Major Gladwin answered briefly: "Brothers, the English are not fickle. They do not withdraw their friendship without cause. As long as the red men are faithful to their promises they will find the English their steadfast friends. But if the Indians are false or do any injury to the English, the English will punish them without mercy."

The one object of the Indians was now to turn aside the suspicion of the English. After Gladwin's speech presents were exchanged, and the meeting broke up with a general hand-shaking. Before leaving, Pontiac promised that he would return in a few days with his squaws and children that they might shake hands with their English brothers.

"Scoundrels!" laughed one officer, when the last Indian had left. "They were afraid to sit down. They thought they had been caught in their own trap. It's a pity to let them off so easily."

"No," replied another, more seriously. "The Major is right. If there is an outbreak, the Indians must take the first step. They depend more on treachery than force for success; now that their plan is foiled, the whole trouble will probably blow over."

The next day this opinion seemed verified by the appearance, of Pontiac with three of his chiefs. He brought a peace-pipe and approached the commander with smooth speeches: "Evil birds have whistled in your ears, but do not listen to them. We are your friends. We have come to prove it. We will smoke the calumet with you."

Pontiac then offered his great peace-pipe. After it had been smoked in all solemnity, he presented it to Captain Campbell as a high mark of friendship.



VII. HOSTILITIES BEGUN

Bright and early the next morning hordes of naked savages gathered on the pasture land near the fort. A long quadrangle was marked out on the grass with lines across it. At each end of this "gridiron" two tall posts were erected five or six feet apart. This, as you may have guessed, was to prepare for an Indian game of ball.

When all was ready the young men of the Ottawa tribes took their places on one side of the field. Opposite to them were the Pottawottomies. Each Indian had a long racket or bat with which he tried to drive the ball to the goal against the opposition of the players of the other nation. Such a yelling as they kept up, running and pushing and plunging and prancing the while! Small wonder that squaws, warriors, and chiefs should have come to watch so exciting a game!



Still the men in the fort kept the gates closed and stayed behind their walls, as if they took no interest in the game. They were really watching with some uneasiness the vast crowd of Indians so close at hand.

When the game was finished Pontiac went to the gate of the fort. His chiefs attended him and a motley crowd of warriors, squaws, and children came trooping after. The great chief shouted in a loud voice, demanding admission. He received answer that he might come in if he wished, but the rest would have to keep out. With injured dignity he asked if his followers were not to be allowed to enjoy the smoke of the calumet.

The English commander, tired of false speech, gave a short answer, refusing flatly to let the Indians in. Thereupon Pontiac's brow darkened and he strode off to the river in high dudgeon.

The others withdrew a little and stood in groups, muttering and gesticulating. Then with wild whoops they bounded off to join their comrades who lay stretched on the earth around the ball grounds. After a brief parley, some started with blood-curdling yells toward a house across the fields where an English woman lived with her children; others leaped into their canoes and paddled off to an island where an English farmer lived alone.

Before sunset the men at the fort heard the exultant scalp yell of the Indians, and knew that the first blood of the war had been shed.

In the meantime Pontiac hastened with gloomy rage to his own village across the river. It was deserted by all but a few squaws and old men. These Pontiac ordered to pack the camp luggage and make all ready for removal, as soon as the men came with their canoes to carry the camp equipment to the Detroit side of the river.

All labored to do their chief's will, while he went apart and blackened his face.

At nightfall the braves came in with the scalps they had taken. A pole was driven into the ground in the open space where the tents had been. The warriors gathered about it, their bodies decked with paint and eagle feathers.

Pontiac sprang into their midst, brandishing his hatchet and striking violently at the pole. As he danced about, he recited the great deeds he and his fathers had done in war. His appalling cries, his terrible words, stirred the hearts of his Indians and fired their blood. All were in a frenzy of excitement. With wild cries they joined their chief in his war dance.

Even the faint echo of the din these blood-thirsty demons made struck terror into the hearts of the watchers in Detroit. The soldiers kept close guard all night, expecting an attack at any moment.

But not till early dawn did the war cry sound. Shrill and near it rose from hundreds of throats. Strong men turned pale at the clamor of yells and cracking rifles. It seemed that the Indians must be at the very walls of the fort.

The guards on the ramparts, however, could see no enemy in the faint gray light. From behind every tree, every stone, every rise of ground, came the incessant flash of muskets. Bullets and blazing arrows rattled against the palisades. The Indians aimed at the loopholes and succeeded in wounding five of the English. The soldiers returned a cautious fire, unwilling to waste powder on an invisible foe.

After an attack of six hours' duration the Indians, weary with their night's activity, gradually withdrew to their camps, having suffered no loss, but at the same time having inflicted little.

Gladwin, whose spirit was manly and humane, wished if possible to avoid further bloodshed. The Canadians took no part in the war, and could, therefore, be safely used as messengers. As soon as the battle had subsided Major Gladwin sent a deputation of them to tell Pontiac that he was willing to listen to any real grievance of the Indians, and do his best to redress whatever wrongs they had suffered.

Pontiac knew that his chief charge of injustice against the English, their presence in and claim to his lands, would not be considered by the English a real grievance. He thought the hour for talking had passed; the time for action had come. Treachery was his readiest weapon and he used it. He replied that he could consent to no terms unless they were made with the English in person, and asked that Captain Campbell, second in command at the fort, come to a council in his camp.

Captain Campbell had no fear, and urged Major Gladwin to permit him to go. He and another Englishman, accordingly, hastened to the Indian village. The women and the warriors were so enraged at the sight of their red coats, that they would have stoned them had not Pontiac interfered and led them to his lodge.

After a long but fruitless talk around the council fire, the English rose to go. But Pontiac said: "Brothers, you will sleep to-night on the couches the red men have spread for you." He then gave orders that his prisoners should be taken to the house of a Canadian, where they should be treated with respect, but closely guarded.



VIII. THE TWO LEADERS

When the officers at Detroit learned that their deputies were detained by the Indians, they realized that there was no hope of peace. Before the fort two armed schooners rode at anchor. Most of the officers wished to abandon the fort and seek safety by sailing away on these boats.

"There is no use trying to hold the old fort against eight times our number," they said impatiently.

But Major Gladwin had no thought of surrender. "We could not," he answered, "if the Indians should attempt to force the walls. But there is no danger of their venturing within gunshot in any numbers. They won't risk their red skins that way. They'll simply waste their powder and lead in such firing as they did this morning, and pretty soon they'll lose heart and drop off, leaving Pontiac to beg for peace."

"I don't suppose they will unite in a charge," assented one of the officers. "But they will keep a sharp lookout day and night to do us injury. We have four walls to guard and only one hundred and twenty men to do it. The garrison will be exhausted in no time."

"Yes, we have hard work before us," agreed the commander, "but we can do it. Our case is not so bad as you represent. The ship's guns protect two walls, so that virtually only two sides of the fort are exposed to the enemy. To me the most alarming feature of the siege is short rations."

"The supplies are low and we cannot hope for more within three weeks. We'll starve to death, penned up here with no hunting and no provisions from the Canadian farmers," complained some, ready in their alarm to magnify every danger.

"By taking care to prevent waste we can make the supplies last," the commander interrupted. "I shall buy up at once everything in the fort that can serve as food, put it into a common storehouse, and give to each person a daily allowance. If even with this care the food runs short, Canadians may be found who love gold better than Indians." In this way the courageous leader argued, until, at last, he overcame the fears of his aids and roused in them a spirit of resistance.

Pontiac had no lack of warriors, nevertheless he, as well as the British leader, had his fears and difficulties.

