He Survived Imminent Death 9 Times

He Survived Imminent Death Nine Times

When I was a school boy, I hated history.

Hated, hated, hated,… history.

Actually in school, they called it Social Studies. I had to print those very letters on the brown paper book covers so that I didn’t accidentally read my math text book while learning about Hannibal crossing the Alps with elephants.

Those printed words, “Social Studies,” sent shivers up my spine. And at school year’s end, if a book-burning were to happen, my social studies textbook was the first to go into the blaze.

Now as an adult, I find history fascinating—at least the kinds of things that are so beyond belief you think they were made up stories. But as the phrase goes, “you can’t make this stuff up.”

And whenever I told my tour guests on the bus a “real story” about a real event, it would draw far more laughter than telling a fabricated joke. Because the realness makes it far more ironic.

Many years ago when I was a teacher, I was reading a series of non-fiction historical novels from writer Allen Eckhart. Eckhart wrote tales about Shawnee chief Tecumseh, of Simon Kenton, and Daniel Boone—tales that tantalized the imagination of any young man.

And the tales were real. All of them. Taken from journal writings and other accounts set down by the very people who were there. The American frontier in the 17th and 18th centuries were brutal. And that’s putting it lightly. Indians and frontiersmen did such violence as a way of survival it would turn the stomach.

The following story is fact, not fiction. I have to say this, because when you listen to its telling, you would never belief such a thing could occur in real life. And decades ago, when I read the pages for the first time, I was so taken in I had to share each portion of the stories with my fourth and fifth grade students because I had found it so fascinating.

The French and Indian War was a conflict that occurred just before the American revolution. It was part of the Seven Year War between Great Britain and France. And its outcome not only gave the French-held frontier and all its forts into British hands, it turned the landscape from fur trading into opportunities for conquest.

As you already guessed, this enhanced the resentments between the British colonists of that area and the Indians who lived there.

At the tip of the great lakes, a region occupied primarily by the Chippewa and Ottawa tribes, was a fort. Its name, Michilimackinac.  Try pronouncing that one! Trust me, I got it wrong until I recently talked with a Michigan native.

Along with Detroit, Le Boeuf, and Niagara, Michilimackinac was once a French fur-trading fort. At the end of this war, seven of these forts were now in British hands.

A most prominent Ottawa war chief named Pontiac did not like the British. He was among the first native Americans to unify the tribes against the encroaching colonists. The Chippewa, the Huron, and others joined Pontiac in an all out war against the British presence hoping to “push them all back into the sea.”

After a year of peace, Pontiac’s plan was to befriend the British held forts until their guard was down. On a particular day according to the moon cycle, all seven forts would undergo a most unexpected invasion leaving no prisoners.

Pontiac’s plan nearly worked. All but Detroit fell. Detroit’s new commander had just arrived that week and he sensed something was off that day and called the alarm before the Indians could pull off their open fort invasion.

A story for a different time.

In the midst of all of this chaos, there was a young British colonist by the name of Alexander Henry.

Alexander Henry is what I would consider to be the luckiest man in all of history. Not just American history, ALL of history. He survived imminent death not once, not twice, but NINE times! I do not know if I could recall each of them, but I’m going to see how many I recall for this telling.

(If I pick a new pen name, I might just go with Alexander Henry, just for luck.)

At the end of the French and Indian War, Henry decided he would try his luck as a merchant. He arrived at Fort Michilimackinac, built a small trading post inside, and set up shop. His clientele would include both Indians and colonists.

And he was off to an illustrious career until Pontiac’s War broke out.

Like the garrisons of every fort save Detroit, no one suspected a thing. As with six other forts, the gates of Michilimackinac were wide open. The Ottawa, the Huron, and the Chippewa were all welcome visitors. No one knew they carried musket rifles and tomahawks underneath their ponchos and blankets until the invasion from within each fort broke out.

Alexander had just ducked out of his trading post to retrieve something when the fighting started. Had he been standing at his post, he would have been taken down on the spot.

That’s one.

When, from a relatively safe perspective, he saw what was happening, he dashed out of the fort and sought help from a cabin owned by a Frenchman and his family. Pontiac’s fight was not with the French, so the Frenchman’s home was as good a sanctuary as could be found.

