WITH THE ALBERTA FIELD FORCE
Captain Perry next morning outfitted me with a pair of riding breeches
and other necessary clothing and assigned a horse for my exclusive use.
Major Steele, with a party of scouts, was starting on Big Bear’s trail.
My request that I be allowed to accompany him was promptly vetoed by
the general. I had already been exposed to sufficient danger, he said;
the Indians would probably recognize me, in which event I would be
singled out by them for special attention. He was glad, however, to
enlist me as guide and scout to his column from Frenchman’s Butte to
the Beaver River, seventy miles to the north.
I spent the day in necessary rest and in preparation for my new duties.
Wherever I went I was an object of immense interest to teamsters and
volunteers. I am afraid I found much unholy satisfaction in trying to
appear unconscious of this—I was pretty young. It was, I think, my
first taste of fame—a dangerous thing that has turned older and wiser
heads than mine. I believe I got over it, but it was pleasant while it
lasted. If I spoke to a man he thought himself signally honoured. One,
a teamster, gave me a hat.
General Middleton had arrived and gone over the ground of the
Frenchman’s Butte fight with General Strange. On June 4th at two in
the morning, a courier arrived with word from Major Steele of an
engagement at Loon Lake, fifty miles to the north-east, with Big Bear.
General Strange had wished to go with some of Middleton’s cavalry to
the support of Steele. The commanding general, however, preferred to
await a report from Steele. On June 4th he decided he would himself
follow the major with his cavalry and ordered Strange north to the
Beaver River to cut off Big Bear’s retreat should the chief move in
that direction.
On June 6th General Strange moved out to Onion Lake. I rode, as guide,
at the head of the column. In the evening we came upon and killed two
steers; the fresh meat made an acceptable variation from a monotonous
diet of bacon, hardtack and canned corned beef. Next night we camped on
the banks of beautiful Frog Lake, and the following day saw us nearing
the Chippewyan reservation at Beaver River.
I was riding with the advance scouts fifteen miles ahead of the column.
We crossed two heavy muskegs, dismounted and leading our horses, the
ground so soft they sank to the knees. The added weight of a rider
might have sunk them permanently. Following us, the nine-pounder was
dragged with ropes through these bogs by the infantry, the horses first
being detached and roads corduroyed across the nasty big moulds of
quaking mud, grass and water.
About three o’clock our advance party was cautiously approaching
through the timber the Hudson’s Bay Company’s post at the Chippewyan
reservation. When perhaps four hundred yards off, an Indian emerged
from the main building carrying a sack of flour. He wore a scarlet
upper garment and I took him for one of Big Bear’s men, who had
secured a few police tunics left by Captain Dickens when he abandoned
Fort Pitt. The Indian mounted his horse and rode away.
Now we felt no urge to engage the whole of Big Bear’s following. We
were only four and there were three hundred of them. In open country we
should have had all outdoors to ride over. Here there was only one line
of retreat—the trail—the country being thickly wooded. Also, the trail
was crooked and the Indians might by taking some short-cut unknown
to us head us off. We therefore moved quietly back for a mile, and
crossing a creek tied our horses in the woods on the other side. Here
we were able to watch the trail and reasonably certain the redskins
could not outflank us. We boiled our tea kettle over a few sticks and
sent a scout back fifteen miles to tell General Strange we had located
the Indians.
The sun was sinking when reinforcements, some forty men under Major
Hatton, arrived. We moved ahead and near the post dismounted, left a
few men with the horses and advanced rapidly in skirmishing order till
we reached the open before the buildings; then broke into a run. But
we found no Indians. They had no doubt had a guard and seen us when we
first sighted them.
It was long after dark when General Strange came up and the balance of
his command not until daybreak. We camped at the old trading post and
next morning with eight scouts I went on to the Beaver River, eight
miles farther north. At the Roman Catholic mission two miles from the
river we found a quantity of furs belonging to a half-breed rebel
named Montour in Big Bear’s camp. These we appropriated. It was like
a circus, watching some of the fellows getting the packs on the backs
of their horses. A white man’s horse objects fiercely to fur of any
sort; a bearskin is his pet aversion. They snorted, bucked and kicked;
trembling with fright, and then raced madly away with the flopping
packs on their rumps adding frenzy to terror. But at length we all got
safely aboard and rode away to hide our plunder in the woods.
At a hut on the banks of the river a mile or two east of the mission
we found camp-fires recently abandoned and the offal of a slaughtered
ox. Here we turned west and entering several of the houses on the
reservation secured more good furs. The Chippewyans were rebels and
the confiscation therefore justified. We then struck a road leading
through thick bush along the bank of a creek flowing into the river.
In the soft mud we came upon fresh moccasin tracks. That they had been
made only a few minutes before was evident; the water pressed out of
the black muck by the passing feet was still trickling back into the
impressions they left. We went on slowly and cautiously, with a sharp
look-out on either side of the trail, but saw no Indians. We descended
the high bank and at the river’s edge came upon a bark canoe, lately
drawn up. A scout raised his foot and would have put his heavy boot
through the bottom, but I stopped him.
