The region known as Prince Albert was the chief seat of
the disturbance. It has been already pointed out in these
pages, that the connecting link between the Indian and
the whiteman, is the half-breed. It is not to be wondered
at then, that as soon as the Metis began to mutter
vengeance against the authorities, the Indians began to
hunt up their war paint. The writer is not seeking to
put blame upon the Government, or upon the Department
delegated especially to attend to Indian affairs, with
respect to its management of the tribes. Any one who has
studied the question at all, must know that there is
nothing to be laid at the door of the Government in this
regard.
A very clear statement of the whole question of Indian
management, and of the assumption of the North-West
Territories, may be found in Mr. Henry J. Morgan's Annual
Register for 1878; while the same admirable work, gives
from year to year, a capital _resume_ of the condition
of the tribes.
Some divines, recently in the North-west, have been
discussing the Indian question in some of the religious
newspapers of Toronto, but they have treated the question
in the spirit of inexperienced spinsters. The Government
has been most criminally remiss in their treatment of
the half-breeds, but, let it be repeated, their Indian
policy gives no ground for condemnation.
Yet when the half-breeds of Prince Albert, incited by
Riel, began to collect fire-arms, and to drill in each
others barns, the Indians began to sing and dance, and
to brandish their tomahawks. Their way of living during
late years has been altogether too slow, too dead-and-alive,
too unlike the ways of their ancestors, when once at
least in each year, every warrior returned to his lodge
with scalp locks dangling at his belt. Les Gros-Ventres
for the time, forgot their corporosity, and began to
dance and howl, and declare that they would fight till
all their blood was spilt with M. Riel, or his adjutant
M. Dumont. The Blackfeet began to hold pow-wows, and tell
their squaws that there would soon be good feasts. For
many a day they had been casting covetous eyes upon the
fat cattle of their white neighbours. Along too, came
the feeble remnant of the once agile Salteaux, inquiring
if it was to be war; and if so, would there be big feasts.
"O, big feasts, big feasts," was the reply. "Plenty fat
cattle in the corals; and heaps of mange in the store."
So the Salteaux were happy, and, somewhat in their old
fashion, went vaulting homewards.
Tidings of fight, and feast, and turmoil reached the
Crees, and they sallied out from the tents, while the
large-eyed squaws sat silently reclining, marvelling what
was to come of it all. High into the air the Nez Perce
thrust his nostril; for he had got the scent of the battle
from afar. And last, but not least, came the remnant of
that tribe whose chief had shot Custer, in the Black
Hills. The Sioux only required to be shown where the
enemy lay; but in his enthusiasm he did not lose sight
of the fat cattle grazing upon the prairies.
These, however, were only the first impulses of the
tribes. Many of them now began to remember that the
Government had shown them many kindnesses, given them
tea and tobacco, and blankets; and provided them with
implements to plough the lands, and oxen to draw the
ploughs. And some of the chiefs came forward and said
"You must not fight against the Great Mother. She loves
the Indians. The red man is well treated here better than
away south. Ask the Sioux who lived down there; they tell
you maybe." Such advice served to set the Indians
reflecting; but many hundreds of them preferred to hear
Louis Riel's words, which were:--
"Indians have been badly treated. The Canadian Government
has taken away their lands; the buffalo are nearly all
gone, and Government sees the red men die of starvation
without any concern. If you fight now you will make them
dread you; and then they will be more liberal with you.
Besides, during the war, you can have plenty of feasting
among the fat cattle." A hellish war-whoop of approval
always greeted such words.
At length the rising came. Gabriel Dumont, Riel's
lieutenant, a courageous, skilful half-breed, possessed
of a sound set of brains, had drilled several hundreds
of the Indians and half-breeds. Armed with all sorts of
guns, they collected, and stationed themselves near Duck
Lake.
"My men," Dumont said, "You may not have to fight, for
the officers may agree to the demand which I shall make
of them on behalf of the Indians and the half-breed
people. But if they refuse, and insist on passing, you
know for what purpose you have taken arms into your hands.