The Frenchman placed Alexander up in his attic and told him he could hide beneath a large bundle of furs.

The Indians knew of Alexander and his trading post. So when they searched the premises, they knew the young trader had gone into hiding and sought to find him… and to kill him. The scoured the entire fort. When Henry did not turn up, they went to the Frenchman’s home. They knew, like Henry, that this was as good a sanctuary as any.

The Frenchman gave no resistance. The Indians searched the entire house… including the attic. No one thought to jab at the large stack of furs. Henry survived that first search, but not the second.

That’s two.

For the rest of the day, they searched the fort, the areas around the fort including the woodlands, and found no trace of the tradesman. They knew he had to be holing up somewhere in the Frenchman’s home. Every other possibility had been checked off the list.

And Alexander knew he could never continue to hide beneath the furs. Resolving that his day had come to its end, he got out from under the furs and sat on a trunk, giving up any hope of survival.

The Chippewa warriors entered the Frenchman’s house. Two climbed the wooden ladder up to the attic. The warrior who arrived first saw Alexander sitting on the truck. He took out his tomahawk (most common weapon of that period), and rushed at the tradesman with force.

Henry fell back on the floor. The warrior was right on top of him, tomahawk raised and ready to come down on the young man’s head. And in that moment, the warrior stopped, looked at Alexander Henry, and opted to adopt him as his brother.

That’s three.

Descending the ladder and exiting the Frenchman’s home, Alexander soon found out there were no rules among fighting brethren in the Chippewa tribe, at least not during wartime.

Another warrior, one who had detested the presence of this British tradesman, ignored the adoption proclamation by the first warrior and decided to end Henry’s life himself.

Henry tried to run away. A chase was on. But there was nowhere to go. The fort was closed and there were plenty of warriors milling about seeking what could be found of the fallen soldiers. The warrior and Henry went about in circles, but Henry continued to evade his enemy’s advances.

Now, there happened to be one particular Chippewa who lived on Mackinac Island. A week prior to Pontiac’s War, this Indian, an elder and one of the chiefs, had had a dream. In the dream he saw Alexander Henry though this chief had never seen him in real life before. To the chief, Henry was just another young British man, recognizable in his nationality by the clothes he wore.

And the dream bade this chief to adopt the young man “as his son, his brother, and his friend.” Those were the words spoken to him in the dream. The three kinship titles were bonding enough if left separated. But when spoken together as a trio of kinship, this signified the greatest bond any two people could share. There was no stronger kinship than this.

So, when the chief noticed the chase between the Chippewa warrior and Alexander Henry, he had to put a stop to it. And he had the authority to do so. In that moment, his eyes beheld in real life for the first time the face of the person he saw in the dream.

Alexander Henry became this chief’s Son, Brother, and Friend in that very moment.

That’s four.

Now I do not recall the immediate details of some of the remaining times this young tradesman survived death after that. Pontiac’s War continued so long as Detroit remained intact. There would have been other moments when even a chief claiming kinship with a British tradesman was not enough to protect him.

Oh, and there was a time when the Indians were escorting Alexander Henry by canoes over Lake Superior (Gitchagoomee) to return him to a British stronghold where he would be safe in the hereafter. That should have been the end of the threats to his life. But Henry was far from safe.

Earlier that day, Henry had killed a snake on the shore which happen to be taboo to the Indians. Henry had no idea he had done such an injustice in their culture and beliefs. So later on when a gale came up causing waves that nearly capsized the canoes, the Chippewa were convinced the killing of the snake was the cause of the weather disturbance that now threatened to drown the lot of them. They figured they had to take Alexander’s life to appease the angry gods.

And just as they were about to do so, the storm settled and the air became still.

I think that was his ninth survival.

And I will end this fascinating tale by letting you in on the most ironic aspect of this factual story. For after surviving imminent death NINE times and being placed in a safe community far away from the turbulent relationship between Indian and colonist, Alexander Henry did the most unexpected thing.

He returned to Fort Michilimackinac to re-establish his trading post. And he would one day die… of old age.

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For other tales by Gabriel Paulson, go to:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09FKQDZN6

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Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder of the Dire Wolf Project, founder of the DireWolf Guardians American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs of Vallecito. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus dogs.