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Croghan went on to say that practically on the heels of this report from Hutchins he had had a visit — late on the night of September 28 — from a Detroit Indian, a Huron. This Huron told him that while he had not been allowed to attend it, since he was not a chief, there had been a highly secret council held in June at the village of the Ottawa war chief, Pontiac. Both civil chiefs and war chiefs from a number of tribes had attended and it was whispered that there had been at this council, dressed as Indians, two French officers from the Illinois country. Croghan's informant had admitted he did not know exactly what was said, but he was certain a plot was being fomented against the English and that the French officers were urging the tribes into an uprising. The Huron also said that with his own eyes he had in June seen deputies with belts being sent to tribes in the Illinois and Ohio countries and that another council was said to be scheduled for September, which was probably being held right then, as he had seen numerous parties en route toward Detroit.

Then, as if this were not enough, two days later when Croghan mentioned this to a trio of Iroquois he trusted, they informed him that they knew of it and had heard the same from a Shawnee. This in itself was verified when one of Croghan's associates came in from a trading trip into the Shawnee country with the news that the Shawnees had received a war belt from the Weas and that the Weas had gotten it from the French at Fort de Chartres. Croghan reported that he had then immediately sent all this information to Amherst in the hands of an experienced express messenger, who was to return at once with the general's reply. The man had returned to Fort Pitt from New York in record time, but hardly with the answer Croghan had expected. Amherst had replied:

The Indians are a very jealous people and they had great expectations of being very generally supplied by us, and from their poverty and mercenary disposition, they can't bear such a disappointment. Undoubtedly the General has his own reason for not allowing any presents or ammunition to be given to them, and I wish it may have its desired effect, but I take this opportunity to acquaint you that I dread the event, as I know the Indians can't long persevere. They are a rash, inconsistent people and inclined to mischief and will never consider consequences, though it may end in their ruin. Their success the beginning of this war on our frontiers is too recent in their memory to suffer them to consider their present inability to make war with us, and if the Senecas, Delawares and Shawnees should break with us, it will end in a general war with all the western nations, though they at present seem jealous of each other. For my part, I am resolved to resign if the General does not liberalize our expenditures for Indian affairs. I don't choose to be begging eternally for such necessaries as are wanted to carry on the service, nor will I support it at my own expense. There are great troubles ahead. How it may end the Lord knows, but I assure you I am of opinion it will not be long before we shall have some quarrels with them.

Wearily, fearful that it would do no good, yet desperately hopeful that somehow, in some way, he might find the right words to open the general's eyes to the peril looming, Sir William began to write to Amherst. It was a long letter and it went again over the need to relax policy where the Indians were concerned and to provide them with the materials they so desperately needed. The continued holding back of ammunition from them was a very grave error; instead of preventing an Indian uprising, it would almost certainly precipitate one. The signs were all there that such an uprising was forming now, but there was yet time to avert it if proper actions would be taken swiftly. He continued:

. . . and tragedy, your Excellency, is on the point of breaking. It is true that through your orders the Indians are now very short on ammunition, but this will not prevent their uprising. However short of it they are kept in peace, these Indians will not in war lack for ammunition, as they will certainly capture military supply trains in the woods and overrun depots where ammunition is stored. They will also find powder in the frontier houses they will overrun. Nor, your Excellency, can warriors used to living off the woods be starved out by any blockade or strategic cutting of their supply lines. The forts on which the General relies to hold them back, if not captured, will simply be passed by and the warriors will cut off and destroy a number of families, destroy their houses, effects, and grain, all within the compass of a very few hours, and then return by a different route to some of their places of rendezvous. The surviving inhabitants, together with all those near them, immediately forsake their dwellings and retire with their families in the utmost terror, poverty, and distress to the next towns, striking panic into the inhabitants who then become fearful of going to any of the posts. Trade becomes at once stagnated, nothing can be carried to any of the posts without an escort and, unless 'tis a very strong one — which is not always to be procured — the whole may fall into the hands of the Indians. This picture of a state of a country under an Indian War, however improbable it may seem, will be found on due examination not to have been exaggerated.

"Daniel," said Johnson, using the Mohawk's Christian name as the Indian came alertly to his feet, "this is very important." He tapped the pouch. "Carry it to the big general at the mouth of the Hudson, where you have taken messages to him before. Go as fast as you can. Wait for his reply and then come back safely."

Oughnour dipped his head once, took the packet and an instant later the door had clicked shut behind him.

He had spent a large portion of this year at the home of Jean Baptiste Cadotte and they had become rather good friends; and since Cadotte, in deference to his wife who could speak no French, preferred to converse in the Chippewa tongue, Henry had by now become quite fluent in the language, though he was still learning more of it every day.

Cadotte was something of an enigma. While he seemed genuinely pleased at the presence of Henry here and the reopening of trade, yet there was a side of the man's character which Henry could not seem to penetrate — an aloof reserve into which Cadotte retreated on occasion. On such occasions, Henry had several times discovered the Canadian staring at him in an uncomfortably penetrating manner; and under that gaze the young trader would experience a little inexplicable shiver of omen at his nape. It was not a pleasant sensation.

But then, on September 19, had arrived a small detachment from Fort Michilimackinac to regarrison Fort Sault Sainte Marie. Five soldiers under the command of a thin, sharp faced officer. This commander was Lieutenant John Jamet of the 60th Regiment, recently promoted from the rank of ensign, and a rather engaging young man with whom Henry got along well from the very beginning. The presence of the garrison here at the Sault was beneficial for Henry, as the soldiers were eager to buy various trade goods from him.

Beginning in early October the whitefish run began and for weeks Henry had been occupied with the Indians in the taking of them, spearing great numbers as they swam the rapids. Each of the fish, when caught, would be neatly gutted and then, with the head also removed, split in half down its length until within an inch of the tail. They would then be hung for drying on a rail resting on two forked sticks, the tails sticking skyward and the slablike sides hanging below and the raw meat exposed to the air. By the middle of October Henry alone had caught and dried over five hundred of the fish and, though he tried to sell some to the garrison, Jamet declined to buy. The young officer had shaken his head and wrinkled his nose.

"Never was much of one for eating fish," he told Henry, "even when they're good and fresh. But when they're like this," he indicated the dry fish with his thumb and made a sour expression, ". . . well, I'd hate to think of being stuck here all winter with nothing to eat but that. I don't think I'll have any trouble trading some of our liquor supply to the Indians for all the venison and other food we might need throughout the winter. Of course," he added hastily at Henry's look of surprise, "that's not something I'd like my superiors to know about. The general frowns on giving them liquor almost as much as he does about giving them powder and lead. But, what little I give them can't be of any consequence."

Henry had shrugged and simply sent several loads of dried fish by boat back to his store at Fort Michilimackinac for his assistant, Etienne Campion, to use in the trade. Now, with winter rapidly closing in and the navigation likely to close any day, Henry began to think about heading back with the remainder of his dried fish to his more comfortable quarters at Michihmackinac — a nice frame house he had rented, standing on the lot beside that belonging to Charles Langlade. It had been a busy time for Henry here and he could do with a few weeks of rest and change.

He had fallen asleep almost instantly upon retiring last night and slept deeply until a few moments ago when shrill cries had penetrated from outside and caused him to sit groggily erect in bed. It was still very dark and he frowned, thinking he had been dreaming, but then the calls came again:

"Fire! It's on fire! Fire!"

He bolted to his feet, hastily dressed and then raced out of the door of his little house, which was fairly close to Cadotte's. The Canadian was already outside, silhouetted by the roaring conflagration which was sweeping through the commander's quarters and even now spreading to the barracks of the garrison. Soldiers, some only partially clad, had spilled out the door of the latter structure. It was their shouting which Henry had heard. The trader ran to Cadotte's side and grasped his arm. He pointed to the front of the commander's house, where the door was little more than a wall of flame, and shouted to make himself heard over the roar of the blaze:

"Jean! Where's the lieutenant? Is Jamet still inside there?"

Cadotte nodded and then shook his head sadly. "There is no way to get to him. He is lost. The fire started there," he pointed at the chimney of the soldiers' barracks, "and fell over onto the front of the officer's house. He couldn't get out."

Henry, familiar with the interior of the officer's quarters, shouted and waved to several of the soldiers to follow him and ran around to the other side of the building. There a small window, broken now, belched great volumes of smoke. For just an instant, Henry thought he saw a movement in the smoke. With the help of two of the men, both coughing and choking nearly as much as he, Henry smashed the crossrods of the window sash and thrust the upper part of his body inside. The heat and smoke were suffocating.

A gagging, strangling cry reached his ears and the sound of shuffling. An instant later, one of Jamet's outstretched arms touched Henry's hand and the trader snatched it, then caught Jamet's wrist. With a strength bred of panic Henry lunged backward and literally pulled Jamet halfway through the opening. The officer was naked and large areas of his skin were burned and shriveled. Some of these tore free as he was dragged through the narrow opening and dumped to the ground outside.

Immediately, even while the soldiers were continuing to pull Jamet away, Henry was back at the window, leaning inside. He was blinded by the smoke boiling past him, gagging and choking, feeling desperately with outstretched hands for anything that could be saved. He touched a small keg and with great effort managed to lift it up and carry it some yards off before slumping to the ground. It was a half-keg of gunpowder — a portion of the ammunition supply stored in Jamet's quarters.

An instant later there was a tremendous whooshing explosion as the powder still inside ignited. The entire roof of the burning house lifted and then disintegrated and the pieces flew off in great arcs of cometlike brilliance. Several large chunks struck Henry's own quarters and in a few minutes that place was engulfed in flames. Even the stockade was burning now and in a very short while one whole wall had collapsed. The soldiers were doing all they could to extinguish the fire and keep it from spreading, but their efforts were mostly useless. In less than an hour virtually all of Fort Sault Sainte Marie was destroyed. Only Cadotte's house had by some miracle been spared.

Henry watched his own quarters being destroyed, along with the soldiers' barracks. Everything he and they had was gone — food, clothing, ammunition, supplies, equipment. His face was blackened by smoke and his throat raw from breathing it. White lines channeled down his cheeks from the tears which ran from smarting eyes and he stumbled to the doorway of Cadotte's house and entered.

Jamet, moaning with pain, lay on Cadotte's bed, his bare legs and buttocks and back badly burned. The Chippewa woman who was Cadotte's wife was already carefully rubbing a thick coating of bear grease all over the injured man. Cadotte, standing by the bed, saw Henry and came over to him. He clucked his tongue and shook his head sadly.

"My friend, it does not look good. She will do what she can for him, but he is very badly burned. He may not make it."

After the two secret councils, Pontiac had held smaller council after council with these nearby chiefs, assuring them that they would not be in this alone if they joined him. He told them that the Detroit Frenchman who was their good friend, Antoine Cuillerier, had told him that a messenger from the Illinois country — a man named Sibbold — had come to him with word that right now a large French army was being readied and would be here at Detroit in the spring to help the Indians in their endeavor to drive out the English. Cuillerier, Pontiac declared, was one white man who could be trusted and since he said the French army was coming, Pontiac had no doubt of it. Further, the war chief promised the assembled Indians that there would come a sign, that in a manner evident to all, an omen of evil for the English would manifest itself. When it did, he told them, they must divorce themselves from the English and prepare to destroy them all at a given time.

Pontiac was no seer, no prophet, but he was a shrewd leader and he knew that somehow, some way, something was bound to occur sometime that could be construed as an evil omen for the English. He hardly expected the meteorological phenomenon which occurred on October 5, but he was swift to claim it as the manifestation of his prediction. On that Tuesday morning ugly black clouds hung low over the whole area. More and more dense they became until even the chickens of the Frenchmen around Detroit went to roost. It was very nearly like night and the fearful eyes of both Indians and whites were almost continuously directed upward.

To the majority of the English it was simply an unexplainable phenomenon. Some were uneasy about it, but most were merely curious or amused. Some of the soldiers caught the fluid in empty inkpots as it runneled from the eaves, determined to use it for ink, and laughing and joking about it.

To the Indians, however, the black rain was a very powerful omen, a foreboding of evil directed against the English. Pontiac, as much awed by the black and smelly rain as anyone else, was nonetheless swift to snatch up the opportunity and claim it as the sign he had predicted would come; and the Indians who had hesitated in giving their allegiance to him, now were very strongly swayed by the greatness of this Ottawa chief who apparently knew the future. Many now came and said they would do as he asked.

Pontiac immediately sent runners to carry the news of what had happened here to the far distant villages of numerous tribes and thus increase his renown and prestige. Other runners he held in readiness while under his direction a bevy of squaws worked night and day making numerous long, broad belts of red and black war wampum.

He called for another council to be held in late November and that one was attended by representatives of no less than twenty tribes. This time there were no white men in attendance — neither French nor English. The council was held at Pontiac's village, only recently relocated on the narrow Isle aux Peches 65 — Fish Island — which was hidden from the view of the Englishmen at the fort by the bulk of the thickly wooded island called by the French Isle aux Cochons . 68 During the preliminaries before counciling began, medicine men of the various tribes made small fires and removed sacred objects from their medicine bags and mumbled odd incantations. They created magic protective charms out of rocks and twigs by urinating on them, drying them out over the fires and then passing them out to all who were assembled that they might be protected from evil beings who moved through the darkness.

On the fifth day before the council was to begin, Pontiac stained his body black and, naked, disappeared into the woods of the island in order to fast and commune with the Master of Life. Even as the medicine men continued their mumbling over more charms, Pontiac returned and walked among them as if he were possessed. The black stain still covered his body and though it was bitterly cold out and he was unclothed, he gave no sign of being discomfited. His eyes were filled with a feverish brightness and in his right hand he carried a tomahawk stained with vermilion.

As practically everyone watched, he walked to where a cedar post painted black had been sunk to stand upright to a height of six feet. He stopped before it and then, with a wild, incoherent cry he slammed the red tomahawk into it with such force that much of the head of the weapon was buried in the wood. Then he entered his longhouse, had his squaws repaint him in garish blue, red and white paints, attached a cluster of vermilion-stained feathers to his scalp, tossed a blanket about his shoulders and returned to the assemblage.

He moved among them wordlessly to his own place, sat down and quietly smoked a red clay pipe while a score or more Ottawa squaws passed out portions of cooked dog meat from platters to all in attendance except Pontiac. Though it was whispered that Pontiac had not eaten for five days, the chief showed no desire to eat now, but merely sat and puffed on his pipe without expression, the large crescent-shaped nose pendant of smooth white stone reflecting the light of the small fires.

