Blood Upon Our Land Read online

  Papa says we must be strong, because God will protect and aid those who are in the right.

  I will try, but so much is tumbling around inside me. I am afraid. Who would not be? Yet I am excited, but it is a strange sort of excitement, almost like the way I feel just before a bad thunderstorm.

  I cannot stop thinking about the church. My brothers and I were baptized there. Mama’s funeral Mass was said within the church’s walls. The church belongs to all of us here at Batoche, but somehow it always has seemed to me that most of all it belongs to St. Antoine himself. Père Moulin once told us that St. Antoine was a great speaker, and that everywhere he went people came to listen. Just like Monsieur Riel.

  I know that St. Antoine watches over the church. The thought of him doing that comforts me, but I also take comfort in the fact that Monsieur Riel is still with us.

  Le 18 mars 1885

  There is such an odd feeling here. Not in the house, but in Batoche itself.

  Moushoom says it is almost the same as what he felt each time he rode out in the buffalo hunt. You never knew what would happen, but you rode out anyway, because that is what a man did.

  Edmond thinks that Batoche has never been so united. Last night when Monsieur Riel spoke to the crowd, he told me, people shouted that if they had to die for their country, they would all die together. Edmond agreed completely.

  I cannot

  Plus tard

  Tears. I am not a crier, but so many tears these days. I cannot bear to think of the men I love dying in battle. Papa, Adrian, Moushoom. What would life be like with even one of them gone? And yes, Edmond. I care for him as well, although only here can I say that. He is a good friend, but he is far more than a friend.

  Le 19 mars 1885

  Today was the last day of the novena and the feast of St. Joseph. It was also the day on which William Jackson was baptized, taking the name of Honoré Joseph Jaxon. Men saluted him by firing their guns into the air. As I heard the gunshots, my mind went back to the first hours of January when Papa fired his own rifle to welcome in the new year. I had no idea then what sort of year this one would be.

  Papa says a council has been formed, one that people are calling le petit provisoire since Monsieur Riel’s name for it is so difficult to say. Adrian has told me, but it is a word I could not even begin to spell. The council is made up of seventeen Métis men, a Kanayah and a Dakota Sioux chief named White Cap. Monsieur Riel is not a member, which I cannot understand, but to Adrian it makes perfect sense. Monsieur Riel says that he prefers to be one of the flock, Adrian told us, that he is no more than we are. Then Adrian said that Gabriel Dumont is now the general of our army.

  “Army?” asked Louise. “But we are so few. Hardly an army. Surely Macdonald will send hundreds and hundreds against us.”

  Her words made me feel cold inside, because I could hear the truth in them.

  Papa told us that we should try not to worry. Even Monsieur Riel does not expect there would be any actual fighting, since all this fuss is simply to get the attention of the government. On the other hand, it would be best if Armand stayed away from school and remained at home. That much wisdom, at least, Papa felt he had gained from the novena. Armand screamed with joy until Louise said he would continue his lessons with her and me.

  How can I not worry?

  Le 22 mars 1885

  The talk outside the church after Mass this morning was only of war. They say five hundred soldiers are on their way to Batoche. Five hundred men whose lives are about nothing but the business of killing. I cannot imagine such men.

  Tard

  I hoped that I would sleep through the night. I was wrong. When I woke, I could see the moon through my window. It was a perfect half moon, and so very white. It was sad somehow. After all, they say that the moon and the sun cannot see each other from across the sky — only now and again is it possible. It is only something that people say, but still, can the moon see what is going to happen here? Will the sun watch those soldiers coming closer and closer?

  It is just a story, but I am so afraid. And it is so hard not to let it show.

  Le 23 mars 1885

  This morning when Moushoom and Edmond came to the house, Edmond said he has heard that Emma’s mother wants to go back to Ontario. She misses her family. I said that I hoped this would not happen, as the MacLeods are part of their community. They are also our friends. Moushoom said he has been thinking about people who are not Métis like we are. One must remember that it is possible that the English half-breeds and the Kanayaens wish us well, but had they not just voted yesterday that they would not fight? For people like them the law is always more important than matters of friendship.

