Blood Upon Our Land Read online

  Edmond is missing, wept my grandfather. Papa and Adrian had been arrested. He himself had been arrested too, but then released, although the soldiers had kept his rifle. The men of the Council had also been arrested and taken away, he told us.

  “But the councillors were the leaders,” I said, “powerful men. Papa and Adrian were not part of the Council.” But Moushoom said they would still be tried, just as the Council would be tried.

  None of it made sense.

  If they were lucky, Moushoom said, Papa and Adrian would be released.

  And if they were unlucky? We all wanted to ask it, but none of us did.

  By evening, the fires were dead. Nothing could be saved. La Mignonne, the chickens, the goats, the cats, the horses — all dead or run off, mad with fear. Papa’s fiddle, Mama’s rug, her sash and watch, Louise’s books, the diaries, the ledger — all turned to ashes. What food the soldiers had left in the cellar had been destroyed when the burning floor caved in.

  Moushoom buried the dogs, refusing anyone’s help, and then we walked back to his cabin. I remember only misery rather than gratitude that it was well hidden by the trees. The soldiers would have burned it and the shed too, had they noticed such small buildings. What could you expect of men who were low enough to have stolen the very bell from our church? Yes! I will write it again. They stole Marie-Antoinette and carried her away from Batoche.

  We spent the first of many nights there in the cabin, but of all those nights, it was the saddest. We had nothing now, and that was bad enough, but we feared for Papa and Adrian. And no one knew whether Edmond was alive. Moushoom had searched among the wounded and even looked at the dead, but Edmond was not among them.

  Enough. I can write no more tonight.

  Le 26 juin 1885

  I will finish this.

  In the days that followed, we learned that Monsieur Riel had surrendered. Hearing the news, Gabriel Dumont fled to the United States, leaving Madame Dumont with his father. I remember Armand saying that maybe Edmond and Moon were with Monsieur Dumont, but I did not think so. In my heart I was sure they both lay dead somewhere.

  Some were saying that Big Tom Hourie and two other men claimed to have captured Louis Riel, but that was not correct. After the battle, Monsieur Riel had hidden for three days in the cellar of a farmhouse maybe thirty miles from here. On the third day he surrendered by his own choice, and no capturing was involved. Moushoom’s words of so many months ago had come true. This time Louis Riel had not run in the end.

  Some said that in an act of gratitude he gave his sash to the people who had hidden him. Even now, I do not know if that was correct, but Moushoom said it sounded like something Louis would do. What was true was that now Monsieur Riel was on his way to Regina for trial.

  The army’s Gatling gun had taken the life of

  Plus tard

  It hurts so much to write these bitter words, but write them I will. Once I thought that no one would ever read this diary. Now I hope the whole country reads it, that Macdonald reads it and knows what he did to us.

  The soldiers killed Marcile Gratton, an innocent girl of ten years who had only been trying to reach her mother. Thirteen of our men were killed, Joseph Ouellette among them. Ninety-three years old and he had still been a match for any of Middleton’s soldiers, right to the end! As for the dead redcoats, the army had taken the bodies of those soldiers with them, all except one man who had no family back east to claim him. That soldier they had buried not far from Monsieur Caron’s house near the river. When I heard that, I felt ill at the thought that even one soldier would remain here in our land.

  The church and some of the merchants’ buildings were spared by the soldiers, because those men had not fought against the army. There was no mercy for those who had, however, and so Middleton’s men burned almost every Métis farmhouse. The stink of it comes back to me again as I write this.

  There was little or no food, of course, for no crops had been planted. We had more supplies than many — some flour and a bag of potatoes, a few cabbages that had been stored in Moushoom’s small cellar — but that would not last all summer. There were the seeds, corn, beans and peas, and so we would try to make do with that, but both Louise and I worried whether it would be enough. We decided we would plant a garden, no matter how hard that would be without a plough or a horse. Moushoom would fish and hunt. We would cut wood and add onto the cabin, build another barn, start again. Somehow we would do it. It was mostly brave talk, I know now, but the words gave us the strength to do the little we could.