At last, when the assemblage had eaten and smoked, Pontiac stood up again and then he began to speak. His voice was strange, deep and compelling, and they clung to his words. He told them that he had communed with the Master of Life and that he had seen a vision in which a great war eagle had dropped from the skies and crushed Detroit in its grasping talons. He talked to them, chanted to them, sang of his own prowess and exploits, hammered a litany of war into them until it spread to a raging fire in every warrior's breast; and one by one the chiefs in attendance had stood and danced and chanted and then buried their own tomahawks into the war post.

All night they danced and pounced and sang until exhaustion overcame them and they slumped to the ground. Only the Hurons, of all the tribes in the Detroit area, were not fully in agreement. They watched as the Chippewas and Potawatomies, the Ottawas and Mississaugis, Miamis and Delawares and Shawnees sunk their hatchets into the post, but they themselves were split. Half of the Detroit Hurons under Teata — a band largely proselytized by Jesuits — and half of the Sandusky Wyandot Hurons under Orontony rejected the plea of Pontiac and walked out, returning to their village. But the remainder of the Detroit Hurons under Chief Takee and those of Sandusky under Chief Odinghquanooron accepted the belt and hatchet and struck the post. What this all boiled down to was that in the Detroit area alone, Pontiac had now become the head of an alliance of no less than four hundred and sixty proven warriors.

In the morning the messengers who had been held in readiness were given the completed belts of red and black beadwork in intricate design; they memorized the message they contained. They would take them to every tribe and village to the east of the Mississippi and north of the Ohio and west of the Alleghenies; they would sing the message of war and throw down the red hatchet that it might be picked up and ceremoniously driven into the war post; they would tell of the great and final prewar council which would be held on the fifteenth day of the Green Moon — April — on the banks of the River Ecorse near where it emptied into the Detroit River to the south and west of the English fort.

The messengers had gone and already, in these weeks that had passed since then, many had returned from their missions and almost without exception had reported to Pontiac that the hatchet had been picked up and the war post struck, the war belt accepted and the promise given to attend the great council on the fifteenth day of the Green Moon.

And now, to one of his most trusted messengers, Pontiac gave another long, wide belt of wampum woven with a maze of intricate red and black designs. It was a belt that was more than just a war belt; it was a belt that would heal an old wound and which would bind two former enemies together in alliance; it was a belt in reply to a belt of similar construction just received from a runner who had come directly from Chief Kyashuta.

With a savage satisfaction, Pontiac watched his own messenger and the Iroquois messenger, each with his own small party, paddle away downstream on the Detroit River in two canoes. They would follow the river to its mouth and then continue southward and then eastward along the shore of the not-yet-frozen Lake of the Erighs — Lake Erie — until at last they came to the head of the Niagara River. Here they would conceal their boats and strike off overland toward the upper reaches of the Genesee River to the village of Chenusio, seat of the Seneca government.

There, Pontiac had no doubt, the Chenusio Senecas under Chief Kyashuta would accept it — as he had already accepted Kyashuta's belt — and ally the Senecas to his new confederacy. They would help, when the time came, to destroy the English. And possibly — just possibly — that powerful Seneca chief might be able to persuade the entire Iroquois League to join in the uprising.

The dark eyes of the Ottawa war chief glittered at the thought.

Captain George Etherington was a long, lanky sort of individual. He had joined the army a decade ago at the age of twenty and in doing so had found his niche. He was a reasonably good officer, though by no means outstanding. He followed orders well, commanded his men well, but rarely projected his thoughts to the future. He was content to accept things as they came. He personally did not like his command of Fort Michilimackinac any more than his predecessor, Lieutenant Leslye, now his second-in-command, had liked it. Etherington, however, would never consider complaining about it as Leslye had done. Long ago the captain had learned to accept without complaint whatever came his way in the military, knowing that eventually, whether he liked it or not, the situation would change. And anyway, things could always be worse. He could, for example, have been named commander of Fort Sault Sainte Marie instead of Michilimackinac, and it could have been he who was at death's door rather than Lieutenant Jamet.

Sitting at his desk in the little office preparing the monthly returns of his company — a copy each to be sent to Major Gladwin at Detroit and Colonel Bouquet, now in Philadelphia — Etherington reflected on what had happened at the Sault and shook his head. Poor Jamet was in a pretty bad way. Eleven days after the fire and explosion there, a messenger had reached Fort Michilimackinac with a letter from Jamet containing news of the disaster. And ten days after that — on December 31 — the entire garrison of Fort Sault Sainte Marie, with the exception of Jamet, arrived at Michilimackinac with more details, having completed the hazardous water journey to this post just in time, as navigation closed on the very next day.

Jamet, the returned soldiers told Captain Etherington, was too badly injured to be moved at the moment. He and the trader Alexander Henry were staying in the house of Jean Cadotte, the Frenchman. It was the only structure, other than the scattered wickiups and tepees of the Indians there, left standing after the fire. Since the lieutenant hadn't died of his burns in the first few days, Cadotte was reasonably convinced that Jamet would recover. However, the young officer would have to do a good bit of recuperating before he'd be able to move about. With the barracks destroyed, there had been no other choice for Jamet than to send his men back to Fort Michilimackinac in the two remaining batteaux. He hoped to survive his burns and to follow the men himself before too long, when the lakes and straits had frozen over solidly enough to travel across on foot.

Again Etherington shook his head. From what the returned soldiers told him, Jamet was in a very bad way and they still doubted he would live, despite Cadotte's optimism, much less be able to walk the fifty miles or more through deep snow all the way to Michilimackinac. Etherington sighed and picked up his quill pen again, dipped it into the ink and began a letter to his regimental commander in Philadelphia:

I have here enclosed you the monthly returns of my company to this day. On the 21st of December I received a letter from Lieutenant Jamet, who commands at the Falls of St. Marys, wherein he informs me that about 1 o'clock in the morning of the 10th of the same month, a fire broke through the soldiers chimney, which communicated itself directly to Mr. Jamet's house, where the provisions and ammunition were lodged. The latter prevented the soldiers at first from attempting to extinguish the flames, but in a little time the powder took fire and blew the roof off the house, after which the soldiers did everything in their power to put out the fire, but it was all to no purpose; for in less than an hour from the time that the sentry discovered the fire, one of the curtains of the fort, with the officers and soldiers barracks, was burnt to the ground, and all the provisions and ammunition entirely consumed; which obliged Mr. Jamet to send his garrison here, where they arrived safe. Mr. Jamet lost everything he had in the world and made a very narrow escape for his life by getting naked out of a window. He is now, if alive, in a very miserable condition, being burnt to such a degree that he was not able to come in the batteaux with his men and is now at St. Marys without either coat, shirt, shoes or stockings; but as the lake is fast, I intend sending an Indian sleigh for him tomorrow. The other day I had one of my men killed by the fall of a tree. 1 am, dear sir,

The barracks were drafty and cold, the men plagued by lice during the day and by bedbugs at night, their tempers short and fistfights common. Sudden torrential flooding came and went from the Monongahela on one side or the Allegheny on the other, and the muck from it collected everywhere. The soldiers had to stay at the post because it was their duty to do so, but why anyone would remain here who was not required to was something of a mystery to every soldier. Yet the fort and the sprawling little town of Pittsburgh around it were crowded with settlers, trappers, Indians, scouts, schemers and drifters. On the whole, they were a coarse and rowdy lot, more often than not drunken and immoral and quite frequently criminals seeking to escape the law.

Some attempt at decorum was made by Captain Ecuyer, but it rarely succeeded. Inevitably he would have a gaggle of old women on hand to act as chaperons at the Saturday night dances, but theirs was a feeble effort at best. George Croghan, who vied with Ecuyer at being the life and wit of each of these sessions always made it a habit to quickly fill the glasses of these women, and fill them often, so that before half the night was over they could scarcely mumble their own names much less perform their charge.

The dances started modestly enough with a dozen to a score or more couples swirling to the tunes played by the garrison's musicians, but as far as most of the men in attendance were concerned, there were only three activities worth engaging in: drinking to excess, gambling for anything, making love with anyone. Liquor flowed in abundance and was consumed by the women almost as much as by the men. The debauchery usually began with toasting, and more often than not it was George Croghan who would leap up onto a chair and tower over the crowd, shouting out toasts and belting down a hefty jolt of liquor for each one. The toasting started innocently enough each time, with glasses raised and then their contents quaffed to such comments as:

"May the friend we trust be honest, the girl we love be true, the country we live in be free!"

"The heart of friendship and the soul of love!"

"Motherhood, friendship, and country! "

"May we kiss whom we please . . . and please whom we kiss!" Gradually, though, as drink after drink was downed, the toasts became more ribald. Croghan, thrusting his glass high, would bellow such suggestive toasts as: "Days of ease . . . and nights of pleasure!" "Days of sport . . . and nights of transport!"

"May the lady of the night have crossed eyes, but never crossed legs!" Gales of drunken laughter would sweep over the assemblage at each toast and soon the couples would begin drifting off in search of quieter quarters for activities of a more penetrating nature. Captain Simeon Ecuyer was not at all backward in joining in such measures, nor was he particularly concerned over who knew about it. While well in his cups during the Saturday dance of January 8, he retired to his quarters with a very pretty young lady, and with both braggadocio and indiscretion penned a swift note to Colonel Bouquet in Philadelphia, telling him that:

Of all the officers, soldiers and civilians connected to Fort Pitt, only three did not have regular Indian mistresses. Neither Croghan nor Ecuyer were of these three. The Indian women, mainly Delawares or Senecas, for presents of bright cloth or powdered paints or mirrors, would service any man and quite often they brought along daughters as young as only eleven or twelve to do the same. There was not an ordained minister at the post at this time and Sunday prayers were led by one of the local traders, but they were of little conviction and not only frequently interrupted by drunken hiccoughs, but tempered by each man's knowledge of the fact that the man who was delivering them was living with Fort Pitt's most prominent prostitute. The doctor hired by Croghan to look after his Indian employees seduced and impregnated the daughter of the blacksmith and then fought a duel with an officer of the Royal Americans over his right to her.

An air of hollow gaiety overhung all activities. It was as if each person there suddenly felt that his life would soon be over and now was the time to throw inhibition to the winds and do things which heretofore had only been shadowy, shameful thoughts. A common, undiscussed knowledge was in every man; a knowledge that before long, perhaps very soon, all hell was going to break loose on the frontiers again and that if anyone at all was to blame, it was none other than the commander of all the English military forces in America, Lieutenant General Sir Jeffrey Amherst. Indicatively, of all the multitude of toasts drunk at Fort Pitt, there had never been one drunk to him .

Secure in the haven of his own quarters in New York, Amherst continued handing down directives which seemed to be deliberately calculated to offend and deprive the Indians. Croghan had pleaded with Amherst in letter after letter to alter his instructions for harsh economy, to ease up on the unbearable pressure he was placing on the Indians, to help alleviate the suffering being undergone by many of the tribes because they were being denied the very means of survival. Amherst continued deaf to all such pleas and Croghan became more and more convinced that the only sensible course for himself to follow was resignation of his office and a trip to London in an effort to get some measure of restitution for his personal financial losses in the handling of Indian affairs for the Crown.

And the prevailing impulse at Fort Pitt continued to be to eat, drink, and make merry . . .

With the scratching of pens on parchment in the city of Paris this day, the war between England and France, which was already being called the Seven Years' War, was ended. The Treaty of Paris was signed and enemies in Europe had now become friends. The terms of the treaty were both noteworthy and audacious, for France had bought her peace by giving up to England what she had never owned in the first place.

By the dictates of the treaty, France now ceded to Great Britain all her territories in North America to the east of the Mississippi River, with the exception — by special provision — of New Orleans and its suburbs, from whence she declared she would continue to govern her immense Louisiana Territory.

And so now by this act, England not only had possession of Canada and the territory to the north and west of the Ohio River — the Northwest Territory — but also what she felt was the rightful ownership of the land and control of the inhabitants of it.

But Paris is a long way from the valleys of the Ohio and Mississippi and St. Lawrence Rivers. Sixty-five thousand French residents of Canada, plus several thousand more in the Michigan, Indiana and Illinois countries still knew nothing of this declaration of peace. Nor did the conquerors in residence — the English — know of it.

Nor did the Indians whose land it was.

The last express from Gladwin had brought word that peace negotiations were in progress in Paris and that a cessation of arms had been called while the talks went on. The only problem here was that neither the French nor the Indians whom Holmes told about it in this area seemed inclined to believe it. The war belt was evidence of what they were thinking and feeling. Well, he would send it to Gladwin and that officer could be the judge of its importance. The major would probably talk it over with Captain Campbell and together they'd reach some conclusion and pass it on to the general.

A faint smile curled Holmes's lips as he thought of the general. What would that officer think if he could see Ensign Holmes now, writing an official report while not fifteen feet away an attractive, naked Indian woman lay waiting for him. He stifled a giggle. Amherst ought to know better than to order no friendly contact between his officers and the Indians. Men were only human, after all, and had fundamental hungers which had to be satisfied. Besides, rumor had it that even Major Gladwin had a little Chippewa filly to romp with, so why should Ensign Holmes be concerned?

Robert Holmes had first bedded with this Miami maid a couple of months ago. She was perhaps five or six years younger than he, which made her about eighteen, and the tanned coppery skin covered a body that was lithe and firm and showed no trace of the plumpness so common among many of the somewhat older women of her tribe. A rather striking angularity of facial features kept her from being truly beautiful, but she was indeed attractive and, as Holmes already knew well, extremely fulfilling. She had told him her name — Ouiske-lotha Nebi — but he was unable to pronounce it well and so he had simply called her by the first two syllables of it — Whiskey — and she seemed pleased with the nickname. During these weeks past she had virtually moved into his quarters, providing him not only a carnal release but also cooking meals for him and washing his clothing. In return, he provided her with food from the garrison's stores and even gave her occasional pouches of powder and lead. After all, the poor devils had to hunt, didn't they?

As Whiskey made a slight noise behind him, he turned and watched with admiration as she yawned and stretched luxuriously, then turned on her side facing him and smiled again. Holmes swallowed and blew out a deep breath, averted his gaze reluctantly and began writing again hurriedly.

