A DAY OF RECKONING

As well play pussy-wants-a-corner with a tiger as make-believe war with an Indian. In both cases the fun may become ghastly earnest with no time for cry-quits. So it was with the great fur-trading companies at the beginning of this century. Each held the Indian in subjection and thought to use him with daring impunity against its rival. And each was caught in the meshes of its own merry game.

I, as a Nor’-Wester, of course, consider that the lawless acts of the Hudson’s Bay had been for three years educating the natives up to the tragedy of June 19, 1816. But this is wholly a partisan, opinion. Certainly both companies have lied outrageously about the results of their quarrels. The truth is Hudson’s Bay and Nor’-Westers were playing war with the Indian. Consequences having exceeded all calculation, both companies would fain free themselves of blame.

For instance, it has been said the Hudson’s Bay people had no intention of intercepting the North-West brigade bound up the Red and Assiniboine for the interior this assertion despite the fact our rivals had pillaged every North-West fort that could be attacked. Now I acknowledge the Nor’-Westers disclaim hostile purpose in the rally of three hundred Bois-Brules to the Portage; but this sits not well with the warlike appearance of these armed plain rangers, who sallied forth to protect the Fort William express. Nor does it agree with the expectations of the Indian rabble, who flocked on our rear like carrion birds keen for the spoils of battle. Both companies had as it were leveled and cocked their weapon. To send it off needed but a spark, and a slight misunderstanding ignited that spark.

My arrival at the Portage had the instantaneous effect of sending two strong battalions of Bois-Brules hot-foot across country to meet the Fort William express before it could reach Fort Douglas. They were to convoy it overland to a point on the Assiniboine where it could be reshipped. To the second of these parties, I attached myself. I was anxious to attempt a visit to Hamilton. There was some one else whom I hoped to find at Fort Douglas; so I refused to rest at the Portage, though I had been in my saddle almost constantly for twenty days.

When we set out, I confess I did not like the look of things. Those Indians smeared with paint and decked out with the feathered war-cap kept increasing to our rear. There were the eagles! Where was the carcass? The presence of these sinister fellows, hot with the lust of blood, had ominous significance. Among the half-breeds there was unconcealed excitement.

Shortly before we struck off the Assiniboine trail northward for the Red, in order to meet the expected brigade beyond Fort Douglas, some of our people slipped back to the Indian rabble. When they reappeared, they were togged out in native war-gear with too many tomahawks and pistols for the good of those who might interfere with our mission. There was no misunderstanding the ugly temper of the men. Here, I wish to testify that explicit orders were given for the forces to avoid passing near Fort Douglas, or in any way provoking conflict. There was placed in charge of our division the most powerful plain-ranger in the service of the company, the one person of all others, who might control the natives in case of an outbreak and that man was Cuthbert Grant. Pierre, the minstrel, and six clerks were also in the party; but what could a handful of moderate men do with a horde of Indians and Metis wrought up to a fury of revenge?

“Now, deuce take those rascals! What are they doing?” exclaimed Grant angrily, as we left the river trail and skirted round a slough of Frog Plains on the side remote from Fort Douglas. Our forces were following in straggling disorder. The first battalions of the Bois-Brules, which had already rounded the marsh, were now in the settlement on Red River bank. It was to them that Grant referred. Commanding a halt and raising his spy-glass, he took an anxious survey of the foreground.

“There’s something seriously wrong,” he said. “Strikes me we’re near a powder mine! Here, Gillespie, you look!” He handed the field-glass to me.

A great commotion was visible among the settlers. Ox-carts packed with people were jolting in hurried confusion towards Fort Douglas. Behind, tore a motley throng of men, women and children, running like a frightened flock of sheep. Whatever the cause of alarm, our men were not molesting them; for I watched the horsemen proceeding leisurely to the appointed rendezvous, till the last rider disappeared among the woods of the river path.

“Scared! Badly scared! That’s all, Grant,” said I. “You’ve no idea what wild stories are going the rounds of the settlement about the Bois-Brules!”

“And you’ve no idea, young man, what wild stories are going the rounds of the Bois-Brules about the settlement,” was Grant’s moody reply.

My chance acquaintance with the Assiniboine encampment had given me some idea, but I did not tell Grant so.

“Perhaps they’ve taken a few old fellows prisoners to ensure the fort’s good behavior, while we save our bacon,” I suggested.

“If they have, those Highlanders will go to Fort Douglas shining bald as a red ball,” answered the plain-ranger.

In this, Grant did his people injustice; for of those prisoners taken by the advance guard, not a hair of their heads was injured. The warden was nervously apprehensive. This was unusual with him; and I have since wondered if his dark forebodings arose from better knowledge of the Bois-Brules than I possessed, or from some premonition.

“There’d be some reason for uneasiness, if you weren’t here to control them, Grant,” said I, nodding towards the Indians and Metis.

“One man against a host! What can I do?” he asked gloomily.

“Good gracious, man! Do! Why, do what you came to do! Whatever’s the matter with you?”

