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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.
The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some of his things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten." "Yes rotten," said Pennoyer. "Rotten," said Grief. "Oh, well," retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio and dresses oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here like owls in a cave and say rotten rotten rotten. You're away off. Pontiac's landscapes "
The galley and covered gangway presented a mass of undefined shadow, against which the white deck shone brightly, stretching to the forecastle and bows, where the tiny glass roof of the photographer glistened like a gem in the Pontiac's crest. So peaceful and motionless she lay that she might have been some petrifaction of a past age now first exhumed and laid bare to the cold light of the stars.
He wished his people would return to the old customs. In that way only could they regain their native hardihood and independence. While Pontiac's hatred of the English grew more bitter daily, other Indians were not indifferent. Through all the Algonquin tribes spread this hatred for the English.
"Papa, you have not told us yet what happened at Mackinaw," said Lucilla. "It, as well as many other forts, was taken by Pontiac's Indians and all the inhabitants of the island were massacred," replied the captain.
The galley and covered gangway presented a mass of undefined shadow, against which the white deck shone brightly, stretching to the forecastle and bows, where the tiny glass roof of the photographer glistened like a gem in the Pontiac's crest. So peaceful and motionless she lay that she might have been some petrifaction of a past age now first exhumed and laid bare to the cold light of the stars.
John Pontiac's wife saw him go over to the store-house, the door of which was open too. He looked in, then stopped, and started back as if in horror. Two flitches tied together with a rope were on the floor, and inside was a man filling a bag with flour from a barrel. "Well, well! this is a terrible thing," said old John Pontiac to himself, shrinking around a corner. "Peter McGrath!
In half an hour I came upon the trail, not far from the river; and seeing that the party had not yet passed, I turned eastward to meet them, old Pontiac's long swinging trot again assuring me that I was right in doing so. Having been slightly ill on leaving camp in the morning six or seven hours of rough riding had fatigued me extremely.
Claimed by Saint-Ange, the body was borne across the river and buried with military honors near the new Fort St. Louis. The site of Pontiac's grave was soon forgotten, and today the people of a great city trample over and about it without heed.
"Those who escaped massacre at Mackinaw," said Henry, refilling his stone pipe and resuming his story, "were preserved for a worse fate. Pontiac's allies and you, Colonel, know something of these matters from the tales told you by the officers of the North-West Company entered on a carnival of blood.
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