We are now to learn of another great American Indian,—one who ranks beside King Philip and Tecumseh, and whose career stamped itself upon the history of the frontier. This native leader was Pontiac, chief of the Ottawas.

Down to the opening of the last half of the eighteenth century, England and France were the leading rivals in colonizing America. The English planted their settlements along the coast, while the vast territory to the westward remained a wilderness, trodden only by the red men and wild beasts. France settled Canada, but, while doing so, she dreamed of founding a mighty empire, reaching from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. She sent her surveyors into the Mississippi Valley, and they buried leaden plates at different points to let every one know that the country belonged to the King of France. They also built forts to the number of sixty or more throughout that vast region, leaving no doubt that they meant to hold it if necessary by force of arms.

French trappers, hunters and explorers began pushing eastward into the valley of the Ohio. At the same time some of the English pressed westward. These pioneers of two civilizations met in the gloomy solitudes, and fighting and bloodshed followed. Neither would yield, and war was certain to come. You know that the building of Fort Le Boeuf, in the far northwest corner of Pennsylvania, was looked upon by Virginia as an invasion of her territory, and Governor Dinwiddie sent a messenger, named George Washington, with a letter protesting against the act. The gallant young Virginian came back with word from the French officer that he not only meant to stay there, but would drive out every Englishman who showed himself in the country which belonged to the King of France.

The French and Indian War followed, ending with the triumph of England. France gave up every foot of soil she had held on the Western Hemisphere, except a little fishing station or two, and agreed to turn over all the western posts to her conqueror. It was this change of masters that brought Pontiac forward and caused one of the greatest crises in the history of that region.

A short time after the surrender of Quebec, General Amherst sent an armed force to the leading post, Detroit, to receive its submission, and that of the other forts on the frontier. This body was under the command of Major Robert Rogers of New Hampshire, who had acted a prominent part in the war, and who gained still greater fame (though unfortunately it was afterward tarnished) in the Revolution at the head of his famous Rangers.

Major Rogers coasted along southern Lake Erie late in the autumn of 1760. For a time the weather was crisp and pleasant, but when near the site of the present city of Cleveland, a cold, dismal storm broke, and the party put ashore and went into camp until the skies should clear. While resting, a score of Ottawa Indians visited the camp. They were led by a chief of striking appearance, whose identity Rogers suspected the moment he saw him. The officer had had dealings with red men, and none knew better than he how to treat with them. He showed the visitors every courtesy, and put on a meekness which it is safe to say he was far from feeling. He had heard of Pontiac, who now stood before him, and knew him to be one of the foremost of his race. The veteran meant to win his good will, if such a thing were possible.

Pontiac asked by what right these white soldiers dared to enter the country which belonged to him. Rogers explained that the war which had been going on for several years (and in which the great chief had played so honorable a part) was now ended by the victory of the English over the French. Rogers was on his way to Detroit to tell the news to the French commandant there, who would give up the post to the English, as soon as he learned the truth. There was no way of getting to Detroit except by passing through the country of the mighty Pontiac; he assured the great and good chief that no harm should be done to any of his people; he hoped he would not take offence, for the visitors would go back to their homes as soon as their task was over. Meanwhile he begged Pontiac to accept a few slight tokens of the good will of their Father across the water.

Rogers won Pontiac's good will by his flattery and presents, and the chief told the visitors that so long as they acted rightly, no harm would befall them from his warriors. So Rogers and his party embarked in their whale boats once more, and in due time reached Detroit. The news they carried thither proved bitter medicine to the French commandant, and for a time he refused to swallow it, but there was no help for it, and in the end he submitted with the best grace possible.

Few of the scowling Indians gathered round grasped the full meaning of this surrender. They could not understand how it was that a force so much larger than the English could yield to them. Another mystery was, why, after the French had submitted and laid down their arms, the English did not put every one to death. That was the fashion among the red men, with whom mercy is a failing of which few are guilty at any time.

There was one, however, in the dusky swarm who understood it all. "Because the English have conquered the French everywhere else," thought Pontiac, "those that are here are compelled to yield. The English will now become the masters of the Indians, and we have much more reason to hate them than we have to hate the French."