  Mai turned to juin, and although the tiny garden was growing, it would be a long while before anything could be harvested. We looked to the land in other ways. If so many people had not left Batoche, it would have been impossible to find anything at all, but they had gone and so our chances were better. Louise and I dug cattail and burdock roots. When boiled they could be eaten. Armand hunted for crayfish in the river’s shallows while Moushoom tried to spear fish. We were always hungry, but unlike others, we were not forced to do terrible things. Some, like the Letendres, were eating their dogs. I could almost give thanks that Moushoom’s dogs were dead.

  It was hard, but for Louise and the child she carried, it was harder. Nothing seemed to fill her. She needed meat, but there was none, and the helplessness I felt then tore at me day and night.

  One evening while we were eating a poor supper of fish broth, we heard a small sound outside. Armand said he was sure it was the ghost of that dead soldier buried near the river, but Moushoom said he doubted it. The soldiers had done enough damage to Batoche in life. It was unlikely any of them would bother us in death. Perhaps it was an animal — a raccoon, or a squirrel — and if it was, if Moushoom could kill it, we would have meat. He slowly crept to the door, an axe in his hand, ready for whatever creature was there. “Open it,” he whispered to me. I did. And there was Moon.

  All of us wept. Moon was thin and one of his paws was cut and had become infected, but he was still the dog we had known. He did not whimper or snap while Moushoom cleaned and bandaged his paw. This finished, Moushoom gave him the last of his soup. Moon ate it, curled up and went to sleep near the stove. It was so good to have that dog back. I think that some of the bitterness in me drained away at that moment.

  Late that night I woke. Moushoom sat near Moon, stroking his head. “Thank you, my old friend,” he said again and again. “Thank you for offering yourself to us in our time of need.”

  I said not a word to anyone, not in the morning, not during the day, but although Armand suspected nothing, Louise somehow knew. If Moushoom could do what he must, if he could be that brave, so would I. Surely I could be that brave.

  But when he said that he thought he would take a walk with his dog, when he clucked his tongue and Moon went to him so willingly, it was too much. “There is no need,” I said to him, but Moushoom only smiled and told me that there was a need.

  I will never forget the sadness in his voice. I knew that I should think of Louise’s unborn bābee, and of my father. He would want to see his new child in time, and Adrian would want to see his brother or sister. He knew that Moon was ready, and for that we should be thankful. I could not watch Moushoom pick up his axe and leave the cabin, Moon limping at his heel.

  I think I have never felt such despair. When Armand asked what Moushoom was doing, and Louise told him, he sobbed and sobbed. I wanted to follow Moushoom, to drive Moon away, or to take the axe. I had to do something, but instead I did nothing. I would like to write that I am an obedient granddaughter, but at that moment I believe I was just a coward.

  We heard a long howl and then nothing. It is done, coward, I told myself.

  But then there were voices, shouts, and Moon was barking and Moushoom was crying that Edmond had returned! Edmond was here!

  Edmond had a small antelope slung across his saddle, a young doe that he had come upon not an hour ago. How I thanked that animal as Edmond and Moushoom skinned it, as Louise and I cut it into pieces
and later as we filled our bellies. There was meat and there would be soup and stew for days.

  And there was news.

  Edmond had followed Papa, Adrian and the other prisoners to Prince Albert, staying well hidden so that he would not be taken himself. In time, all the prisoners were sent to Regina and yet again Edmond had followed. He had not seen Papa or Adrian except from a distance, but he was certain they were well enough. The jail in Regina was a terrible place, but they did not suffer alone. Monsieur Riel’s trial was to begin soon, Edmond had heard, probably next month.

  Then Edmond, overtaken by his emotion, cried that Middleton and the government must be blind as well as stupid. Louise agreed, wondering how Riel could be tried for fighting when he had never raised a hand unless there was a crucifix in it. I knew the answer to that. Treason. They would try him for treason. As it had so long ago, the word made me shiver.