  Papa thinks that maybe the MacLeods feel the same way. They come from Toronto, after all. They are English whites and perhaps their opinions are the same as those of the English half-breeds. There is also the unfortunate fact that Emma’s father has had no luck at all with his farming. His animals have died, his ploughshare has broken again and again, and of course his wife longs for her family. It seems to me that it must be hard being so far from one’s family. Adrian said that maybe he would ask them himself when he went over to visit Emma later.

  I myself have not seen Emma in a long while. Only her papa comes to Batoche these days. How sad. Finally I decided what to do. Adrian agreed to help. Even now, Emma will be reading the letter he carried to her. I will copy it here.

  Dear Emma,

  We are faced with hard times and I cannot say what will come of them.

  No matter what happens, I remain your friend.

  Josephine Bouvier

  Le soir

  I have no idea what Emma thought of my letter. She did not write a reply for Adrian to bring back. He said nothing at first, and it hurt me to see how hard he was fighting to keep himself from tears. I understood the reason, given what he told us once he had brought his emotions under control.

  Emma’s mother will no longer permit Adrian to see her, and Emma will not be allowed to visit here any more. Her father spoke to Adrian outside the house. Adrian is to take no offense, he said — none of us should — but with the Métis’ position regarding the business with Riel, his wife is frightened. What could he do? His wife’s peace of mind and their daughter’s safety come first, and so his family must side with the other English settlers.

  Papa shook his head but said that Emma must obey her parents. And we would take no offence. There would be no point in it.

  “Zhi bustee koum un kloo,” said Adrian in his misery. His shoulders slumped, and how it hurt me to see him almost broken, the way a nail is when it is bent.

  I feel the same way, but I will not despair. I do not think, though, that the closer friendship I might have had with Emma can survive these events.

  Le 25 mars 1885

  Monsieur Riel has started his own church, something that Papa says troubles Père Moulin greatly. There is now a chapel here at Batoche, one that he has made in a room on the second floor of Monsieur Boyer’s house. Some people go there to pray. Papa has forbidden us to pray there — not that I would think to do that in such a place — but he did not forbid me to look at it. And so today when I walked over to Monsieur Letendre’s store to buy liniment, I did just that.

  At one end of the room, there is a large picture of Our Lady of Lourdes with St. Bernadette praying at her feet. A figure of Christ hangs above it. Several men were praying the rosary while three girls sang a hymn.

  I cannot understand what is happening here. It is almost as though Batoche has been turned upside down and inside out until all the familiar things are gone.

  Le 26 mars 1885

  A terrible day. I must write slowly, and be strong.

  So. Papa and our men left this morning with Moushoom’s cariole to check their muskrat traps up and across the river. Some time later, around ten o’clock, as Armand sat at the table struggling with a lesson and Louise and I had nearly finished scrubbing the kitchen floor, we heard distant gunfire.
Had our men seen ducks or geese on the river? Again and again, shots rang out. It soon became clear that it was not the sound of hunting.

  Both Louise and I tossed our brushes into the bucket and went to stand outside, Armand next to me. I cannot say whether Louise reached out or whether I did, but our hands clasped. Finally we all went inside and shut the door, but we could not shut out the sound of the gunfire. For almost one half hour it went on, and then there was silence.

  The brushes remained in the bucket. Armand no longer worked at his lesson. We waited, and waited even more. Never has time passed so slowly for me. The hands of the clock seemed almost to be frozen to its face.

  “They must have stopped somewhere to visit,” I said to Louise.

  “Perhaps they took time for a game of billiards,” she answered.

  “Yes,” cried Armand, “a game of billiards!”