In the letter he explained to Major Gladwin how he had heard from an Indian — he did not mention that it was Whiskey who had told him — that a war belt had arrived and was circulating in the Miami nation. He told how he had then summoned Chief Little Turtle, the one who called himself Michikiniqua, who had come to him early this morning and readily admitted the truth of the rumor. The chief went even further; from a pouch slung over one shoulder he extracted the long, broad war belt and gave it to Holmes, saying that he had received it the day before from a party of Shawnees. It was a belt, Michikiniqua had said, that directed him to gather his warriors together and wait for a prearranged signal, at which time they were to rise and strike down all the English. But Michikiniqua, having always been far more inclined toward the English than toward the French, did not care to do so.

"This belt," he told Holmes, pointing to one end of it, "says to me, 'The English seek to become masters of all and will put all Indians to death. Brothers, let us die together, since the design of the English is to destroy us. We are dead one way or the other.' This is what the belt says at its beginning, and it says much more."

For nearly two hours Holmes had questioned Michikiniqua, until he was sure he had all the information. Then he directed the Miami principal chief to bring all his lesser chiefs into council so that he could speak with them, and this Michikiniqua had done. All afternoon Holmes had spoken to them and listened to what they had to say in return. It had not been until early evening that the council had ended and the Miamis had gone their own way.

Holmes had returned to his own quarters and mechanically ate the meal Whiskey had prepared for him and then started this report. Now he finished it with a flourish and quickly reread what he had written, to be certain he had left nothing out. After explaining to Gladwin how he came to acquire the belt and information, the ensign reported on the meeting with the chiefs and concluded with a transcription, as nearly accurate as possible, of what Chief Michikiniqua had said to him at the close of the council. He wrote :

“My Brother, according to your desires and treaties with us I have consulted with our chief warriors in respect to this belt of wampum which you discovered to be in the village. We all think it best to deliver it to you so that you may send it to your general, though we were not to let this belt be known of till it arrived at Ouiatenon; and then we were to rise and put the English to death all about this place and those at the other places. This belt we received from the Shawnee Nation; they received it from the Delawares; and they from the Senecas, who are very much enraged against the English. As for the Indian who was the beginner of this, we cannot tell him, but he was one of their chiefs and one that is always doing mischief. And the Indian that brought it to this place was our Chief Michikiniqua, who was down at the council held in Pennsylvania last summer. We desire you to send this down to your general and George Croghan and let them find out the man who was making this mischief. For our parts, we will be still and take no more notice of their mischief; neither will we be concerned in it. If we had ever so much mind to kill the English, there is always some discovery made before we can accomplish our design. This is all we have to say, only you must give our young warriors some paints, some powder and ball and some knives, as they are all going to war against our enemies, the Cherokees."

Captain Campbell and Captain Joseph Hopkins entered together, conversing quietly between themselves, and they were followed by Lieutenants Jehu Hay and James MacDonald. Moments later a half-dozen more junior officers entered, with Lieutenant George McDougall in the lead. All took seats on the chairs provided and fell silent as they waited expectantly for the commander's opening remarks.

"Gentlemen," Gladwin began, "I have just received some reports which I would like to read to you and discuss. I would like to know your opinions in regard to their contents."

Gladwin raised a large black and red wampum belt from the desk and let it fall open. It was so long that although he held it near the middle over his head, both ends were still on the floor. He then bunched it together and placed it back on the desk and picked up a letter. It was the communique he had received, along with the belt, from Ensign Holmes at Fort Miamis. The assembled officers listened attentively as he read the letter, including Holmes's transcription of the speech made to him by Michikiniqua.

Without pause after he finished it, Gladwin put it down and picked up a second letter. "This one," he told them, "is from Lieutenant Jenkins, dated a week ago at Fort Ouiatenon, which I have just received. I read as follows:

The bearer arrived from the post last Sunday, with two more deserters and his wife. They have not heard yet below of the cessation of arms, and I am acquainted by Monsieur La Bond that we have attacked or at least blocked up some place near the Mississippi; indeed, I don't well understand him, as he has an odd way of talking, but Captain Campbell will understand him better. Mr Hugh Crawford, the trader, acquainted me this morning that the Canadians that are here are eternally telling lies to the Indians, and tells me likewise that the interpreter and one La Pointe told the Indians a few days ago that we should all be prisoners in a short time [and he adds parenthetically here] (showing them when the corn was about a foot high) that there was a great army to come from the Mississippi; and that they were to have a great number of Indians with them, therefore advised them not to help us; that they would soon take Detroit and these small posts, and that then they would take Quebec, Montreal and all Canada and go on into our country. This, I am informed, they tell them from one end of the year to the other, with a great deal more that I cannot remember. I am convinced that while the French are permitted to trade here, that the Indians here never will be in our interest, for although our merchants sell them a stroud for three beaver, they will rather give six to a Frenchman. It is needless inquiring into the affair as the French had so much influence over them that they will deny what they said, for the other day I had the express before me saying we should all be fighting by and by; but could make nothing of it as the Indians were afraid to own it before him, although the Indians that heard them talk of it stood to it. I am, Yours, et cetera.

Donald Campbell was first to reply. He raised his rotund figure from his chair and straightened his wig slightly. "It seems to me, sir," he began, "that it may be a little of both. Certainly there is no doubt that the stories being fed the Indians that an army is coming to help them are lies. Yet, it appears that the Indians are beginning to put some credence in it. Though they have been very quiet lately, I feel sure I've detected a fundamental change in the attitude toward us recently. I have noticed a distinct coolness in them and there's a possibility that, acting on this misinformation, they may indeed be planning some sort of mischief. I've heard from some of the French here that Pontiac has been holding numerous councils and is gaining in prestige, but no one seems to know — or will admit to knowing — what they have been about. The general feeling is that he's stirring up the tribes."

Campbell paused and seemed about to say more when Captain Hopkins indicated a desire to comment and Campbell yielded to him.

"I agree," Hopkins said to Campbell, then addressed himself to the major: "Sir, I've heard a lot of reports that the French inhabitants here at Detroit — some of them at any rate — are growing continually more bitter at having to pay taxes for our support. They are angered, apparently, that they should have to help support with increased taxes, a garrison much larger than their own king had maintained here, and they complain that the outlying posts are always sending for more supplies. Men such as Antoine Cuillerier are said to be actively stirring up a heated resentment against us among the Indians and promising them with every breath that King Louis is going to send them help. They've passed the word that the report you gave out, sir, on the cessation of arms while peace talks are progressing, is a lie to hold them in check until we are ready to destroy them. The Indians believe them, but they're angry and frightened. At the moment they are quiet, but if they should happen to rise against us, we'll be in great trouble. The new policies have kept the tribes desperately in want, and yet they see here at Detroit and the dependencies goods worth in value somewhere around half a million pounds sterling, and they are envious. If only we could provide them with the gifts they are accustomed to . . . "

Hopkins's voice dwindled away and he shook his head and sat down again, knowing it was unnecessary for him to finish.

For over an hour they continued discussing the situation before finally breaking up. Gladwin returned at once to his own quarters and wrote a letter to Amherst, enclosing the wampum belt and the letters from both Holmes and Jenkins. Pointing out that the sum total of Detroit's defenses were three cannon — two six-pounders and a three-pounder — and several small mortars, along with one hundred and twenty-two men and eight officers, their position here was none too strong if the Indians decided to rise against them. The forty English traders and their engagees now at Detroit might be of some help in such a case, but this was offset by the likelihood that many of the French would either do nothing to help the English, or might even actively aid the Indians. Nevertheless, mentally crossing his fingers and praying he was right, he concluded the letter by expressing the opinion formed from his staff meeting today: that there was a general sense of irritation among the Indians near the dependency forts but that the affair would probably blow over, and that in the neighborhood of Detroit the Indians were perfectly tranquil, as they had been for some months. The Indians, he added, apparently did not relish the idea of the war between England and France possibly coming to an end, but that if he could have seventy or eighty medals to bestow on their chiefs as rewards and distinctions, he was sure they would be mollified.

In less than half an hour after Gladwin finished his writing, the packet for Amherst was on its way east by express courier.

Seated on the ground before the little knoll upon which he stood were nine thousand warriors, representing at least two dozen tribes; and beyond them on both sides and at the rear were easily that many or more women and children. Perhaps eighteen or twenty thousand Indians were gathered here and with the morning sun not yet halfway to its zenith, they waited patiently to hear the words of the war chief of the Ottawas.

This was the fifteenth day of the Green Moon and many of those in attendance had been traveling for weeks to arrive here for what promised to be one of the most important Indian councils ever held on the continent. For days they had been arriving here and as far as the eye could see there were hastily erected clusters of quonsets and wegiwas, tepees and wickiups, longhouses and cabins and various other types of shelters, while the air roundabout was filled with the bluish-white haze of smoke from a thousand or more campfires and nine times that many pipes.

Most populous among the tribes on hand were the Chippewa, with about four thousand warriors, plus another thousand from the subtribe, the Mississaugi. The Delawares and Shawnees present from the Ohio country numbered six hundred and five hundred men respectively, while the Ouiatenons — also called the Eel River Miamis — had four hundred men here. The Miami and Potawatomi tribes were represented by three hundred and fifty men each and there were another three hundred each for the Hurons and Kickapoos, plus two hundred and fifty Piankeshaws. Another fifty men were on hand representing such tribes as the Seneca, Peoria, Fox, Muncee, Sac, Menominee, Mascouten, Sioux, Osage, Winnebago, Cahokia, Nipissing, Caughnawaga, Abnaki, Algonkin, and Kaskaskia.

The air quivered and thrummed with the muted sounds of ankle bells and rattling beads, pebble-filled gourds and shell horns, crude string instruments, small drums attached by rawhide thongs to the outer thighs, and smooth sticks of varying sizes tapped together to produce a wide range of tone. There was a pervading murmur of thousands of private conversations and soft laughter interspersed with raucous chatter from the squaws and children.

There were Frenchmen on hand, too — some of the most prominent Canadians from Detroit; men such as Antoine Cuillerier and his son Alexis and daughter Angelique, Mini Chene, Jacques Godefroy, two of the Campeau brothers, Baptiste and Chartoc, Pierre Cardinale, Thomas Gouin, and many others. They had been specifically invited here by Pontiac and had been escorted by a special squad of the war chief's men. They had all been shocked and more than just a little frightened by such an enormous gathering of Indians .

Incredibly, though Fort Detroit was less than six miles distant and inhabited by no less than one hundred and thirty men and officers, not one Englishman was here at the Ecorse River. As a matter of fact, not a single individual of Major Henry Gladwin's garrison even suspected that such an Indian council was convening here. Secrecy had been maintained in exemplary manner and now guards were stationed on the perimeters to intercept and hold or turn back any Englishman, whether soldier or trader, who might accidentally come this way.

Over an hour ago a half dozen or more elderly Indian men acting as heralds under the orders of Pontiac, had wound their way through the makeshift shelters of the sprawling encampments calling in loud voices every so often that it was time to assemble for the council. And assemble they had, until now all were on hand who were expected and Pontiac stood before them, visible to all on the steep little knoll beside the river.

The crescent-shaped pendant hanging from his nostrils glistened whitely against the darkness of his skin and the swirling lines of paint and tattoos which decorated him. The loops of white porcelain beads hanging from his ears clicked softly as he moved his head back and forth, studying the assemblage. Broad beaten-silver bands were around both his arms just above the elbows and, from a silver disk an inch in diameter which was attached to his right temple, three eagle feathers — one bleached white and two dyed red — hung down and over his right shoulder. He was naked except for a loin cloth perhaps eight inches wide which hung to his knees in back and front, and a pair of soft doeskin moccasins upon his feet. Though not especially large in stature, he was nonetheless a commanding figure with a well-muscled body and stern, self-assured features. Around his neck and hanging down his sides so far that the two ends were on the ground was a broad belt of wampum, its black characters and symbols afloat in a field of deep red.

He raised both arms now and, as if by magic, a profound hush fell over the audience. His voice when he spoke was strong and far-carrying, audible clearly even to those farthest removed from him. Even as he spoke there came the murmur of many interpreters of the various tribes softly transposing the Ottawa tongue into that of their own people.

"Friends and brothers," Pontiac began, "it is the will of the Great Spirit that we should meet together this day. He orders all things and has given us a fine day for our council. He has taken His garment from before the sun and caused it to shine with brightness upon us. Our eyes are opened that we may clearly see; our cars are unstopped, that we may distinctly hear; our minds are open, that we may understand."

He paused and as the voices of the interpreters gradually died away after him, there came the rumble of a number of deep, guttural sounds of agreement and approval. When there was silence again, he continued:

"Brothers! These Englishmen are not as the French who are our friends. The Frenchmen wished to be our brothers, to live with us in peace, but not the English. No! The Frenchmen wished to do business with us and provide for us what we needed in exchange for what they wanted, but not the English. No! Yet now the French soldiers who protected us have been driven away and the English soldiers have taken their place and our lot grows unbearable. They take from us our land, our game, our forests, devouring them in great bites, always taking more than they can use and destroying that which is left; and when we request them to leave, they snap at us as will a mad dog snap at the hand of he who has nurtured and protected it. They deny us the means by which we survive. They are full of pride and they are constantly grasping for whatever they can reach, and there is no way by which we can obtain justice. Their highest general treats us with neglect and contempt, withholding from us those necessaries without which we grow weak, so that one day soon he may merely puff out his cheeks and blow us off the land. His officers in command of the posts on our lands abuse us, laugh at our misery, kick us away from them and call us names. When we come to their forts to council, we are made to state our business too quickly and then we are ordered away like little children whose minds are not complete and must be told what to do; and if we do not leave at once, we are struck by hard fists or the wooden ends of their guns until we run away for our own safety. Look at what they have done to us, my brothers. They have taken our game. They have taken our furs. They have taken our weapons. They have taken our pride and our self-respect. Still they reach out for more that they can take from us and only two things are left — our land and our lives — and now it is these they seek to grasp. They have swept away the French forever, so they think, But such is not so!"

He stopped and pulled the wampum belt away from around his neck and held it high over his head in outstretched hands, turning from side to side several times so that all who were present could see it.

