1840Indian rebirth

In John Sartre's philosophy, there is no doubt that he himself is a diligent person. Although he has enviable wealth and power, he can still get up at seven or eight o'clock every day without anyone calling him.

The scary thing is that today he met someone who was more diligent than him.

What's even more frightening is that these people seem to be his enemies.

"Boom -" The sudden gunshots and gunfire in the early morning woke John Sutter from his sleep. There were also bursts of screams, some of which he could even identify who they belonged to.

Sartre quickly stood up from the bed, a layer of cold sweat dripping from his bald head.

What's going on? Is someone attacking Sutter's Fort?

Impossible, his fortress is so strong that even the American troops who came here chose to compromise.

The US military has not chosen to attack here, who else could be the intruder?

"Mr. Sutter, the Indians have captured the tower!" Redding rushed into the room and answered the question in his mind.

"Indians?" Sutter blurted out, "That's impossible, the Indians in California don't even have guns!"

"It's indeed an Indian." Redding panted, a little panicked, "The Maidu people of the Mallard Clan."

"Maidu people? Those cowardly construction workers?" Sartre was still in disbelief, but the sound of gunfire forced him to get dressed quickly.

Redding: "Yes, the Maidu people...I don't know why, but they suddenly took out weapons from nowhere, rushed up and quickly occupied the tower, just like a group of sheep suddenly turned into a group of wolves!"

"

Sartre: "How many are they?"

"More than twenty people." Redding added immediately, "But their fighting power is very strong. At least the soldiers guarding the two towers are no match for them, and there seem to be their people outside the city. Mr. Sartre, we have to hurry up.

Escaped!"

"Let's go!" Sartre, who was dressed, picked up a handful of brown bass and rushed out of the door.

"Boom!" As soon as they went out, a cannonball fell from the tower to the north gate of the fortress, blasting the soldiers there and several residents who tried to escape from there into pieces, with blood and flesh flying everywhere.

Sartre was shocked and angry. He turned to look at the south gate and found several broken corpses lying there.

At the east gate, there were about ten Indians, shooting everywhere with revolvers, making his soldiers almost afraid to show their heads.

At the same time, dozens more Indian cavalry rushed in from the east gate, each of them carrying three guns, and their firepower was even more fierce.

As these cavalry arrived, the sound of gunfire gradually turned into bursts of unskilled English and Spanish.

"Drop your weapons!"

"Hands up!"

"Surrender without killing!"

As these shouts continued, the gunshots became increasingly sparse, and the soldiers and residents of Sutter's Fort, realizing that their defeat was certain, chose to surrender one after another.

More than a hundred people gathered in an open space one after another, raising their hands and looking terrified.

"Mr. Sartre, come here quickly!" A white woman in the crowd waved.

Seeing that there was no hope of resistance and no escape, Sartre had no choice but to put down his weapon, got into the surrendering crowd, and looked around nervously.

"If they keep their word, our lives should not be in danger." Redding said anxiously.

"Will the Indians keep their word?" Sartre said, while his body was shaking with nervousness.

He wondered if these Indians would keep their word.

But it was hard for him to believe that the Indians would let him go. After all, he knew exactly what he had done to the Indians.

God bless……

At this time, Sartre could only pray to God.

The battle is over.

All those who survived chose to surrender, or in other words, all those who chose to surrender survived.

More than a hundred white people gathered together, and the slaves in the fort were released and stood together in groups of twos and threes, pointing at them.

The relationship between some slaves and slave owners is not bad, even much better than the relationship between workers and capitalists.

But this was clearly not the case for many of the slaves at Sutter's Fort.

They were almost the slaves who suffered the most cruel treatment. Many of them were in ragged clothes, with sallow complexion and thin skin, and some of them had injuries on their bodies.

So when they gained their freedom, they almost wanted to eat the white slave owners in front of them alive.

"He was the one who killed my mother! I want him to pay for it with his life!" A Miwok man said in an excited tone, holding a stone and about to throw it at the slave owner.

"Stop." The Apache soldier next to him stopped him immediately.

"Why, can't I avenge my mother?"

"Apache law will judge his crimes and prohibit anyone from lynching."

The soldiers not only restrained the white people, but also the slaves. This scene surprised many of them.

"These Indians seem to be different..." said a fat white farmer with a somewhat thick nasal voice.

"What?" The speaker was Samuel Brannan. Today's experience made him angry and anxious, and he couldn't help but said angrily, "Cordoba, you lisp! Fake Squid!"

The white farmer known as Cordoba was obviously good-natured: "I mean, I thought they would keep their word and not kill us."

Brannan continued to scold: "Credit? If the liquidated damages are greater than the income, then keep credit. If the liquidated damages are less than the income, abandon credit. Credit is a piece of shit!"

"Brannan, calm down...that Indian soldier is looking at you." Cordoba said.

Brannan took a glance and found that there was indeed an Indian soldier looking at him. He couldn't help but take a deep breath to calm down his chaotic emotions.

"Quiet!" A powerful voice quickly silenced the somewhat chaotic scene.

Everyone looked at the person who made the sound, an Indian youth who was riding a black war horse and had an unusually tall stature.

He wears nine eagle feathers on his head, and his already amazing size coupled with the equally amazing size of the war horse allows him to look down on everyone from a high position.

"Nine eagle feathers..." Some people seemed to have thought of something.

The horse whistle said slowly: "Now, this fort belongs to the Apache. Everyone will go to their rightful place in accordance with the laws of the Apache."

"Who is John Sutter?" he asked.

Although the lucky Sartre tried to hide in the crowd, as the former owner of this place and the largest and most brutal slave owner, there were too many people who knew him.

"It's him, it's him, it's him!" Under the identification of several slaves, the Apache soldiers pulled out a fat, balding middle-aged man from the crowd, "John Sutter, the most evil man in California.

!”

The horse whistle looked at Sartre and said slowly: "Mr. Sartre, unfortunately, according to Apache law, your rightful place is... at the execution ground."