“Don’t do that!” I told him. “We might want the birchbark to cross the
river.”
A hundred yards farther on we found a cache of furs under a small log
shelter. These it took us some time to divide, and turning back, what
was our surprise to find the canoe gone. So close had we been behind
the Indians that they had not dared touch the canoe, but had hidden at
no distance from us, slipped out and crossed while we were busy with
the furs. Had we accidentally stumbled upon them, some of us probably
would have been killed. However, I expect there were not more than
three or four Indians and they were no doubt glad to get out of a tight
corner without a fight.
Drawn up on the opposite bank lay the canoe. The fugitives we knew
would be watching across the water. George Beatty, a Salteaux Indian,
and myself, while the others filed up the hill, taking shelter behind
large trees, remained to talk to the fleeing Chippewyans.
“Come back!” we shouted in Cree. “Plenty soldiers are behind us. They
will follow you and you’ll all be killed. After to-morrow night we will
cross the river.”
Not a sound could we raise in response to our jibes and threats, so
with a parting salute from our guns at the woods across we climbed the
hill and returned to the mission, where the column had already arrived.
Next evening, June 9th, the Chippewyans, who had left Big Bear after
Frenchman’s Butte, with Father Legoff, their priest, having crossed the
Beaver from Cold Lake six miles north, surrendered to General Strange.
In the morning Major Butler and I went to their lodges and ordered
the men to bring their arms and march behind us to the general’s
camp, a mile away. The priest pleaded hard for his misguided flock,
but unavailingly. They were disarmed and the ringleaders, among them
my friend Catfish, arrested. A board of inquiry, at which the white
prisoners testified, held them for trial.
Next day with two other scouts I made the round of the reservation.
Revolvers at full cock in our hands, we galloped up to each cabin in
turn. We found no Indians, but we did discover and appropriate some
prime beaver and bear skins. Those furs to-day would be worth some
thousands of dollars, but lest it be thought that I made a fortune out
of the plunder I may mention that the total value of all the furs I
obtained, apart from what I gave away, was at that time one hundred and
fifty dollars.
June 24th we started with the remainder of the troops under General
Middleton, whose pursuit of Big Bear had been blocked by impassable
muskegs and who had joined us on the 14th, on the return to Fort Pitt.
Arriving there I learned that Mrs. Gowanlock and Mrs. Delaney had been
brought in by William McKay and a party of scouts; they had been found
with some half-breeds who had withdrawn from Big Bear after Frenchman’s
Butte and were moving toward Pitt. These half-breeds posed as loyal,
but in the case of one of them at least the fiction would not hold.
This was Pierre Blondin, the man who—though as afterward developed,
from no commendable motive—bought Mrs. Gowanlock from the Indians, who
appeared before her in her deceased husband’s overcoat and who wore all
my best clothing in the camp. Poirier, whom I have mentioned before,
was responsible for the half-breed’s undoing. Blondin spoke good
English. Some scouts had gathered round him one evening and were being
entertained with a recital of his heroic acts, when Poirier chanced to
pass and caught some of his remarks. Going up to Blondin and jerking
the coat off his back, the Frenchman exclaimed:
“You’re the hound who would have mistreated a white woman, eh? Where
did you get these clothes?”
The scouts were dumb for a moment; then they asked for explanations.
Poirier gave them briefly and the infuriated men turned on Blondin,
stripped him and dragged him toward the Saskatchewan. It might
have been the finish for Blondin but for the captain of one of the
steam-boats then lying at Pitt. He rescued the half-breed, though not
before he had been badly mauled and was almost dead from terror. That
was the last Fort Pitt saw of Pierre Blondin.
The McLeans and all other white prisoners had also arrived in our
absence, reaching Pitt on June 21st. After Steele’s fight at Loon Lake
the Wood Crees refused longer to camp with Big Bear’s band. The latter
thereupon turned east and the Wood Crees, with the prisoners, continued
north as far as Lac des Isles, east of Cold Lake, where the captives
were given their freedom. They were all well, though several were taken
ill with typhoid soon after reaching Pitt.
Wandering Spirit forsook Big Bear’s band and went with the Wood Crees,
probably fearing death at the hands of his followers for leading them
into trouble.
On July 1st we left Pitt by steamboat for Battleford. The luxury of
such a mode of travel we could fully appreciate after wading through
interminable swamps and muskegs.
From various sources I have gleaned the following particulars of the
Loon Lake fight:
On June 2nd as already related, Major Steele with seventy-five mounted
men left the Little Red Deer River to follow Big Bear’s trail and
endeavour to release the remainder of the prisoners. Ten miles out a
note dropped by Mr. McLean saying that all were well and the party was
moving in a north-easterly direction was picked up. At noon the scouts
camped, twenty-five miles out, for dinner. Canon McKay, in the advance
when the command moved again, came upon and fired at two Indian scouts,
who escaped. These Indians waited in ambush and shot Scout J. Fisk of
the advance party, breaking his arm. The main body was dismounted and
extended at once. They rushed through the brush, firing at random as
they advanced, but no Indians were uncovered.