"Friends and brothers," he shouted passionately, "it is not so! This belt I have only recently received from an emissary of the French King, in token that he has heard the voice of his red children. It says that he has been asleep for many seasons, but now he is no longer asleep and his great war canoes will soon come up the big river of the lakes from the eastern sea, and he will pluck Canada back out of the English hands, and he will lay against them a great punishment for their misdeeds against his red children while he slept. At this time the Indians and their French brothers will again fight side by side as they have always fought. We will then strike the English down as eight summers ago we struck down their strong arms under the General Braddock on the Monongahela when, as many of you who were there remember, we watched them walk up to where we were hidden and then we shot them down like empty-headed pigeons who are too slow-witted to flee. So again we will destroy them!"

There was a prolonged roar of approval punctuated by shrill war cries as he paused and several minutes passed before it became silent enough for him to continue. In the interval he glanced at the Frenchmen in attendance who were obviously very nervous. Before the meeting had begun, one of his chiefs who had helped escort the Frenchmen here had come to him. He reported to Pontiac that many of the French feared that an uprising, if it came, would be directed against all white men, including themselves, and they wished reassurance that this was not so. Now the war chief of the Ottawas directed his gaze toward them.

“The French," he said loudly, "have always been our brothers, and it is not necessary for brothers to fear brothers. I wish no harm to come to my French brothers here or elsewhere in this land. As a proof that I do not desire it, just call to mind the war with the Foxes and the way I behaved as regards you seventeen summers ago. When the Chippewas and Ottawas of Michilimackinac and all the northern nations came with the Sacs and Foxes to destroy you, who was it that defended you? Was it not I and my men?

Pontiac at this time handed the war belt to one of his chiefs sitting nearby and directed his gaze once again over the huge audience. Now that he had stirred their anger and resentment, it was time to appeal to their religious beliefs and superstitions. Some months ago when he had visited a Delaware village he bad listened to the words of an alleged prophet of that tribe who told of an encounter he had had with the Great Spirit. Not sure in his own mind whether or not he believed the story, Pontiac had nevertheless been greatly moved by the vocal picture the ancient Delaware had painted. Such a story, turned to his own devices, could be just what he needed to weld the Indian nations together under his leadership. Word had already spread through this assemblage of the vision Pontiac had claimed to have had last autumn. It had laid the groundwork for what was to come now. Ten days before this council convened, Pontiac had made a show of mysteriously striking out into the woods in a straight line, his movements trancelike. On the ninth day he reappeared and hinted broadly of the great meeting he had just concluded with the most powerful deity, the Master of Life. Rumor of this flashed to every ear as the Indians had assembled here. Now Pontiac meant to profit from the seeds he had planted.

The Indian audience was sitting with quiet attendance, waiting for him to continue, and so he did, his voice still carrying clearly but filled now with a new and stirring tonal quality. He told them of how he had heard the Delaware prophet — noticing the Delawares in attendance nodding in support — and how he had learned from the old man the secret of direct communication and confrontation with the Great Spirit. He told them that he had then returned here and set about achieving a similar meeting. He now raised both arms until every eye impaled him, every tongue was mute.

"Friends and brothers," he continued, "let your ears hear well what now I have to say to you. As that Delaware Indian had, so had I a great desire to learn wisdom from the Master of Life. In order to find Him that I might learn from Him, I did as the Delaware prophet advised and took to fasting and dreaming and the saying of magical songs. By these means it was revealed to me that if I would travel straight ahead in a course as true as the good arrow's flight, I would in time reach the lodge of the Great Spirit. I told my vision to no one, but set out on my straightforward journey, having first equipped myself with gun, powder horn, lead balls, and a kettle for preparing my food. For some time I journeyed on in high hope and confidence.

"Some of you here," he added, "have told me that you witnessed my leaving, but I saw no one and heard nothing as I departed this place. On the evening of the eighth day of my travel I stopped by the side of a brook at the edge of a meadow and there I began to prepare my evening meal. Suddenly looking up, I saw in the woods before me three large openings and three well-beaten paths entering them. I was much surprised and my wonder increased the more when even after darkness had fallen the three paths were more clearly visible than ever. Remembering the important object of my journey, I could neither rest nor sleep and so, leaving my fire, 1 crossed the meadow and entered the largest of the three openings. I had advanced but a short distance when a bright flame came out of the ground before me and I could go no farther. In great amazement I turned back and entered the second opening, and in a little while I encountered the same strange fire again and was forced to go back. Now, though afraid and puzzled, I yet resolved to persevere and I followed the last of the three paths into its opening. On this I journeyed a whole day without interruption and at last, emerging from the forest through which the path had been winding, I saw before me a great mountain of dazzling whiteness."

Pontiac paused to give the straining interpreters time to catch up. As they did so, a satisfied murmuring arose from the assemblage who had been listening intently to his story. There was absolutely no doubt that they believed implicitly every word he was speaking.

"So steep was the climb, my brothers," the Ottawa war chief continued, "that I thought it hopeless to be able to go farther and I looked about myself in despair. My eyes searched the woods and the meadow and then the mountain and in that moment they stopped on a beautiful woman all in white who was seated some distance above. She stood up as I looked upon her and said to me thus: 'How can you hope to succeed in your design when laden as you are? Go down to the foot of the mountain, throw away your gun, your ammunition, your provisions, and your clothing; wash yourself in the stream which flows there, and you will then be prepared to stand before the Master of Life.' I obeyed her and began to climb among the rocks, but it was very difficult and the woman, seeing me still discouraged, laughed at my faintness of heart and told me that if I wished for success, I must make my climb using only one hand and one foot. After great effort and suffering, I at last reached the summit, but the woman had disappeared and I was alone. A rich and beautiful plain lay before me and at a little distance I saw three great villages far superior to the homes of my own people. I walked to the largest and hesitated before it, wondering whether I should enter. A man superbly dressed stepped out, took me by the hand and welcomed me to the abode. He then conducted me into the presence of the Great Spirit and I was awed to silence at the unspeakable splendor about him. The Great Spirit told me to sit and spoke to me thus: 'I am the Maker of heaven and earth, the trees, lakes, rivers, and all things else. I am the Maker of mankind, and because I love you, you must do my will. The land on which you live I have made for you, and not for others. Why do you suffer the English men to dwell among you? Your people, my children, have forgotten the customs and traditions of your forefathers. Why do you not clothe yourself in skins as they did? Why do you not use the bows and arrows and the stone-tipped lances which they used? You have bought guns, knives, kettles and blankets from the white men until you can no longer do without them. What is worse, you have drunk the poison firewater which turns you into fools. Fling all these things away and live as your wise forefathers lived before you. Take to you no more than one wife and do no longer practice the use of magic, which is a way of worshiping the spirit of evil. And as for these English, these dogs dressed in red, who have come to rob you of your hunting grounds and drive away the game, you must lift the hatchet against them! Wipe them from the face of the earth and then you will win my favor back again, and once more be happy and prosperous. The children of your great father, the King of France, are not like the English. Never forget that they are your brothers. They are very dear to me, for they love the red men and understand the true manner of worshiping me. Go back now to your people, gather them together and those of other tribes and explain to them what I have explained to you. Direct them each tribe to rise as one in their own land and strike down the intruder of your lands who wears the red coat. Do not give him warning. Do not let him suspect. Catch him unawares and destroy him, and when you have done so, then you may discard his clothes and his weapons and his food and return again to the way of life that I directed for you in the beginning.' This," Pontiac added, "is what he said to me and then at once he was gone and the beautiful house and white mountain were gone and I was in the woods near here and returned to my village to tell my people what I had seen and felt and experienced and heard. I told them and now I have told you."

Abruptly his voice became harshly passionate again and his arms spread as if to encompass the whole of the assemblage. His body was shiny with perspiration and the flesh of his chest and thighs and upper arms quivered and trembled as if from a great chill and he appeared to be a man possessed.

"My brothers!" he shouted. "My friends! My children! Hear me now: we must now, from this time forward, cast out of us the anger for whatever ill has risen up between ourselves in the past. We must cast it away from us and we must let ourselves become one people whose common purpose it must be to drive from among us the English dogs who seek to destroy us and take our lands!"

There was a wild, shrill, thunderous roar of approval which grew in volume until the mind and ear were dazed by it; a fantastic, fierce, frightening, unforgettable sound which only gradually died away. Here was a man possessed of the Great Spirit. They could see it! Before their eyes the Great Spirit was using the voice of the war chief Pontiac to command them and a riotous blood-seeking fever swept through them. There was no need for Pontiac to ask them if they were with him. It was self-evident that they were. Fully five minutes elapsed before Pontiac found it quiet enough again to continue.

"Go now," he said to them. "Return to your homelands. Study the English in your lands and see how best to fall upon them and destroy them utterly before they can prepare to meet you. Deceive them! Let them accept you as friends and when the moment is right, strike them all in the same instant. Leave here at once, and when the word comes to you that Detroit has been struck by Pontiac, raise then your own war clubs to crush the English in your own land. You will not be alone. We are united to this cause and we will have coming to us the great army of men from our good father in France. Go!"

And go they did, swiftly and silently. In less than two hours' time, the only humans left in the great clearing on the north side of the Ecorse River were the Detroit Potawatomies and Hurons, along with a substantial number of Ottawas who clustered around their war chief, wanting to see and hear and touch this man who was the instrument of the Divine; this man who had received commands directly from the mouth of the Great Spirit!

A delegation of the chiefs of the Potawatomi and Huron factions came up to Pontiac now. These were the Hurons under Takee and only a few of those under Teata. The latter chief was disapproving of Pontiac's plan and he had kept himself and most of his people away from the council. But Takee, along with Washee of the Potawatomies, declared fealty to Pontiac in the strongest of terms and both chiefs asked what they could do.

Pontiac, greatly buoyed by the success of his oration, shook his head. "Say nothing to any Englishman of this. Return to your villages and remain quiet, except to prepare your weapons for war. After four more days have passed, I and some of my young men will go into the fort to dance the calumet and let Major Gladwin and his men think we are there only to entertain them. But as some of us dance, others will spread out inside the fort to determine the strength of the garrison — the number of men and rifles and cannons, the number of traders and stores, and the location of the goods we will need to take at once when the attack is begun. When we have learned what we need to learn, we will leave, and then I will summon another council of the tribes here and we will determine among ourselves the best method of attack."

The sergeant stepped through the doorway into George Croghan's quarters and handed the Indian agent an envelope, then added: "It's from Sir William."

Croghan took the letter and smiled at the sloppy salute the sergeant tossed off to him. It was with considerable amusement that he was allowing his friends and acquaintances to keep on addressing him with the lofty title they had recently begun using. Though in his own career with the military he had never been higher in rank than a captain of the militia, somehow almost everyone here at Fort Pitt had suddenly started calling him Colonel Croghan. He had been a bit taken aback by it at first and was on the point of asking that such a title not be used, as he was not of that rank. Before he could do so, however, the feisty little commander of the fort, Captain Simeon Ecuyer, had accosted him like an angry rooster. He abruptly accused Croghan of both initiating and promoting the fictitious title in an effort to undermine Ecuyer's own authority here and demanded that he have it stopped.

George Croghan had never been very appreciative of either accusations or demands and so he had merely smiled and settled back and said nothing at all. The captain was furious but there was really nothing he could do. Croghan suspected that the unearned title had been given to him because of his growing fame and seemingly endless and fascinating speculations in any number of fields — prospecting for silver or copper, trading with the Indians, acquiring vast tracts of wilderness land, and so on. Even his large and now very well appointed house a little way upstream on the Allegheny from the fort was being called Croghan Hall and though at first the Indian agent thought that both titles would soon die out, they hadn't. Several months had passed and it was evident that from now on he was going to be known as Colonel Croghan of Croghan Hall.

The trace of the smile still on his face disappeared as he opened the letter dated April 8 from Sir William Johnson. Among other things, his supervisor had written:

"Sorry, Colonel," he said. "Here's another one for you that was under some others. It's from the gen'ral."

Croghan nodded and took it from him, cracking the heavy seal with his thumbnail as he tore it open. As he read the expression on his face changed and the sergeant's grin faded as he quietly backed away and then disappeared from view. Discussing the Indians, the general had written, in part:

A sizable crowd of Indians, English and French had already gathered at the landing by the time he and Tracy arrived, but the two batteaux were still too distant to determine who they were. The two traders gravitated toward a group of four or five men off to one side and joined them. They were traders and their engagees and their expressions were sober as they listened to what Henry Bostwick was saying.

Bostwick was the only English trader who had been at Michilimackinac longer than Alexander Henry and, while he may not have been quite as energetic as Henry, he was nevertheless a good trader and had established himself well here. He did not do quite as much Indian business as Henry did, simply because he couldn't force himself to enjoy working or associating with Indians very much and adamantly refused to learn their language. He preferred catering to the needs of the English garrison and the French inhabitants.

Bostwick nodded a greeting at Henry and Tracy, but did not stop talking. "And the way I look at it," he continued, "there's trouble ahead. Bad trouble."

"I got to go along with you there," put in Ezekiel Solomon, the Jewish trader. "They's a smell in the air I don't like."

"They ain't a whole hell of a lot t'be done about it, though," added Stanley Goddard. Except for Alexander Henry, he was the youngest of the English traders at this place.

"What trouble?" Henry asked. "What's the matter?"

Bostwick shook his head. "Don't really know for sure. Nothing you can really put your finger on, but there's something in the wind. The Indians are acting queerly, 'specially the Chippewas. I don't know, I ain't dealt with 'em enough to read 'em right yet, but it seems to me they're gettin' hostile toward us. You're pretty close to 'em, Alex. What do you think?"

Henry gave a deprecating grunt. "Not that close. I don't know. I guess 1 have detected sort of a cooling off between them and us, but I don't know that it amounts to much. There's always those we haven't been able to get along with. Look at the trouble I've had with Owl, for example. I think he'd slit my throat if he had half the chance. But he's an exception. As for the rest, I just don't know. I think probably they're still mad about the fact that we can't sell 'em lead and gunpowder. They're really hurting for it."

"Wouldn't surprise me none," Solomon interjected, "if they took a notion to explode on us one of these days an' just help themselves from our stock."

"Oh, I doubt it, Zeke," Henry said quickly. "It wouldn't be worth the risk to them. At least not with Captain Etherington and his men here to hold the lid on; and Etherington says they wouldn't dare to make trouble. Wait a minute, here comes Jamet. Let's see what he has to say about it."

