“You can never trust an Indian,” said Mrs Murchison at the anxious
family council. “Well do I remember them when you were a little thing,
Advena, hanging round the town on a market-day; and the squaws coming
to the back door with their tin pails of raspberries to sell, and just
knowing English enough to ask a big price for them. But it was on the
squaws we depended in those days, or go without raspberry preserves for
the winter. Slovenly-looking things they were with their three or four
coloured petticoats and their papooses on their backs. And for dirt--!
But I thought they were all gone long ago.”
“There are enough of them left to make trouble all right,” said Alec.
“They don’t dress up like they used to, and I guess they send the
papooses to kindergarten now; but you’ll find plenty of them lying
around any time there’s nothing to do but vote and get drunk.”
Allowing for the natural exaggeration of partisanship, the facts about
the remaining red man of Moneida were much as Alec described them.
On market-days he slid easily, unless you looked twice, into what the
Express continues to call the farming community. Invariably, if you did
look twice, you would note that his stiff felt hat was an inch taller
in the crown than those worn generally by the farming community, the
pathetic assertion, perhaps, of an old sovereignty; invariably, too
his coat and trousers betrayed a form within, which, in the effort at
adaptation, had become high-shouldered and lank of leg. And the brown
skin was there to be noticed, though you might pass it by, and the high
cheek-bones and the liquidly muddy eye. He had taken on the signs of
civilization at the level which he occupied; the farming community
had lent him its look of shrewdness in small bargains and its rakish
sophistication in garments, nor could you always assume with certainty,
except at Fox County fairs and elections, that he was intoxicated. So
much Government had done for him in Fox County, where the “Reservation,”
nursing the dying fragment of his race, testified that there is such a
thing as political compunction. Out in the wide spaces of the West he
still protects his savagery; they know an Indian there today as far as
they can see him, without a second glance.
And in Moneida, upon polling-days, he still, as Alec said, “made
trouble.” Perhaps it would be more to the fact to say that he presented
the elements of which trouble is made. Civilization had given him a
vote, not with his coat and trousers, but shortly after; and he had not
yet learned to keep it anywhere but in his pocket, whence the transfer
was easy, and could be made in different ways. The law contemplated only
one, the straight drop into the ballot-box; but the “boys” had other
views. The law represented one level of political sentiment, the boys
represented another; both parties represented the law, both parties were
represented by the boys; and on the occasion of the South Fox election
the boys had been active in Moneida. There are, as we know, two kinds
of activity on these occasions, one being set to observe the other;
and Walter Winter’s boys, while presumably neglecting no legitimate
opportunity of their own, claimed to have been highly successful in
detecting the methods of the other side.
The Indians owed their holdings, their allowances, their school, and
their protecting superintendent, Squire Ormiston, to a Conservative
Government. It made a grateful bond of which a later Conservative
Government was not, perhaps, unaware, when it added the ballot to
its previous benefits. The Indians, therefore, on election-days, were
supposed to “go solid” for the candidate in whom they had been taught
to see good will. If they did not go quite solid, the other side might
point to the evolution of the political idea in every dissentient--a
gladdening spectacle, indeed, on which, however, the other side seldom
showed any desire to dwell.
Hitherto the desires and intentions of the “Reserve” had been
exemplified in its superintendent. Squire Ormiston had never led his
wards to the polls--there were strong reasons against that. But the
squire made no secret of his politics, either before or, unluckily,
after he changed them. The Indians had always known that they were
voting on the same side as “de boss.” They were likely, the friends
of Mr Winter thought, to know now that they were voting on a different
side. This was the secret of Mr Winter’s friends’ unusual diligence on
voting-day in Moneida. The mere indication of a wish on the part of the
superintendent would constitute undue influence in the eye of the law.
The squire was not the most discreet of men--often before it had been
the joke of Conservative councils how near the old man had come to
making a case for the Grits in connection with this chief or that. I
will not say that he was acquainted with the famous letter from Queen
Victoria, affectionately bidding her Indian children to vote for the
Conservative candidate. But perhaps he had not adhered to the strictest
interpretation of the law which gave him fatherly influence in
everything pertaining to his red-skinned charges’ interests temporal and
spiritual, excepting only their sacred privilege of the ballot. He may
even have held it in some genial derision, their sacred privilege; it
would be natural, he had been there among them in unquestioned authority
so long. Now it had assumed an importance. The squire looked at it with
the ardour of a converted eye. When he told Mr Farquharson that he could
bring Moneida with him to a Liberal victory, he thought and spoke of the
farmers of the township not of his wards of the Reserve. Yet as the day
approached these would infallibly become voters in his eyes, to swell or
to diminish the sum of Moneida’s loyalty to the Empire. They remembered
all this in the committee room of his old party. “The squire,” they said
to one another, “will give himself away this time if ever he did.” Then
young Murchison hadn’t known any better than to spend the best part of
the day out there, and there were a dozen witnesses to swear that old
Ormiston introduced him to three or four of the chiefs. That was basis
enough for the boys detailed to watch Moneida, basis enough in the end
for a petition constructed to travel to the High Court at Toronto
for the purpose of rendering null and void the election of Mr Lorne
Murchison, and transferring the South Fox seat to the candidate of the
opposite party.
