With the coming of morning the storm cleared away and the sun shone as brightly as ever. The guards at the front of the fort announced that a large number of birch-bark canoes were leaving from the other side of the river and heading directly for Detroit.
"Only two or three Indians in each canoe," said Dave. "It's a wonder they didn't fill up."
"The canoes ride deep enough," answered Barringford. "Maybe some o' the redskins are hidden at the bottom," and in this surmise the old frontiersman was correct. Each canoe carried ten to fifteen Indians.
It was not long after this that Pontiac himself appeared, marching at the head of sixty Indian chiefs, all garbed in their blankets and each carrying a hidden gun, loaded and ready for use. The red men marched in regular Indian file, one by one, and their faces were set and ferocious, for they were bent on destroying the entire garrison of Fort Detroit. They were in their war-paint of ochre and vermillion, with here and there a dab of white lead or soot, and had their heads shaven and crowned with plumes.
It was not until ten o'clock that Pontiac presented himself at the gateway of the fort, with his under chiefs behind him. On every hand were the ordinary Indian warriors, all looking forward to the glories of a general massacre.
Major Gladwyn had made his preparations with care, and every soldier, officer, and English hunter or trapper was armed to the teeth. As the Indian chiefs came in they had to pass between two long files of troops, each man with a gun to which was attached a glittering bayonet. Each officer carried his sword and in his belt two pistols. Every old hunter carried his gun, and many had an extra weapon slung over the shoulder, and each had his long hunting knife where it could be brought into instant use.
As the Indian chiefs came in they had to pass between two long files of soldiers.