IT GOT DARK and the evening dragged on and there was mist on the river. Unless he was dead wrong, Gatling figured this was going to be a night attack. They would come upstream without lights; the gunboats were crewed by Navy men, and there would be a pilot in the lead boat. A few miles downstream they would slow their engines and creep along without making much noise. If they were lucky, no alarm would be sounded until they were right below Batoche. Then the searchlights would click on and the rifled guns would open fire.
The chain, Gatling thought. An awful lot depended on the first chain. The lead boat would be damaged even if they hit the chain at reduced speed. With the engines full forward, everything above deck would be torn loose and thrown into the river. Everything would go: guns, searchlights, the wheelhouse, the funnel, and the men. It wouldn’t win the war, but it would change the odds in the here and now. And that, Gatling thought, was the best they could hope for. If they looked at it realistically, that is.
It got very cold. Here in Saskatchewan the April weather was as unpredictable as it was anywhere else. The métis chewed jerked meat and drank cold tea. Dumont told them to get up and get their blood circulating.
The hours of waiting seemed endless; midnight came and went with still no sign of them. A fish jumped in the river and that reminded Dumont of a giant pike he’d caught up north. He started to tell Gatling about it.
“Listen. You hear that?” Gatling cut in.
Dumont heard it, so did the métis. A soft throb of engines. The thud of the engines was so muted that it was more a vibration in the air than an actual sound. It got louder as they got closer. The sound remained steady after it reached a certain pitch.
Finally they saw the lead boat, a dark shape on the dark river. It was picking up speed, moving at a faster clip. No lights showed. Gatling looked over at the gun crews. They were ready, so were the riflemen.
Dumont whispered, “You tink dey know where we are?”
“We’ll know in a minute,” Gatling answered.
It was dark but now the gunboats had definite shapes. Gatling waited for the searchlights to go on. They didn’t. The gunboats, keeping to the middle of the river, passed by their position and kept on going. Now the submerged chain was behind them. Suddenly the lead boat went full forward with a fierce thrust of its engines. The smaller boats behind it bobbed in its wake. The searchlight on the lead boat went on. Its powerful beam split the darkness. It moved up from the slope to the fort.
Dumont was counting, trying to figure how long it would take for the lead boat to hit the chain. “One, two, three, four, five, six ...”
The gunboat hit the chain with tremendous force, and there was an almost-human scream of metal being torn loose. The searchlight went out. The soldiers jammed together on deck screamed and yelled as the chain crushed and mangled their bodies. The searchlights on the smaller boats swung away from the fort and closed in on the big boat up in front. Gatling was able to use the binoculars. The wheelhouse and the funnel had been ripped up and swept off the stern. Men killed or wounded by the chain were sprawled all over the deck. Bodies rolled in the dark river.
Snagged by the chain, the badly damaged gunboat was trying to reverse engines. Water boiled up; the engines roared; they were using all the power they had. The boat broke loose and began to drift. Gatling knew they would find a way to steer the boat from below, but for now, with its wheelhouse gone, the boat was out of control.
Dumont was shaking with excitement. “Dey are getting de chain up. I hear it. Now we have dem.” Bells rang furiously on the smaller boats. They reversed engines and were trying to turn. The river was wide enough. They moved slowly, trying to spot the other chain. Somebody up forward saw it and yelled and they reversed engines just in time to avoid being hit. But the damaged boat was drifting toward them. The current was slow and it wasn’t moving very fast. A collision, even at that speed, would do some damage.
Gatling opened fire when he knew the men below decks were getting the big gunboat under control. It stopped drifting. The Heavy Maxim and the Hotchkiss went into action; a hundred métis rifles spat fire all along the riverbank. The Hotchkiss scored three hits on the big gunboat, now heading for the shore. Bullets spanged off metal plates as the Heavy Maxim raked the deck with bullets. The searchlights on the smaller boats locked in on the métis position. Dumont cursed. The rifled cannons and the Gatling started to lay down heavy fire. It got heavier. The first shells exploded behind them, then the gunners corrected and walked the shells in closer. One shell killed five métis and wounded seven others. The Hotchkiss gun put the cannon on the second boat out of action after nine tries. Gatling and the métis machine-gunner were concentrating on the damaged boat. It was much closer than the others and was heading straight at the riverbank. The soldiers who had come up from below were firing fast from behind any cover they could find. Gatling and the métis machine-gunner swept the deck with bullets. The métis gunner cursed as his heavy gun suddenly stopped working. “She is jam, she is jam,” he cried. “Gatling, you got to fix!”
