Pontiac had a small cabin of bark and rushes upon an island in Lake St. Clair, and here, with his squaws and children, he waited for the time to arrive when his braves would be ready to strike. His plan of operations was to make a sudden and simultaneous attack upon all the British forts on the Great Lakes and rivers of the Middle West—at St. Joseph, Ouiantinon, Green Bay, Michillimackinac, Detroit, the Maumee, and the Sandusky—and also upon the forts at Niagara, Presqu'-Isle, Le Boeuf, Venango, and Pittsburg. Most of these strongholds were badly protected; they were mere trading places, yet to the Indians they seemed to be great obstacles. It was evident to the mighty war Chief that the destruction of these posts and their garrisons would be a blow from which the hated English could never recover. And, as he lay upon his skins, looking out across the hazy waters of the Lake, his heart beat with the fierceness of his passions, and the hot blood surged tumultuously through his veins. All was going well with his plans; on all sides his allies were preparing for the great blow, and, viewing once more the supremacy of the French and of his own people, the fierce light of ambition glittered in the eye of Pontiac, the red Napoleon. Thus, as spring came to the wilderness, and the leafy forests were resounding with the chant of bright-colored birds, the wild death songs of the Indians sounded harshly discordant from the depths of the green wood.
On the afternoon of the fifth of May, a Canadian woman, called St. Aubin, who was the wife of one of the principal settlers, crossed over the Detroit River to obtain some maple sugar and venison from the Ottawa Indians. When she entered the village, she was surprised to find several of the warriors filing off the muzzles of their guns, so as to reduce them to the length of about a yard, and upon her return home she mentioned this to several of her neighbors. The blacksmith of the village remarked that many of the Indians had been to his shop within the past month, and had attempted to borrow files and saws for purposes which they could not tell him of. These revelations excited the suspicions of the older Canadians who had lived long among the Indians, so, going to the Fort, one of them—as spokesman—told Major Gladwyn to be upon his guard, for the Indians meditated treachery. The courteous commandant treated this advice with scorn, and scoffed at the news of an outbreak.
But, in a day or two, news came to him which changed his ideas very materially. In the Pottawattamie village was an Ojibwa girl, called Catherine, who was much attached to this gallant Major in charge of the British troops. On the day following the first announcement of trouble, she came to Gladwyn's quarters, bringing with her a pair of elkskin moccasins which he had requested her to make, and, showed by her downcast face and sad look that she had something unusual on her mind. Her demeanor was so peculiar that Gladwyn called her to him and requested that she tell him what weighed upon her spirits. "Promise me that you will not betray me," said the Indian girl, "and I will reveal my secret."
"I promise," answered the intrepid soldier.
"Then I will speak," continued the Ojibwa maiden. "Tomorrow Pontiac will come to the fort with sixty of his chiefs. Each will be armed with a gun cut short off and hidden beneath his blanket. Pontiac will demand a council, and, after he has delivered his speech, he will offer you a peace-belt of wampum, holding it in a reversed position. This will be the signal for an attack. The chiefs will spring up and fire upon the officers, and the Indians in the street will fall upon the garrison. Every Englishman will be killed, but not the scalp of a single Frenchman will be touched."
The English Major was now thoroughly aroused to his peril. He called together his officers and told them what he had heard. Immediately, every preparation was made to meet the expected attack, half the garrison was ordered under arms, and all the officers made ready to spend the night upon the ramparts, for, as the Indians nearly numbered from six hundred to two thousand, the commandant feared that they might learn that their plan had been discovered and would storm the fort before morning. The sentries were doubled, and, again and again, during the night, Gladwyn mounted the ramparts to look far out into the gloom of the soft, moist air. The shrill piping of frogs sounded from the still banks of the river, while, as the night wind swept across the clearing before the doomed defenses, the sullen booming of Indian drums, and the wild chorus of quavering yells came ominously to his startled ears. The savages were holding their war dances around their distant camp fires, and were preparing for their work of ruin and destruction upon the following day.
Next morning the sun rose brightly and soon dissolved the waving mist which hung over the river, disclosing to the eager eyes of the sentries a fleet of birch-bark canoes, crossing from the other shore. They seemed to be heavily laden and moved very slowly through the water, propelled by two or three warriors in each. But there were ten or fifteen warriors in every canoe, lying flat upon their faces, so that their number would not arouse the suspicions of the keen-eyed English troops. The frail boats reached the bank behind a cluster of trees, the warriors sprang out, unnoticed, upon the shore, and soon the common—behind the fort—was thronged with squaws, children, and braves, some naked, and others brilliantly painted white, vermilion, and pale blue. They moved restlessly to and fro, while many of the savages, wrapped in their blankets, and holding them close up to their faces, stalked up to the fort, scowling at the palisades and glowering evilly at the sentries.
Meanwhile the alarmed Major in command of Detroit had not been idle. The whole garrison was ordered under arms. Bayonets were placed in the end of the muskets, revolvers were strapped to waists, powder horns were filled to the brims. The English fur traders in the fort closed their storehouses and armed their men, who, with long flintlocks, scraggy beards, tawny hunting shirts, and weather-beaten faces, looked as if they could put up a very excellent fight. All were cool, confident, and ready for whatever might transpire.
It was not long before Pontiac, himself, approached at the head of sixty Indian chiefs, all marching in single file. They were wrapped to the throat in colored blankets and some had hawk, eagle, and raven plumes fluttering from their heads, while others had shaved their crowns, leaving only a scalp-lock hanging to one side. Their cheeks were smeared with white lead, soot, ochre, and vermilion, while their keen, beady eyes gleamed in their sockets vindictively, and gave them a grim and horrible aspect. As they crossed the bridge leading over a creek near by, a Canadian settler, named Beaufait, met them, and stepped to one side in order to allow them to pass. This they did, without glancing at him, but, as the last warrior approached, he recognized him as an old friend and associate. Uttering a vindictive "Ugh!" the warrior opened his blanket, disclosing the hidden gun, and, pointing with his arm to the fort, showed by a wave of his hand that he meant to use it with effect upon the English. The Canadian was too startled to move and stood looking after them, like a person suddenly paralyzed.
It was ten o'clock when the Chief of the Ottawas reached the fort, and, at his request to be admitted, the gateway was immediately thrown open to him. In an instant the cruel traitor was inside the palisade, but, as his keen eye gazed around him, he started back, and a deep ejaculation escaped from behind the folds of his gaudy blanket. The sight that met his eyes might well have terrified his crafty soul, for at a glance he saw that his long-meditated plot was ruined. Ranks of red-coated soldiers stood upon either side of the gateway, their guns at parade-rest, and their glittering bayonets flashing in the rays of the gleaming sun. He pressed on with his followers, but, as he passed the first house, he saw the motley collection of fur traders armed to the teeth, standing upon the corner of the street, and glowering at him and his warriors like fierce wolf-hounds on the leash. A drum beat, the soldiers closed the gate and formed a double line in the rear, but, regaining his composure, Pontiac strode forward into the narrow street, while his chiefs, glancing uncertainly from side to side, marched after their leader to the council chamber.