approval of what had been done, and with this design he had entered the lodge and despatched seven of the prisoners with his knife.

The Indians are not habitual cannibals.  After a victory, however, it often happens that the bodies of their enemies are consumed at a formal war-feast—a superstitious rite, adapted, as they think, to increase their courage and hardihood.  Such a feast took place on the present occasion, and most of the chiefs partook of it, though some of them, at least, did so with repugnance.

About a week had now elapsed since the massacre, and a revulsion of feeling began to take place among the Indians.  Up to this time all had been triumph and exultation; but they now began to fear the consequences of their conduct.  Indefinite and absurd rumors of an approaching attack from the English were afloat in the camp, and, in their growing uneasiness, they thought it expedient to shift their position to some point more capable of defence.  Three hundred and fifty warriors, with their families and household effects, embarked in canoes for the Island of Michillimackinac, seven or eight miles distant.  
Wawatam, with his friend Henry, was of the number.  Strong gusts of wind came from the north, and when the fleet of canoes was half way to the Island, it blew a gale, the waves pitching and tossing with such violence, that the frail and heavy-laden vessels were much endangered.  Many voices were raised in prayer to the Great Spirit, and a dog was thrown into the lake, as a sacrifice to appease the angry manitou of the waters.  The canoes weathered the storm, and soon drew near the island.  Two squaws, in the same canoe with Henry, raised their voices in mournful wailing and lamentation.  Late events had made him sensible to every impression of horror, and these dismal cries seemed ominous of some new disaster, until he learned that they were called forth by the recollection of dead relatives, whose graves were visible upon a neighboring point of the shore.

The Island of Michillimackinac, or Mackinaw, owing to its situation, its beauty, and the fish which the surrounding  water supplied, had long been a favorite resort of Indians.  It is about three miles wide.  So clear are the waters of Lake Huron, which wash its shores, that one may count the pebbles at an incredible depth.  The island is fenced round by white limestone cliffs, beautifully contrasting with the green foliage that half covers them, and in the centre the land rises in woody heights.  The rock which forms its foundation assumes fantastic shapes—natural bridges, caverns, or sharp pinnacles, which at this day are pointed out as the curiosities of the region.  In many of the caves have been found quantities of human bones, as if, at some period, the island had served as a grand depository for the dead; yet of these remains the present race of Indians can give no account.  Legends and superstitions attached a mysterious celebrity to the place, and here, it was said, the fairies of Indian tradition might often be seen dancing upon the white rocks, or basking in the moonlight.

The Indians landed at the margin of a little bay.  Unlading their canoes, and lifting them high and dry upon the beach, they began to erect their lodges, and before night had completed the work.  Messengers arrived on the next day from Pontiac, informing them that he was besieging Detroit, and urging them to come to his aid.  But their warlike ardor had  well-nigh died out.  A senseless alarm prevailed among them, and they now thought more of securing their own safety than of injuring the enemy.  A vigilant watch was kept up all day, and the unusual precaution taken of placing guards at night.  Their fears, however, did not prevent them from seizing two English trading canoes, which had come from Montreal by way of the Ottawa.  Among the booty found in them was a quantity of whiskey, and a general debauch was the immediate result.  As night closed in, the dolorous chanting of drunken songs was heard from within the lodges, the prelude of a scene of riot; and Wawatam, knowing that his friend Henry’s life would be in danger, privately led him out of the camp to a cavern in the hills, towards the interior of the island.  Here the trader spent the night, in a solitude made doubly dreary by a sense of his forlorn and perilous situation.  On waking in the morning, he found that he had been lying on human bones, which covered the floor of the cave.  The place had anciently served as a charnel-house.  Here he spent another solitary night, before his friend came to apprise him that he might return with safety to the camp.

Famine soon began among the Indians, who were sometimes without food for days together.  No complaints were heard; but with faces blackened, in sign of sorrow, they patiently endured the privation with that resignation under inevitable suffering, which distinguishes the whole Indian race.  They were at length compelled to cross over to the north shore of Lake Huron, where fish were more abundant; and here they remained until the end of summer, when they gradually dispersed, each family repairing to its winter hunting-grounds.  Henry, painted and attired like an Indian, followed his friend Wawatam, and spent a lonely winter among the frozen forests, hunting the bear and moose for subsistence.

The posts of Green Bay and the Sault Ste.  Marie did not share the fate of Michillimackinac.  During the preceding winter, Ste.  Marie had been partially destroyed by an accidental fire, and was therefore abandoned, the garrison withdrawing to Michillimackinac, where many of them perished in the massacre.  The fort at Green Bay first received an English garrison in the year 1761, at the same time with the other posts of this region.  The force consisted of seventeen men, of the 60th or Royal American regiment, commanded by Lieutenant Gorell.  Though so few in number, their duties were of a very important character.  In the neighborhood of Green Bay were numerous and powerful Indian tribes.  The Menomonies lived at the mouth of Fox River, close to the fort.  The Winnebagoes had several villages on the lake which bears their name, and the Sacs and Foxes were established on the River Wisconsin, in a large village composed of houses neatly built of logs and bark, and surrounded by fields of corn and vegetables.
West of the Mississippi was the powerful nation of the Dahcotah, whose strength was loosely estimated at thirty thousand fighting men, and who, in the excess of their haughtiness, styled the surrounding tribes their dogs and slaves.  The commandant of Green Bay was the representative of the British government, in communication with all these tribes.  It devolved upon him to secure their friendship, and  keep them at peace; and he was also intrusted, in a great measure, with the power of regulating the fur-trade among them.  In the course of each season, parties of Indians, from every quarter, would come to the fort, each expecting to be received with speeches and presents.

