In the spring of 1763, instead of going direct to his usual camping-place, an island in Lake St Clair, Pontiac pitched his wigwam on the bank of the river Ecorces, ten miles south of Detroit, and here awaited the tribes whom he had summoned to a council to be held ’on the 15th of the moon’—­the 27th of April.  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.  To their hatred and sense of being wronged he had appealed, and he saw that every warrior present was with him; but his strongest appeal was to their superstition.  In spite of the fact that French missionaries had been among them for a century, they were still pagan, and it was essential to the success of his project that they should believe that the Master of Life favoured their cause.  He told them the story of a Wolf (Delaware) Indian who had journeyed to heaven and talked with the Master of Life, receiving instructions to tell all the Indians that they were to ‘drive out’ and ’make war upon’ the ’dogs clothed in red who will do you nothing but harm.’  When he had finished, such chiefs as Ninevois of the Chippewas and Takay of the Wyandots—­’the bad Hurons,’ as the writer of the ‘Pontiac Manuscript’ describes them to distinguish them from Father Potier’s flock—­spoke in similar terms.  Every warrior present shouted his readiness to go to war, and before the council broke up it was agreed that in four days Pontiac ’should go to the fort with his young men for a peace dance’ in order to get information regarding the strength of the place.  The blow must be struck before the spring boats arrived from the Niagara with supplies and additional troops.  The council at an end, the different tribes scattered to their several summer villages, seemingly peaceful Indians who had gathered together for trade.