Lieutenant John Jamet, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane, was moving slowly toward the group and the traders began walking toward him. Henry smiled as he saw how well Jamet was doing. After the fire at the Sault he hadn't thought the young officer had much of a chance to survive. But the care and Indian remedies administered by Cadotte's Chippewa wife had worked wonders. By January 20 he was well enough to travel slowly and so he and Henry and Cadotte, along with four or five Indians, had strapped on snowshoes and set out southward along the shoreline in an effort to reach Fort Michilimackinac. It was slow going; much slower then they'd anticipated. Jamet's legs and feet were in such bad shape that they were quickly chafed raw. They had expected to reach the fort in four or five days but as it turned out, they had only reached Pointe de Detour — approximately the halfway mark — after a full week had passed and by then their provisions were nearly exhausted. Worse yet, there was still open water toward the center of the Straits of Mackinac and, without a boat of any kind, there would be no way to cross over to the fort until the remainder of the water froze solidly.

There was nothing to do but camp there and send the Indians back to the Sault at once for more supplies. Henry had carefully rationed what they had remaining into three parts — for Jamet, Cadotte, and himself — and they settled down to wait. Four bitterly cold days later, with the provisions all but gone, the swiftly traveling Indians had returned with more. By now a coating of ice had formed on the previously open surface of the Straits, but it was still too thin to trust, so once more they had started toward the fort on land, and again Jamet's condition slowed them dangerously. Soon the supplies were nearly gone again. That was when they made the decision to camp where they were and wait, Cadotte taking care of Jamet, while Henry struck out alone for the fort to get help. He left them at daybreak and traveled swiftly until opposite the fort and then, gritting his teeth, took the chance and crossed the new ice. It held beneath him and he reached Fort Michilimackinac and reported to Captain Etherington late that afternoon. An earlier rescue party sent out by Etherington had been forced back, but now another was readied and set out the following morning with a sleigh. On the second day after that, the party brought Jamet and Cadotte in safely.

Since then Jamet had been recuperating, but he was still far from well. Not only had the fire damaged his legs badly, but his feet had been severely frostbitten on the trip here. Henry was surprised Jamet could even stand, much less walk with the aid of a cane

The traders gathered around the lieutenant and repeated much of what they had been discussing, asking his opinion, Jamet pursed his lips and then shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "You men have certainly been having closer contact with the Indians than I. However, I do know that Captain Etherington has received a couple of warnings from French inhabitants that there's some sort of trouble brewing, but he doesn't believe it. I rather suspect he's right. Whose boats are coming?"

The group turned their attention to the advancing batteaux and now they were close enough to see that these were not the boats belonging to Henry or any of the other traders. Moving slowly down to the waterfront with Jamet, they were there when the two large open boats dropped sail and scraped to a stop on the rocky shore.

It was Sergeant Patrick Shaw with a detachment of nineteen soldiers and a woman. He had been dispatched from Detroit on April 17 by Major Gladwin with supplies for the fort here at the Straits. Now, while his men were unloading the boats and carrying the goods into the fort, the traders and Lieutenant Jamet questioned Shaw. The sergeant grinned, delighted at the attention he was getting, and answered the questions as rapidly as they were asked. Yes, he had a packet of mail and dispatches from Detroit and the east, but so far as he knew it was all routine matter. No, the Indians were very quiet at Detroit. No, there hadn't been any hostilities at all, though a couple of messengers were overdue in arriving. No, the general had not yet relaxed any of the trading restrictions. Yes, Sir Robert Davers was still at Detroit, but was planning to go on a sounding tour of Lake St. Clair with a party Major Gladwin was going to send out to determine whether or not a schooner could negotiate the river connecting Lake Huron to Lake St. Clair. Yes, Sir Robert was planning to come back to Michilimackinac again after that. No, there were not any new promotions to announce.

On and on the questions went as they walked back to the fort. When finally they had reached the parade square inside, Alexander Henry nodded to Jamet and started back to his own store. The voice of the lieutenant followed him:

"From the looks of it, Alex, I'd say there was nothing to worry about. These Indians can't keep a secret. If they were planning something, you can be sure we'd know all about it far in advance."

The warriors laughed and joked among themselves, sometimes leaping and prancing about to the merriment of the others as they moved along. Most of them were bare-chested. Some wore buckskin leggings, while others had on only a loincloth. They were not painted, and so their tattoos — circles and lines, diagonals and spirals and odd faces etched on arms and legs, back and chest and buttocks — stood out in marked contrast against their coppery skin in the bright midafternoon sunlight. Pontiac and Macatepilesis and several of the minor chiefs had skinning knives in their waistbands, but this was not abnormal. Most of the men were without weapons and each carried a tobacco pouch and the red calumet clay pipe.

From ahead of them a sentry sang out loudly, "Indians approaching the west gate, sir!" and in a moment a small squad of soldiers and a Frenchman had positioned themselves at the gate to bar entry until instructions were received. Pontiac did not slow his pace, but moved directly to the men and addressed himself to the Frenchman.

"We have come," Pontiac said agreeably, "as is our custom each spring, to smoke and dance the calumet before your chief to reaffirm to him our friendship for the English."

Pierre LaButte, head interpreter for Detroit, nodded and told them to wait, that he would inform the major. A few minutes later at the east end of the Rue St. Louis, LaButte knocked at the door of the house of the commanding officer. It was opened by Captain Campbell, who was joined in a moment by Major Gladwin and Sir Robert Davers.

"What is it, LaButte?" Gladwin asked.

"The Ottawas, Major. They've come to the west gate, led by Pontiac. They've asked to be allowed to come in to smoke and dance the calumet for you. There are about forty or fifty of them."

Gladwin frowned and glanced at Campbell. The captain nodded. "Usual custom, sir," he told the major. "Each spring they come to smoke and dance in front of the house here to attest their continuing friendship for us."

Gladwin shook his head. "Not this year. We still don't know what went on at that big council on the Ecorse last Wednesday. I don't like it. Tell them to leave."

LaButte was shocked and protested at once. "Sir, you mustn't! Excuse me, sir, but they would take it as a great insult if you turned them away when they've come to honor you like this. They're not armed. All they have with them are their pipes."

Campbell backed him up. "I believe he's right, Major. They'd be sure to take offense if we turned them away now. Might cause some serious problems."

Gladwin hesitated and then gave in. "All right, lead them in, LaButte, and let them get it over with. Captain, pass the word for the guard to remain alert. Sir Robert, you may find this interesting."

By the time LaButte and Campbell returned to the gate, a sizable crowd of people had gathered — French inhabitants, men, women and children, from both inside and outside the fort, those soldiers who were not on guard duty, many of the traders, and a fair number of English women and children who were dependents of the soldiers. The captain nodded to the sentries, who backed out of the way respectfully, and then greeted Pontiac, shaking hands and expressing his pleasure at seeing him again. Pontiac responded in kind and then allowed Campbell to lead him and his warriors and chiefs — followed by a mass of onlookers — along the Rue St. Jacques to the east end of the street where they turned to the right in front of Ste. Anne's Church and proceeded to the commander's house. There were now so many people in the streets that no one paid particular attention as one by one Macatepilesis and nine other Ottawas lagged back and then disappeared among the buildings inside the fort.

Major Henry Gladwin and Sir Robert Davers were seated in chairs on the front porch of the major's house. Davers seemed most interested, but Gladwin watched without expression as they approached. When the group stopped before his house, he nodded once. Pontiac detached himself and came forward and Gladwin stood and moved to meet him. The two men shook hands and, with LaButte doing the interpreting, exchanged greetings. Pontiac presented Gladwin with a pipe and then raised his hand as a signal for the dancing to begin. A long wooden stake was pounded into the ground in the middle of the Rue St. Louis and, while the majority of the Indians followed Pontiac's lead and just sat and smoked, a handful of warriors pranced and leaped and whirled around the post, chanting phrases unintelligible to the English.

For nearly an hour the dancing and smoking continued and the crowd watched with interest. At intervals the ten Indians who had separated themselves from Pontiac's party quietly and unobtrusively came back one by one to take their places with the seated smokers. Finally Pontiac stood and the dancing ceased. He stepped to within five feet of Major Gladwin and in a loud voice spoke rapidly and at some length. When he paused, LaButte interpreted for the commander.

"He says, Major, that the Ottawas wish you to know that they are your friends now and will ever more be so, as long as the grass shall grow and the rivers run. He thanks you for whatever favors you have done him and his people in the past. He apologizes that this calumet dance party is so small, but says that many of his nation are still at their winter hunting, though he expects them to return in a few days from now. He says when they do so, then he and they will return here to pay a formal visit to the English commander. He asks that now, as a token of your friendship for him, that his party here be provided with a little bread, tobacco, and rum."

"Tell him," Gladwin replied, smiling slightly, "that we are honored by his visit and appreciate the expression of his friendship for the English. Tell him that whatever friendship he holds for us is returned by us in like measure to him and his people. Tell him we look forward to the formal visit he intends honoring us with soon. Tell him that bread and tobacco will be distributed, but that the general docs not permit the Indians to have rum, and that instead they may have beer to drink."

As LaButte translated for Pontiac, Gladwin ordered the bread, tobacco and beer brought and distributed. The Indians accepted the portions gravely and in a short while, Pontiac again having shaken the hands of both Campbell and Gladwin, the party filed back out of the fort. They proceeded casually back to where their canoes were beached, took their places in them and then paddled across the river, angling upstream toward Pontiac's village.

Not until he reentered his own town did the set expression on the Ottawa war chief's face change. The lips spread in a satisfied smile and the dark eyes took on a gleam. He ordered Macatepilesis and the other nine Ottawas who had disappeared within the fort to report to him and they did so, each man contributing his portion of keen observations. The ten had spied thoroughly, observing where the cannon and mortars were placed, noting how the guard was mounted on ramparts and in bastions, describing in detail where the various traders' stores were located and, as near as could be determined, what was in each, and noting in particular that the fort's powder magazine, its door locked and guarded by a sentry, was the first building to the north of Ste. Anne's Church, making it the last building to the east on the south side of the Rue St. Joseph.

The fort was not especially strong, it seemed. Though the wooden stockade was subject to fire, this danger had been considerably reduced when the French were in occupancy here by banking earth several feet high against the inside of the cedar picket walls. There were three bastions, one each on the corners closest to the river and one in the center of the north wall. There were also a couple of blockhouses apart from the fort to the north perhaps one hundred and fifty yards. As luck would have it, though, there was only one cannon — a three-pounder — mounted in the north bastion. The two six-pounders were on the parade ground and therefore useless until moved. The twin-masted schooner Huron had six guns and was anchored at the upper end of the fort, while the slightly larger eighty-ton sloop Michigan was anchored at the lower end, a little farther out in the river. As for soldiers, the garrison strength was not more than one hundred and twenty men, plus perhaps twenty or thirty traders presently on hand. Best of all, some Frenchmen had volunteered the information that supplies in the fort were very short. The first spring shipment had not yet come from Fort Niagara and there was within Detroit provision enough for only about two weeks.

By the time the conference was over, Pontiac had a remarkably good mental picture of the interior of Detroit, its strengths and weaknesses. In the gathering darkness of the evening, Pontiac sent out two parties of five men each, one under Chief Macatepilesis and the other under Chief Mehemah; the former to carry a summary of the day's activities and intelligence to Chief Washee in the Potawatomi village a mile or so downstream from the fort on the northwest bank of the river, the latter to carry the same news to Chief Takee's Huron village just slightly upstream across the river from Washee's village.

"In addition to telling them what you have told me, and about what we did within the fort," Pontiac instructed the two chiefs, "tell them that we will all meet for secret council at Washee's village when the sun is straight up on the fourth day from now. Tell them to send away all squaws and children and to let no one near who might betray us. At that time we will set the date and time of our attack on Detroit and discuss the best way that place can be taken."

And the smile on Pontiac's face broadened as the two parties turned away and were quickly swallowed up in the deepening dusk.

Captain George Etherington looked up from the letter he was writing and then lay his pen aside. "Who is it, Private?"

"Said his name is Ducharme, sir. Laurent Ducharme."

Etherington nodded, hoping this was not another wide-eyed gossip with a warning for him. There had been several already and he had had his fill of them. The private stepped back and showed the visitor in. He was a lean man, though not tall, who bobbed his head in a birdlike manner in greeting and then looked all around the room nervously. Etherington stood and motioned the man to a chair before the desk. He glanced at the soldier.

"Private, close the door behind you when you leave." His gaze moved to the Frenchman as the soldier departed and he added, "Sit down. Monsieur Ducharme. You wish to tell me something?"

The visitor perched on the edge of the seat and, though he seemed relieved when the door was closed and he was alone with the commander of Fort Michilimackinac, there was still an abundant nervousness about him. He licked his lips and coughed lightly. Etherington said nothing more and when the man finally spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. " Captain, you are in danger here. Very great danger."

Etherington's brows pinched. "Tell me about it," he said flatly.

Laurent Ducharme coughed again, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then said rapidly, "I have been in the woods for a long time. I have seen many Indians. I stayed with many and talked with them. There is a plan being made now to absolutely destroy you and your garrison and all of the English in this country. You cannot hope to stand against them. For the sake of your life and the lives of your men you ought to prepare to leave this place now. You ought —"

As Ducharme had spoken, the frown grew deeper on Etherington's face and now the officer slammed his hand down on the desk with a crash, interrupting him. "By God, sir," the captain said, rising, "I've had just about enough of you people running around with tales like that. What do you expect to accomplish by spreading such lies? Do you think we'll get frightened and desert the fort so you can walk in and take over again?"

Etherington's voice had risen angrily and now Ducharme looked even smaller than he seemed before as he sat on the edge of his chair. He opened his mouth to say something, but Etherington cut him off with a slashing movement of his hand.

"Ducharme, that story has no foundation in fact. You're not even the first to tell it. You're one of these men around here so ill-disposed to the English that you'll do anything to cause us mischief. Don't say one more word to me. Not one! I'm tired of hearing such lies. Now get out!"

Ducharme slid from the chair and walked swiftly toward the door, but Etherington's voice halted him just as he began opening it.

The Frenchman bobbed his head and almost ran out, quickly closing the door behind him. George Etherington grunted and sat down, shaking his head. That was what he should have done a long time ago. Maybe now these stupid senseless rumors would cease.