“Take over.” Gatling crawled out from behind his gun. Dumont rolled into position and started firing. Gatling crawled fast. The gunner was slapping the loader. Gatling pulled them apart. “This pig have jam my gun,” the gunner shouted. Shells from the third gunboat were thinning out the line of riflemen. The frenzied gunner kept pointing at the jammed Maxim. “His goddamn glove have jam de gun.”
A finger from one of the loader’s tattered gloves had torn loose and had been pulled into the feed slot with the cartridges. The end of it stuck out through the slot. Gatling pulled hard, but it wouldn’t budge. Goddamn it, this was going to take time. Not a lot but some. But there was no time left.
The damaged gunboat ran into shallow water and was held in place by mud. Soldiers were jumping down, firing their rifles while still in the water. Dumont knocked down a line of men. The men behind ran over them. Shells from the third gunboat gave them cover. The smaller boats were running in close. Soon hundreds of men would be on the narrow strip of beach below the bank.
Gatling yelled at Dumont. “We have to pull out! Goddamn you, don’t argue about it! We have to pull out!”
Dumont cursed like a madman, but he picked up the light gun and started for the trees at a dead run. The métis followed him. The gunners picked up their guns and pulled back. The Hotchkiss was on wheels and it bumped wildly over rough ground. Soldiers were coming up over the riverbank. The searchlights moved in. Concentrated rifle fire came from the riverbank and some of the running métis went down. One of the wounded called out after Dumont. Dumont shoved the light gun at Gatling and ran back to get the wounded man.
They were in the trees when Dumont staggered in after them with the wounded man slung over his shoulder. “That man was dead,” Gatling told him. Dumont cursed but laid the body down gently. Bullets still came after them, but here the searchlights weren’t much use. They had come too far from the river; the soldiers were hanging back. Then a bugle sounded and the soldiers began to pull back to the river.
They got to the fort, crossed the plank bridge over the spiked trench, then got through the chevaux-de-frise and the barbed wire. They took the plank bridge with them before they closed the gap in the chevaux-de-frise and went into the fort. Not long after they got inside, one of the gunboats came up the river and shelled the fort for about ten minutes. Then it went back downriver. One man was killed, and three wounded, before the shelling stopped.
The fort was in turmoil; the war that Riel wanted was finally here. Some man told Dumont that Riel wanted to see him as soon as he got back. Dumont ignored him. “I don’t got de time to talk ’bout de glorious métis nation,” he told Gatling. “I got to take look at de wounded. I tink we did not do so well tonight. We lose so many men.”
“I don’t know,” Gatling said. “I’d say we did all right. This wasn’t the battle to end the war. That big boat won’t be much use to them. It has no heavy guns, no searchlight. It’ll have to be towed back to Saskatoon. We destroyed the cannon on the second boat. We killed a lot of men.”
“And we lost a lot of men.”
“That’s how it goes. You can’t fight a war without men being killed.”
They walked toward the church, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital. The smell of explosives hung in the misty air. Men were still dumping water on fires started by the shells. Other men got in Dumont’s way, grabbing at his sleeves, trying to get his attention. They wanted to ask questions about the battle at the river. They wanted to be told they were going to win. They had seen the observation balloon or had heard about it; was it going to fly over Batoche and destroy everything?
Dumont advised them to remain calm, then shunted them off to bother Baptiste. In the church, replacing the benches, camp beds had been set up. The two Irish doctors, Kane and Farrell, attended by the medical orderly, were preparing to amputate the leg of a métis who had been hit by shell fragments. The orderly put a makeshift screen around the cot.
Gatling knew that some of the wounded would die. Medical supplies were meager. When the chloroform ran out, they would use whiskey. Men who lived through amputations often died of shock. Dumont moved among the wounded, trying to console those who could hear him. He tried hard, but he wasn’t very good at it.
The doctors’ smocks were smeared with blood; the floor was slick with blood. A man jumped out of bed, went through the motions of getting dressed, took a few steps, then fell dead. The whole place stank of chloroform and voided bowels.
Outside, Dumont took a deep breath of cold night air. “Gatling, you tink de gunboat will come back tonight.”
Gatling said he doubted it. “Not before morning,” he said. “Where can we go?”
“Nowhere. Have you got any idea?”
“No good ideas,” Gatling said. “Get some sleep. You’re carrying too much of a load.”
Dumont let loose some French obscenities. “How can I sleep. I’ll sleep for a week when dis is over.”
You may sleep longer than that, Gatling thought. But he said nothing.
The smaller gunboats came back at first light. The métis were eating breakfast when the first shell exploded against the front wall. The double row of sandbags took the force of the explosion; the wall itself remained intact. A second shell exploded, then a third and a fourth. After that the shells came down like hailstones; they were trying to hit the gate. Gatling knew it wouldn’t take them long to do it.
