From him she was now learning the greatest of all arts, that of knowing when to keep silence and when to speak. Thus, fond as she had become of Edith Hester, she wisely kept many things from her; among others, by Pontiac's desire, the fact that her brother Donald and Paymaster Bullen had been captured, an event that occurred some two weeks after Edith herself was brought from the island. Nor were the major and his daughter allowed to know what took place in the Ottawa village, which had been removed a full mile from the carefully guarded quarters assigned to them, and to which, for their own safety, they were closely confined.
Ah-mo's influence over her father was regarded unfavorably by some of the chiefs, and especially by Mahng, the Ojibwa, who, having sought her in marriage for his son Suggema, and being met with a prompt refusal, had conceived an intense dislike for her. This was inflamed by her friendship for the daughter of Major Hester, whom Mahng regarded as the chief of his enemies. Therefore, in all his plans for revenge upon those who he was determined should feel the weight of his wrath, Ah-mo was included; and he impatiently awaited a fitting time for the carrying out of his evil designs. When, therefore, near the close of a certain day, Pontiac bade the Ojibwas hold themselves in readiness to repel an attack, which he had secret information the English were to make that night, Mahng smiled grimly; for he believed his long-desired opportunity had arrived.
CHAPTER XXXV
A NIGHT OF FIGHTING AND TERROR
In Fort Detroit the night after that of Gladwyn's dinner party was one of sleeplessness, busy preparation, and intense, though suppressed excitement. The expedition intended for the surprise and destruction of Pontiac's village, and the rescue of the Hesters, was about to set forth under command of Captain Dalzell. As it was believed that the Indians would be less on their guard just before dawn than at any other hour of the night, the line of march was not to be taken up until two o'clock in the morning. At that hour the great gate of the fort was thrown open and the selected troops, two hundred and fifty in number, filed silently out into the intense darkness of the sultry night.
In close order and without the utterance of a word they marched up the river road, the black waters gleaming dimly on their right. Their left was bounded by the white houses of Canadian settlers, with their barns and orchards and cornfields. From these they were saluted by the clamorous barking of watch-dogs, while many a startled face peered anxiously at them from the unshuttered windows. The frightened inhabitants, roused from sleep by the unusual sound of marching troops, were filled with uneasiness, and gathered in little groups by the roadside to question each other and listen to the measured tramping as it was borne faintly back to them on the damp night air.
Besides these there were other figures flitting behind the houses, through the rustling cornfields and from tree to tree of the orchards, as still and dark as shadows, but ever keeping pace with the marching troops, and ever watching them. These were the scouts of Pontiac, without whose knowledge no man had left the gates of Detroit by day or night for more than a year. Out on the water was heard the muffled sound of oars from the two bateaux, each armed with a swivel gun that kept abreast of the troops close to the river bank.
Nearly two miles from the fort, Parent's creek, ever since that memorable night called "Bloody Run," crossed the road at right angles through a rough ravine, and entered the river a short distance below amid a rank growth of sedge and wild rice. It was spanned by a rude wooden bridge and beyond this the bank rose steeply. On its summit were piled stacks of firewood provided for winter's use by the thrifty Canadians; while from it stretched away another series of orchards and fields, enclosed by stout fences. As the dark column of troops struck the bridge, its hollow echoes rang ominously in their ears and a deadly chill seemed to come into the air.
The advanced guard had crossed the bridge and breasted the steep ascent to its summit. The narrow structure behind them was choked by the passage of the main body. All were pressing eagerly forward, anxious to gain the open ground beyond; when suddenly there arose, clear and shrill from the blackness beside them, the terrible war-cry of Pontiac. It was instantly answered by a burst of yells and a blaze of fire from every wood-pile, fence, and tree, behind which the fierce Ottawa warriors had been concealed for hours in anticipation of this moment.