His own followers were not easily managed. He had brought them together from near and far with promise of easy victory over the English. After a short struggle many of the tribes lost heart and were ready to go back to their villages.

The Canadians were neutral and were supposed to sympathize with the Indians; but Pontiac knew that many of them favored the English, and were ready at the slightest offense to take the side of his enemies.

His campaign against the English had begun with failure. Treachery had failed. He had put the English on their guard and must now use open force.

To hold a horde of savages together, to keep the fickle Canadians friendly, to take without cannon all the fortifications on the frontier, were the tasks the Indian general had set himself.



Pontiac's personal influence over the Indians was unparalleled. He had lost none of his power over them by the defeat of his plan to take Detroit. No Indian dared reproach him with failure. All quailed before his terrible rage and disappointment. They brought him the scalps of the English they had slain. They sought to please him with loud outcries against the English, and promises of the bloody work they would do. He held all in awe of him. He commanded as if sure of being obeyed, and punished the slightest disobedience with extreme severity.

But he did not govern by fear alone. He took care that his warriors should not want for food; he took care to give them grounds for hope and to keep them busy.

No preparations had been made for a long siege. When provisions failed and the tribes were on the point of leaving, Pontiac had a conference with some Canadians and arranged that they should furnish his people with corn and meat. He had no money to pay for provisions, but he made out notes promising to pay for them at some future time. These notes were written on birch bark, and signed with the figure of an otter, the totem of the great chief. Many of the farmers feared they would never see the money promised them in these notes, but Pontiac paid them all faithfully.

Pontiac knew how wasteful his people were, feasting in the day of plenty without thought of the morrow. He therefore employed a Canadian as his provision officer. This man had charge of the storehouse, and doled out each morning the provisions for the day.

This novel arrangement increased the Indians' confidence in their leader. Yet some grew restless and were on the point of giving up the struggle as a failure.

On learning this, Pontiac sent out messengers to the Wyandot Indians, ordering them to join him in his war against the British or prepare to be wiped off the face of the earth. By this stroke Pontiac turned threatened loss into gain. The support of the warlike Wyandots renewed the courage of the faint-hearted, and for a time all thought of failure ceased.

The chiefs conduct toward the Canadians was highly praiseworthy. They had encouraged him to make war against the British by promising that the French king would send him help. Week after week passed and no help came. Pontiac's expectation of the arrival of a French army grew fainter and fainter. Still he did not lose faith in the truth of the Canadians. He protected them and their property from injury and theft; for there were many lawless young warriors who were ready to do violence to the French as well as to the English.

While pretending to sympathize with the Indians, many of the French farmers were secretly helping the English by selling them food and reporting the movements of the Indians. Pontiac heard many reports of their faithlessness.

One stormy evening the chief entered the cabin of a Frenchman whom he had known for many years. With only a nod for his host he sat down before the dying fire. He sat there wrapt in his blanket for a long time without a word. At last he faced the Frenchman and said: "Old friend, I hear that the English have offered to give you a bushel of silver if you will take them my scalp."

"It is false," cried the Frenchman in alarm. "I would not injure my friend for many bushels of silver."

"Pontiac has no fear. Pontiac trusts his brother," the Indian replied, and stretching himself upon a bench he was soon sound asleep. The Frenchman could not be false to such faith and the chief slept unharmed.

While successfully keeping together his warriors and strengthening the bond of friendship between the French and the Indians, Pontiac was carrying on the war against the English with vigor. His camp near Detroit was the center of action. From it Pontiac directed the war and kept constant watch over the garrison. He prevented the besieged from leaving their walls; he sent out parties to waylay the supplies the British were expecting from the East; he planned and managed expeditions against other forts held by the British.



IX. THE SIEGE OF DETROIT

The English at Detroit soon became accustomed to the discomforts and alarms of the siege. The women no longer trembled when the Indian war whoop sounded. The men no longer ran to the walls at the popping of muskets. The smell of gunpowder, the whiz of bullets, had lost their power to quicken the pulse.

The days dragged slowly on. A few wan-faced men worked, many lounged in the narrow streets, playing games of chance, betting on the outcome of the war, quarreling, complaining, boasting. Now they talked vauntingly, telling tales of the Englishman's prowess and the Indian's cowardice. Again, they told dismal stories of Indian cruelty and massacre, and shook their heads over their own prospects.

But every idler had his firelock close at hand, and all the time the sentinels on the bastions kept a sharp lookout. Every little while rapid firing broke the monotony of the long watch; the rolling drum called the garrison to the ramparts; wounded men groaned under the rough kindness of the fort surgeon; the dead received the soldiers' burial. But over all the old flag with its red cross, stained with rain and smoke, flapped defiantly.

Major Gladwin went about with a cheerful face, but a heavy heart. Provisions were fast melting away. It seemed scarcely possible that the garrison would be able to hold out till the expected supplies arrived. He decided to send one of the schooners to meet the provision boats, to warn them of the hostility of the Indians and urge them to all speed.

They could ill spare any of the garrison, but food must be had. So, on a bright spring morning one of the vessels weighed anchor and started for the East. Before she left the Detroit River the wind died and her sails hung limp.

As the boat lay helplessly drifting with the current a hundred canoes darted out from the shore. In the foremost one the Indians had bound their prisoner, Captain Campbell. The British saw, and were afraid to fire lest they should shoot their countryman. Noticing their hesitation, the brave old man called out: "Don't think of me. Do your duty and fire." The man at the cannon still paused. A breeze stirred, swelled the canvas, and the schooner flew like a great gull over the blue waters far out of reach of the canoes.

After the boat left, a gloom settled upon the little garrison at Detroit. With two boats in the harbor flight had seemed possible. Now that one of them had gone, all felt that the siege meant victory or death. The daily allowance of food grew smaller. The men became exhausted with ceaseless watching. All hope was fixed on the expected reinforcements.

On the thirteenth of May the sentinel announced that the long looked for convoy was in sight. The good news spread rapidly. Soon the entire population of the village was hurrying to the gate that led to the river.

The hungry, haggard-looking men that crowded the wharf sent up cheer after cheer as the boats approached with flags flying. Days of rest and plenty seemed theirs again. Here were comrades to share their vigils. Here was food to satisfy their hunger.

As the boats drew nearer, the cheers died in throats hoarse with horror. No answering shout came from the boats. The English at the oars were not their own masters. The long expected supplies had fallen into the hands of the Indians. The men to whom the garrison had looked for help were the prisoners of the enemy.

Two Englishmen escaped from their guards and succeeded in reaching the fort where they told their story: Ninety men had started with large stores of food and ammunition, early in the spring to reinforce Detroit. Meeting the schooner from the fort and learning the danger and need of the garrison, they had pushed on with all possible speed until they reached the mouth of the Detroit River. That night, as the boats were drawn up on the shore and the men were getting supper, their camp was suddenly surprised by a horde of Wyandot Indians. The British made an attempt to defend themselves. But the Indians were upon them brandishing their tomahawks and yelling like demons. Panic fear seized the white men. They dropped their guns, fled to the boats, jumped in and pushed off. The exultant Indians pressed after them and succeeded in retaking all but two of their overloaded boats. The savages were now taking their prisoners, about sixty in number, to the camp of Pontiac, where they would be tortured and put to death.

The success of this bold venture probably would have ended the siege of Detroit with victory for Pontiac, had the Canadians been as loyal to the Indians as they pretended. But while they were giving the chief assurances of good will and future help, some of them were secretly succoring the English. Under the cover of night they smuggled cattle and sheep and hogs to the famishing garrison.

Even with this aid the prospects of the little garrison were dark enough. Every wind seemed to blow them ill news.