  Encore plus tard

  All there is left to write about is how this diary and Mama’s diary again came to be in my hands.

  It was Edmond, dear good Edmond. He had returned to our house just before he and Moushoom went back to the fighting. He knew the soldiers would come and he had to save something.

  Edmond handed the diaries to me, gave me these gifts, and then he took something away. How it hurt. He was riding to Regina, he told us, to wait for news of Papa and Adrian. He and I did not say goodbye, but I could not even say that I would see him again, that he must return soon. Nor could I bring myself to watch him ride away, and so the last I had of Edmond Swift Fox was the sound of his horse’s hoofbeats.

  Edmond. He is my good friend.

  Juillet–Novembre 1885

  Juillet

  Le 16 juillet 1885

  We have heard that Big Bear surrendered to the police at Fort Carlton. Not a word from Edmond, though. I have little heart to write.

  Papa and Adrian. I am so worried about them.

  Août

  Le 7 août 1885

  One Arrow has been arrested. So has White Cap.

  Pendant la nuit

  Moushoom spoke to us about the battle for the first time. I know it is because of what happened to One Arrow. He and Moushoom were close, those two, from all their hunts together over the years, back when the buffalo were here.

  I would rather forget my grandfather’s words, but I cannot and so here they are, as well as I can recall them:

  The Battle of Batoche

  Told by Moushoom Thompson Bouvier

  We lay in the rifle pits the men had dug. From there we could see our white flag with the image of the Holy Virgin on it as it fluttered over a store by the river. That flag cheered on the men. But Louis Riel! No rifle pit for him. He strode up and down, calling out encouragement to us as though the enemy’s bullets were not flying around him. I think that the Holy Virgin herself was shielding that man and us. Even though Middleton’s men shot their cannon and made a horrible noise with their Gatling gun, not a single Métis fighter had been wounded for two days. Soldiers were wounded and dead, though, and it filled my heart with joy.

  The joy faded when we learned that these soldiers, these men who would have killed us, were being nursed by Père Moulin and the nuns. They even fed them! And they call Louis Riel a traitor? This same priest who swore he would not give the comfort of the sacraments to our brave men or their families was now helping the enemy, as were the other priests. I cannot express my disgust or that of Edmond, your father and your brother. But there was a war to fight and so we all set it aside.

  As for One Arrow, he should not have been arrested. He is a chief, though, and has always behaved like one. Is that a crime?

  I never thought we would win. Middleton had too many soldiers. They were better armed, and had more ammunition. Our ammunition ran out, as you know, even though you, Louise, and the other women made more. The nails and stones we had to use in our rifles at the end were not enough. When the soldiers advanced, there was nothing to do but leave the trenches. That is when our men were killed. I will not talk more about it, but I will say that they went bravely in spite of the terrible manner in which some of them died.

  I know the ways of men like Macdonald. The army will march home and he will give them medals for their bravery. But it is your papa and Adrian and all the other Métis who are the true heroes. Be proud of them. We should always be proud of what they did. That is all I will ever have to say about this war.

  He paused for a moment and then looked right at us. “Forgive me, Josephine and Louise,” he said, “for being happy that Middleton’s soldiers died, but that is what battle does to a man.”

  Moushoom. My dear dear grandfather. He is a hero, too.

  Le 8 août 1885

  Someone brought a newspaper to Monsieur Letendre’s today. It did not take long for what it said to reach us here, even though there are fewer of us these days to pass along the news, Nohkom LaBute having died last week. Some say it was from a broken heart.

  So. The news is that Monsieur Riel’s trial is over. The jury asked for mercy, but Monsieur Riel has been sentenced to hang.

  Moushoom shook his fist at the sky when he heard that. “An innocent man!” he cried. “They have sentenced an innocent man to die.”

