Blood Upon Our Land Page 7

  Moushoom and the dogs took us all the way to St. Laurent. We passed the old schoolhouse where Monsieur Riel and his family are now living. In front of it were three balls of snow that his children had rolled and put into a pile. The figure leaned a bit to one side. It was beginning to melt in the sun, I suppose.

  After we returned home, Armand described every moment. When Papa put him to bed, I heard him saying that tomorrow he, Armand, was going to make a man out of snow for our house, just like Jean-Louis Riel’s.

  Papa says the Riels have almost nothing. The stove they use has been borrowed. They have no beds and so must sleep on the floor. Save for the generosity of the nuns there at St. Laurent, the Riel children would be going without milk. Louis Riel is a proud man, Papa said, but perhaps he would accept some fish for the sake of his little ones. My father is so kind.

  Plus tard

  Louise mended shirts after we said the rosary. I must admit her stitches are very close and even.

  Le 6 mars 1885

  Papa and Adrian left the house to take fish to the Riels. I would have liked to go along, but Papa

  Plus tard

  Louise and I had company that arrived just as I began to write, earlier. Several of our neighbours, Madame Chene and her daughter Agathe, Madame Jacob, who is Louise’s cousin, and Nohkom LaBute came to visit. So had two of Papa’s sisters, ma tawnt Bernice and ma tawnt Solange. All brought sewing, knitting or finger weaving with them, since even when we are visiting we keep our hands busy. What chattering there was!

  It was Nohkom LaBute who brought the news. Nothing stays hidden for long here at Batoche, and even less stays hidden from her. It had taken only a short while for her to learn that a secret meeting had been held at Gabriel’s Crossing yesterday. She named some of the men who had attended. Ten of them had signed an oath that Monsieur Riel had written, she told us. They marked their Xs and pledged to live holy lives in all respects.

  Later, when our visitors had gone, when supper was done and Armand in bed, Papa told us that Nohkom LaBute did not know everything about that meeting. When he and Adrian had been at the Riels’ earlier today, a group of men had arrived to further discuss certain serious matters. It seemed that Monsieur Nolin had also been asked to sign the oath. He had refused, saying that first we should have nine days of prayer to examine our consciences. When asked his opinion, Papa had agreed. Proceeding with caution and a clear conscience was wise.

  As for the oath, Papa told us there was a second part to it. In signing, the men vowed to save our country from the wicked government, even if it meant taking up arms. “I will fight to protect what is mine,” he said. “And I do not need to put my X on anything to prove I have the resolve. I am a man of peace, though, as I have said many times.”

  Taking up arms against the government would be a risky undertaking, Papa went on, a desperate one. If war came, he prayed it would come only after every last effort had been made to reason with the government.

  “What can you do but take action when you stand to lose everything?” Adrian asked him. “When evil shows its face, a man must resist.” Then Adrian said that even if he had not signed the oath, he had signed it in spirit.

  Papa was silent for a very long time, as if he was trying to decide what to say and what not to say. Then he told us that he had seen a man executed once. It was at Upper Fort Garry during the Red River troubles. I have never seen his face so grim. He told us exactly what had happened to a man whose name was Thomas Scott, but I will not write such a terrible thing here, only that the man suffered greatly and did not die quickly. When Papa said that he hoped he would not live to see anything like that again, and that he prayed none of us would either, I knew he was telling the truth.

  Now I sit in my bed writing this. I can hear Papa, Adrian and Moushoom talking in the kitchen. Moushoom had his say. “To us it would be a resistance,” he told Papa and Adrian, “But Macdonald and his kind will see it as a rebellion. And they will have another word for it. They will call it treason.” The very word makes me shiver. I know what the government would do to a traitor.

  So. There is to be a special novena that will begin next Tuesday, and end on the feast day of our Métis patron St. Joseph. Surely all those days of prayer will bring wisdom. Now, though, I am no longer trying to make out the words coming from the kitchen. I have no desire to, not after Papa described exactly what happened to that man who died at Fort Garry.