Fisk rode on pluckily without a murmur. Camp was made for the night
forty-five miles north-east. At daybreak the march was resumed and at
nine o’clock the advance scouts came on the Indian camp beside a lake
at the foot of a wooded hill. Only three tepees were standing. Most of
the Indians had already that morning forded an arm of the lake to a
peninsula ahead, endeavouring to avoid the troops.
Major Steele at once dismounted his men and they opened fire on Indians
crossing the ford and on the tepees. Little Poplar had already crossed,
but hearing the firing he rallied the Indians and hurried back to
engage the scouts. Three Indians were shot as they ran from the tepees,
one the Wood Cree chief Cut Arm, a good friend to the prisoners. It
was the unfortunate penalty of bad associations. Miss Kitty McLean was
crossing the ford when the fight began with her baby brother on her
arm. A bullet passed between her head and the child’s and another cut
her shawl, but she reached the other side uninjured.
The Indians were crawling up the hill under cover of the brush but the
scouts continued to advance and drove them back. One man was shot by
Scout William Fielders at a distance of ten feet. The attackers’ rifles
got so hot at times from the rapid firing that they had to drop them
and allow them to cool. Three more Indians were wounded, one of these
Little Poplar finished by mistake as he was attempting to crawl back to
his own people. Lone Man’s horse was shot under him, the ball passing
through his barrel behind the Indian’s legs.
Canon McKay endeavoured to parley with the enemy. A white flag was
hoisted and standing behind a tree he demanded that they give up the
prisoners. The hostiles answered with a volley from their guns. Mr.
McLean sent by a friendly Indian named François Mellon a letter to the
troops, but the messenger was shot through the elbow while crossing a
swamp and had to return. A second attempt at parley was repelled like
the first, the Indians shouting that they would annihilate the scouts.
At the end of three hours Major Steele, finding himself with his small
force unable to follow up his advantage, ordered a retreat and retired
twelve miles to await reinforcements, carrying his wounded with him.
These were Sergeant-Major William Fury of the North-West Mounted
Police, shot through the chest, and Scouts William West and J. Fisk of
the Alberta Field Force.
General Middleton came up with Steele and the augmented force of three
hundred cavalry, after a delay of a day or two to make pack saddles and
travoys, reached the scene of Steele’s fight on June 7th. The Indians
by this time were miles ahead. Middleton followed their trail across
the ford. At the farther side of the peninsula he found a muskeg nearly
two miles wide. It was almost impassable for the heavy horses of the
cavalry, although the Indians had managed to cross with their light
ponies after discarding everything not absolutely indispensable, such
as sides of bacon, bags of flour and other heavy articles. The general
decided it was useless to pursue the fleeing hostiles farther and
returned to Pitt.
From Loon Lake north to Lac des Isles the march was terribly hard on
the prisoners. The ladies were obliged to walk, often through water,
with heavy bundles on their backs. Their clothing was torn, their feet
were cut and bruised through their worn-out moccasins. At the Beaver
River the prisoners pleaded to be allowed to return to Pitt, but the
Indians insisted on their accompanying them still farther. Although
the bands had separated after leaving Loon Lake, most of Big Bear’s
followers going east, the Chippewyans west and the Wood Crees north
with the prisoners, the Wood Crees still feared that the prisoners
might if liberated fall in with stragglers from Big Bear’s band.
They crossed the Beaver River on logs and in boats made of ox-hide
stretched on willow withes. Stanley Simpson swam the river several
times, helping the Indians cross, in order to secure tea and other
luxuries from them for the McLean family. At the last crossing he was
exhausted and had he not been rescued by an Indian on a log would have
sunk.
A day north of the Beaver River the Indians decided to let them go, and
they started on the return to Fort Pitt. It was a long weary march.
They had been given a shot gun but no provisions. Stanley Simpson made
good use of the gun and kept them from starving, walking double the
distance of the others, by hunting rabbits. Even as it was they might
have suffered, for thirty mouths are a good many to fill, but they
were lucky enough to find an emaciated ox, abandoned as useless by the
Indians. He was killed, the meat dried and, tough and tasteless though
it was, it helped to keep life in the poor wanderers.
At Loon Lake they were met by a party from General Middleton, who had
learned of their release and sent clothing and food in wagons for their
relief. Arriving at Pitt, they left soon afterward for Battleford and
the East by boat.
In their flight from Loon Lake the Indians forsook a dropsical woman
who could not travel fast enough to keep up with the camp. Old, ill and
deserted, ignorantly fearing death at the hands of the white troops,
she fixed a rope about her neck, tied it to a stump and hanged herself.