The words of the Ottawa were true. The French from the first were wiser than their rivals in dealing with the red men. Naturally, therefore, the latter were generally the allies of the French in the wars between the two nations. Believing that the new masters would act cruelly—and there was good ground for such belief—Pontiac formed his great conspiracy. Like King Philip, three-quarters of a century before, his plan was to unite all the tribes he could reach into a confederation for keeping Detroit and all the western posts in the hands of the French, who had treated them better than the English. It was a plot of magnitude.

In the formation of this conspiracy, Pontiac had the aid, to a certain extent, of the French themselves. They were soured because of their defeat, and many of the officers could not justify France in thus throwing away a continent. They were sure that with the help of the Indians, it could have been held against their rivals. Such, also, was the unshakable belief of Pontiac. But he went farther than his white friends. He was certain that although some of the forts had been given up, they could be retaken from the English and turned over again to the French. In reaching this belief, the Ottawa forgot the laws of civilized warfare. He reasoned as an Indian.

Like King Philip also, he understood the necessity of thorough preparation. The plot would be ruined by impatience or by a blow delivered too soon. Weeks and months, and possibly years, were necessary to bring his plans to a head. He would not require the time taken by Opecancanough, but he meant to use all that was needed.

Pontiac's plan in brief was that the blow at all the western posts should be struck on the same day. Thus there would be no time for the forts to send warning to one another, or to give mutual help. Indeed, these forest garrisons were as a rule so weak that they were sure to have all they could do, after being warned of their danger, to defend themselves.

Pontiac set grimly to work. He held under his direct control the Ottawas, Ojibwas and Pottawatomies,—all powerful tribes, who could be counted upon to do his will. But he needed many more warriors, and he set out to gain them. He plotted and schemed for nearly two years before sending his ambassadors to the more distant tribes. To each he gave as his credentials a tomahawk painted red, and a wampum war belt.

Active and ceaseless as was the chieftain, he could not do more than a fraction of the work alone. It was necessary to travel hundreds of miles through the trackless wilderness, often in the depth of winter, or when the floods descended and the hurricanes uprooted the forest trees. But while he was forever planning, his faithful ambassadors were busy, and so perfect was the work done by him and them, that every tribe between the Ottawa and Lower Mississippi was visited, and many were won to the support of the iron-willed chieftain.

Sir William Johnson held the Six Nations in New York in a tight grasp. He suddenly found Pontiac's messengers among them and doing dangerous work; but he was a warm friend of the English, as he proved when the Revolution broke out, and he succeeded in keeping his warlike wards from going to the support of the Ottawa leader, excepting only the fierce Senecas, who pledged the ambassadors that when Pontiac called them, they would be ready to fight against the English. He fixed upon May 7, 1763, as the day when the general attack should be made upon all the forest garrisons covering a wide area.

Now, every one must see the impossibility of keeping secret this far-reaching conspiracy. The situation was different from that of Opecancanough in Virginia. That hoary leader of the Powhatans was able to do all his plotting in the depths of the woods, and his objective point was the settlements along the James. Pontiac's area of operations covered thousands of square miles; some of the tribes to whom he appealed were unfriendly to him, and the score and more of forts were widely separated. Here and there, the commandants, or those under them, had made warm friends of the red men, who could be counted upon to give them notice of any danger. It was impossible, therefore, to keep the plot secret during the two years it was coming to a head; the wonder is that it did not become generally known much earlier than was actually the fact.

The records of all wars with savages betray a strange blindness on the part of the whites to the signs of danger around them. This blindness may be due to their unwillingness to believe ill of those who have acted well for a long time, but none the less, it is hard to understand why it should deceive those who ought to be the last ones in the world to be caught off their guard in such surroundings.

Ensign Holmes had charge of the small garrison at Fort Miama, where Fort Wayne, Indiana, now stands. One day, an Indian of the neighborhood, who had shown a strong liking for the officer, came to him with the war belt that had been brought to his tribe by one of Pontiac's messengers. The Ensign's suspicions were roused, and he questioned his dusky friend closely. He revealed the whole plot.

Holmes sent the war belt to Major Gladwyn, commandant at Detroit, with a letter telling all that he had learned, and asking him to send the news to General Amherst. Mischief was in the air, and precautions could not be taken too soon. Gladwyn, as requested, sent a runner to Amherst, bearing a letter which told what Ensign Holmes thought he had found out.

The major took pains to add that he did not credit the story and was sure there was no danger! It was the same old blunder that has been made times without number, and doubtless will continue to be made to the end of all things.

