BEFORE THE OUTBREAK
On the evening of March 28th I closed the trading shop early and with
my skates under arm, walked over to Frog Creek, intending to skate down
to Gowanlock’s. Gowanlock lived in a house near the dam, with his wife
and a clerk named William Gilchrist.
The weather had been mild for some days and there was much water on the
ice. I had not skated two miles before I was thoroughly wet and decided
to go ashore and walk back to the settlement.
The trail took me through Big Bear’s camp. The band was in council.
The smoke-blackened tops of the lodges stood among the naked poplars,
through the ugly, swinging limbs of which the raw north wind swept in
fitful gusts, soughing dismally. Underneath, the rumpled snow softened
in the first clasp of spring. The stars hid behind the cheerless
grey curtain of clouds overhead. In and out between the lodges slunk
stealthy, starving curs, snapping viciously at one another over bones
long picked clean.
I noticed the tense, serious looks on the faces of the warriors smoking
the long stone pipe round the fire in its centre as I entered the
lodge. I saw at once that this was no ordinary social affair. I pulled
once or twice at the pipe when it came to me in its course round the
circle and I heard and understood enough, though the talk—in the Cree
tongue—was guarded, to make it clear that subdued excitement burned in
the breasts of the Indians—that they were contemplating some eventful
step.
The talk was of “news.” Wandering Spirit, the war chief, rose and spoke
earnestly in his low, impassioned voice and with that transfixing look
in his dark eyes that I have never seen in those of any other Indian.
Then he drew his shirt over his head and presented it to Longfellow,
brother to a Wood Cree chief. Longfellow followed, and he in turn
handed his shirt to Wandering Spirit. And all the while the calumet of
compact continued to pass from mouth to mouth round the circle. Big
Bear’s band, it was evident, was making proposals of some kind to the
Wood Crees.
Big Bear was away, hunting in the mountains to the north of Frog Lake
with his two sons. Little Poplar, with his family, was at Battleford.
I knew all the Indians well, for I had met them almost daily at the
trading post during the winter. But I saw that I was not altogether
welcome and I soon left. As I walked home through the slush in the dull
and lonely night, I had a premonition of evil days at hand and I felt
uneasy and depressed.
It was three days later that we got the “news” the Indians evidently
were expecting. I strolled into the mounted police barracks at eleven
o’clock at night and found Constable Billy Anderson just arrived with
the report of the half-breed rising at Duck Lake. He had ridden the
thirty-five miles from Fort Pitt in a little over three hours, through
the darkness and the melting snow, across the slippery, hilly country,
and his horse streamed sweat. He had brought dispatches from Captain
Dickens for the corporal in charge of the Frog Lake detachment, R. B.
Sleigh.
The police at Fort Carlton and the Prince Albert Volunteers, said the
dispatches, had met the rebels under Riel and Dumont and after a sharp
engagement been compelled to retreat, with a loss of thirteen men
killed and many wounded. The Captain suggested that the Indian agent
and the other white residents at Frog Lake should come into Fort Pitt.
He added that he was ready to come with his men to Frog Lake, however,
if we thought that the better plan. The Fort Pitt garrison numbered
about twenty.
Anderson had brought mail for the settlement. I was postmaster and
walked over to the Hudson’s Bay Company’s post to assort it. Indian
Agent Quinn dropped in on his way to the Roman Catholic mission to tell
the priest. He asked me to accompany him.
“Well, Cameron, we’ll be pulling out of here before daylight. I suppose
you’ll be ready?” he said.
I had not considered going, and I told him so.
“There’s a lot of furs and stores on hand here. My chief’s at Pitt and
I’m in charge. If he’d wanted me to go in he’d have written. I’m hardly
at liberty to leave without orders.”
Quinn stopped abruptly and faced me. “Don’t be a fool, Cameron!” he
exploded. “You don’t know Indians as I know them. You’re not obliged to
wait for orders to save your life.”
His vehemence surprised me, but I answered stubbornly: “If I felt like
that about, I wouldn’t hesitate; I’d go. But I don’t. These Indians
aren’t going to kill me, whatever happens. I’m not trying to influence
anybody, though. Anyone who doesn’t feel safe should leave, I’m
thinking.”
Secretly, I hoped they all would leave. I should feel safer alone with
the Indians. And I smelled adventure, something that appealed to me.
I was young. But as Quinn had said, I did not know Indians. I only
thought I did. I realized this a day or two later.
Quinn did not try further to persuade me and we went together to the
mission. Père Fafard was in bed, but he came down and opened the door
at our knock. An old man named Williscraft, staying with the priest,
was present while we discussed the situation and Quinn proposed to the
priest that we join the other whites and leave Frog Lake.
The missionary at once demurred. We should, he said, show that we had
confidence in the Indians, now trouble was come.
Because, I suppose, he was a Roman Catholic, the priest’s views upset
Quinn’s own better judgment. “Oh, all right, Father,” he said; “if
that’s how you feel I’ll stay too, though I did think that to go to
Pitt would be wisest for us all.”
We went in a body to Delaney’s. Besides the farming instructor and his
wife, Corporal Sleigh, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Gilchrist and George
Dill were present. The question was debated anew. Father Fafard again
voiced his views, and at length it was decided that, with the exception
of the police, we should all remain at Frog Lake. In view of the recent
reverse at Duck Lake and the known sympathy of the Indians with their
kinsmen, the half-breeds, while refraining from advising the others as
to their course, I advocated the departure of the police. Six policemen
would be no possible protection to us in the event of an outbreak
against the overwhelming numbers of the Indians, while if Big Bear’s
band was evilly disposed they would begin the trouble by picking a
quarrel with the redcoats. Sleigh was ready to go or to stay, as we
wished.
Quinn agreed with me. “And, since you’re going, Corporal,” he said,
“I wouldn’t lose any time in getting away. If the Indians learned of
it—there’s no telling. They might take it into their heads to stop you.”
I said to Sleigh: “I’ve two kegs of powder and eighty pounds of ball
over at the shop. It would be as well out of the way. If you’re not too
heavily loaded——”
“Sure,” he said. “We can take it, all right.”
He sent Constable Loasby with me and we brought the ammunition to
the barracks. I kept a little powder and a few loose balls were left
scattered about the floor. I reasoned that if the Indians rose and
asked me for ammunition, it would not conduce to their friendliness to
be told that I had none. Either they would suspect me of lying or of
having made away with it.
Just before daybreak a double police sleigh slipped out of Frog Lake
and disappeared among the hills across the chain of lakes opposite. And
I had taken my last leave of Corporal Sleigh, as true a gentleman as
ever wore the Queen’s uniform.
When I went to my room at the post to throw myself on the bed for a
little sleep, I glanced out of the window. An Indian in a red blanket,
rubbing his eyes, hurried along the deserted road in the track of the
departed sleigh. Here was fresh “news” for Big Bear’s band.