The Great Lakes / The Vessels That Plough Them: Their Owners, Their Sailors, and Their Cargoes, Together with a Brief History of Our Inland Seas

by James Oliver Curwood

Monument at Put-in-Bay in Memory of the British and Americans who Died in the Battle of Lake Erie.

It was not until 1758 that the English regained a little of their lost prestige. Everywhere the French had been victorious. But, in the summer of this year, Colonel Bradstreet attacked Fort Frontenac with thirty-five hundred men, and after two days of battle the garrison surrendered. This was as decisive a blow to the French as was the loss of Oswego to the English. Ten thousand barrels of supplies, nearly a hundred cannon, and five vessels were destroyed. The French now saw that the beginning of the end was at hand. Little Fort Niagara was burned the following year to keep it from falling into the hands of their enemies, and a little later Fort Niagara surrendered. At this time French reinforcements were on their way to Niagara, but hearing of the fall of this last stronghold the ships which bore them were destroyed at the northern end of Grand Island, in a bay which from that time has been known as Burnt Ship Bay, and at the bottom of which, until a comparatively short time ago, the remains of the old vessels were plainly to be seen. With the fall of Montreal in 1760, the last flag of the French passed from the Great Lakes. Their warships were scuttled, their forts in the North surrendered, and within a few months England was everywhere supreme along the Inland Seas.

There now followed a curious and absorbingly interesting phase of Lake history. The English had conquered the French—but they had not conquered the red allies. The warriors of the Upper Lakes could not be made to understand the situation. “We fight until there are none of us left to fight,” they said. “Why is it that our French brothers have run? Shall we run because they have run? We were their friends and brothers. We are their friends now, and though you have conquered them we will still fight for them, so long as there are among us men who can fight.” A more beautiful illustration of the friendship and loyalty of the Indian warrior could hardly be conceived than this.

And it was largely this loyalty, this loyalty to a race that had been destroyed in their regions, that was to result in those terrible wars and massacres which marked the course of English rule along the Lakes, almost as regularly as mile-posts mark the course of a road. In the hearts of the savages there was an intense, ineradicable hatred of the English. They, and not the French, were regarded as the usurpers and despoilers of the country. This hatred was even greater than that of the Five Nations toward the French. It was something, as one old writer says, “beyond description, beyond the power to measure.”

In these days, a fearful fate was rolling up slowly for the string of forts along the Inland Seas, a doom that came without warning and with terrible completeness. At the head of the great conspiracy which was to result in the destruction of all the forts held by the English, with the exception of that at Detroit, was Chief Pontiac. On May 16, 1763, the first blow fell. By what was called treachery on the part of the Indians, but what would be termed stratagem in a white man’s war, Fort Sandusky was captured and its entire garrison, with the exception of one man, was massacred. Meanwhile a band of Pottawatomies from Detroit had hurried to the fort at the mouth of St. Joseph’s River, at the head of Lake Michigan, and, on the morning of the twenty-fifth, killed the whole of its garrison with the exception of three. Eight days later Michilimackinac (Mackinac) fell. On the morning of this fatal day, a large party of Ojibwas were to play a game of ball with the Sacs, and not a breath of suspicion filled the breasts of the doomed officers and men. Discipline was relaxed on account of the game. Excitement ran high. The Indians were in the best of spirits, and had never seemed more friendly. Their sole thought seemed to be of the great game. Scores of blanketed squaws and old men had assembled, and these, without creating suspicion, had gathered close to the open gates. The game began, and the shouting, struggling savages rushed this way and that in pursuit of the ball. Now they would surge far from the stockade, now so close that they would crush against its pickets. Suddenly the ball shot high into the air and fell inside the fort, and a hundred yelling savages rushed to the gates. Instantly the scene was changed. The squaws and the old men threw back their blankets and gave hatchets and guns to the warriors as they rushed past them. Within a few minutes, seventeen men were killed and the rest of the garrison were prisoners. Five of these prisoners were afterward killed by their captors. The fate of the garrison at Presque Isle was less terrible. For two days, the defenders of the fort held off the savages and then surrendered upon the promise that their lives would be spared. The prisoners were carried to Detroit.

During this time, while the conspiracy was working with such terrible success at nearly every point, the great Pontiac himself had failed in his designs upon Detroit. The garrison at this point was the strongest on the Lakes, being composed of one hundred and twenty men under the command of Major Gladwin and some forty or fifty traders and trappers. They were strongly entrenched behind palisades twenty-five feet high, were well supplied with the necessities of war, and Pontiac regarded them as invincible unless he could overcome them by stratagem. By the merest chance a fearful massacre was averted. Early in May Major Gladwin received warning of Pontiac’s plotting, but paid comparatively little attention to it until, under a clever pretext, the Indian chieftain asked that he and a number of his warriors be allowed to enter the fort. Under their blankets Pontiac and his braves carried hatchets and short-barrelled rifles, their intention being to take the unprepared garrison by surprise and during the first excitement of the fray to throw open the gates for the hundreds of armed savages waiting near. But when the Indians came within the palisades they found the garrison under arms and awaiting them.

Old West Blockhouse, Fort Mackinac.

Built by the British, about 1780.

This frustrated all of the great chief’s carefully laid plans, and the attack was postponed. Three days later Pontiac again asked admittance to the fort, but was refused. Knowing that in some way his plot had been revealed to the English, Pontiac at once began his attack and for several hours fought desperately to take the stronghold, but was repulsed again and again with great loss. Desultory fighting, attacks and counter-attacks, were frequent features of the siege that followed. Meanwhile twenty boats and a hundred men, together with a large quantity of supplies, had left Fort Niagara for Detroit under the command of Lieutenant Cuyler, and these reinforcements were anxiously awaited by the besieged. They were destined never to reach Detroit. On June 28th, Lieutenant Cuyler and his command landed on Point Pelee with the intention of camping there for the night. Hardly had they drawn their boats upon the beach when they were greeted by a tremendous volley of musketry, and with frightful yells a horde of savages rushed down upon them from their ambush. Taken completely by surprise the English made no resistance but fled precipitately for their boats. Less than forty men, many of them wounded, escaped in three boats and made for Fort Sandusky, which they found had been destroyed. All hope of reaching Detroit was now abandoned and the worn and wounded remnants of the reinforcing party rowed back to Niagara.