One afternoon the guard at the fort heard a weird chant and saw issuing from the distant forest a file of warriors whose naked bodies were smeared with black paint. Every one of them carried a pole over his shoulder, and the horrified watchers knew well enough that from the end of each pole fluttered the scalp of some Englishman. They learned from the Canadians that night that Fort Sandusky had been burned and its garrison murdered.

A little later the Indians offered to exchange some prisoners with the English. The victims thus released by the Indians proved to be from Fort St. Joseph. They told how that fort had been treacherously taken and burned, and all the inmates but themselves slain.

A traveling priest brought word that the plot which had failed at Detroit had succeeded only too well at Michillimackinac. Next came tidings of the massacres at Fort Ouatanon on the Wabash River and at Fort Miamis, on the Maumee.

Nor was the tale of fire and blood yet ended. A fugitive from the camp of Pontiac reached Detroit one afternoon. It proved to be Ensign Christie, the commanding officer at Presqu' Isle, near the eastern end of Lake Erie. His story was a thrilling one. He told how his little garrison of twenty-seven men had fortified themselves in their block house and made a fierce struggle to keep back the Indians and save their stronghold from the flames; how at last the Indians had undermined their fort and threatened to apply the torch above and below at once. Then to escape death by fire the little band had listened to the promises of the Indians and yielded themselves prisoners.

If these reports terrified the English at Detroit, they also strengthened their determination not to surrender. In spite of fatigue, hunger, and discouragement they fought stoutly on, until, at length, there came a turn in the tide of ill fortune that had surged against them.

On the nineteenth of June news reached them that the schooner which had been sent to meet the provisions had returned and was entering the Detroit River. This cheered all, for they knew that the boat had been to Niagara for more supplies and more men. Still, they remembered the fate of the provision boats, and were worried lest mischance should befall the schooner.

Their anxiety increased when they saw the Indians going in large companies down the river and heard from the Canadians that they were planning to attack the schooner. The British at the fort fired two cannon shots to let their countrymen know that they still held Detroit. But several days passed before they heard anything of the boat. At last they saw her sailing safely toward them.

There were waving caps, shouts of joy, and prayers of thanksgiving among the little company of half-starved men who thronged at the gate to welcome the newcomers.

They had heard that eight hundred more Ojibwa Indians were on their way to increase the forces of Pontiac. But what were eight hundred Ojibwas to sixty hardy sons of England and a schooner loaded with supplies and cannon!



X. IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENTS

Hope grew strong in Pontiac's heart as week after week his tribes and allies brought to his camp trophies of victory—guns, prisoners, scalps. But Detroit troubled him. The most violent attacks produced no effect. To starve the garrison seemed the only way to conquer it.

When, therefore, Pontiac's messengers had brought word that the schooner was approaching he bent his whole energy to prevent her reaching Detroit. Along the river where dense underwoods grew, hundreds of Indians lay concealed with their canoes, waiting for the schooner.

When, in the darkness of a moonless night, they saw the great boat sailing steadily up the narrow channel they paddled silently toward her, dark specks on the breast of the dark, shining river. Nearer and nearer they pressed. All was silent on the vessel. Surely no one had taken alarm. Not a shot and they had reached the boat; they were clambering like rats up its bulky sides—when lo! a sharp hammering on the mast head, a flash of muskets in the dark, a cry of defeat and rage above the din of battle! Cannon boomed; canoes flew high into the air; bullets did their work.

For fourteen Indians the long struggle against the palefaces was over. The rest scurried to the shore as best they could, some paddling, some swimming. Once there, they took shelter behind some temporary earthworks, and opened such a fierce fire on the schooner that it was forced to drop down stream to a broader part of the river. For several days they delayed the ship, but at length she sailed boldly past, and was but little injured by the fire.

Pontiac was sorely vexed that the ship had succeeded in reaching the garrison. He and his people looked upon the boats with almost superstitious horror. Their dislike was not lessened when one day the smaller schooner made her way against wind and current up to Pontiac's village, and there sent shot and shell roaring through the frail dwellings.

Though no loss of life resulted, the Indians were greatly alarmed. Pontiac moved his camp to a safer place and then turned his attention to destroying the ships. Early in July he made his first attempt.

Two large boats filled with birch bark and pitch pine were tied together and set on fire. They were then cut loose and left to float down stream. Keenly the Indians watched; keenly, the English. Would the fireboats go close enough? the first wondered with bated breath. Would they come too close? questioned the British. Woe on the one hand, joy on the other! the space between the ships and the flaming craft widens—the fireboats float harmlessly down the river. A second and a third attempt to burn the boats failed. Fortune seemed to favor the English.

Pontiac began to despair of taking Detroit unaided. He called a council of the French. He reminded them that the English were their enemies as well as his. He charged them with helping the English and told them that the time had come for them to choose sides and fight with him or against him. He then offered them the war belt. His hope was that they would take it up and join him against the English.

Now, the Canadians had become by the terms of the treaty that closed the French war, British subjects, but they were ashamed or afraid to admit it, and still deceived the Indians. They told Pontiac that much as it would please them to fight with him against the English, they must obey the commands of their father, the King of France, who had bidden them to remain at peace until his coming. They added that he, with a great army, was already on the St. Lawrence and would soon arrive to punish the enemies of his children and reward their friends. They advised the chieftain not to make an enemy of his mighty friend.

When the French speaker had finished, there was a short silence. Then an old trapper came forward, and, picking up the war belt, declared that he was ready to take sides with the Indians against the English. Several of his rough comrades followed his example.

Pontiac's hope of gaining aid from the French was thus not utterly defeated. Besides, he still believed their talk about the coming of the French king. So the French and Indians continued friends.

Some of the tribes growing restless, now made peace with the English and deserted Pontiac. But a greater blow than the desertion of a few tribes was in store for the chief.

Late in July he learned that twenty-two barges bearing large supplies of food and ammunition and almost three hundred men had made their way up the Detroit River in safety, protected by a dense fog. The news came so late that it was impossible for the Indians to oppose the progress of the boats, and they reached the fort with little resistance.

At about two o'clock in the morning of the second day after the arrival of this convoy, Pontiac's spies brought him word that the English were coming against his camp with a great force.

Swiftly and silently the Ottawas broke their camp, and with some Ojibwas started to meet the British. On reaching the site of their former camp, about a mile and a half above the fort, near the bridge that crossed a little stream, called from that night Bloody Run, they formed an ambush and waited for the British.

They had barely time to hide behind their old earthworks, natural ridges and piles of brush. Already they heard the barking of watchdogs at the farmhouses along the river road, and the tramp of many feet. They listened and discovered that the enemy outnumbered them. What of that! The night was dark. They knew their ground. Their scouts would soon bring other tribes to help them.

Every Indian was out of sight; every gun was loaded. The tramp of feet drew nearer. A dark mass of marching men came in sight. The quick steps of the advanced guard rang on the wooden bridge. All else was still. The vanguard had crossed the bridge and the main body of the English had started over, when, in front, to right, to left, burst blood curdling yells, blazed a fatal volley of muskets.

Back only, lay safety. Those who had not fallen in the first charge turned and fled, followed by a rain of bullets. Panic spread along the line. But the brave leader of the English, Captain Dalzel, sprang to the front and rallied his men. They made a bold charge, as they thought, into the midst of the enemy; but they found none to resist them. Every Indian had vanished. They pressed bravely on in search of their assailants; but the night was black and the way was rough and unfamiliar. Whenever they reached a place of difficulty the Indians unexpectedly renewed their attack.