  Louise said that when we prayed the rosary tonight we would pray for Monsieur Riel’s soul.

  I know nothing of the men who decided this. I know nothing of a world in which such things can happen, I thank Le Boon Jeu. But I do know that what they have done to Louis Riel is wrong. If they can do this to him, what will they do to Papa and Adrian?

  Le 19 août 1885

  Edmond returned tonight. He did not hold back his news, even though he must have known how it would be taken. Some days ago, One Arrow was sentenced to serve three years in a prison called Stony Mountain, back in Manitoba. He would not be alone. They would be trying a chief called Poundmaker in time, and even though Poundmaker was innocent, he would surely be sent to the prison. That was how the law worked.

  I could tell there was more. We all could. It came from Edmond reluctantly, but it did come. The other Métis had been tried. A few had been released, but the rest were found guilty and sentenced, some for seven years, some for three years, some for one. Papa and Adrian would be in the prison by now, having been taken there by train. Edmond had thought it best to wait to tell us.

  In my head I could see Papa and Adrian, their faces white, their eyes searching in vain for our faces among the people watching the train pass by. In my heart I could feel their sorrow and disappointment. To my shame, I screamed at Edmond. I will not write what I said, but I will write that it drove him from the house. Later, I found him at the river, and when I begged for his forgiveness, he waved away my begging. “What is a little screaming between friends,” he said.

  Le 25 août 1885

  Edmond is gone, but not in anger, for we spoke last night, and all is well between us. He will ride to Winnipeg so that he can be close to Papa and Adrian until they are released. Moushoom has given him the money he will need to buy horses for them.

  I have vowed many things since I began this diary. Some promises I have kept and some, I am ashamed to say, I have broken. I vow this, though. I will not write another word until Papa, Adrian and Edmond return.

  Novembre

  Le 17 novembre 1885

  They have come home to us at last, Papa and Adrian having been let out of the prison early. Nothing I ever write can tell of our happiness and relief. Moushoom brought his bottle of brandy from the cellar and poured a little into cups for all of us. “To Louis Riel,” said Papa. “He was a good man.” And that is how we learned that Monsieur Riel was dead.

  “They hanged him yesterday,” Papa told us. He and the others had heard it on the street as they rode through Batoche. It was said he died bravely, calmly, standing straight.

  “A man could do worse than to die bravely,” said Moushoom, raising his glass. “To Louis Riel. May he rest in peace.”

  Le 19 novembre 1885

>   Papa brought home a letter today, two letters really, since two pieces of paper were in the envelope. One had Adrian’s name on it, and on the other was written my name. I have no idea what Adrian’s letter said, but I saw that he was smiling regretfully as he read it in the kitchen.

  As for my letter, I will paste it here in my diary.

  Dear Josephine,

  I have followed what has happened over the last months. Papa brings home the newspaper every day. He is again working for the Toronto Globe, and so I have been able to read the stories about Batoche and Louis Riel. Papa and I talk about them when Mama is not within hearing. She does not care to listen to such unpleasantness, she tells us.

  My father says that we should not judge. A jury has judged Louis Riel, and a Higher Court will judge him when he is gone. The Higher Court is God, but you know that.

  Your letter said that you were faced with hard times, and that you did not know what would come of them. I suppose that is true of all of us in some ways. Still, I hope that you and your family have not suffered. No matter what happened, I remain your friend,

  Emma MacLeod

  Le 20 novembre 1885

  Our baby was born just after dawn this morning, in the room that my grandfather added on to the cabin some months ago. He is a small baby who has Papa’s green eyes and he is very noisy. Moushoom says that noisiness seems to run in this family, and that maybe he will have to move into Armand’s fort. It might be crowded in the fort, though. Moushoom had put a bit of sugar out there yesterday and by nightfall, it was gone. He suspects that the Ma-ma-kwa-se-sak have finally returned. If he must move out, hopefully they will be somewhat quieter than certain boys and babies.