. All the other forts
south of Niagara, with the exception of Fort Pitt,--Miami, St. Joseph,
Presqu' Isle,--lay in ashes. From some not a man had escaped to tell
the story.

That night it was pitch-dark,--soft, velvet, warm summer darkness.
From the fort the soldiers could see the sixty captives from the convoy
burning outside at the torture stakes. Then as gray morning came
mangled corpses floated past on the river tide. June 18 another vessel
glides up the river with help, but {285} the garrison is afraid of a
second disaster, for eight hundred warriors have lain in ambush along
the river. Gladwin orders a cannon fired. The boat fires back answer,
but the wind falls and she is compelled to anchor for the night below
the fort. Sixty soldiers armed to the teeth are on board; but the
captain is determined to out-trick the Indians, and he permits only
twelve of his men at a time on deck. Darkness has barely fallen on the
river before the waters are alive with canoes, and naked warriors
clamber to the decks like scrambling monkeys, so sure they have
outnumbered their prey that they forget all caution. At the signal of
a hammer knock on deck,--rap--rap--rap,--three times short and sharp,
up swarm the soldiers from the hatchway. Fourteen Indians dropped on
the deck in as many seconds. Others were thrown on bayonet points into
the river. It is said that after the fight of a few seconds on the
ship the decks looked like a butcher's shambles. Finally the schooner
anchored at Detroit, to the immense relief of the beleaguered garrison.
So elated were the English, one soldier dashed from a sally port and
scalped a dying Indian in full view of both sides. Swift came Indian
vengeance. Captain Campbell, the truce messenger, was hacked to
pieces. By July 28, Dalzell has come from Niagara with nearly two
hundred men, including Rogers, the famous Indian fighter. Both Dalzell
and Rogers are mad for a rush from the fort to deal one crushing blow
to the Indians. Here the one mistake of the siege was made. Gladwin
was against all risk, for the Indians were now dropping off to the
hunting field, but Dalzell and Rogers were for punishing them before
they left. In the midst of a dense night fog the English sallied from
the fort at two o'clock on the 31st of July for Pontiac's main camp,
about two miles up the river, boats rowing upstream abreast the
marchers. It was hot and sultry. The two hundred and fifty
bushrangers