Both Captain Campbell and Major Gladwin had walked down to the water gate of the fort this morning to give final instructions and see the party off. The bateau they were taking was a good-sized craft, with ample room for the dozen men aboard and their supplies. They did not anticipate being gone from Detroit for more than a couple of weeks.

The boat's party, under command of Lieutenant Charles Robertson, consisted of six soldiers, a young trader named John Rutherford, who was the nephew of Detroit trader James Sterling's partner, Samuel Rutherford, a Pawnee slave of Rutherford's from the far west, two sailors, Sir Robert Davers and, of course, the expedition's commander.

Davers shook hands warmly with Gladwin and Campbell and then climbed eagerly into the boat and took a position standing up in the bow, holding the fine new rifle given to him recently by James Sterling. His eyes flashed with excitement and he leaned forward, as if in so doing he could help push the boat along faster.

The lines were slipped and the rowers bent to their task. Within mere minutes the batteau had moved out into midstream on the Detroit River and was ahead dwindling in size to the eyes of the two officers watching the departure. Davers could still be seen standing in the bow and leaning forward and Gladwin chuckled and shook his head.

"By God," he said, "I swear I don't believe I ever encountered anyone anywhere who enjoys life as much as Sir Robert does."

Both the commander and Captain Campbell were still laughing when they reentered the fort and the water gate closed behind them.

The village itself was practically empty of life, since all the women and children had been sent away into the woods at the order of Pontiac. A cordon of young warriors had been stationed at intervals around the entire town to intercept anyone who might approach and perhaps interrupt the important council ready to begin.

Over one hundred chiefs were present inside the longhouse and the most important among them, besides Pontiac himself and Macatepilesis, his second, were Chief Washee of the Potawatomies, Chiefs Wasson and Perwash of the Chippewas, and Chief Takee of the Hurons. Pontiac wasted no time in getting to the point of this council.

"My brothers," he began, "we have come now to the most important moment. The time has come now when I must know where you stand and whether or not you will support your brothers in the work that is ahead of them. I will speak to you, and then you will give me your answers.

"It is important, my brothers, that we should exterminate from this land these English, whose only object is our death. You all know, even as I know, that we can no longer fulfill our wants in the way we were accustomed to do with our fathers, the French. The English sell us their goods at double the price that the French made us pay, and yet their merchandise is good for nothing, for no sooner have we bought a blanket or other thing to cover us than it becomes necessary to procure others against the time of departing for our wintering ground. Neither will they let us have them on credit, as our brothers the French used to do. When I visit the English chief and inform him of the death of any of our comrades, instead of lamenting as our brothers the French used to do, they make game of us. If I ask him for anything for our sick, he refuses and tells us that he does not want us, from which it is apparent he seeks our death. We must therefore, in return, destroy these Englishmen without delay."

At this there was a guttural drone of approval from his listeners and when at length it had quieted down a little, Pontiac continued:

The response now was more tumultuous, with shrieks rising in the throats of the listeners, hands clapping together and feet thudding on the earthen floor. It was two or three minutes before the outcry dwindled enough for Pontiac to go on.

"Do you fear that our brothers the French, who are yet among us, will hinder us? Hear me now: they are not yet acquainted with our final designs and if they did know them, could they prevent them? You know as well as myself that when the English came upon our lands to drive from them our father Beletre, they took from the French who remained here all the guns they had, so that now they have no guns to defend themselves with. Therefore, now is the time: let us strike! Should there be any French to take their part, let us strike them as we do the English. Remember what the Giver of Life desired our brother the Delaware to do; this regards us as much as it does them. Hear me now: I have already sent belts and speeches to our friends the Chippewas of Saginaw and Michilimackinac, and the Ottawas, our brothers, of L'Arbre Croche, and to the children of the Chippewas, the Mississaugi of the valley of the Riviere a la Tranch, 70 inviting them to join us and I have been told they will not delay. Everywhere the tomahawk is raised and ready to fall as soon as ours falls here. Therefore, let us strike! There is no longer any time to lose, and when the English shall be defeated, we will stop up the way so that no more of them shall ever return again upon our lands. We must destroy them now!"

A wild, raucous shrieking burst from the throats of his listeners and everywhere in the assemblage the chiefs leaped to their feet brandishing tomahawks and they slashed and struck the air with them at an imaginary English foe.

It was a declaration of war.

One by one then, the chiefs pledged their tribes not only to join in the war against the English as proposed by Pontiac, but to accept him as the principal leader of all the Indians, irrespective of tribe. They clamored to know what they should do and when, and Pontiac was not hesitant in telling them.

"Three days ago," he said, after a semblance of order had been restored, "a boat filled with English left the fort and went into the little lake above. There they are measuring waters so that they can know how to send great ships against us. They are in the country of the Chippewas and I now give it to Chief Perwash of that tribe to see to them at once, that what they have learned does not come to the ears of their chief, Gladwin.

"Two days ago I received messages that Chief Takee and his Huron chiefs met at Sandusky with their brother Wyandots, and those of that tribe under the leadership of Chief Odinghquanooron are with us. Also there were many of the Shawnees and Delawares, who are all in full agreement with us and who have received a present of three barrels of gunpowder from the French in the Illinois, with the encouragement that they use it to go against the fort called Pitt at the head of the Spay-lay-wi-theepi — the Ohio River — and if they should not be able to take it by treachery, they shall pass it by and go instead against the English people who have disobeyed treaty lines and have moved into Indian lands where they are now sinking roots and building their cabins made from tree trunks.

"Now," he continued, pointing to the Potawatomies in attendance, "I say to you, Chief Washee, to take your men to the west of here to the place of the English called Fort St. Joseph and when you hear that we have struck here, do you the same there. "

His pointing finger swung to the Hurons. "And to you, Chief Takee, I say the same: go to Sandusky, but leave some messengers to run after you, and when they bring you word of our strike here, you will join with Chief Odinghquanooron and strike Fort Sandusky at once. I am assured that Chief Minivavana and Chief Mackinac will likewise lead the northern Chippewas and Ottawas against the fort at Michilimackinac, and so it will go at all the other forts of the English which are in our country.

"As for us here, we will strike Detroit the second day from now. With sixty strong warriors I will go into the fort of Detroit to talk, as their chief Gladwin supposes, of peace. Some of our women will go in first, with guns cut short and hidden beneath the blankets they wear. While counciling is being done, others of our warriors will enter and spread themselves out into good places inside the fort. And when, during that council, I lift my voice in the death cry, then will each warrior strike on that instant the Englishman closest to him and then all others he can reach and destroy. Take care that no French are struck by mistake, for they are still our brothers and, even though without weapons, they are with us and will help us."

On and on the refinement of details in this war planning went on. Not until late in the afternoon did the council end and the Indians separate to go to their proper locations. For his own part, Pontiac and a number of the other chiefs went at once to the house of Antoine Cuillerier and talked long into the night with him and other such Frenchmen as Jacques Godefroy, Chartoc Campeau, Elleopolle "Mini" Chene. The interpreter, Pierre LaButte, was there, as was the French trader of such influence, Jacques Duperon Baby.

It was obvious that Pontiac had gone over much of this before with Cuillerier. The Ottawa and the Frenchman had had numerous meetings in this house in the past days and weeks. Certainly he was the only Frenchman on hand who was not startled by the news of the planned attack so soon. Even his son and daughter, Alexis and Angelique, gasped aloud when they heard what was planned. Jacques Duperon Baby turned absolutely ashen and no word of support for Pontiac left his lips, but his lack of enthusiasm was lost in the abundance of it from others on hand. No Frenchman on hand gave a disapproving word on the plan and most of them promised they would help Pontiac all they could, while at the same time pretending to remain neutral.

"It is enough," Pontiac said, well satisfied. “The time for you to rise actively beside me will come when your King sends his army here as he has promised. In the meanwhile, we will strike and take Detroit, and when it has been taken," he placed his hand on the shoulder of Antoine Cuillerier, "then, my friend, will you take command of Detroit and hold it until such officer will come who is sent by your great King?"

"I will do it," Cuillerier agreed, nodding. "I know it will come to pass as you have said. There is but one thing I would ask: that the life of Captain Campbell be spared. He always treated us and you well, understood us and sympathized with us. He is a good man and I would not want to see him slain."

Pontiac shrugged. "Who is to say who may be killed or who may be saved when battle is undertaken? This I will say: he will not fall by my hand if I see him to know him. That is all I can say."

Now, as the Frenchmen stood nervously by the glowing remains of the campfire, a party of twenty-five or thirty Chippewas came into view out of the darkness from the west, their right hands held palm forward in the sign of peace. Clairmont recognized the leader, a chief named Perwash.

Baptiste Campeau, leader of this French party, moved forward to greet the chief and shook his hand. As the warriors squatted in a wide ring around them, the five Frenchmen crouched near the hastily rebuilt fire and listened while Perwash spoke. He told them of the plan that had been laid to take Detroit by treachery during a formal council and said further that he had been sent by Pontiac with a belt to invite all Indians encountered to fall upon the English wherever they found them. Especially was it his mission to find and destroy a party of boatmen sent out by Major Gladwin four days ago. These men would soon be moving upstream on the Huron River and it was there that Perwash intended to surprise and take them.

Clairmont was shocked. He had heard talk of an uprising forming, but such rumors had floated about periodically for years. Now, apparently, it was becoming reality and he felt sickened. He glanced at the other members of his party. Henri Massac, like himself, seemed stunned. Baptiste Campeau and Henri Dunoir were grinning, obviously pleased by the news. Charles Dusette was suddenly eager and he gripped the Indian's arm.

Perwash grunted his approval for Dusette to join him and the men continued talking with the chief in low tones. Massac and Clairmont got up and drifted off to one side until their voices could not be heard by the others.

"My God, Henri," Clairmont whispered hoarsely, "it'll be slaughter. We've got to do something, warn somebody."

"No!" Massac whispered back. "No! Don't talk like that. They'd kill us if they thought we'd do that. Leave it alone! I want nothing to do with it, nothing! I am going into the woods. I do not want to hear what is being said, Francois. I am afraid."

He jerked his arm from Clairmont's grasp and faded into the predawn darkness. Clairmont swallowed and drifted back toward the fire where Campeau, Dusette and Dunoir were still talking with Perwash. Though he wanted to hear no more about it, he was powerless to move out of hearing and so he listened and his mouth became dry and his stomach rolled as he heard what they were going to do at the fort and with the boat party.

Not until Perwash and his warriors — Charles Dusette with them — silently padded away to the northeast in the first light of dawn did Massac return to the camp. When Clairmont went to him and began to tell him what had been said, Massac shook his head and drew away.

"No!" he said. "I told you before, do not tell me. Even though I do not like the English, I do not want to hear such things. What happens to them is not my concern. Leave me alone!"

Clairmont went back to his blanket and lay down, rolling himself in it. He was very still and it seemed he had gone back to sleep.

Charles Robertson looked in that direction and saw four men beside a small fire, apparently eating. He motioned to the rowers to put in and the boat angled toward shore at once. Davers was first to alight when it scraped ashore and he greeted the Frenchmen cheerfully. Their leader, who introduced himself as Baptiste Campeau, brother of Chartoc and Matthieu, greeted them affably enough and invited them to have something to eat. The other three men with them were peculiarly quiet.

The boat crew had spent the night on an island some miles away and had embarked again at first light to continue the sounding they had been engaged in ever since leaving Detroit. Thus far they had found the water to be plenty deep enough for the schooner, but the river ahead, connecting Lake Huron with Lake St. Clair, was where they were apt to encounter some dangerous narrows and shallows. It would, therefore, be a good idea to make a rest stop here before continuing with the journey.

The boat party, unwilling to deprive the Frenchmen of their supplies, ate from their own provisions and even passed out some of what they had. Davers, as usual, chattered on about the beauty of this country, affairs at Detroit and elsewhere until finally Lieutenant Robertson announced it was time to leave. The Englishmen filed back to their boat and one of the Frenchmen sauntered casually back with them.

It was Francois Clairmont.

Suspicious, Baptiste Campeau followed a dozen feet farther back and now a wild look came into Clairmont's eyes.

"Listen to me," he hissed through clenched teeth as he walked between Robertson and Davers. "Listen! You're in danger. Indians. Go back to the fort quickly. Warn them. Attack coming!"

Both Davers and Robertson looked at the man in surprise and Clairmont, seeing Campeau coming up on them, burst into hoarse laughter and slapped the lieutenant on the back and turned away from them. The two Englishmen joined the other members of the party already on board the boat and shoved off. Davers looked at Robertson and frowned.

"Now what do you suppose that was all about?" he asked softly.

Robertson hunched his shoulders and grinned. "Who knows? I didn't see any rum, but I'll bet he had a bellyful of it." He nodded to one of the sailors. "All right," he said loudly, "start sounding and be on your toes. The hard part's coming up now."

Davers, still frowning slightly, moved up to the bow. There he picked up his new rifle and checked its priming. Suddenly he was very glad that he had it with him.

The current pouring through the Huron River into Lake St. Clair was so strong that it took every bit of strength of the rowers to move the batteau along at a slow pace. Less than a mile back, Lieutenant Robertson's boat had entered the river mouth heading north. Even though the current had been swift there and the channel relatively narrow, he had been pleased to see that the soundings remained more than amply deep enough for the passage of a schooner having a brisk enough wind behind to shove her through. He hoped it would continue this way. The water was very clear and became a deep green color where it deepened with the main channel; a channel which sometimes swung so close to the west shore that the oars of the rowers very nearly hit the shoreline.

So swiftly had all this happened that those four men were dead before the grappling hook thumped into the bottom of the boat. It slid for an instant, then caught as the craft began falling back with the current. The shoreward end of the rope was snugged around a huge boulder and as it tightened, it forced the battcau to veer sharply shoreward and then slam into the rocks. Those still upright were sent flying by the impact and the screech of a score of wildly exultant voices filled the air as the Chippewas surged toward them. Charles Dusette, with them, leaped from a rock into the bow, bowling young Rutherford over in the process. The Frenchman swiftly snatched up Davers's new rifle and then raced down the length of the boat, clubbing two soldiers with the butt of the weapon as he did so, and finally smashing the barrel across the temple of the Pawnee slave, who fell beside Robertson. Dusette then snatched up the lieutenant's powder horn and slung it around his own neck.