That possibility had been promptly frustrated by a cross petition. There
was enough evidence in Subdivision Eleven, according to Bingham, to
void the Tory returns on six different counts; but the house-cat sold by
Peter Finnigan to Mr Winter for five dollars would answer all practical
purposes. It was a first-rate mouser, Bingham said, and it would settle
Winter. They would have plenty of other charges “good and ready” if
Finnigan’s cat should fail them, but Bingham didn’t think the court
would get to anything else; he had great confidence in the cat.
The petitions had been lodged with promptness. “Evidence,” as Mr Winter
remarked, “is like a good many other things--better when it’s hot,
especially the kind you get on the Reserve.” To which, when he heard it,
Bingham observed sarcastically that the cat would keep. The necessary
thousand dollars were ready on each side the day after the election,
lodged in court the next. Counsel were as promptly engaged--the Liberals
selected Cruickshank--and the suit against the elected candidate,
beginning with charges against his agents in the town, was shortly in
full hearing before the judges sent from Toronto to try it. Meanwhile
the Elgin Mercury had shown enterprise in getting hold of Moneida
evidence, and foolhardiness, as the Express pointed out, in publishing
it before the matter was reached in court. There was no foolhardiness
in printing what the Express knew about Finnigan’s cat; it was just
a common cat, and Walter Winter paid five dollars for it, Finnigan
declaring that if Mr Winter hadn’t filled him up with bad whiskey before
the bargain, he wouldn’t have let her go under ten, he was that fond
of the creature. The Express pointed out that this was grasping of
Finnigan, as the cat had never left him, and Mr Winter showed no
intention of taking her away; but there was nothing sub judice about the
cat. Finnigan, before he sobered up, had let her completely out of the
bag. It was otherwise with the charges that were to be made, according
to the Mercury, on the evidence of Chief Joseph Fry and another member
of his tribe, to the effect that he and his Conservative friends had
been instructed by Squire Ormiston and Mr Murchison to vote on this
occasion for both the candidates, thereby producing, when the box was
opened, eleven ballot-papers inscribed with two crosses instead of one,
and valueless. Here, should the charges against a distinguished and
highly respected Government official fail, as in the opinion of the
Express they undoubtedly would fail of substantiation was a big
libel case all dressed and ready and looking for the Mercury office.
“Foolish--foolish,” wrote Mr Williams at the close of his editorial
comments. “Very ill-advised.”
“They’ve made no case so far,” Mr Murchison assured the family. “I saw
Williams on my way up, and he says the evidence of that corner grocery
fellow--what’s his name?--went all to pieces this morning. Oliver was in
court. He says one of the judges--Hooke--lost his patience altogether.”
“They won’t do anything with the town charges,” Alec said, “and they
know it. They’re saving themselves for Moneida and old man Ormiston.”
“Well, I heartily wish,” said Mrs Murchison, in a tone of grievance with
the world at large, and if you were not responsible you might keep out
of the way--“I heartily wish that Lorne had stayed at home that day and
not got mixed up with old man Ormiston.”
“They’ll find it pretty hard to fix anything on Lorne,” said Alec. “But
I guess the Squire did go off his head a little.”
“Have they anything more than Indian evidence?” asked Advena.
“We don’t know what they’ve got,” said her brother darkly “and we won’t
till Wednesday, when they expect to get round to it.”
“Indian evidence will be a poor dependence in Cruickshank’s hands,” Mr
Murchison told them, with a chuckle. “They say this Chief Joseph Fry is
going about complaining that he always got three dollars for one vote
before, and this time he expected six for two, and got nothing!”
“Chief Joseph Fry!” exclaimed Alec. “They make me tired with their Chief
Josephs and Chief Henrys! White Clam Shell--that was the name he got
when he wasn’t christened.”
“That’s the name,” remarked Advena, “that he probably votes under.”
“Well,” said Mrs Murchison, “it was very kind of Squire Ormiston to
give Lorne his support, but it seems to me that as far as Moneida is
concerned he would have done better alone.”
“No, I guess he wouldn’t, Mother,” said Alec. “Moneida came right round
with the Squire, outside the Reserve. If it hadn’t been for the majority
there we would have lost the election. The old man worked hard, and
Lorne is grateful to him, and so he ought to be.”
“If they carry the case against Lorne,” said Stella, “he’ll be
disqualified for seven years.”
“Only if they prove him personally mixed up in it,” said the father.
“And that,” he added with a concentration of family sentiment in the
emphasis of it, “they’ll not do.”