Gorell seems to have acquitted himself with great judgment and prudence.  On first arriving at the fort, he had found its defences decayed and ruinous, the Canadian inhabitants unfriendly, and many of the Indians disposed to hostility.  His good conduct contributed to allay their irritation, and he was particularly successful in conciliating his immediate neighbors, the Menomonies.  They had taken an active part in the late war between France and England, and their spirits were humbled by the losses they had sustained, as well as by recent ravages of the small-pox.  Gorell summoned them to a council, and delivered a speech, in which he avoided wounding their pride, but at the same time assumed a tone of firmness and decision, such as can alone command an Indian’s respect.  He told them that the King of England had heard of their ill conduct, but that he was ready to forget all that had passed.  If, however, they should again give him cause of complaint, he would send an army, numerous as the trees of the forest, and utterly destroy them.  Flattering expressions of confidence and esteem succeeded, and the whole was enforced by the distribution of a few presents.  The Menomonies replied by assurances of friendship, more sincerely made and faithfully kept than could have been expected.  As Indians of the other tribes came from time to time to the fort, they met with a similar reception; and, in his whole intercourse with them, the constant aim of the commandant was to gain their good will.  The result was most happy for himself and his garrison.

On the fifteenth of June, 1763, an Ottawa Indian brought to Gorell the following letter from Captain Etherington:

“Michillimackinac, June 11, 1763.
“Dear Sir:

“This place was taken by surprise, on the second instant, by the Chippeways, [Ojibwas,] at which time Lieutenant Jamet and twenty [fifteen] more were killed, and all the rest taken  prisoners; but our good friends, the Ottawas, have taken Lieutenant Lesley, me, and eleven men, out of their hands, and have promised to reinstate us again.  You’ll therefore, on the receipt of this, which I send by a canoe of Ottawas, set out with all your garrison, and what English traders you have with you, and come with the Indian who gives you this, who will conduct you safe to me.  You must be sure to follow the instruction you receive from the bearer of this, as you are by no means to come to this post before you see me at the village, twenty miles from this....  I must once more beg you’ll lose no time in coming to join me; at the same time, be very careful, and always be on your guard.  I long much to see you, and am, dear sir,
“Your most humble serv’t.

 GEO.  ETHERINGTON.
  J.  GORELL,

Royal    Americans.”

On receiving this letter, Gorell summoned the Menomonies to a council, told them what the Ojibwas had done, and said that he and his soldiers were going to Michillimackinac to restore order; adding, that during his absence he commended the fort to their care.  Great numbers of the Winnebagoes and of the Sacs and Foxes afterwards arrived, and Gorell addressed them in nearly the same words.  Presents were given them, and it soon appeared that the greater part were well disposed towards the English, though a few were inclined to prevent their departure, and even to threaten hostility.  At this juncture, a fortunate incident occurred.  A Dahcotah chief arrived with a message from his people to the following import: They had heard, he said, of the bad conduct of the Ojibwas.  They hoped that the tribes of Green Bay would not follow their example, but, on the contrary, would protect the English garrison.  Unless they did so, the Dahcotah would fall upon them, and take ample revenge.  This auspicious interference must, no doubt, be ascribed to the hatred with which the Dahcotah had long regarded the Ojibwas.  That the latter should espouse one side of the quarrel, was abundant reason to the Dahcotah for adopting the other.
 
Some of the Green Bay Indians were also at enmity with the Ojibwas, and all opposition to the departure of the English was now at an end.  Indeed, some of the more friendly offered to escort the garrison on its way; and on the twenty-first of June, Gorell’s party embarked in several bateaux, accompanied by ninety warriors in canoes.  Approaching Isle du Castor, near the mouth of Green Bay, an alarm was given that the Ojibwas were lying there in ambush; on which the Menomonies raised the war-song, stripped themselves, and prepared to do battle in behalf of the English.  The alarm, however, proved false; and, having crossed Lake Michigan in safety, the party arrived at the village of L’Arbre Croche on the thirtieth.  The Ottawas came down to the beach, to salute them with a discharge of guns; and, on landing, they were presented with the pipe of peace.  Captain Etherington and Lieutenant Leslie, with eleven men, were in the village, detained as prisoners, though treated with kindness.  It was thought that the Ottawas intended to disarm the party of Gorell also; but the latter gave out that he would resist such an attempt, and his soldiers were permitted to retain their weapons.

Several succeeding days were occupied by the Indians in holding councils.  Those from Green Bay requested the Ottawas to set their prisoners at liberty, and they at length assented.  A difficulty still remained, as the Ojibwas had declared that they would prevent the English from passing down to Montreal.  Their chiefs were therefore summoned; and being at this time, as we have seen, in a state of much alarm, they at length reluctantly yielded the point.  On the eighteenth of July, the English, escorted by a fleet of Indian canoes, left L’Arbre Croche, and reaching, without interruption, the portage of the River Ottawa, descended to Montreal, where they all arrived in safety, on the thirteenth of August.  Except the garrison of Detroit, not a British soldier now remained in the region of the lakes.

END OF VOL.  I.

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