And at the appointed time
nearly five hundred warriors--Ottawas, Potawatomis,
Chippewas, and Wyandots--with their squaws and papooses,
had gathered at the meeting-place, petty tribal jealousies
and differences being laid aside in their common hatred
of 'the dogs dressed in red,' the British soldiers.
When the council assembled Pontiac addressed them with
fiery words. The Ottawa chief was at this time about
fifty years old. He was a man of average height, of darker
hue than is usual among Indians, lithe as a panther, his
muscles hardened by forest life and years of warfare
against Indian enemies and the British. Like the rush of
a mountain torrent the words fell from his lips. His
speech was one stream of denunciation of the British. In
trade they had cheated the Indians, robbing them of their
furs, overcharging them for the necessaries of life, and
heaping insults and blows upon the red men, who from the
French had known only kindness. The time had come to
strike. As he spoke he flashed a red and purple wampum
belt before the gaze of the excited braves. This, he
declared, he had received from their father the king of
France, who commanded his red children to fight the
British. Holding out the belt, he recounted with wild
words and vehement gestures the victories gained in the
past by the Indians over the British, and as he spoke
the blood of his listeners pulsed through their veins
with battle ardour.
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