“GENERAL” DICKSON
By 1836 the fame of the Métis hunters had spread far and wide. The Nor’Westers were the first to try to co-opt the Métis into an armed force. James Dickson was the second. Dickson had a grand liberation scheme that required an army. Not a man given to petty dreams and schemes, he was gave himself the title “General Dickson” or “Montezuma II, Liberator of the Indian Nations.” His plan was to liberate the Indians in Santa Fe and relocate them to California, where he would set up a kingdom with himself, naturally, as the king. His liberation army would be the Red River Métis.
Dickson was by all accounts a wealthy, charming, educated scam artist. He was fully costumed in a colourful uniform finished with gold lace and braid. He sported a sword and even packed a coat of mail. He recruited officers and attendants for his army from Montreal and fully equipped them. His many officers—a general, a brigadier-general, a major of artillery, six captains, three lieutenants and two ensigns—all oversaw less than sixty men. The recruits were Métis. Apparently, Dickson thought his own credentials as a trader, his familiarity with Red River, and his Métis recruits would gain him access to more Métis soldiers for his army. With a party of about sixty, the general headed from Buffalo to the North-West. It was a rather roundabout route to Santa Fe via Red River, but the general embarked with great pomp and even greater expectations.
No one in authority liked the idea of a mercenary army, whatever its stated purpose, drifting freely around North America. Dickson’s party was shipwrecked before it reached Sault Ste. Marie, and the Americans took advantage of the situation to arrest them. The adventure cost Dickson several of his officers and attendants, and by the time he resumed his trip, his party was reduced to about twenty men. The episode at Sault Ste. Marie did not go unnoticed. A newspaper in Detroit published a fabulous account of the general’s adventures in an article entitled “Pirates on the Lakes.” The Hudson’s Bay Company’s governor, Simpson, was not at all amused by the idea of losing “his” Métis hunters to another adventurer.
Dickson proceeded through the Great Lakes to the Mississippi and began to head north to Red River in what was now the dead of winter. Travelling by dogsled and on foot, the party disintegrated. Men got separated, some deserted and some died. Dickson and eleven others finally limped into Red River in December, half frozen, hungry, and a far cry from the gallant liberation army that had departed from Buffalo in August.
Governor Simpson put a quick end to Dickson’s plan by the simple expedient of issuing orders to the Company office in Red River. Under no account were they to honour any of Dickson’s money drafts. No money, no Métis army. It was as simple as that. More of his officers deserted, and when the Hudson’s Bay Company scooped his remaining officers with employment offers, Dickson conceded with good grace. He spent the winter in Red River parading about in his costume uniform and drinking with Cuthbert Grant. Unable to resist such a strange tale, the Métis bard Pierre Falcon memorialized the story in a satiric song. On Dickson’s departure in the spring, Grant provided him with food, transport and guides to Santa Fe. Dickson presented Grant with his epaulettes and sword, and with great style he rode out of Red River, never to be heard from again.
THE OREGON BOUNDARY DISPUTE
In 1845 two British officers were sent into the North-West to report on its status to the imperial government.1 The Oregon boundary was in dispute and the Americans were building a series of armed forts that were progressing steadily westward. They had already set up Fort Snelling (later Minneapolis) in 1819 and were looking to establish a new fort at Pembina. This was right at the front door of the Red River settlement, and the British were worried that the West would be lost to the Americans. The two British officers’ report was illuminating. They suggested that men could be sent in via the Great Lakes and Fort William but that ordnance would have to come in from York Factory. A local corps of Métis cavalry would be the perfect regiment. Of course these officers knew nothing about General Dickson, the Métis or the history of their voyageur fathers during the War of 1812.