The savages, whose eyes were accustomed to the darkness, saw the enemy after a parley return to the bridge. There, half of the men mounted guard while the others took up the dead and wounded and carried them to two armed boats that had accompanied them down the river.

Seeing that a return to the fort was intended, the Indians turned back in large numbers to form another ambuscade at a point where several houses and barns stood near the road and cut the English off from the fort.

They again allowed the vanguard to pass unmolested and surprised the center with a galling fire. The soldiers, confused by the weird and terrible cries of the savages and the blaze of musketry, blinded by smoke and flash, and stung by pelting bullets, huddled together like sheep.

Captain Dalzel, though severely wounded, by commanding, imploring, fairly driving his men with his sword, at last succeeded in regaining order. He made a charge and as usual the Indians fled before the attack. As soon as the English attempted to continue their retreat the Indians were upon them again, firing from every fence and thicket.

The gallant Dalzel was among those shot down by this fire. He died trying to save a wounded soldier from the scalping knife of the Indians. In the confusion he was scarcely missed. The officers next in command took charge of the retreat. In the gray dawn the remnant of Dalzel's army reached the fort. The Indians went off, well satisfied with their night's work, to count their scalps and celebrate.

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



XI. THE END OF THE SIEGE

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

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

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

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

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

The little crew defended themselves desperately; they were surrounded by brandished tomahawks; their captain had fallen; more than half their number were cut down. The Indians were raising their shout of triumph. Then the order of Jacobs, the mate, rang out: "Blow up the ship!" he said. One Indian understood and gave the alarm to his fellows. With one accord they threw down hatchets and knives and leaped into the river. They made haste to reach the shore and left six bloodstained British sailors to take their boat in triumph to Detroit.

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

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

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

Pontiac and his Ottawas still held their ground without flinching. "Surely," thought the proud-hearted chief, "our French father will send us help before long."

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

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

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



XII. ALL ALONG THE FRONTIER

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

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

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

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

Panic seized the settlers. Women left the kettle on the hearth, men the plow in the furrow, and fled. Some crowded for refuge into the nearest fort. Others feared to stop until they had reached Lancaster or even Philadelphia.

The terrible butcheries committed by the Indians so maddened the frontiersmen that they forgot their civilization and resorted to methods as inhuman as did the Indians. Peaceable, friendly Indians were massacred by bands of ruffian borderers, organized for vengeance as well as protection. Even men in high places forgot their usual humanity. The commander-in-chief of the army, Sir Jeffrey Amherst, and Colonel Henry Bouquet planned to send smallpox among the Indians by giving them infected blankets. They even talked of fighting them with bloodhounds instead of soldiers. The Governor of Pennsylvania issued a proclamation offering a reward for Indian prisoners and Indian scalps.

Fort Pitt, one of the most important posts on the frontier, held out against the attacks of the Delawares and the Shawnees. When the commander-in-chief of the army learned of the distress of the fort he sent a strong force under Colonel Bouquet to relieve it.

In August, when crossing the Alleghany Mountains, Bouquet's army was assailed by a horde of Indians that had been lying in wait for them at Bushy Run. The battle which followed was hot. The British were courageous, but they fell in large numbers under the fire of the Indians, who fled before every charge, only to return like infuriated wasps at the moment the English fancied they had repulsed them. Night brought relief from the galling fire. But the battle was not over.

The English were held penned up on the road without water till dawn, when the charge was renewed with such zest that for a time it looked as if there were no escape for the forces of Bouquet. The unusual boldness of the Indians suggested to him a stratagem.



He feigned a retreat. Thus encouraged the Indians rushed upon the British with war whoop and scalp cry. The forces of Bouquet divided; the Indians filled the breach. Then at the word of command the troops closed on them, charging with bayonets. Many of the Indians entrapped in this way fell; the rest fled.

After that the English made their way to Fort Pitt without serious interruption. In the battle of Bushy Run the loss on both sides was heavy for an Indian battle. The English lost eight officers and over one hundred soldiers; the Indians, several chiefs and about sixty warriors. Though the English loss was greater than that of the Indians, it could be more easily made up. For that reason, and because the English had succeeded in reaching Fort Pitt, the expedition was regarded as a splendid victory for the palefaces.

As winter advanced the Indians were obliged to desist from war and go into the forest in small companies to hunt. During the winter that followed the rebellion, the Indians had no help from the white people, and the bitter hardships they suffered did much to put them into a pacific frame of mind.

Sir William Johnson, the king's sole agent and superintendent of Indian affairs, understood the red men better than most of his countrymen did. He lived among them on a great estate in the Mohawk Valley. He spoke their language and often dressed in Indian suit of slashed deerskin.

In his opinion it was wasteful and unwise to fight with the Indians. He said the English were largely to blame for the Indian war because of their injustice and their want of policy in dealing with the savages. He advocated following the example of the French, and winning the good will of the Indians by flattery and presents. He believed that under that policy the Indians would become so dependent on the white man that they could be easily subdued.

Early in the spring of 1764 he sent messages to the various tribes, warning them that two great armies of English soldiers were ready to start into the western forest to punish the enemies of the English, and inviting all who wished to make peace to meet him at Niagara.

Accordingly, early in the spring, the fields around the fort at Niagara were dotted with Indian encampments. Among the savages were friendly Indians who had come to claim their reward; enemies who, through want or fear, were ready to make a temporary peace, and spies, who wanted to see what was going on.

For many a long day Sir William Johnson sat in the council room at the fort making treaties with various tribes. All day the fumes of the peace-pipe filled the hall, and threats and promises were made, and sealed with long strings of wampum.

It would have taken much less time to make one treaty with all the Indians, but Sir William Johnson sought to discourage the idea of a common cause, which Pontiac had done so much to arouse among the Indians. He treated each tribe as if its case were quite different from that of every other tribe.

Some Indians were so bold that they would not even pretend to be friendly. The Delawares and the Shawnees replied to the Indian agent's message summoning them to Niagara, that they were not afraid of the English, but looked upon them as old women.

The armies to which Sir William Johnson had referred were under the command of Colonel Bouquet and Colonel Bradstreet. The latter went by way of the Lakes to relieve Detroit, offer peace to the northern Indians, and subdue those who refused to submit. Bouquet, with a thousand men, penetrated the forests further south to compel the fierce Delawares and Shawnees to submission. Both succeeded.



Bradstreet found the northern Indians ready to come to terms. He has been criticised for requiring the Indians to sign papers they did not understand and make promises that they did not fulfill. He did not see Pontiac, but sent a deputation to find him and confer with him.

Colonel Bouquet, on the other hand, was stern and terrible. In council he addressed the Indians as chiefs and warriors, instead of "brothers." He refused to smooth over their wrong doing or listen to the excuses they offered for going to war. He charged them openly with the wrongs they had done, and required them to surrender all their white prisoners and give him hostages from their own race.

Many of the captives had lived among the Indians so long that they had forgotten their white relatives and friends. They left the Indian life and Indian friends with tears, and would have remained in captivity gladly. But Colonel Bouquet would make no exceptions.

His stern measures subdued the warlike tribes completely. In the fall of 1764 Bouquet returned to the East to receive honors and rewards for his services.



XIII. THE LAST OF PONTIAC

While other Indians were promising to bury the hatchet, Pontiac, the soul of the conspiracy, made no promises and smoked no peace-pipe. Surrounded by hundreds of warriors the chief camped on the Maumee River. His messengers brought him news of what was going on, and until the white men had taken their soldiers from the land he was content to wait and plan.

