The Indian war was now drawing to a close, after occasioning great disquiet, boundless expense, and some bloodshed. Even when we had the advantage which our tactics and artillery in some instances gave, it was a warfare of the most precarious and perplexing kind. It was something like hunting in a forest at best; could you but have supposed the animals you pursued armed with missile weapons, and ever ready to start out of some unlooked-for place. Our faithful Indian confederates, as far as I can recollect, were more useful to us on this occasion than all the dear-bought apparatus which we collected for the purpose of destroying an enemy too wise and too swift to permit us to come in sight of them; or, if determined to attack us, sufficiently dexterous to make us feel before we saw them. We said, however, that we conquered Pondiac, at which, no doubt, he smiled; for the truth of the matter was, the conduct of this war resembled a protracted game of chess. He was as little able to take our forts without cannon, as we were able without the feet, the eyes, and the instinctive sagacity of Indians, to trace them to their retreats. After delighting ourselves for a long while with the manner in which we were to punish Pondiac’s presumption, “could we but once catch him,” all ended in our making a treaty, very honourable for him, and not very disadvantageous to ourselves. We gave both presents and promises, and Pondiac gave permission to the mothers of those children who had been taken away from the frontier settlements, to receive them back again, on condition of delivering up the Indian prisoners.