By this time the boat was filled with Indians. Each of the remaining six soldiers had at least two men holding him and John Rutherford, still dazed by it all, stared into the muzzle of the rifle which Chief Perwash held to his face.

It had all happened so suddenly there was no opportunity for resistance. One minute they were busy rowing upstream and the next they were dead or captive. It was that simple. The scalps were taken from the four dead men at once. Lieutenant Robertson's body was tossed out onto a rocky shelf and there it was stripped of its clothing and great chunks of flesh hacked away with tomahawks. These chunks the Chippewas thrust into their mouths and ate raw, chewing and tearing while a frothy, bloody spittle ran down their chins and stained their chests.

Chief Perwash himself slashed open the lieutenant's chest with his scalping knife and tore the heart free. He ripped a great bite out of it with his teeth and then laughed as he threw it to his warriors, who did as he had done with it. Then the chief cut a circle around the undamaged left upper arm of Robertson and stripped the skin backward, peeling it off like a stocking all the way down to the wrist. There he severed it so that it came free intact as a cylinder of skin. He intended making a tobacco pouch of it.

Nor was it. He looked up now at a slight noise to see Perwash and his Chippewas coming back into the clearing they had left at daybreak. Dusette was still with them and now he was carrying a fine new rifle and powder horn and his eyes glittered wickedly as he grinned.

It was almost anticlimactic to see what they were carrying with them — the equipment and provisions from the English boat, the two kegs of gunpowder and eleven rifles, the food . . . the scalps. They also had two men from the boat prisoners; Rutherford, who walked as if in a trance, and the Pawnee slave.

Campeau and Dunoir, only momentarily startled, welcomed the party, but Massac and Clairmont looked at one another with horrified eyes. Massac's whisper was barely audible to Clairmont as he repeated time and again, "I didn't think they'd do it . . . My God, I didn't think they'd do it . . ."

Clairmont nudged Massac and jerked his head toward the woods. The two men eased out of sight of the rest of the party, ran a short distance and then stopped, panting.

Massac nodded. "I'll tell him," he said, "but you've got to go with me."

"No!" Clairmont was aghast. "I have a wife and child to think of in Detroit, and a home. You are alone and you do not have to fear for any but yourself. You do it."

"Massac is no fool," the second Frenchman muttered, his face pale and his lips beginning to tremble. "You wish me to bear the burden and take the risk. No, I will do nothing now. I should have done something to prevent this while I could. I didn't. Now it is done. Now it is too late. I did nothing then, I will do nothing now. Don't talk to me any more, Clairmont. You are not my conscience. I will not listen to you. Go away."

He spun around and headed back to the camp. Clairmont angrily watched him go and then struck out westward toward Detroit. He started with the idea of going directly to Gladwin and telling him what happened, but the more he thought about what happened, the more afraid he became. By the time he had gone half a mile, he was trembling and he had made a decision. He would report what happened, but not to the major. He would tell Chief Pontiac. Gladwin would learn of it soon enough, but not from him.

Francois Clairmont had just abruptly realized that he was very much a coward.

The first had come in the form of the old Chippewa woman who came to the fort so frequently to sell her handiwork. No one seemed to know her by any other name than Catherine, but she did uncommonly beautiful work in the making of moccasins, which she sold to the garrison and traders. Gladwin, in fact, had some time ago requested her to make a pair of moccasins for him and the delivery of them was what ostensibly had brought her to his quarters this afternoon.

The handiwork on the footwear had been superb; elkhide worked to a marvelously soft pliability, with intricate designs interwoven on the sides and over the arches in blue beads and porcupine quills, some of which had been dyed red. Gladwin had expressed his unqualified admiration for them and paid her more than she asked, but even then she had hesitated about leaving the room. She lingered with downcast eyes and something evidently on her mind; but then when the major had asked her what was wrong, she had merely looked at him with a frightened glance and hurried out without replying.

Not very long after she left, the sentry at his door rapped to announce a visitor. Gladwin nodded and the soldier stepped aside. Thomas Gouin, a well-known French inhabitant of Detroit, entered and shook hands with the major, but said nothing until the soldier left them in privacy. Then he looked at Gladwin for a long moment before speaking.

"Major," he said at last, "I have heard something peculiar that perhaps you should know about."

About an hour after Gouin departed, the sentry again knocked and entered and mentioned that though it was almost time for the fort's gates to be closed for the night, the old Chippewa woman, Catherine, was still loitering close by and had been there ever since leaving Gladwin's office. The major looked out to where the soldier indicated and saw her still there. He called her to him and the old squaw came hesitantly, rather fearfully. At first when he asked again what was wrong, she refused to answer; but after repeatedly coaxing her and telling her she had nothing to fear from him or anyone else, she moved close to him, looked around carefully and then swiftly whispered:

"You are in great danger, Major. Be watchful!"

Before he could say anything, she was hurrying away and he shook his head and frowned as he watched her go. She disappeared in the direction of the east gate and Gladwin returned to his quarters. It had been just over an hour ago that James Sterling had stopped by briefly and said just enough to contribute to the concern that was already beginning to gnaw at Gladwin.

It was no secret in Detroit that Angelique Cuillerier had been deeply enamored of Sir William Johnson; nor that Johnson, once having left here, had blandly turned his back on her despite whatever his promises had been. It was not long after she realized this that Angelique had apparently switched her affection to James Sterling. The tall, rugged-looking young trader was not only handsome, he was one of the most successful traders at Detroit. It was no surprise to anyone that the most beautiful woman at Detroit should fall in love with him. Rumor had it they would soon be married, but no formal announcement of it had yet been made. It was hinted that she feared her father, who disliked the English intensely, would oppose any such marriage. 73

Now Sterling shook his head and frowned. "Don't know quite what to make of it, Major," he said, "but Angelique came to my trading house today acting very peculiar. She said she had to tell me something, but made me promise first that I wouldn't ask her any questions. I promised and then she said the strangest thing; she said I should not open for business tomorrow, but rather keep my doors locked and shutters closed and stay indoors, not even to show myself at a window. She said I'd be all right if I did that, and then she left. I don't understand it. "

Neither did Henry Gladwin, although now the concern he felt was becoming a tangible thing. He continued pondering about it after the trader left. More than once in the past rumors had come to him that the Indians were planning mischief, but nothing had ever materialized and he was inclined to believe there was really nothing to it now. He might even have just shrugged the incidents away except for the rapping which came on his door now. The man on the porch was dressed in dark clothing and it was hard to make him out against the darkness outside. Then the visitor stepped into the glow of the lamplight and Gladwin recognized him as Jacques Duperon Baby, the only French resident here whom Gladwin could honestly call a good friend. Even before the major could say anything, Baby quickly stepped in and shut the door.

"Henry," he said, "Detroit's going to be attacked by the Indians tomorrow. I was there when the plans were made. Pontiac'll lead them. Everything's ready for it."

Shocked, Gladwin offered Baby a chair and poured him a brandy, then listened while Baby gave him the details. The Ottawa war chief had told Gladwin on his last visit here that he would be back again soon for a formal council when his people had come in from hunting. This, Baby said, is what he would allegedly be doing tomorrow. Early in the morning more squaws than usual would enter the fort and stroll the streets. Each of them would have, hidden beneath her blanket, a rifle that had been shortened enough for it to be concealed, a tomahawk, a war club, and a knife. They would scatter and position themselves at various points throughout the fort. Then Pontiac would lead about fifty of his best warriors in, supposedly for a council. Those men with him who wore blankets would have sawed-off rifles under them, and those who wore only loincloths or leggings would be given weapons by the squaws who had already entered with them. When Gladwin and his officers were assembled in the council house within the fort and only the normal duty force of guards at the gates, Pontiac would make a speech professing friendship for the English. He would move close to Gladwin, supposedly to present him with a wampum belt, but then he would suddenly give vent to the piercing death cry and strike Gladwin with his war club. That cry would he the signal for all others elsewhere to take out their own weapons or get them from the nearest squaw and strike instantly at the nearest Englishmen. Not expecting it, the garrison would be badly crippled in the first moments, with most of the officers dead or wounded. The fort would then fall easily to the attackers. Ammunition stores would be taken first, and then each trading house would be plundered of all its goods and the traders themselves would be slaughtered.

Now Henry Gladwin had an important decision to make. He could easily deny Pontiac and his Indians entry to the fort on the morrow, but to do so might well place the sounding party under Lieutenant Robertson in jeopardy, as well as those English traders or others living here outside the confines of the fort. There was also the supply party under Sergeant Shaw, which was very probably on its way back here by now from Fort Michilimackinac. All these people would be jeopardized if he acted too hastily.

Even if he openly accused Pontiac and the chief denied it, that might only result in the attack plan being put off until a later date when suspicion had been dulled. Might it not be best to allow Pontiac to enter and then let him see, with a show of strength, that the garrison was aware of the plot and could not be taken by surprise? In so doing, perhaps Pontiac could be so disgraced in the eyes of his followers that he would lose his influence and the whole affair would blow over. It was, Gladwin decided, worth a try.

Within five minutes a messenger was racing about the fort, alerting the garrison and telling all officers to report immediately to Gladwin's quarters for an emergency meeting. Within a quarter hour, all the officers were there, and by a half hour after that, the meeting was over and preparations were already being made. Half the garrison was ordered under arms for the remainder of the night and all officers were to spend the night on the ramparts, in case some wild impulse should make the Indians launch their attack sooner than planned.

Throughout the night a fearful tenseness gripped the officers and men of Detroit.

The deployment of men at the gates, in the bastions and on the ramparts had been carried into execution without a hitch. Half the garrison had been up all night manning these positions, including all of the officers, and the rest of the men would be taking their positions on the drum roll.

He paused at the west gate and noted that the two chiefs and fifteen warriors had now approached to within several hundred yards and were still coming, moving along as carelessly as if nothing at all was wrong. Campbell shook his head. He wondered fleetingly what he would do if he were still in command here. Would he let these approaching Potawatomies come in? Knowing what he knew, would he allow Pontiac and his men to come in when they arrived? He doubted it. He hoped Gladwin was acting wisely, but he just didn't know.

Perhaps if the commander hadn't been warned — and none of the officers seemed to have any idea who it was that had warned him — perhaps then the things that had happened this morning would not even have seemed noteworthy. Knowledge of the plot, however, gave them a different perspective and ordinary things carried ominous undertones. There was the fact, for example, that though it was Saturday morning, not a single French resident from outside the fort had made any attempt to enter it thus far, and that a number of French women and children inside had already casually wandered outside and vanished. Then, too, there was the fact that at sunrise the lookouts had spotted thirty or forty canoes crossing from Pontiac's village to this side of the river with two or three men each in them, yet the boats sitting so low in the water that it was obvious that eight or ten more must be lying in the bottom of each. It was another fact that might well have gone unnoticed.

He looked up at the sound of voices and watched with interest as the two Potawatomi chiefs — Winnemac and Nontenee — entered, followed by their warriors. Campbell smiled as he walked up to them and shook the hands of the two chiefs. He didn't know Nontenee very well, but Winnemac was a powerful chief, next in rank in the tribe only to Washee and Ninivois.

"Welcome," he said in the Potawatomi tongue. "Our chief, Major Gladwin, is honored that you visit. He wishes you to come see him that he may pay his respects."

Winnemac and Nontenee glanced at one another and nodded. Winnemac said something in an undertone to the warriors and they began dispersing, to meander about within the fort. Campbell pretended not to notice and led the two chiefs toward Gladwin's house. A squad of six soldiers unobtrusively fell in behind them .

Past Gladwin's house Campbell led them, to a low, sturdy-looking building not far from the fort's water gate. There was a soldier standing at the heavy wooden door and at a nod from Campbell he opened the door, saluted and stepped aside. Campbell motioned the chiefs to enter ahead of him and they did so. He followed them inside, the squad of soldiers behind him. It took a moment for the eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior, but then the chiefs both looked startled when they found no one waiting for them inside and the windows heavily barred.

"Disarm them," Campbell ordered, stepping back. He watched calmly as the shock in the eyes of the Indians changed to outrage as their knives and pipe tomahawks were lifted from their belts. "I'm sorry," he told them softly. "Major Gladwin's orders. He will explain to you later."

He and the soldiers left the Indians standing in the middle of the room and bolted the big door shut from the outside. The soldier on guard there snapped a large padlock through the latch loop and five minutes later Campbell was reporting to his commander.

Gladwin nodded when Campbell finished. "Good. They may come in handy. How many Indians inside the fort right now?"

"Three or four dozen women," Campbell replied. "Easily twice that many men. They've scattered. Several have asked when the trading houses are going to open, but we've only told them 'Pretty soon' and let it go at that."

"They're all over at Sterling's place and all armed. They'll come outside at the drum roll. Half the garrison's on post alert now and the rest ready to take position at the drum. Drummer's been told to give the roll and then maintain a tapping without pause after that. If the tapping stops, everyone's to open fire instantly. Sir . . ." He paused briefly, uncomfortably, and then said, " . . . do you really think this is best?"

Abruptly a prolonged drum roll filled the air and there was a flurry of activity as every soldier not previously on duty moved swiftly to his assigned post. Captain Joseph Hopkins, third in command of Detroit, moved among them, checking them. Gladwin smiled faintly.

"I'll be at the council house, Captain. You may escort our visitors there as soon as they arrive."

Gladwin walked away confidently and gave no sign of even noticing the chill of a trickle of perspiration which abruptly ran down the small of his back. Campbell's final comment still echoed in his mind. Was what he was doing the best action to take? He didn't know, but he hoped to God that it was.

Pontiac glanced neither to right nor left, but kept his eyes locked on the distant fort they were heading toward. He could see the east gate, through which they planned to enter, and felt an exultation grow in him as he saw it was still open and there were small, casual groups of Indians still entering. Everything was going as planned.

At the narrow bridge crossing Parent's Creek, a Canadian Pontiac recognized as Luciene Beaufait stepped aside in order to let them pass. Pontiac paid no attention to him, nor did any of those following, except for the very last warrior in line. He was an Ottawa who knew Beaufait well and he grinned at him and briefly opened his blanket to show the gun and tomahawk hidden there, then closed it again and jerked his head toward the fort. Beaufait paled and the Ottawa's grin widened.