Captain Morris, who had been sent to Pontiac's camp by Colonel Bradstreet, was coldly received by the great chief. Pontiac, indeed, granted him a hearing, but he bent upon his guest dark looks and refused to shake his hand. He made no flowery speeches, but declared that all the British were liars, and asked what new lies he had come to tell. After some talk Pontiac showed the captain a letter which he supposed to have been written by the King of France. It told the old story of the French army on its way to destroy the English. Captain Morris did his best to persuade him that the report was false. He was much impressed with the influence, knowledge, and sense of Pontiac—an Indian who commanded eighteen nations and was acquainted with the laws that regulated the conduct of civilized states.

Pontiac would make no official promises of peace, but he was so much discouraged by the communications Captain Morris brought, that he said to one of the followers of the latter: "I shall never more lead the nations to war. As for them, let them be at peace with the English if they will; for me, I shall be at war with them forever. I shall be a wanderer in the woods, and if they come to seek me I will fight them single-handed." With much bitterness of soul did Pontiac learn that the forts he had taken with so much effort and loss of Indian blood, had been retaken by the enemy; that the war spirit he had with so much labor aroused had been put to sleep.

But his hopes were not easily dashed. There were the letters from the French. The English said they were false, but the English were his enemies. The French were his friends. Enemies might deceive each other, but friends must trust each other.

His confidence in the French was encouraged by the fact that several of the forts in the Illinois country were still occupied by French garrisons.

Pontiac resolved to make another effort to rouse his people. He set his squaws to work on a wampum war belt, broad and long, containing symbols of the forty-seven tribes which belonged to his confederacy. When the belt was done he sent a delegation of chiefs to the south with it. These messengers were instructed to show the war belt and offer the hatchet to all the tribes along the Mississippi River as far south as New Orleans. They were then to visit the French Governor at New Orleans and invite him to assist them in war against their common enemy.

Pontiac, in the meantime, went about among his old French friends asking for their help, and among the Illinois Indians urging them with threats and promises to join him in making war against the English. He met with some success, but his dreams were rudely broken by the return of his chiefs with the news that the Governor of New Orleans had indeed yielded to the British, and by the arrival of a company of British from Fort Pitt, offering terms of peace to the Illinois Indians. Daily Pontiac's allies deserted him, and accepted the terms of the English.

Again the day had come when it seemed to Pontiac wise to let his hatred of the English sleep. He sent his great peace-pipe to Sir William Johnson and promised to go to Oswego in the spring to conclude a treaty with him.

True to his promise, in the spring of 1766, Pontiac, greatest war chief and sachem of the Ottawas, presented himself in the council chamber of Sir William Johnson. There was nothing fawning in his attitude; he conducted himself with the dignity of a fallen monarch. "When you speak to me," he said, "it is as if you addressed all the nations of the west." In making peace he submitted not to the will of the British but to that of the Great Spirit, whose will it was that there should be peace. He made it clear that in allowing the English to take the forts of the French the Indians granted them no right to their lands. When he promised friendship for the future, he called his hearers to witness how true a friend he had been to the French, who had deceived him and given him reason to transfer his friendship.

It would be hard to say how sincere Pontiac was, or how readily he would have let go the chain of friendship he had been forced to take up, had opportunity offered. He went back to his camp on the Maumee River, and there among his own people tried to live the life of his fathers. Little was heard of him for a year or two, but whenever an outbreak occurred among the Indians there were those who said Pontiac was at the bottom of it.

In the spring of 1769, anxious to see his French friends once more, he made a visit to St. Louis. He was cordially received and spent several days with his old acquaintances. Then he crossed the river with a few chiefs to visit an assembly of traders and Illinois Indians.

After feasting and drinking with some of the Illinois, Pontiac sought the quiet of the forest. He wandered through its dim aisles, living over again the hopes and ambitions of the past, which his visit with the French and the Illinois had vividly recalled. He had forgotten the present and was again the mighty warrior who had made the hearts of the palefaces quake with fear. Little he dreamed that behind him stood an assassin with up-raised tomahawk.

The murderer of the great chief was an Illinois Indian who had been bribed to do the deed by an English trader.

During his life Pontiac had tried to overcome the tribal feeling of the Indians, and to unite them as one people. Over his grave the old tribal instinct awoke. The Illinois rallied about their kinsman to protect him; the Ottawas flew to arms to avenge their chief—such a sachem, such a chief, could not be forgotten. Wrong to him could not be forgiven. The fury of the Ottawas was not slaked until they had avenged the death of their chief, through the destruction of the powerful tribes of the Illinois.



THE STORY OF TECUMSEH

BY

FRANCES M. PERRY

THE STORY OF TECUMSEH



I. EARLY YEARS

The great Indian leader, Pontiac, died in 1769, disappointed in his attempt to unite the Indians in a confederacy strong enough to withstand the white race. But the struggle between the red man and the white was not ended.

At about the time of the old chief's death a child was born among the Shawnee Indians who was to take up the cause of his people with equally great courage and intelligence. This child was called Tecumseh, which means shooting-star.

The tribe to which Tecumseh belonged had not yielded to the temptations offered by the white man. Although many of the tribes north of the Ohio River, through the influence of alms and whisky, were fast losing their savage virtues and becoming spiritless beggars, idle, drunken, quarrelsome, the Shawnees were still strong and warlike.

Several of the Shawnee tribes lived together in a large village on Mad River, not far from the place where Springfield, Ohio, now stands. There they had built for themselves rude huts made of sapling logs. Around these lodges, on the fertile land along the river were corn fields, where the Indian women worked while the men hunted or went to war.

In this village, on a bluff near the river, stood Tecumseh's first home. His father was chief of a small tribe and was highly respected for his courage and good sense. His mother, the daughter of a chief, was a woman of strong character.

As Tecumseh was the son of such worthy parents, and as he was one of three brothers born on the same day, he was regarded even in babyhood with uncommon interest. The superstitious Indians believed that the three little boys would become extraordinary men. Two of them, Tecumseh and his brother, Laulewasikaw, fulfilled the largest expectations of their friends.

The child, Tecumseh, was a bright-eyed, handsome little fellow, at once winning and masterful in manner. His favorite pastime was playing war. The boys he played with always made him chief and were as devoted to him as ever Indians were to a real chief.

It is no wonder that at this time the Shawnee children played war; for their elders were almost constantly fighting with the settlers.

Tecumseh's childhood was far from a peaceful, happy one. He learned early the oppressive gloom and the wild excitement that accompany war. He was called upon, now to take part in the fierce rejoicing that followed an Indian victory; again, to join in the mournful wailing of the women when the dead warriors were brought from the battlefield.

But his experience of war was not limited to celebrating and mourning distant victories and defeats. The enemy did not spare the village in which he lived. He knew that when the braves were on the warpath the children must stay near their mother's lodge. For, several times runners had come in hot haste bidding the squaws flee with their pappooses to the forest and hide there till the palefaces had passed. It made little Tecumseh's heart beat hard to think of the excitement and terror of those days.



Even in time of peace Tecumseh was accustomed to suffering and discontent. Food and clothing were so scarce that the Indians were often in want of enough to eat and wear. Children died from the effects of hunger and cold, and men and women grew gaunt and stern. Frequently the hunters came home empty-handed or bringing only small game.

They attributed all their troubles to the "Long Knives," as they called the white men, who, they said, had stolen their hunting grounds. So when Tecumseh was but a child he hated the palefaces, and was glad when his tribe made war against them.

In 1774 the Ohio Indians learned that the Virginians were coming into their country to destroy their villages. Accordingly, all able-bodied warriors took up their weapons and went with the proud chief, Cornstalk, to meet the enemy. Tecumseh's father and eldest brother, Cheeseekau, were among the number.