The swarthy face had turned a ghastly, yellowish tint and he did not answer.

“’Pon my honor,” I exclaimed. “Are you ill, man?”

“’Tisn’t that! When I went to sleep, last night, there were corpses all round me. I thought I was in a charnel house and

“Good gracious, Grant!” I shuddered out. “Don’t you go off your head next! Leave that for us green chaps! Besides, the Indians were raising stench enough with a dog-stew to fill any brain with fumes. For goodness’ sake, let’s go on, meet those fellows with the brigade, secure that express and get off this ’powder mine’ as you call it.”

“By all means!” Grant responded, giving the order, and we moved forward but only at snail pace; for I think he wanted to give the settlers plenty of time to reach the fort.

By five oclock in the afternoon we had almost rounded the slough and were gradually closing towards the wooded ground of the river bank. We were within ear-shot of the settlers. They were flying past with terrified cries of The half-breeds! The half-breeds! when I heard Grant groan from sheer alarm and mutter

“Look! Look! The lambs coming to meet the wolves!”

To this day I cannot account for the madness of the thing. There, some twenty, or thirty Hudson’s Bay men mere youths most of them were coming with all speed to head us off from the river path, at a wooded point called Seven Oaks. What this pigmy band thought it could do against our armed men, I do not know. The blunder on their part was so unexpected and inexcusable, it never dawned on us the panic-stricken settlers had spread a report of raid, and these poor valiant defenders had come out to protect the colony. If that be the true explanation of their rash conduct in tempting conflict, what were they thinking about to leave the walls of their fort during danger? My own opinion is that with Lord Selkirk’s presumptuous claims to exclusive possession in Red River and the recent high-handed success of the Hudson’s Bay, the men of Fort Douglas were so flushed with pride they did not realize the risk of a brush with the Bois-Brules. Much, too, may be attributed to Governor Semple’s inexperience; but it was very evident the purpose of the force deliberately blocking our path was not peaceable. If the Hudson’s Bay blundered in coming out to challenge us, so did we, I frankly admit; for we regarded the advance as an audacious trick to hold us back till the Fort William express could be captured.

Now that the thing he feared had come, all hesitancy vanished from Grant’s manner. Steeled and cool like the leader he was, he sternly commanded the surging Metis to keep back. Straggling Indians and half-breeds dashed to our fore-ranks with the rush of a tempest and chafed hotly against the warden. At a word from Grant, the men swung across the enemy’s course sickle-shape; but they were furious at this disciplined restraint. From horn to horn of the crescent, rode the plain-ranger, lashing horses back to the circle and shaking his fist in the quailing face of many a bold rebel.

Both sides advanced within a short distance of each other. We could see that Governor Semple, himself, was leading the Hudsons Bay men. Immediately, Boucher, a North-West clerk, was sent forward to parley. Now, I hold the Nor-Westers would not have done that if their purpose had been hostile; but Boucher rode out waving his hand and calling

“What do you want? What do you want?”

“What do you want, yourself?” came Governor Semple’s reply with some heat and not a little insolence.

“We want our fort,” demanded Boucher, slightly taken aback, but thoroughly angered. His horse was prancing restively within pistol range of the governor.

“Go to your fort, then! Go to your fort!” returned Semple with stinging contempt in manner and voice.

He might as well have told us to go to Gehenna; for the fort was scattered to the four winds.

“The fool!” muttered Grant. “The fool! Let him answer for the consequences. Their blood be on their own heads.”

Whether the Bois-Brules, who had lashed their horses into a lather of foam and were cursing out threats in the ominous undertone that precedes a storm-burst, now encroached upon the neutral ground in spite of Grant, or were led gradually forward by the warden as the Hudson’s Bay governor’s hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of the moment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between the Hudson’s Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming more furious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like an irresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson’s Bay faces, that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble of Nor’-Westers and Bois-Brules disguised in hideous war-gear, I dare avow not twenty of us were recognizable.

“Miserable rogue!” Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself with rage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor’s head, “Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?”

“Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it’s all up!” I begged, seeing the parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the Bois-Brules and did not hear.

“Wretch!” Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. “Dare you to speak so to me!” and he caught Boucher’s bridle, throwing the horse back on its haunches.

Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground.

“Arrest him, men!” commanded the governor. “Arrest him at once!”

But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gun leveled across its back.

Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought him shot and broke from Grant’s control to be avenged, or whether Lieutenant Holt of the Hudson’s Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged his weapon by accident, will never be known.

Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from the ranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, fired volley after volley into the governor’s party. The neighing and plunging of the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson’s Bay men were shouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in the shrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought I recognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashed back memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at the buffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousness that our men’s murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie with innocent blood.

Throwing himself between the Bois-Brules and the retreating band, the warden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wild beasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leader argued with blows. The shooting had been of a blind sort, and few shots did more than wound; but the natives were venting the pent-up hate of three years and would give no quarter. From musketry volleys the fight had become hand-to-hand butchery.