The Nor’Westers had raised a voyageur regiment to fight for Britain in the War of 1812. The Corps of Canadian Voyageurs took part in at least two engagements during the war, but they are best remembered for their part in the capture of Michilimackinac and Fort Shelby. The stories of the voyageur soldiers during the War of 1812 are quite wonderful. The regiment performed well and the voyageurs were respected for their daring exploits. But the stories also illustrate just how untameable the voyageurs were. There is a delightful account of the voyageurs’ attitude to army discipline from Joseph McGillivray:
When on duty in company with the regular forces or the militia they [the voyageurs] were guilty of much insubordination, and it was quite impossible to make them amenable to military law. They generally came on parade with a pipe in their mouths and their rations of pork and bread stuck on their bayonets. On seeing an officer, whether general, colonel, or subaltern, they took off their hats and made a low bow, with the common salutation of Bon jour, Monsieur le Général, or le Colonel, as the case might be, and, if they happened to know that the officer was married, never failed to inquire after the health of Madame et les enfants. On parade they talked incessantly, called each other “pork eaters,” quarrelled about their rations, wished they were back in the Indian country again, &c., and when called to order by their officers and told to hold their tongues, one or more would reply, “Ah, dear captain, let us off as quick as you can; some of us have not yet breakfasted, and it’s upwards of an hour since I had a smoke” . . . In moments when danger ought to have produced a little steadiness, they completely set discipline at defiance, and the volatile volunteer broke out into all the unrestrained mirth and anti-military familiarity of the thoughtless voyageur. [No officer] could restrain the vivacious laugh, silence the noisy tongue, or compose the ever changing features into anything like military seriousness . . . They could not be got to wear stocks; and such as did not use cravats came on parade with naked necks, and very often with rough beards . . . Notwithstanding these peculiarities the voyageurs were excellent partisans, and, from their superior knowledge of the country, were able to render material service during the war.2
Granted, this is a snapshot of the voyageurs, but it was their sons, the Métis of Red River, who were now being proposed to form the core of the new regiment. Cuthbert Grant had by this time instilled some discipline into the Métis through the buffalo hunt. They knew how to obey orders, but it is highly doubtful that they could be persuaded to act collectively in anyone’s interest but their own.
THE BRITISH ARMY ARRIVES IN RED RIVER IN 1846
For the Métis there was little to recommend obedience to the foreign British, and they were always in a low boil about the British face in the North-West, the Hudson’s Bay Company. The Métis were much more sympathetic to the republican sentiments of the Americans. Governor Simpson, well aware of the Métis trade with and ideological affinity for the Americans, flatly rejected the proposal to use the Métis as the core of a regiment against the Americans. The boundary dispute provoked a prolonged discussion about sending the army out west. Governor Simpson badly wanted troops. He thought they were “absolutely necessary to the existence of the Fur trade . . . a means of protection against the inhabitants of the Settlement, as with the feeling at present existing on the minds of the half-breeds, it will be quite impossible to protect the trade or inforce [sic] our laws without the presence of military at that point . . .”3
As a result of Simpson’s pressure, several companies of the 6th Royal Regiment of Foot, numbering some 383, arrived in Red River in the fall of 1846. They were not there to deal with the Americans, for the Oregon boundary dispute had been settled before they arrived. Clearly, they were sent to Red River at the behest of Simpson. With the arrival of the army, the Métis Nation, for the first time, was outgunned. The Métis were far superior in numbers to the army, but they had no artillery and were savvy enough to know when to keep their heads low. The presence of the army was a boon for the economy of the colony and thus to the Hudson’s Bay Company, but tensions between the Company and the Métis were growing, and the army provided only a short respite. By the summer of 1848, the army was gone.
Simpson was not blind to the American threat either. In his opinion the Americans wanted influence over the Red River Métis to “facilitate the conquest of Red River, and other settlements within our territories in case of a rupture with Great Britain.”4 The Americans did encourage the Métis to relocate to their side of the border. In 1845 a Red River Métis group hunting near the Sheyenne River encountered the American cavalry. Captain Sumner told the Métis that if they wanted to hunt in the United States, they would have to settle on that side of the border. He suggested Pembina as an appropriate place for them to settle. The Métis sat in Council to discuss the matter but deferred the decision until they returned to the Forks.
No one ever succeeded in co-opting the Métis Nation. It remained independent and focused on protecting its own interests, and took aim at a target much nearer than Santa Fe—the Sioux.