After anxious waiting, those who had stayed behind were gladdened by the good news that for the present their homes were safe. But many of those homes had been made desolate by the battles waged in their defense. Cheeseekau came home from the war alone. His father had fallen in battle.

The mother and her children ceased their wailing and for the time forgot their loss, as they sat by the fire with Cheeseekau and heard the young warrior talk of his first battle. He said that he wished to die on the battlefield, as his father had done, for an Indian could hope for no better end. He told what a good fight the Indians had made and how brave their leader had been.

"All over the field," he said, "you could hear Cornstalk shout to his men 'Be strong! Be brave!' The warriors had more fear of Cornstalk's hatchet than of the Long Knives' guns. They did not dare to run. Some tried it. But Cornstalk buried his tomahawk in the head of the first, and the rest turned back to fight the palefaces. When the battle was over Cornstalk called a council and said: 'The palefaces are coming against us in great numbers. We can not drive them back. What shall we do? Shall we fight a while longer, kill a few more of them, and then yield? Shall we put to death our women and children and fight till we die?' No one spoke. Then he said: 'I see you will not fight. I will go and make peace with the white men.' And he made us a good peace. Cornstalk is the greatest chief we have had since Pontiac."

Then followed stories of the great Pontiac, who had tried to make the Indian tribes stop fighting with one another and unite their strength against the white man. Thus, before Tecumseh could talk plainly, he heard about the heroes of his race, and learned what was expected of a good Indian.

From this time the youthful warrior Cheeseekau took his father's place as head of the family. He not only provided the family with food and clothing, but also looked after the education of his younger brothers. Tecumseh was his favorite, and he strove to teach him all that was needful to make him a brave warrior and a good man.



II. YOUTH

During Tecumseh's boyhood the Revolutionary war was being fought. The Indians took the part of the British. It was natural that they should feel a more bitter hatred for the colonists who had actually taken their lands and fought against them, than they had for the distant mysterious "king," whom they had been taught to call "father," and to regard as a superior being. Besides, they little doubted that the king who had already beaten the French could subdue his own rebellious subjects. And they looked forward to the reward he would give them for their aid when the war was over.

The victories of the colonists were familiar topics of discussion among the Indians. They spoke with increasing uneasiness of the deeds of Washington, Putnam, and Greene. But the name to them more terrible than all the rest was that of George Rogers Clark. With sinking hearts they heard of his victories on the frontier.

In the summer of 1780 scouts brought word to the Shawnees on Mad River that this dreaded soldier was approaching with his army. Though alarmed, the Indians determined to do what they could to save the cabins and fort which they had built with much toil, and the growing corn upon which they depended for their winter food.

Three hundred warriors assembled in the village. They held a hurried council and decided to advance to meet Clark's army and surprise it with an attack at daybreak. But if there was a surprise where Gen. Clark was concerned, he was usually the man to give it. Accordingly, the Indians learned with dismay that their plan could not be carried out, for General Clark's army by forced marches had reached and was already surrounding their village. The Indians had built a fort, but now they were afraid to use it and took refuge in their log huts. They began to cut holes in the walls, so that they might fire on the enemy.

When General Clark heard this, he said: "Hold on a minute, and I'll make holes enough for them." With that he ordered up his cannon and caused it to be fired into the village.

The Indians were so terrified that all who could do so fled into the woods and swamps. The rest fell an easy prey to the soldiers, who killed many warriors, made prisoners of the women and children, burned the houses, and cut down the corn.



Tecumseh and his brothers were among those who escaped the sword of Clark, but they could not forget the distress of their kindred. Tecumseh was too young to take part in this battle. Although he spent much time in fighting sham battles, it was not until six years later that he had an opportunity to fight in a real one. In 1786 he and his elder brother went out with a band of warriors to check or drive back Captain Logan, who was advancing toward Mad River.

In an encounter near Dayton the boy was forced for the first time to face a cavalry charge. He had never imagined anything so terrifying. He saw those great, rushing horses, the cruel flash of steel. He forgot his hatred of the white man, his dreams of glory. His only thought was to save his life. He threw down his gun and ran.

As soon as he recovered from his fright he felt very much ashamed of his cowardly conduct. He was eager for another opportunity to test his courage. Fortunately for him he did not have to wait long.

Tecumseh was with a party of Indians who attacked some flatboats on the Ohio River. The boats were taken and all the men in charge of them were killed except one, who was made prisoner.

This was an important occasion in the life of Tecumseh. He acted with such daring and bravery that the old warriors of the party were astonished. From that night the Shawnees spoke of Tecumseh as a brave. Besides winning the good opinion of others, he regained his self-respect and conquered fear.

The memory of this victory was not pleasant to Tecumseh. It was followed by the burning of the prisoner. Although the burning of prisoners was not rare among the Shawnee Indians this was the first time Tecumseh had seen a man put to death in that barbarous manner, and he grew sick and faint with horror at the sight. But this time he was terrified not for himself but for another, and he was not ashamed of his feelings.

Boy though he was, he stood before the older Indians and told them plainly what he thought of their cruel act. He spoke with so much power that he made all who heard him feel as he did about it. And they all agreed never again to take part in so inhuman a practice.

On this night Tecumseh gave glimpses of the man he was to be. He proved his valor; he showed mercy; he influenced warriors by his words.



III. ADVENTURES OF THE YOUNG BRAVE

A short time after Tecumseh had proved himself worthy to be considered an Indian brave, he started with his brother Cheeseekau on a journey across the woods and prairies of Indiana and Illinois. The brothers were accompanied by a band of Kickapoo Indians. Such a journey was an important part of the training of young warriors.

The party tramped through the country, courting hardships and adventure, getting acquainted with the wilderness, hunting buffaloes, visiting friendly tribes, learning many languages, breaking bread with strangers, and visiting vengeance on enemies. To fall upon the defenseless cabin of some sleeping frontiersman and murder him and his family was in their eyes a feat to boast of.

But their warlike exploits were not confined to attacks on the white settlers. If they found friendly tribes at war with other tribes they joined them. In one of these battles Cheeseekau met his death, singing and rejoicing that it was his lot to fall like a warrior on the field of battle. This young man is said to have had a vision that he should die. Before going into battle he made a formal speech, telling his friends that he would be shot in the forehead in the thick of the fight, and his prophecy was fulfilled.

After Cheeseekau's death Tecumseh took his place as leader of the company and continued his wanderings to the South. There he made many friends and had numerous stirring adventures. One evening just as he and his eight followers were about to go to bed their camp was attacked by thirty white men. Tecumseh ordered his frightened comrades to follow him and rushed upon the enemy with such spirit and force that his little company killed two of the assailants and frightened the rest away.

Tecumseh returned to Ohio after an absence of three years. He discovered that it is not always necessary to go away from home to find adventures. His friends and neighbors were greatly excited about a victory which they had just gained over the United States troops under General Harmer.

The next year, 1791, the new republic sent General St. Clair with a large army into the Indian country. Tecumseh's recent expedition had fitted him to be a good scout, and he was therefore sent out to watch the movements of St. Clair's troops. While he was employed scouting, the main body of Indians fell suddenly upon St. Clair's troops and completely routed them. During the next few years there was no lack of opportunity for the Shawnees to indulge their love of battle; for General Wayne, "Mad Anthony Wayne," as he was called, proved a more formidable foe than had General St. Clair. Tecumseh's reputation as a warrior was soon firmly established.

He was equally noted as a hunter. Though he had long been pointed out as one of the best Shawnee hunters, many young men had claimed as great success as he. At length some one suggested a way to decide who was the ablest hunter.