I had dismounted and was beating the scoundrels back with the butt end of my gun, begging, commanding, abjuring them to desist, when a Hudson’s Bay youth swayed forward and fell wounded at my feet. There was the baffled, anguished scream of some poor wounded fellow driven to bay, and I saw Laplante across the field, covered with blood, reeling and staggering back from a dozen red-skin furies, who pressed upon their fagged victim, snatching at his throat like hounds at the neck of a beaten stag. With a bound across the prostrate form of the youth, I ran to the Frenchman’s aid. Louis saw me coming and struck out so valiantly, the wretched cowards darted back just as I have seen a miserable pack of open-mouthed curs dodge the last desperate sweep of antlered head. That gave me my chance, and I fell on their rear with all the might I could put in my muscle, bringing the flat of my gun down with a crash on crested head-toggery, and striking right and left at Louis’ assailants.

Ah mon Dieu comrade,” sobbed Louis, falling in my arms from sheer exhaustion, while the tears trickled down in a white furrow over his blood-splashed cheeks, “mon Dieu comrade, but you pay me back generous!”

“Tutts, man, this is no time for settling old scores and playing the grand! Run for your life. Run to the woods and swim the river!” With that, I flung him from me; for I heard the main body of our force approaching. “Run,” I urged, giving the Frenchman a push.

“The run ha ha my old spark,” laughed Louis with a tearful, lack-life sort of mirth, “the run it has all run out,” and with a pitiful reel down he fell in a heap.

I caught him under the armpits, hoisted him to my shoulders, and made with all speed for the wooded river bank. My pace was a tumble more than a run down the river cliff, but I left the man at the very water’s edge, where he could presently strike out for the far side and regain Fort Douglas by swimming across again. Then I hurried to the battle-field in search of the wounded youth whom I had left. As I bent above him, the poor lad rolled over, gazing up piteously with the death-look on his face; and I recognized the young Nor’-Wester who had picked flowers with me for Frances Sutherland and afterwards deserted to the Hudson’s Bay. The boy moaned and moved his lips as if speaking, but I heard no sound. Stooping on one knee, I took his head on the other and bent to listen; but he swooned away. Afraid to leave him for the savages were wreaking indescribable barbarities on the fallen I picked him up. His arms and head fell back limply as if he were dead, and holding him thus, I again dashed for the fringe of woods. Rogers of the Hudson’s Bay staggered against me wounded, with both hands thrown up ready to surrender. He was pleading in broken French for mercy; but two half-breeds, one with cocked pistol, the other with knife, rushed upon him. I turned away that I might not see; but the man’s unavailing entreaties yet ring in my ears. Farther on, Governor Semple lay, with lacerated arm and broken thigh. He was calling to Grant, “I’m not mortally wounded! If you could get me conveyed to the fort I think I would live!”

Then I got away from the field and laid my charge in the woods. Poor lad! The pallor of death was on every feature. Tearing open his coat and taking letters from an inner pocket to send to relatives, I saw a knife-stab in his chest, which no mortal could survive. Battle is pitiless. I hurriedly left the dying boy and went back to the living, ordering a French half-breed to guard him.

“See that no one mutilates this body,” said I, “and I’ll reward you.”

My shout seemed to recall the lad’s consciousness. Whether he fully understood the terrible significance of my words, I could not tell; but he opened his eyes with a reproachful glazed stare; and that was the last I saw of him.

Knowing Grant would have difficulty in obtaining carriers for Governor Semple, and only too anxious to gain access to Fort Douglas, I ran with haste towards the recumbent form of the fallen leader. Grant was at some distance scouring the field for reliable men, and while I was yet twenty or thirty yards away an Indian glided up.

“Dog!” he hissed in the prostrate man’s face. “You have caused all this! You shall not live! Dog that you are!”

Then something caught my feet. I stumbled and fell. There was the flare of a pistol shot in Governor Semple’s face and a slight cry. The next moment I was by his side. The shot had taken effect in the breast. The body was yet hot with life; but there was neither breath, nor heart beat.

A few of the Hudson’s Bay band gained hiding in the shrubbery and escaped by swimming across to the east bank of the Red, but the remnant tried to reach the fort across the plain. Calling me, Grant, now utterly distracted, directed his efforts to this quarter. I with difficulty captured my horse and galloped off to join the warden. Our riders were circling round something not far from the fort walls and Grant was tearing over the prairie, commanding them to retire. It seems, when Governor Semple discovered the strength of our forces, he sent some of his men back to Fort Douglas for a field-piece. Poor Semple with his European ideas of Indian warfare! The Bois-Brules did not wait for that field-piece. The messengers had trundled it out only a short distance from the gateway, when they met the fugitives flying back with news of the massacre. Under protection of the cannon, the men made a plucky retreat to the fort, though the Bois-Brules harassed them to the very walls. This disappearance or rather extermination of the enemy, as well as the presence of the field-gun, which was a new terror to the Indians, gave Grant his opportunity. He at once rounded the men up and led them off to Frog Plains, on the other side of the swamp. Here we encamped for the night, and were subsequently joined by the first division of Bois-Brules.