Major Blackwater received the chiefs at the gate.  With a firm, proud step, rendered more confident by his very unwillingness to betray any thing like fear, the tall, and, as Captain Erskine had justly designated him, the noble-looking Ponteac trod the yielding planks that might in the next moment cut him off from his people for ever.  The other chiefs, following the example of their leader, evinced the same easy fearlessness of demeanour, nor glanced once behind them to see if there was any thing to justify the apprehension of hidden danger.

The Ottawa was evidently mortified at not being received by the governor in person.  “My father is not here!” he said fiercely to the major:—­“how is this?  The Ottawa and the other chiefs are kings of all their tribes.  The head of one great people should be received only by the head of another great people!”

“Our father sits in the council-hall,” returned the major.  “He has taken his seat, that he may receive the warriors with becoming honour.  But I am the second chief, and our father has sent me to receive them.”

To the proud spirit of the Indian this explanation scarcely sufficed.  For a moment he seemed to struggle, as if endeavouring to stifle his keen sense of an affront put upon him.  At length he nodded his head haughtily and condescendingly, in token of assent; and gathering up his noble form, and swelling out his chest, as if with a view to strike terror as well as admiration into the hearts of those by whom he expected to be surrounded, stalked majestically forward at the head of his confederates.

An indifferent observer, or one ignorant of these people, would have been at fault; but those who understood the workings of an Indian’s spirit could not have been deceived by the tranquil exterior of these men.  The rapid, keen, and lively glance—­the suppressed sneer of exultation—­the half start of surprise—­the low, guttural, and almost inaudible “Ugh!”—­all these indicated the eagerness with which, at one sly but compendious view, they embraced the whole interior of a fort which it was of such vital importance to their future interests they should become possessed of, yet which they had so long and so unsuccessfully attempted to subdue.  As they advanced into the square, they looked around, expecting to behold the full array of their enemies; but, to their astonishment, not a soldier was to be seen.  A few women and children only, in whom curiosity had overcome a natural loathing and repugnance to the savages, were peeping from the windows of the block houses.  Even at a moment like the present, the fierce instinct of these latter was not to be controlled.  One of the children, terrified at the wild appearance of the warriors, screamed violently, and clung to the bosom of its mother for protection.  Fired at the sound, a young chief raised his hand to his lips, and was about to peal forth his terrible war whoop in the very centre of the fort, when the eye of the Ottawa suddenly arrested him.