  Tard

  I have had a horrible dream, one that I cannot put out of my mind. In it, I am there at the fort in Red River instead of Papa. Thomas Scott kneels in the snow waiting for the firing squad to execute him. I know, the way you know in dreams, that Monsieur Riel does not want Scott to die. It is what the people want, though, and besides, Scott hates the Métis and all that we stand for. Still, I try to tell Monsieur Riel that Scott must not die, that if he does, Macdonald and the people of Ontario will never forgive him. No words come from my mouth, though. I am unable to speak. The rifles fire, but Thomas Scott does not die immediately, even when one of the men shoots him in the head. Finally, they put him into his casket, but I can hear him calling me, calling that I should join him.

  That is when I woke.

  Papa is right. No one should ever have to see such things, and yet war is coming. What will I see then?

  Le 8 mars 1885

  Papa and our men went to the church at St. Laurent today for yet another meeting. The news was not good, Papa told us when they returned. “There is little chance that we will get title to our land, and there are some who may even lose their farms,” he said. “How will we live? For years there have been no buffalo, and there are fewer and fewer jobs freighting. Some people have stores or businesses, but only the land stands between my family and starvation.” And he put his arm around Louise.

  When Adrian suggested that perhaps I should take Armand upstairs, Moushoom said no. “They need to hear this,” he said, “especially Josephine. How can she write this story if she does not know all of it?”

  Armand paid little attention, preferring to draw pictures on his slate. I, though, sat and listened to every word. Monsieur Riel has decided we will have our own government, since Ottawa is deaf to the Métis’ pleas. It will be a provisional government, he told everyone — provisional means temporary, Louise explained — and it will be dissolved once Macdonald comes to his senses. Gabriel Dumont said that messengers must be sent to One Arrow and to all the other chiefs. We needed their support, and needed it badly.

  They talked for hours. Papa finally carried Armand to bed. Louise banked the fire in the stove and bid me goodnight. Adrian left the kitchen yawning mightily, and then Moushoom and Edmond slipped away to their cabin. It was so peaceful just then, with all talk of governments and fighting ended.

  Plus tard

  I must put this down here before I forget. A reporter who writes stories for a newspaper was at that meeting. He came all the way from Toronto just to write about what is happening here. How strange to think that in a few days people in Toronto will be reading about Batoche and all of us.

  Plus tard

  I said nothing to Louise when she bid me goodnight. It felt good to ignore her, especially after Papa put

  I will not write that.

  Moushoom says that feelings can sweeten life or sour it beyond belief. All I feel at this moment is shame.

  Le 9 mars 1885

  Marie-Antoinette sounded just after dawn today. Nine peals rang out and so we knew that a man had passed on. Later we learned that it was not a man, but a newborn boy, the child of one of Nohkom LaBute’s daughters who lives near Prince Albert. Her poor little bābee lived only a few hours.

  Sometimes life is hard, but still it is precious. How sad to die before you begin your life’s journey.

  Plus tard

  Louise and I took a pot of rababoo over to Nohkom’s house this afternoon. The bābee’s death had saddened her, but she was at peace, saying that one must accept God’s will.

  L
ouise was very quiet as we walked home. Finally, to my surprise, she said that she was not sure which was more difficult, losing a loved one or accepting the will of God. I was not certain either, since both can be so difficult, which was what I said to her. Louise smiled a little, but it was a sad sort of smile.

  I cannot stop seeing that smile, and the sadness in it. Louise has feelings, of course, but she does not make a show of them. Mama was like that as well. She always said that women, especially wives, are the glue that holds a family together. It is their job to make the home a peaceful place, no matter what the cost to themselves.

  Louise. I suppose it is a hard thing she has taken on.