Our interest for the present is with Pontiac. Ten days before the date fixed for the general uprising and attack, he called his warriors together some miles from the fort, and made them a fiery address which aroused them to hurricane ardor. He had chosen as the special object of their attention, Detroit itself. He was allowed to come and go unquestioned, and had used the chance to study every point connected with the fort,—every weak and strong spot. This town was laid out in the form of a square, enclosed on every side by a high palisade, with a wooden bastion at every corner. Upon these bastions several small pieces of artillery were mounted, and there were blockhouses over the gateway. The dwellings, about a hundred in number, were of wood, that would burn furiously if the torch were once applied. The garrison numbered a hundred and twenty men, and a third more could bear arms if necessary.

The watchful Pontiac had seen that Major Gladwyn was unsuspicious of his danger, and therefore had taken no precautions. It would seem that the capture and destruction of Detroit would prove as easy as "rolling off a log."

The chieftain explained his plan, which had the merit of simplicity, if of nothing else. He would call upon Major Gladwyn with a number of his chiefs and picked warriors, and make the usual Indian address, professing eternal friendship to the white man. At a certain point in his speech, he would present the officer with a wampum belt, but, in doing so, would hold it in a reversed position.

This was to be the signal. The moment it was given, each Indian was to whip out from under his blanket, his gun, whose barrel had been shortened, and make an assault. The Ottawas on the outside would also attack upon hearing the firing, and it looked as if nothing could save the garrison.

Such most likely would have been the result, had not an Indian woman revealed the whole plot to Major Gladwyn the evening before. He had made every preparation, as Pontiac himself saw the moment he passed through the gate at the head of his sixty warriors. What furious chagrin must have gnawed at his heart when he saw the defeat of his plans! Still, with wonderful self-control, he kept an outward appearance of calmness, greeted Gladwyn with a smile, and placing his party in the form of a semi-circle in front of the officer's quarters, began his speech.

Gladwyn knew what the signal was to be. He kept his eyes upon the black orbs of the chieftain, who looked straight into his face. The critical moment came, when, the Ottawa decided after all to give the signal and stake everything upon the result; but the watchful Gladwyn read his purpose, and suddenly raised his hand. He and each of his officers drew their swords, the clicks of the gunlocks were heard in the hush, and the soldiers leveled their muskets at the visitors. Pontiac handed the wampum belt in proper form, and the tense situation was lifted for the time.

Pontiac handed the wampum belt in proper form, and the tense situation was lifted for the time. But Gladwyn was angry. He replied that the friendship of which the chief talked depended wholly upon him. So long as he and his people acted with honesty, they would be well treated, but if they proved unworthy, they should suffer. He left it to the chief himself to decide upon his course.

Pontiac still hoped to deceive the English commandant. He repeated his words of good will, saying that as evil birds had sung in the ears of his great ally, he would prove to him by his deeds that he should not listen to them. This sort of talk was kept up until Gladwyn lost patience, and gave orders that neither Pontiac nor his warriors should be allowed again to enter the gate.

Unsuspicious of anything of the kind, the chief appeared with a number of his men at the gate soon afterward, and was instantly ordered by the guard to keep away, unless he chose to come alone. The rebuff threw Pontiac into a rage. He saw it was useless to keep up the farce any longer, and threw all disguise aside. He dashed off at the head of his indignant warriors with whoops of defiance. They fired their guns at the garrison, who replied without effect, and ran to the house of an old English woman and her two sons, whom they tomahawked, and whose scalps they swung aloft in sight of the garrison. Then they sped to Hog Island, where an old sergeant lived, and slew him. The war had begun.

Pontiac had planned that attacks should be made on the same day upon all the British posts on the Lakes,—St. Joseph, Ouiantenon, Green Bay, Michilimackinac, Detroit, the Maumee, and the Sandusky, as well as the forts of Niagara, Presque Isle, Le Boeuf, Venango and Pittsburg. It was a far-reaching conspiracy, and, if successful, would have been the severest blow that could be dealt the frontier. Before giving the history of the siege of Detroit, let us glance at the fate of one other of the forest garrisons.