  Suddenly we heard the sound of the dogs’ bells. Armand went back to his lesson, Louise turned to the stove, I picked a scrub brush out of the bucket, and then the kitchen was filled with Papa, Edmond, Adrian and Moushoom. The trapping was successful, we were told. There were a dozen fat muskrats for us to gut and skin, and two plump mallards as well.

  I should have felt the weight of fear lifting from my heart as I worked with Louise, but I did not. So many shots fired for just two ducks?

  We skinned the muskrats and cleaned them, carefully removing the musk glands so that the meat would not be tainted. Moushoom will tan the skins and keep a few of them to soothe his hands. The rest of the pelts he will bring over to Letendre’s for trade. And, of course, he will take a few of the muskrat carcasses over to One Arrow tomorrow.

  We boiled the muskrats and put them in the oven to roast. Then we feasted.

  Muskrat flesh cleanses your insides, and since spring is the time for cleansing, it is a good food for this time of year. They were delicious, and as I ate, I was sure I could feel myself beginning to be cleansed of worry and doubt.

  Then when supper was cleared away and the dishes washed, Papa told us what had happened, what the gunshots had meant. There had been a battle at Duck Lake. Nearly three hundred Métis, and our Cree allies, against maybe one hundred of the North-West Mounted Police from Fort Carlton and their volunteers from Prince Albert. My heart began to pound at the thought of those men having been so close to us. When the fighting began, Papa and our men were nearly ready to cross the river and head for home. Word came to them that reinforcements were needed. Of course, they went to the aid of Dumont and the army.

  He sighed, and with that sigh, my hands grew damp, because I knew something worse was coming.

  Finally Papa spoke again. Gabriel Dumont was wounded, and badly enough, but his brother Isadore and three others of our Métis men — Jean-Baptiste Montour, August Laframboise and Joseph Montour — are dead.

  The police had also killed a Cree ally named Assiyiwin. Twelve of the enemy were dead. At all this news, my stomach turned into a hard knot, and the muskrat I had eaten threatened to come up. All I could see in my head were scenes of the revenge that would surely now threaten us.

  When I asked about Monsieur Riel, Papa answered that he had not fought. Instead he sat on his horse, a crucifix in his hand, and prayed for the brave Métis fighters.

  Armand cried out in excitement that it had worked, that we had won, and Papa opened his mouth to say something, but then he paused. Finally he told Armand to ready himself for bed.

  Duck Lake. When I pray tonight, it will be in hope that Emma and her family are unhurt. I will give thanks that Papa and the men of our family are unharmed. They could have been killed, their bodies still out there in the darkness and the cold. Just the thought of it

  Plus tard

  Edmond came back to the house earlier. Moushoom needed some rat root and there was none in the cabin. His throat was sore from shouting out war whoops during the battle, Edmond told me.

  I took the rat root out to Moushoom and we sat while he chewed and swallowed the juice that formed in his mouth. Finally he nodded, saying there was nothing like bell anzhelik for soothing the throat. He said that I could have just given the root to Edmond, but I was a good granddaughter to come out into the cold night for his sake.

  I thought he might tell me a story for my diary, or that perhaps he might have more to say about the battle, but he said nothing until I was almost out the door. “Isadore Dumont dead. August, Joseph Montour, Jean-Baptiste. All dead. All good men. Good friends. And Assiyiwin. He was almost blind, Josephine! He was old. Just doing what Chief Beardy sent him to do, just acting as a peacemaker. How can you reason with men who will kill a nearly blind old man, one who is not even armed?” Then he spat. “The time for peacemaking has passed.”

  Très tard

  Before we said the rosary tonight, Papa told us that most of our men thought the battle had been an easy victory. He was not so sure. We should prepare ourselves for hard times, and we should pray for peace. It was always worth praying for.

  After our prayers, Louise said that she and I must visit the households of the dead men tomorrow — they would need what strength we could give them. Then she clasped my hand, just the way she did this morning. I cannot be sure, but I do believe I may feel a slight bond growing between us. Perhaps, though, it is my imagination.

