was in the air. The sounds of revelry from the Indian camps, the
furtive glances of the redskins lounging about the settlement,
the very tension of the atmosphere, would have been enough to put
an experienced Indian fighter on his guard.

Accordingly when, on the fated morning, Pontiac and sixty
redskins, carrying under long blankets their shortened muskets,
appeared before the fort and asked admission, they were taken
aback to find the whole garrison under arms. On their way from
the gate to the council house they were obliged to march
literally between rows of glittering steel. Well might even
Pontiac falter. With uneasy glances, the party crowded into the
council room, where Gladwyn and his officers sat waiting. "Why,"
asked the chieftain stolidly, "do I see so many of my father's
young men standing in the street with their guns?" "To keep them
in training," was the laconic reply.

The scene that was planned was then carried out, except in one
vital particular. When, in the course of his speech professing
strong attachment to the English, the chieftain came to the point
where he was to give the signal for slaughter by holding forth
the wampum belt of peace inverted, he presented the emblem--to
the accompaniment of a significant clash of arms and roll of
drums from the mustered garrison outside--in the normal manner;
and after a solemn warning from the commandant that vengeance
would follow any act of aggression, the council broke up. To the
forest leader's equivocal announcement that he would bring all of
his wives and children in a few days to shake hands with their
English fathers, Gladwyn deigned no reply.