Let every shot be fired only after deliberate aim. Look
to it that you fire low. After you have strewn the plain
with their dead, they will go away with some respect for
us. Then they will send out Commissioners to make terms
with us. In the meantime the success of our attack, will
bring hundreds of timid persons to our standard." This
harangue was received with deafening cheers.
So the rebels posted themselves in the woods, and filled
a sturdily built house near by, waiting for the approach
of Major Crosier and his force. At last they were seen
out upon the cold snow-covered prairie. A wild shout went
up from the inmates of the house, and it was answered
from tree to tree through all the wintry wood. In the
exuberance of his delight, one Indian would yelp like a
hungry wolf who sighted his prey; and another would hoot
like an owl in the middle of the night. At last the police
and civilians were close at hand. The meeting took place
in a hollow. Beyond was the dim illimitable prairie, on
either hand were clumps of naked, dismal poplar, and
clusters of white oak. Snow was everywhere, and when a
man moved the crunching of the crust could be heard far
upon the chill air.
Signals were made for a parley, when some of the men from
each side approached the line of demarcation. Joe McKay
was the interpreter, and while he was speaking, an Indian,
named Little Chief, grabbed at his revolver and tried to
wrest it from him. A struggle ensued in which the Indian
was worsted. Then raising his weapon McKay fired at the
red skin, who dropped dead. This was the signal for
battle. The voice of Dumont could be heard ringing through
the hollow and over the hills. With perfect regularity
his force spread out over a commanding bluff. Each man
threw himself flat upon the ground, either shielding his
body in the deep snow, or getting behind a tree or boulder.
Major Crozier's force then drew their sleds across the
trail, and the police threw themselves down behind it.
Then came the words "Begin, my men," from the commander;
--and immediately the crackle of rifles startled the hush
of the wilderness. The police were lying down, yet they
were not completely sheltered; but the civilians were
standing.
"My God, I'm shot," said one, and he fell upon the snow,
not moving again. Then, with a cry, another fell, and
another. From the woods on every hand came the whistling
shot, and the rushing slugs of the rebels. Every tree
had behind it a rebel, with deadly aim. But the murderous
bullets seemed to come out of the inanimate wilderness,
for not no much as the hand that pulled the deadly trigger
could be seen. The police had a mountain gun, which Major
Crozier now ordered them to bring to bear on the rebels,
but the policeman who loaded it was so confused that he
put the lead in before the powder. In forty minutes the
bloody fray was ended. Seven of the loyalists were dead
in their blood upon the snow, two lay dying, eleven others
were wounded and bleeding profusely, Then came the word
to retire, when the Major's force drew off. From the
bluff and out of all the woods now came diabolical yells
and jeering shouts. The day belonged to the rebels.
When the police had moved away, the Indians and half-breeds
came out from their ambush and began to hold rejoicings
over the dead. They kicked the bodies, and then began to
plunder them, getting, among other booty, two gold watches.
Two of the fallen loyalists they observed still breathed,
and these they shot through the head. So closely did they
hold the muzzles of their murderous guns that the victims'
faces were afterwards found discoloured with powder.
Then returning to camp, they secured seven prisoners whom
they had captured, and, leading them to the battle-field,
make them look at the stark bodies of the loyalists, at
the same time heaping all manner of savage insult upon
the dead.
A couple of days later the bodies of the victims were
buried upon the plain, by the order of Riel. A little
later the snow fell, and gave the poor fellows' grave a
white, cold, coverlet.
When tidings of the battle, and of the defeat of our men,
reached the east, the wildest excitement prevailed. At
once the Minister of Militia began to take stock of his
forces, and some regiments were ordered out. The volunteers
needed no urging, but promptly offered their services
for the front. Their loyalty was cheered to the echo,
and thousands assembled at every railway station to see
them depart and say "God speed."