legends of le detroit

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So. There was this tree. Old-timers knew it as “Pontiac’s Tree.”

With mute eloquence, it tells of the scene of carnage at its base in 1763.

Silas Farmer described it as “like some Rip Van Winkle of the forest.” In 1884, Robert E. Roberts clumsily soliloquized about the bullet-riddled tree (was it really?) that had “not yet been sacrificed to city improvements.” A historical tablet that used to mark the site called the tree “the old monarch.”

No one seems to agree entirely about what the tree had to do with Chief Pontiac, except that it was really old, it was close to the site of the Battle of Bloody Run, and it might have been there on July 31, 1763, when British soldiers tried, and brutally failed, to ambush Pontiac’s camp. Bloody Run — so named because nearby Parent’s Creek allegedly ran red with the blood of fallen British soldiers — was a lopsided Indian victory; British Captain James Dalyell was killed along with as many as 60 of his troops.

Some write that Indians, perhaps Pontiac himself, took cover in the tree during the battle. The ever-entertaining Legends of Le Detroit even places the tree at the heart of a grim romance between Henry Gladwin, commander of Fort Detroit; Captain Dalyell; and the comely Madeleine de Tonnancour, for whose affections both leaders vied (oh, and hey, wasn’t this the spot of another martyrdom by Indians? Foreshadow!):

On [the] sloping banks was a stately oak, within whose hollow trunk a pious hand had placed an image of the Virgin, for the spot was pointed out by tradition as the place where saintly Constantin del Halle had been murdered many years before.

I’ve been thinking about this tree because we just marked the anniversary of the outbreak of the War named, perhaps erroneously, for Pontiac. It was May 7, 1763, when Pontiac attempted a surprise attack on Fort Detroit under the ruse of a peace offering. But Commander Gladwin had been tipped off (though he likely had an informant, I read one rumor that everyone in town knew anyway, because the blacksmiths were so busy making extra guns). His troops were at the ready, so Pontiac didn’t try anything funny.

Two days later, the Chief returned. This time no one was prepared, and his warriors laid siege, killing every British soldier they could find. As days of horrible fighting in Detroit turned into horrible weeks and horrible months, tribal revolts against British forts and settlements spread across the Great Lakes and Ohio River Valley region.

[An imagined portrait of Pontiac by the Detroiter John Mix Stanley — notable for his unfinished attempt to create an atlas of American Indians]

It’s strange to read about Pontiac, especially in the old books that I spend most of my time with. Sometimes he’s a hero, a warrior against British oppression (just like us!) and the mastermind of a thousand-mile-wide conspiracy of noble Indian uprisings. Sometimes he’s a bogeyman lurking at the margins of the settlement, scalping settlers for a laugh, a savage who once served up a slaughtered English soldier to his unsuspecting countrymen at a banquet held in Henry Gladwin’s honor.

His siege of Detroit was ferocious, but ultimately unsuccessful. As his failures to take the Fort compounded, support for his revolt faltered, and Chief Pontiac eventually left Detroit for St. Louis, where he was assassinated by another Indian in 1769.

Today, Bloody Run is mostly enveloped by the municipal sewer system, but a little creek in Elmwood Cemetery is part of the original stream. Plans to “daylight” Bloody Run have been discussed on and off for decades, but John Gallagher’s piece for the Free Press about recent developments is well-worth a read, if the restoration of historical waterways is your thing.

What of Pontiac’s tree? For a time it was on the grounds of the Garland Stove Factory. It died and was cut down on June 2, 1886. The Garland Stove Company replaced it with a giant Garland Stove (now on the State Fair grounds.) From its ancient white wood, many souvenirs were made, including at least one “historic gavel” presented to Dr. H.O. Marcy in 1892.

And while there are many worthy books, articles and resources on the Battle of Bloody Run and Pontiac’s War if you want to learn more, so far my favorite document has been this miniature battle reenactment, complete with puffy cotton-ball clouds of gunsmoke.

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With our regrets

We’re on our way out of town to celebrate the wedding of two of our closest friends. That means we’ll miss this:

And this, for those of you of a more relativist perspective on the bogeyman.

But you! You. Should definitely go.

You can learn more about the Nain Rouge in Legends of Le Detroit:

Suddenly across their path, trotting along the beach, advanced the uncouth figure of a dwarf, very red in the face, with a bright glistening eye; instead of burning it froze, instead of possessing depth emitted a cold gleam like the reflection from a polished surface, bewildering and dazzling all who came within its focus. A grinning mouth displaying sharp pointed teeth completed this strange face.

“It is the Nain Rouge,” whispered Cadillac’s wife. Before she had time to say more, Cadillac’s ill nature had vented itself in striking the object with a cane he held in his hand, saying:

“Get out of my way, you red imp!”

A fiendish mocking laugh pierced the still night air as the monster vanished.

“You have offended him,” said Madame. “Your impetuosity will bring you and yours to ruin.”

Not long afterward, Cadillac got in trouble with the crown and King Louis had him removed. Since then, the tipsy locals say, the Nain Rouge has been glimpsed at the battle of Bloody Run, the fire of 1805, Hull’s surrender, and all manner of other local misfortunes.

Basically, this guy is the worst. Drink a few for us in our absence and get him out of here!

Or defend his honor. It takes all kinds, you know. And Antoine Cadillac was kind of a creep, anyway.

Have fun,

THE NIGHT TRAIN

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If you like flowery Victorian prose, phantasms, grieving widows, pining French girls, French in general, haunted inanimate objects, werewolves,  lyrical two-page long set-ups about a grandfather telling his kid a scary story, or — especially — Indian curses, you are going to love the shit out of this book.

la chase gallerie

I loved this indulgent account of Rene LaSalle’s Griffin. As this totally made-up story tells it, the Indians were jealous of LaSalle’s magnificent brigantine, and he was cocky about it, so they cursed him by the light of the moon and made it sink.

Sensible.

“The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”
An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.
… “At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”

An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.

… At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

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