"Let us," said he, "each go alone into the forest, for three days, to hunt the deer, and the one who brings home the largest number of deer skins shall be considered the greatest hunter."

All agreed to this test, and several noted hunters started out. After three days each returned bearing the evidence of his skill as a hunter. Some proudly displayed ten skins, some twelve. Last of all came Tecumseh with thirty-five deer skins. Then the other Indians stopped boasting, and declared Tecumseh the greatest hunter of the Shawnee nation. Tecumseh was a generous hunter as well as a skillful one. He made it his business to provide many who were old or sick with meat and skins.

Among the Indians the hero was the man who could do most to help his tribe. He could do that by hunting, to supply its members with food and clothing, by speaking wisely in council, to lead them to act for their highest welfare, and by fighting to defend their rights or avenge their wrongs. A brave who could do all this was worthy of being a chief, even if he was not the eldest son of a chief.

Tecumseh had shown that he could hunt, that he could speak in council, that he could fight. He had therefore all the requirements for a chief. Moreover, he had great influence with the young men of the neighboring tribes.



IV. TECUMSEH DISSATISFIED

The suffering among the Indians was so great because of the ceaseless war they had carried on against the white people, that in 1795 many of the tribes were ready to accept the terms of peace offered by the United States government.

Accordingly, in June a treaty was made at Greenville, Ohio. The Indians promised to give up all claim to many thousand acres of land in the Northwest Territory, to live at peace with the white settlers occupying the land, to notify them of the hostile plans of other tribes, to surrender whatever prisoners they had, to give up evil doers for trial, to protect travelers and traders, and to recognize no "father" but the President of the United States.

In return for all this the national government pledged itself to give the Indians a yearly "present" of food, blankets, powder, and other necessities, to respect the boundary lines and prevent settlers from hunting or intruding on Indian lands, and to punish white men who were found guilty of robbing or murdering Indians.

Tecumseh would not attend the council at which the treaty was made. Much as he felt the need of peace he was unwilling to pay for it a price which he thought the white man had no right to ask. He was unwilling to give up the lands which the Great Spirit had allotted to the Indians, and which were necessary to their very existence.

He foresaw that in the years of peace to which the Indians had pledged themselves, white men without number would come to make their homes in the fertile lands secured by the treaty. He foresaw that while the settlements flourished the tribes would become more and more dependent and submissive to the will of their civilized neighbors.

The injurious effect of civilization upon the Indian tribes was only too evident to all. The Superintendent of Indian Affairs later wrote to President Jefferson: "I can tell at once upon looking at an Indian whom I may chance to meet whether he belongs to a neighboring or to a more distant tribe. The latter is generally well-clothed, healthy, and vigorous; the former, half-naked, filthy, and enfeebled by intoxication, and many of them are without arms excepting a knife, which they carry for the most villainous purposes."

What wonder that the patriotic Tecumseh refused to sanction a treaty which he considered a step toward the downfall of his race! He remembered the dead hero Pontiac, and wished that the red men had such a chieftain to unite them and rouse their manhood. He determined henceforth to take Pontiac for his model and to do what he could to unite his people and prepare them to resist the next attempt of the palefaces to take the land of the redskins. With this idea in view he used his influence to collect from various tribes a band of followers, who made him their chief.

The new chief was not an unworthy successor of the great Pontiac. Though living at a time when the Indians were beginning to lose much of their native vigor and virtue, Tecumseh had grown to be one of the most princely red men we know anything about.



His appearance was dignified and pleasing. Colonel W. S. Hatch gave the following picturesque description of him: "His height was about five feet nine inches; his face, oval rather than angular; his mouth, beautifully formed, like that of Napoleon I., as represented in his portraits; his eyes, clear, transparent hazel, with a mild, pleasant expression when in repose, or in conversation; but when excited in his orations or by the enthusiasm of conflict, or when in anger, they appeared like balls of fire; his teeth, beautifully white, and his complexion more of a light brown or tan than red; his whole tribe, as well as their kindred, the Ottawas, had light complexions; his arms and hands were finely formed; his limbs straight; he always stood very erect, and walked with a brisk, elastic, vigorous step. He invariably dressed in Indian tanned buckskin; a perfectly well-fitting hunting frock descending to the knee was over his underclothes of the same material; the usual cape with finish of leather fringe about the neck, cape, edges of the front opening, and bottom of the frock; a belt of the same material, in which were his sidearms (an elegant silver-mounted tomahawk and a knife in a strong leather case); short pantaloons, connected with neatly fitting leggings and moccasins, with a mantle of the same material thrown over his left shoulder, used as a blanket in camp, and as a protection in storms."

Tecumseh's character was not that of the typical Indian, because it was broader. The virtues that most Indians exercise only in the family, or, at best, in the tribe, he practised toward his entire race, and, to some extent, toward all mankind. He once said: "My tribe is nothing to me; my race, everything." His hatred of the white man was general, not personal. Able, brave men, whether red or white, he respected and admired. While most Indians thought it necessary to be truthful to friends only, Tecumseh was honest in his dealings with his enemies. He often set white men an example of mercy.

An amusing story is told of him, which shows how kindly tolerant he was where he could feel nothing but contempt for a man: One evening on entering the house of a white man with whom he was acquainted, Tecumseh found a gigantic stranger there, who was so badly frightened at sight of him that he took refuge behind the other men in the room, begging them to save him. Tecumseh stood a moment sternly watching the great fellow. Then he went up and patted the cowering creature on the shoulder, saying good naturedly, "Big baby; big baby!"

In 1804 and 1805, before the new chief was ready for decided action, Governor Harrison, of Indiana Territory, made additional treaties with a few weak and submissive tribes, by which he laid claim to more land. This measure aroused such general indignation among the more hardy and warlike Indians that Tecumseh felt the time had come when he might win them to support his cherished plan of united opposition to the whites.



V. TECUMSEH'S BROTHER, THE PROPHET

Tecumseh had not been alone in his anxiety for the future of his race. After the death of his elder brother he had made his twin brother, Laulewasikaw, his trusted comrade. Together they had talked over the decay in power and manliness that was swiftly overtaking the tribes, and the wrongs the red men suffered at the hands of the white. They had not spent their strength in useless murmurings, but had analyzed the causes of trouble and decided how they might be removed.



One day after brooding deeply over these matters Laulewasikaw fell upon the earth in a swoon. For a long time he lay quite stiff and rigid, and those who saw him thought he was dead. But by and by he gave a deep moan and opened his eyes. For a moment he looked about as if he did not know where he was. On coming to his senses he explained to his friends that he had had a vision in which he had seen the Great Spirit, who had told him what to do to save the Indian people from destruction.

From that time he styled himself "Prophet" and claimed to act under the direction of the Great Spirit. He changed his name to Tenskwatawa to signify that he was the "Open Door," through which all might learn the will of the Great Spirit.

Though professing to have supernatural power himself, Tenskwatawa realized the degrading effect of petty superstition and the terror and injury the medicine men were able to bring upon the simple-minded Indians who believed in their charms and spells. He denounced the practice of sorcery and witchcraft as against the will of the Great Spirit.

Many of the Prophet's teachings were such as we should all approve of. Wishing to purify the individual and family life of the Indians, he forbade men to marry more than one wife, and commanded them to take care of their families and to provide for those who were old and sick. He required them to work, to till the ground and raise corn, and to hunt.