  Le 10 mars 1885

  The novena began today. Père Fourmond said Mass and Père Moulin assisted him. The church at St. Laurent was very crowded, and I could not see Monsieur Riel among the faces. Neither could anyone else in our family. Odd.

  Le 11 mars 1885

  A rainy day, but that did not stop people from attending the novena. Perhaps Madame Riel’s cough has worsened, for she and her family were again absent.

  Le 12 mars 1885

  The novena’s sermons are strange, and it seems to me that they have little to do with our souls or consciences. Père Fourmond insists that we must obey the priests, which is nothing new. But now he also insists we must obey the government.

  When Papa repeated this, Moushoom threw up his hands and I could tell that a particularly rude word was ready to come out. Because Louise and I were present, he contented himself with, “Abain, since when do Métis obey their oppressors?”

  Le 13 mars 1885

  There were a good many sucker fish in the traps today. Papa and Moushoom plan to smoke the carcasses, but Louise and I boiled the heads for supper. I always enjoy the heads. I also enjoy waiting to see how long it will take Moushoom to say something about the bones.

  “Of course, they have all those bones,” Moushoom began finally, although no one had said a word about them. This was at the end of the meal when I thought that perhaps, just this once, he would not tell the sucker story. Moushoom heard the story from his grandmother, who was very fond of stick gambling. She had heard it from a cousin who once spent two winters among people who lived by the western ocean. In the cousin’s story, one day a sucker fish made a bet with an eel. All either of them had to bet was their bones. Guess who won? It is why the sucker fish has so many bones and the eel is boneless.

  The sucker’s head is a strange-looking thing, filled with a puzzle of tiny bones. People say that each of these bones is shaped like one of the animals found in the bush. I cannot see this myself, but Armand says he can. He especially likes the mouth bones, which Papa says look like caribou antlers. Not ever having seen a caribou, I cannot be certain.

  After supper, Louise gave Armand an old ledger that came from her father-in-law’s house, telling him that the remaining blank pages would be perfect for drawing pictures. He was so pleased! It was a happy day.

  Plus tard

  I cannot stop thinking about that ledger. Or about Louise. I would very much like to ask her a certain question about what she knows about certain drawings, but perhaps not asking is better. Mama used to say that a little mystery in life is a good thing. I agree.

  Le 14 mars 1885

  Today I helped Louise take out some of the rugs. We hung them on the line and beat the dust out of them. As we did this, lines of geese flew over us. They seemed so free, and all I could think of was that no one oppresses them. I suppose they may be killed by men, but none landed, and they flew too high for anyone to shoot them. Clever geese!

  Plus tard

  A letter from Louise’s sister Rose arrived a few hours ago. In it, Madame Montour told her about a wondrous thing that would be happening. It is an éclipse, and it seems that the moon’s shadow will cover the sun. Louise explained it to us, but even with the drawings she made in Armand’s ledger, it was difficult to believe. It is she who told me the spelling of the word, I should add. Louise spells very well. She also warned that we must not look directly at this éclipse, for the sun could burn our eyes. We could be blinded. Papa is to smoke a piece of glass for us to look through.

  Moushoom says that he will have to see this to believe it. Only through the glass, though, he added.

  Le 15 mars 1885

  Monsieur Riel was at the novena this morning, along with his ten followers who have declared themselves our government. All was peaceful until Père Fourmond said that the priests would refuse the sacraments to anyone who took up arms in revolt. No confession, no communion. Nothing at all. How it made me shiver! To die without the benefit of the sacraments would mean going straight to Hell. But then Monsieur Riel stood up and began to scold Père Fourmond. How dare he refuse the sacraments to people who would be defending their sacred rights! Père Fourmond said nothing more.

  When Papa told Moushoom this, he laughed, and said perhaps he would start to go back to church if it was going to be so entertaining.

  Le 16 mars 1885

  Today the shadow of the moon covered the sun almost completely. Papa had smoked a piece of a broken pane by holding it over the chimney of a lit lamp, until the glass was covered in soot. When the moon’s shadow began to cover the sun — this was around noon — we went out into the yard and took turns watching the spectacle.