  Le 27 mars 1885

  Edmond and Moushoom went to visit mo nook Gerard. Papa would not permit me to go with them. He prefers that I stay close to home. Besides, he says, Louise does not feel quite like herself. Weeks ago, this would have made me cross, but somehow today it did not. I can see that Papa is fond of Louise — I am not, although I will admit only here that perhaps I am beginning to like her a little — and he could be content if it were not for all the troubles. So I busied myself with working around the house. Later I spent an hour hooking Mama’s rug. It soothes me, that rug.

  Le 28 mars 1885

  Our poor men who died at Duck Lake were buried today, and now rest at St. Laurent. The funerals were very sad, as all funerals are, but somehow these were sadder. It is one thing to be taken by disease or old age. These men, though, gave their lives for our cause. Would I be as brave if called upon to do so? I pray I never have to find out.

  Le 29 mars 1885

  An interesting thing. There were four priests at the Palm Sunday Mass this morning — Père Moulin, of course, but also Père Touze, Père Fourmond and Père Végréville. It is Père Végréville who founded our mission of St. Antoine four years ago.

  Père Moulin gave out the rameaux to each of us, although of course we have no palm trees here. However, we do have wild sage and so he passed out stalks of that. I have never seen a palm tree. I am not even certain what one looks like, but I cannot image it smells sweeter than our sage.

  The priests. Some believe they are here simply as Père Moulin’s guests. Papa says it is more likely that they are the “guests” of le petit provisoire — they were arrested yesterday so that they can be watched. It makes me feel cold inside to think that even our priests might not be trusted. Surely Monsieur Riel will be able to discover otherwise.

  Once we were home, I gave my rameaux to Moushoom. As he always does, he broke off a bit and put it into the stove’s flames, as if a thunderstorm was coming. That way we are protected. If only it could protect us from other things.

  We have heard that because of the fighting at Duck Lake, the police and the people abandoned Fort Carlton yesterday and have gone to Prince Albert. That is nothing to us, but the fort caught fire by accident and burned while they were leaving. I fear we Métis will be blamed for that, even though not a one of us was there.

  Le 30 mars 1885

  Armand wants to go back to school. This is not because of Louise or me. It is because he misses his friends. It will be Papa’s decision, but he does not have to listen to Armand whine all day.

  To quiet the whining we walked down past Moushoom’s cabin to the river. There is still a good deal of ice and the water is very low. It seems to me that a boa
t like the Northcote would easily run aground these days.

  Le 31 mars 1885

  Perhaps it would be better to throw this diary into the fire rather than write of what is happening.

  Adrian rushed in after supper. He had gone over to Garnot’s to hear the news and bring any back. He told us that le petit provisoire has declared that Monsieur Riel is a prophet. This I cannot understand. There are prophets in the Bible, but here at Batoche? Such things are beyond me, and I could see doubt in Papa’s eyes as well. He kept his opinion to himself, though, and only asked Adrian if that was all he had heard. It was not. Something had been found at Duck Lake after the battle. Papers. Proof that Macdonald’s army is coming. We must prepare ourselves.

  Armand will not be going back to school.

  Avril 1885

  Le 1 avril 1885

  Edmond says that people at One Arrow’s reserve are talking about Big Tom Hourie. I wondered aloud if it was because he is so tall, but that was not the reason. They say he is now carrying messages for the government’s army. Some say they saw him swim across the Saskatchewan to take a message to government men in Prince Albert. Moushoom said it was idle talk and nonsense. No one could swim across and back through all that ice.

  “Maybe he walked across,” said Armand.

  Tom Hourie is very tall. As serious as the matter was, I must admit that Armand’s words made a very funny picture in my mind.

  I cannot stop thinking about it. Not about the ice, or the walking through the river, but about people who would betray their own friends and neighbours to help Macdonald’s army. Papa says that loyalty is different for everyone, and that it is difficult to understand how a person will chose one thing over another. I am not so sure. Loyalty seems a very simple thing to me. It is what I feel for my family.