Some of his teachings were intended to make the Indians as a people independent of the white race. The Great Spirit, said Tenskwatawa, had made the Indians to be a single people, quite distinct from the white men and for different purposes. The tribes must therefore stop fighting with one another and must unite and live peaceably together as one tribe. They must not fight with the white men, either Americans or British. Neither must they intermarry with them or adopt their customs. The Great Spirit wished his red children to throw aside the garments of cotton and wool they had borrowed from the whites and clothe themselves in the skins of wild animals; he wished them to stop feeding on pork and beef, and bread made from wheat, and instead to eat the flesh of the wild deer and the bison, which he had provided for them, and bread made from Indian corn. Above all, they must let alone whisky which might do well enough for white men, but was never intended for Indians.

Furthermore, Tenskwatawa taught the Indians that a tribe had no right to sell the land it lived on. The Great Spirit had given the red people the land that they might enjoy it in common, just as they did the light and the air. He did not wish them to measure it off and build fences around it. Since no one chief or tribe owned the land, no single chief or tribe could sell it. No Indian territory therefore could be sold to the white men without the consent of all tribes and all Indians.

The words of the Prophet were eagerly listened to. Indians came from far and near to hear him. Some were so excited by what he said against witchcraft that they put to death those who persisted in using charms and pronouncing incantations.



The sayings and doings of the Shawnee Prophet soon attracted the attention of the Governor of Indiana Territory. Pity for the victims of the Prophet's misguided zeal, and alarm because of the influence Tenskwatawa seemed to be gaining, led Governor William Henry Harrison to take measures to check the popularity of a man who seemed to be a fraud and a mischief-maker. He sent to the Delaware Indians the following "speech":

"My Children: My heart is filled with grief, and my eyes are dissolved in tears at the news which has reached me. * * * Who is this pretended prophet who dares to speak in the name of the Great Creator? Examine him. Is he more wise and virtuous than you are yourselves, that he should be selected to convey to you the orders of your God? Demand of him some proofs at least of his being the messenger of the Deity. If God has really employed him, He has doubtless authorized him to perform miracles, that he may be known and received as a prophet. If he is really a prophet, ask him to cause the sun to stand still, the moon to alter its course, the rivers to cease to flow, or the dead to rise from their graves. If he does these things you may believe that he has been sent from God. He tells you that the Great Spirit commands you to punish with death those who deal in magic, and that he is authorized to point them out. Wretched delusion! Is, then, the Master of Life obliged to employ mortal man to punish those who offend Him? * * * Clear your eyes, I beseech you, from the mist which surrounds them. No longer be imposed on by the arts of the impostor. Drive him from your town and let peace and harmony prevail amongst you."

This letter increased rather than diminished the influence of the Prophet. He met the Governor's doubt of his power with fine scorn and named a day on which he would "put the sun under his feet." Strange to say, on the day named an eclipse of the sun occurred, and the affrighted savages quaked with fear and thought it was all the work of Tenskwatawa.



VI. GREENVILLE

Tenskwatawa met with strong opposition from some of the Indians. The small chiefs especially were displeased with the idea that the tribes should unite to form one people, as that would take away their own power. They, therefore, heard the Prophet with anger, and carried away an evil report of him.

Still, many believed all that he said, and wished to gain the good will of the Great Spirit by doing his bidding. They were willing to leave their tribes to follow the Prophet. So it happened that in 1806 Tenskwatawa and Tecumseh with their followers established a town at Greenville, Ohio. There all lived in accordance with the Prophet's teachings. They strengthened their bodies by running and swimming and wrestling. They lived at peace without drunkenness. They minded their own affairs. Now, all this was just what President Jefferson, the Indians' friend, had often advised the red men to do.

Yet the white neighbors were greatly disturbed and wished to break up the Prophet's town. In the first place the town was on land that had been ceded to the United States, or the Seventeen Fires (as the Indians picturesquely named the new nation), by the treaty of Greenville. Then, the visiting Indians who came from all parts of the country to hear the words of the Prophet were a constant source of alarm to the border settlers. And, although he professed to preach peace, the Prophet was believed by many to be preparing secretly for war.

Besides, innocent as most of his teachings appeared, those regarding property rights were hostile to the white race and decidedly annoying to the men who coveted the hunting grounds of the savages. The United States government in acquiring land from the Indians had usually proceeded as if it were the property of the tribe that camped or hunted upon it. The Indian Commissioners had had little difficulty in gaining rich tracts of land from weak tribes, at comparatively little expense, by this method. When it came to a question of land, even Jefferson had little sympathy for the Indians. He had not scrupled to advise his agent to encourage chiefs to get into debt at the trading posts, so that when hard pressed for money they might be persuaded to part with the lands of their tribes.

Now Tecumseh had seen that the whole struggle between the red men and the white was a question of land. If the white men were kind to the Indians and came among them with fair promises and goodly presents, their object was to get land. If they came with threats and the sword, their object was, still, to get land. They needed the land. They could not grow and prosper without it. But if the white men needed land in order to live how much more did the Indians need it! Where a few acres of farm land would give a white family comfortable support, many acres were needed to support an Indian family by the chase. Tecumseh argued in this way: The Seventeen Fires unite to get our lands from us. Let us follow their example. Let us unite to hold our lands. Let us keep at peace with them and do them no harm. Let us give them no reason to fight with us and take our land in battle. When they offer to buy we will refuse to sell. If they try to force us to part with our lands we will stand together and resist them like men.

He heartily agreed with his brother's teachings concerning property rights, and possibly suggested many ideas that Tenskwatawa fancied he received from the Great Spirit. Certain it is that Tecumseh had long held similar views and had done his best to spread them. Although Tenskwatawa was more conspicuous than Tecumseh, the latter had the stronger character. For a time he kept in the background and let his brother do the talking, but his personal influence had much to do with giving weight to the Prophet's words.

The brothers had not been at Greenville long before they were summoned to Fort Wayne by the commandant there to hear a letter from their "father," the President of the Seventeen Fires. Tecumseh refused to go. He demanded that the letter be brought to him. This put the officer in a trying position, but there was nothing left for him to do but send the letter to Greenville. It proved to be a request that the Prophet move his town beyond the boundaries of the territory owned by the United States. The letter was courteous, and offered the Indians assistance to move and build new homes.

To the President's request Tecumseh sent a decided refusal. He said: "These lands are ours; we were the first owners; no one has the right to move us. The Great Spirit appointed this place for us to light our fires and here we will stay."

The settlement continued to be a source of annoyance to the government. Indians kept coming from distant regions to visit the Prophet. Rumor said that the brothers were working under the direction of British agents, who were trying to rouse the Indians to make war on the United States.

To counteract the British influence the Governor of Ohio sent a message to Greenville. At a council called to consider the Governor's letter, the chief, Blue Jacket, and the Prophet made speeches in which they declared their wish to remain at peace with the British and the Long Knives, as they called the settlers.

Tecumseh accompanied the commissioners on their return and held a conference with the Governor of Ohio. He spoke plainly, saying the Indians had little cause for friendliness to either the British or the people of the United States, both of whom had robbed them of their lands by making unjust treaties. But he assured the governor that for their own sake the Indians wished to remain at peace with both nations.

The Governor, like all who heard Tecumseh speak, was impressed with his sense and honesty, and believed that the Indians were not planning war.

A little later Tecumseh was again called to Springfield to attend a large council of Indians and white men. The council was held to determine who was responsible for the murder of a white man, who had been found dead not far from Springfield. On this occasion Tecumseh attracted much attention. In the first place he refused to give up his arms, and entered the council with the dignity of manner and the arms of a warrior.

He made a speech of such passion and eloquence that the interpreter was unable to keep up with him or translate his ideas. The white men were left to guess his meaning by watching his wrathful face and the excitement of his hearers. The Indians, however, understood him perfectly, and when the council was over and they went to their homes all repeated what they could remember of the wonderful speech.