  It was so beautiful, almost the colour of a rose. And the air! It was a cold day, but when the sun was hidden, it became colder than ever. I have never thought to see or feel such things.

  Le 17 mars 1885

  So this is what they in the east think of us.

  RIPE FOR A REBELLION.

  LOUIS RIEL ONCE MORE ADVISING A REVOLT.

  Half-breeds of the Northwest Territories Greatly Excited —

  Developments Anxiously Awaited.

  SASKATCHEWAN, N.W.T., March 12. —

  The half-breeds population here is on the verge of a rebellion. Secret meetings are frequently held and ominous threats are indulged in. On Sunday last Louis Riel addressed a large gathering outside the church at Batoche, telling them that war between England and Russia was imminent, and this was the time for them to strike a blow for their rights. Developments are awaited with some apprehension. It is said Riel is working with a large body of Fenians in Minnesota and Montana, who promise to make a raid on Canadian territory simultaneously with the half-breed rising. It is urged that England will be unable to spare any troops to suppress the rebellion and that at the best Canada’s citizen forces with the military schools and mounted police thrown in will not be any better skilled in warfare than the untrained hosts that can be thrown against them.

  Papa said that he remembered hearing about these Fenians back when our family still lived at the old Red River settlement. They were Irishmen, if he was not mistaken, and came from a place not so far from where Moushoom’s stove had been made. Back then, the Fenians had called upon Louis Riel to support their cause, which was freeing themselves from the slavery of the English. Papa never could understand how they thought invading Canada could do that.

  When Armand asked whether the Fenian slaves were coming to see Monsieur Riel, Papa and Louise looked at each other while biting their lips. This was probably wise, as Armand does not care to be laughed at. Who does?

  It was hard to explain, Papa told him, adding that he did not think the Fenians would come. Louise, though, drew an amazing picture for Armand in his ledger. Here was Canada and the North-West Territory, and this was the Saskatchewan River with Batoche on its bank. She marked Duck Lake, Prince Albert, Gabriel’s Crossing, Tourond’s Coulee, and all the places around here. This was our farm, and the church and the forge. Here was the Fenians’ homeland, all the way across the ocean. Ireland it was called. And here was Scotland where Moushoom’s stove had been made.

  Armand added to the picture, drawing our goats, dogs — including little Eagle — cats and the stove. He even drew googoosh hiding under a bed with a roogaroo sitting on it. “That will keep them away,” he
said proudly. “The soldiers too! They will not dare to come here!”

  I wish it were so.

  Plus tard

  I cannot help but think of Papa and Louise, and the way they looked at each other. I could see happiness and closeness in that look. It is hard for me to write this, but it made me happy too. Perhaps that is not such a bad thing.

  Très tard

  It has taken me all day to compose myself and to compose the words I wish to write. It seems —

  Calmly, Josephine. It seems to me that what I write here is important.

  The fight with the government’s men has begun. News came to us in bits, stirring everyone up. First we heard that the police were coming to arrest Monsieur Riel, and that was when our men began to act. Papa, Edmond and Moushoom went with other men to Clarke’s Crossing, and cut the telegraph lines to keep the police from sending any messages. It gave us all heart that they could not call for reinforcements.

  So much happened! Gabriel Dumont brought in prisoners — John Lash the Indian agent and William Tompkins, who is his interpreter, had the misfortune to run into Monsieur Dumont on their way back from One Arrow. Some of our men went into the Kerr brothers’ store and seized the guns, ammunition and many other things from it.

  And our church! St. Antoine is now a headquarters rather than a simple place of worship. We all went there to join the great crowd who were squeezed inside. Monsieur Riel spoke to us. At first he wanted to leave, saying that we would be more easily able to get what we wanted if he was not here. But the people would not have this.