Michilimackinac (Mackinaw) stood, as we know, on the south side of the strait of the same name, between Lakes Huron and Michigan. It was there the traders gathered on their journey to and from Montreal, and it was one of the most important posts in the West. It had about thirty families in as many different houses, and the garrison numbered nearly a hundred men. Its capture was left to the Chippewas, who were aided by the Sacs. They formed a cunning plan, which was kept secret from the garrison. It was to engage in a game of Indian ball, like lacrosse. Two posts were set up a long distance apart, and the ball was laid on the ground midway between them. The parties placed at the ends strove to bat the ball towards the opposite post, whose defenders tried equally hard to send the sphere into the other's territory. Like all games of this character a great deal of excitement is developed, and it was this fact upon which the Indians counted to surprise the garrison.

The men gathered outside on the broad plain to watch the contestants, and soon caught their ardor. They saw the ball roll back and forth, chased by the shouting players, and they joined in the cheers over the skill shown by them. More than three hundred brawny warriors were in the sport running to and fro, striking strong, quick blows with their bats, tumbling over one another, and acting for all the world like so many football players. For that which followed we are indebted to a trader named Alexander Henry, who was at Mackinaw at the time.

In the midst of the exciting scene, some one struck the ball a hard blow. It rose high in air, and circling over, dropped inside the pickets of the fort. It was the most natural thing in the world for the players to dash headlong after it, and the officers and soldiers who were looking on suspected nothing when they saw the panting horde swarm through the gates and inside the stockades.

The knocking of the ball over the pickets was not an accident, but had been agreed upon beforehand. It was the trick by which the Indians gained a fatal advantage without rousing the distrust of their victims. In a twinkling the players turned from the ball, and drawing their hidden weapons, attacked the garrison. They cut down and scalped the Englishmen, who were taken so by surprise that no defence could be offered. It was a heartrending massacre.

Henry was not among those who were watching the game, but was in a room in one of the houses, writing letters to send to Montreal by a trader who was about to leave the post in his canoe. Hearing the unusual racket outside, he rose from his chair and looked out of the window. A horrifying sight met his gaze. He saw his countrymen falling on every hand, the Indians slaying and scalping them without mercy. On the outskirts of the slayers and victims, stood a number of Canadian villagers calmly looking on, as if they felt no special interest in the awful tragedy.

Henry saw his own peril, and the thought came to him that the only place of possible safety was in one of the houses of the Canadians. It would not do to stay where he was, for the Indians had already begun searching the dwellings of the English for more victims. Bounding down stairs, he dashed out of the rear, and climbed a low fence which divided his yard from that of his next door neighbor, who was a Canadian. Plunging into the rear of the house, he saw the Canadian and members of his family gathered at the front and watching the fearful deeds from the windows.

Henry appealed to the man to give him shelter until the outburst had spent itself. If he would hide him for the time, the trader would be safe, for the Indians did not offer any harm to the Canadians. The neighbor looked at Henry for a moment, and then coolly saying he could do nothing for him, shrugged his shoulders and turned back to view the dreadful scenes in front of his dwelling.

In this moment of despair, a Pawnee woman, a servant of the family, beckoned to Henry to follow her. He passed softly through the door, and, on the outside, she opened another door, whispering that it led to the garret where he should hide himself. He quickly did so, and she, keeping at his heels, locked the upper door behind him, and came down stairs, taking the key with her. The room was so loosely built that the fugitive could peer through between the cracks and watch the massacre on the open plain in front. While he was doing so, several of the savages, seeing that no more victims were left, ran to the building in which the trader was hiding. He peered through the crevices in the floor, and heard the visitors ask the head of the house whether any Englishmen were inside.

"I do not know of any," replied the Canadian, speaking the truth, for he had not seen what his servant did. "If you have any doubts, search for yourselves."

Acting on the hint, the warriors went up the stairs, and who shall picture the feelings of the poor man, when he heard their footsteps and the next moment their hands trying the door? The absence of the key caused delay, which he quickly turned to account. In the corner of the room was a heap of birch vessels used in making maple sugar. He crawled under these, covering himself as best he could.

He had barely time to do so, when four Indians, covered with the blood of their victims, stalked into the room. They walked about the garret, peering here and there, one of them coming so close that the trembling white man could have touched his moccasin. But the twilight of the room (it had no windows) and the dark clothing of Henry helped him, and the Indians went down stairs without finding him. In the end, he made his escape, as has been stated, and we are indebted to him for the story of the fall of Mackinaw.

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