Very faintly from ahead Pontiac heard a staccato drum roll, but it did not bother him. Such sounds were not uncommon from the fort. The important thing was that the gates were still open and everything appeared normal. His eyes glittered as he envisioned how that would soon be changed. He continued the steady pace toward the portal.

When he was still fifty feet or more from the gate, he saw the interpreter, LaButte, and Captain Campbell coming forward to meet him. An honor guard of a dozen or more soldiers in full dress uniform stood at attention on either side of the interior of the entryway. It was with something of a start that he saw fixed bayonets on the ends of the rifles.

When Campbell and LaButte fell in on either side of him, he nodded in greeting but said nothing, nor did they. In another moment they were passing through the gate and into the fort. Immediately some of the aloof disdain fell away from Pontiac and his eyes widened. A harsh expulsion of breath began leaving him and was instantly silenced. Everywhere he looked there were soldiers armed with bayoneted rifles — on the ramparts, in the bastions, at the street corners, on some of the roofs, in many of the windows and elsewhere. A company of about forty soldiers stood at the edge of the drill field, their weapons at the ready and a captain standing before them. Both of the six-pounder cannon were manned and aimed in strategic directions, and officers were calling orders to their men. Every officer was armed with sword and sidearm.

Here and there as he walked Pontiac could see clusters of Indians pretending to pay little attention to him; but down the street of the trading houses, where bustling Saturday morning crowds should have been busy at the business of trading, every building was locked and the shutters drawn. The traders themselves, armed with rifles, stood in small attentive groups here and there. Behind the unshuttered windows of houses, people stood looking and waiting. The Ottawa chief's face was frozen in sour lines as he allowed Campbell and LaButte to lead the Indian column toward the council chambers. The steady tapping of a drum paced them all the way and it was an ominous sound. It paced them through the little town, west on the Rue St. Joseph to the center street and then south past the Rue St. Jacques, the Rue Ste. Anne, and the Rue St. Louis to the council house near the river front.

Major Henry Gladwin, wearing pistol and sword, was already in the chambers and he nodded casually at Pontiac and the chiefs directly behind him — Mukeeta, Pinaasee, Neewish, Waubinema, Macatepilesis, Chavinon and Greton — as each entered. Campbell and LaButte joined the commander as wordlessly the chiefs filed in and sat in a semicircle and the rest of the warrior party took their places behind them. They all looked nervous and worried, muttered among themselves and frequently glanced at Pontiac for a clue from his expression for how they should act. Pontiac's features were unchanging.

When all the Indians had entered who were going to, about sixty of them, Gladwin ordered the distribution of some bread and tobacco, as was customary. Neither by expression nor action did he give any indication that everything was not normal. In an undertone he asked Campbell how many Indians were in the fort now and the captain whispered back that, including these assembled here, there were now about three hundred on hand — almost three times the strength of the garrison — and that the gates were now closed.

The Indians gnawed on the bread until it was gone and then pipes were lighted and smoked in sullen silence. All the while the steady monotonous tapping of the drum could be heard outside. It was a tense situation to say the least. Gladwin, Campbell, the two French interpreters — including Jacques St. Martin as well as Pierre LaButte — and a sergeant posted at the door, all stood quietly, saying nothing. It was very nearly an hour before Pontiac finally rose to speak. His expression was still ugly .

"We have come, as is our custom," he told Gladwin, "to profess our friendship for the English and to smoke the pipe of peace with our good friends. Why," his voice became suddenly harsh, accusatory, "do I see so many of your young men outside with guns? Why should this be? We are greatly surprised, brother, at this unusual step you have taken, to have all your soldiers under arms and that all of your young chiefs are not here for this council, as they have always been before. We would be very glad to know the reason for this. Could it be that some bad bird has sung in your ear ill news of us? If so, we advise you not to believe it, brother, for as you know, there are bad birds who would like to see you rise up against your Indian brothers who have come in peace and who have always been in perfect friendship with their brothers, the English."

When LaButte completed interpreting, Gladwin looked at the chief calmly and spoke without any hint of irritation or anger, without any sign that he had any knowledge of the proposed treachery.

"Pontiac," he said, "should not be concerned by what he has seen of my young men armed and ready outside. Often this takes place for the sake of exercise and drill and discipline. In addition, today I have heard that some other Indian nations are on their way to council here and since I do not know them well and perhaps should not trust them, I intend to have the garrison under arms when they arrive. Yet, I would not wish these strangers to be affronted by a reception such as this, so I resolved to begin the custom with out greatest friends, the Ottawas, as I am sure you would not take offense at it; and if you did not take offense, then how could strangers who came?"

The scowl on Pontiac's face deepened as LaButte transformed the message into the guttural Ottawa tongue. It was quite obvious that both men were well aware of what the other was doing, yet each continued to pretend ignorance. Pontiac remained silent for a long moment after LaButte finished interpreting and then he dipped one hand inside the blanket wrapped around him. Casually, the hands of both Gladwin and Campbell moved near the butts of the handguns they wore. Pontiac appeared not to notice and he removed from inside the blanket a wide belt of wampum, white on one side and green on the other. A sudden electric tension seemed to flow through the room. This, as Gladwin understood it, was the prelude to the signal for the attack to begin. The Ottawa war chief was holding the belt with the white side up, but the signal for attack was to be when he turned the green side up and raised his voice in the eerie death cry.

Pontiac now held the belt out, white side still up, and abruptly broke into a rather long speech about the misfortune that had been visited upon the Ottawas by the death of six chiefs over the past winter. He expressed the hope that the English chief would give them presents that might help to banish their grief. As he said this, he raised the belt slightly and seemed about to flip it over.

Gladwin made a small motion with his hand, which was relayed by the sergeant at the door to someone outside. Instantly the tapping of the drum changed to the rolling din of the charge and there was the clash of numerous weapons from outside. Pontiac stopped as if struck and then, after a long pause, stepped closer to Gladwin and handed him the belt, white side up. He made no sound.

With an outward calmness belying the hammering of his heart, Gladwin thanked Pontiac for the belt, expressed sorrow at the news of the death of the six chiefs over the winter and ordered that six suits of clothes and more bread and tobacco be presented in their memory to these Ottawas under Pontiac.

"It is good to know," he concluded, "that we English have such good friends as the Ottawas in this land. I can assure Pontiac that our friendship and protection will always be extended as long as it is deserved. The strange tribes which are coming will soon be made aware that this is our way; but that at the first act of aggression against us, we will retaliate with a crushing vengeance,"

The innuendo was not lost on the Ottawa chief and for an instant Gladwin was sure that Pontiac was going to give the signal anyway. His stomach muscles tensed and he was prepared to move fast, but then the moment passed and Pontiac spoke again.

"It is not fitting," he said, "that we should have come to you with so few to honor you. We will go now, and in a few days we will come back with our entire nation, including even our women and children, and hold a council in which we will properly express to you the friendship between the Ottawa and English."

To this Gladwin made no reply and in a moment Pontiac stalked out of the chamber, followed by his chiefs and warriors. Again the drum was tapping a moderate cadence and the Indians walked directly back to the gate. It was opened as they approached and they filed through it to the outside. The Indians still scattered about on the streets suddenly drifted toward the gates, too, and began leaving. Within a very few minutes there was not an Indian left in the fort except the two hostages Gladwin was still holding, as yet unbeknownst to the tribes.

As the gates were closed again behind the last Indian to leave, Captain Donald Campbell leaned against the picket wall and blew out a deep breath. His mouth was dry and his heart was still beating much too fast and the underarms of his uniform were soaked. It was several minutes before he could trust his own legs to carry him again .

Why, they asked bitterly, had Pontiac not given the signal? Why had he not turned the wampum belt and why had not his voice been lifted in the death cry? Why had they not attacked as planned, when it was apparent that they outnumbered the enemy perhaps as much as three to one?

And Pontiac replied just as angrily: "Would you have us throw away Indian lives one for one in exchange for English lives? What kind of a victory would it be if, for the cost of it, our whole nation was thrown into mourning for the losses of its young men? Yes, you would have attacked had I given the signal, but give thanks that I did not. Could you not see the preparation that had been made? Did you not see every man there with gun loaded and bayonet attached? Did you not reach behind the innocent words of the Major Gladwin? We went to Detroit to destroy Englishmen, not to be ourselves destroyed, which would have happened had the signal been given. My children, it was far more difficult for me not to give it than to give it. Reflect and you will see that I acted wisely. You say that you would have been willing to lose some of our men to destroy those dogs, but look in your own hearts. Ask yourself the question, 'Should I sacrifice my life in such an attack when it is not necessary and when it can be done at another time without risk?' If you answer truthfully, the answer must be no."

There was some easing of the tension then, but Pontiac was well aware that he had been shamed, that he had lost some of the esteem in which they had been holding him and he needed to reestablish himself as leader at once or his whole plan could crumble. He directed discussion toward attempting to ascertain how Gladwin had become suspicious of their plan. Obviously someone had given a warning, but who? At once a warrior stood and said he thought he knew who it was. On the evening before, he said, he happened to see coming out of the fort the old Chippewa squaw who made moccasins to sell to the English — the squaw who had been proselytized by one of the Detroit Jesuit priests, Father Simple Bocquet, and who had been named Catherine by him; the old woman who, though she was Chippewa, now lived at the Potawatomi village on the same side of the river as the fort. It was nearly dark when he had seen her come out, he declared, acting frightened and hiding herself as much as possible from anyone who might look toward her.

Instantly Pontiac appointed six warriors to go fetch her. "Take her first to the fort," he said, "and show her to the major. Tell him it has come to us that some bad bird has been telling him lies about us and ask him if she was the one, because if so, then she must be punished. Then bring her here."

The six warriors raced off and the council resumed. As best he could Pontiac soothed their anger and frustration, promising them that they would have their chance to destroy the English, but at less risk than they would have undergone today.

"I have another plan," he said, "which will put them off their guard. Tomorrow I will go to the fort again, taking with me only Macatepilesis, Breton and Chavinon. We four will talk with the Major Gladwin and smoke our pipes with him and convince him that he had been deceived in whatever it was he heard about what we intended. We will be friendly and give our promise of good behavior. When he is convinced, then we will promise to return again for formal council of all the tribe. It will be as if nothing had happened and a fresh surprise will be possible."

They discussed at length how they would do it, until suddenly there was a disturbance at the doorway to the council chamber. In a moment a young chief swiftly picked his way through the crowd to Pontiac and spoke softly but excitedly to him. For the first time since the affair at the fort, a smile appeared briefly on the chief's face.

"My brothers," he said loudly, and when all attention was centered on him he continued, "there is good news! The Frenchman Clairmont has just come from the head of the little lake above us. He brings word that yesterday morning the boat party of twelve who left the fort was taken. All have been killed except the one young trader called Rutherford and his Pawnee, which two were kept by Chief Perwash as his slaves. No one escaped. English blood has been drawn, but no Indian blood lost. It has begun, and it is a good sign for us!"

There were wild, exultant shrieks from the assemblage and it was a long while before the hubbub abated. Just then there was a signal cry from the river and the party of six which Pontiac had sent out after the woman returned. They beached their canoe and dragged the frightened Catherine out of it. Pontiac and the others had moved outside to meet them and now they brought her before him.

Pontiac's expression was ugly. He reached down and picked up a lacrosse racket leaning against a rock nearby and approached her. With his free hand he snatched her hair and twisted until she moaned and her eyes bulged with fear.

"You betrayed us to the English, didn't you?"

Catherine's mouth worked but she could not speak. Pontiac repeated, "Didn't you?" and swung the lacrosse racket viciously. It thudded on her head, stunning her, and she fell to her knees.

"Didn't you?" Pontiac repeated, and swung again. There was a meaty thud as the stick hit her again. She was on hands and knees now, but still she said nothing.

One more time the war chief slammed the stick across her head and this time blood gushed from the wound and her eyes turned up in her head and she rolled over unconscious.

Henry Gladwin shook his head slowly. For the past quarter hour, as early evening shadows were lengthening, he and Captain Campbell had stood here on the west rampart and watched the distant Indians. Certainly they seemed innocuous enough now.

"I wish I knew," he replied. "Frankly, I don't think so. I get a feeling that something's cooking and if we don't watch out, it's apt to be our own goose. That meeting today with Pontiac, for example. It just didn't feel right."

Donald Campbell nodded. This morning when the sentry had announced the approach of Pontiac and three of his chiefs, Campbell had been at the gate to meet them and informed them that at the request of Major Gladwin, he would speak for the English. Though such an act might well have been taken as an insult, the chiefs accepted it with understanding nods and they had thereupon smoked the pipe of peace and had even presented a beautifully carved and feather-decorated calumet to Campbell as a token of friendship and esteem. They said they were very sorry about the reports Major Gladwin had apparently received of the supposed bad intentions of the Indians, and that these were false reports which they wished to bury now, once and for all.

"Tomorrow," Pontiac told Campbell, "I will come back here to council with Major Gladwin and I will have my whole nation with me to honor him and you and to assure you both in formal manner of our wish for nothing but peace between us and you. Evil birds have sung lies in your ears, my father, for there is no bad blood between us. We who stand before you are friends of the English. We love them as brothers and it is to prove this love that we have come today to smoke peace with you."

Campbell had shaken his head and replied that the major might give audience to Pontiac and his chiefs on the morrow, but that he was sure Pontiac's whole nation would not be allowed to enter the fort. Pontiac appeared unconcerned, stressed again his undying friendship and then he and his three chiefs, who had said nothing, filed out of the fort.

Again Gladwin shook his head, as he and Campbell began descending from the rampart. "We will not relax our caution, Captain," he said. "Order a thirty-man captain's guard for the night and everyone else to see to their weapons and be prepared for alert at a moment's notice. All we can do now is keep on our toes and see what tomorrow brings."

Realizing that little could be more demoralizing to his command than simply waiting for an unknown evil — and perhaps an imaginary one at that — to manifest itself, Major Henry Gladwin had put most of the garrison to work early in the morning. The defenses within Detroit were improved, the cannon moved to better commanding positions in the bastions and loaded for firing, personal weapons seen to, fire-fighting tools readied and water barrels placed at intervals along the interior of the wall for use in dousing, if necessary, blazes caused by fire-arrows. Several parties of soldiers, well-armed, left the fort and visited each of the houses outside the fort where Englishmen were lodged, inviting them or any French families so inclined to come to the sanctuary of the fort until the trouble, if any, should blow over.