The shelling continued until a wave of men swept out of the woods. All the trees close to the fort had been cut down; the infantrymen had to cross nearly half a mile of open country with no cover of any kind. A second wave of men followed the first. Then a third and fourth wave started out from the trees. A few more shells landed, then the guns were silent.
“Hold your fire,” Dumont ordered. “I’ll tell you when to fire. You command de heavy guns,” he told Gatling.
The attacking regulars hadn’t fired a shot; they came forward at a dead run. No one hung back or ran ahead of the others. Gatling ordered the Hotchkiss crew to open fire when the regulars passed the midway mark. The ten-cartridge feed case was already inserted in the loading slot. The huge cartridges dropped down into the gun as the gunner turned the crank handle. The Hotchkiss never jammed. Its mechanism was such that no cartridge followed too closely behind the cartridge in front.
The first shells exploded between the first and second lines of men. Gatling yelled and the gunner corrected the range. The first wave reeled under the rain of shrapnel. Holes appeared in the line as the gunner and the loader found their pace. But the infantry kept coming. Gatling ordered the Maxim crews to start firing. Dumont’s riflemen started shooting on his command. The wall of the fort blazed with gun flashes.
Wild screams rang out as the soldiers in the first line fell into the spiked pit. Some of them came to a skidding halt when they saw what it was. The canvas covering had been torn loose. A few of the attackers tried to jump across the ditch; it was too wide. Only one tall soldier got across, and he was cut down while he was still staggering. Now the infantrymen had stopped running and were firing from a kneeling position. They remained calm, aiming before they fired. Métis went down under the steady fire. But for the moment the regulars had been stopped. A bugle sounded retreat and they pulled back, pursued by heavy fire. The gunboats opened up again; the shelling went on for more than two hours. But there were no more infantry attacks that day.
The shelling had caused considerable damage. There were gaps in the walls and the gate had been hit several times. Dumont ordered Baptiste to start piling up sandbags behind the gate. “If you ran out of bags, pile up anything you can find. Do the same for the walls wherever you can.” Métis were still fighting fires started by the shelling. Except for one or two buildings, Batoche was a wooden town. “Good ting Batoche is so goddamn wet. If dis happen in de dry season, de town would be gone by now. It look like we are in for a long siege.”
“Looks like it,” Gatling agreed. “I hate to say this. I think more troops will be coming. By river or overland. I think overland. If they had more gunboats they would have sent them. You think I’m right?”
Dumont scowled. “You have been right most of the time. How come you can’t be right ’bout something cheerful. But I am force to agree with you. De men dey have here are not enough to take Batoche. Oh, sure, dey could take it if dey wait long enough. Gov’ment will not want to wait. Wait too long and dey will look bad in de newspaper. How long you figure it take dem to get here?”
“A day or two after the next troop train arrives. More than one train may be on its way. More men, more big guns. Maybe real big guns.”
“We are lost den, you tink?”
“’Fraid so.” Gatling didn’t want to bring up surrender. He felt he had to. “There’s nothing dishonorable about it,” he said. “Some of the best generals who ever lived surrendered when they had no other choice. It was surrender or let their men be slaughtered. Don’t get mad. I don’t want to fight you with words or with fists.”
Dumont took it calmly. “At dis point I would surrender if I could. But dat is for Louis to decide. I know I have keep on saying dat. But it is de truth.”
Gatling said, “You know him better than I do. Is there any chance he’d consider it?”
Dumont shrugged. “Who can tell? I know him and I don’t know him. Since he came back from Montana he have change. De consumption, de bad sickness in his lungs. He know he have to die soon. Maybe he want de whole métis nation to go ’long with him.”
“Son of a bitch! I don’t mean Riel.”
“I know what you mean,” Dumont said. “You are tinking dis terrible war should not have started. But it did. First we t’ought: ‘Hey, we are going to get our freedom. We will make dem treat us like free men.’ Den it go on from dere and we want independence. I will tell you de truth because it is getting close to de end. I never believe we could win against de Canadians. But I am a métis and could not turn my back on my own people.”
“You did your best for them.”
“Forget dat. Remember when I told you to get out. You didn’t listen to me. So I will say it again: Get out as fast as you can.”
“Not yet,” Gatling said. “Anyway, the gate can’t be opened.”
“Shit on you and your jokes,” Dumont said. But he wasn’t mean about it. “Dis is de last time I will tell you. You don’t go soon, maybe you don’t go at all.”
During daylight hours there was some sniping from the woods. Half a mile was a long way to shoot, but the snipers were using scoped rifles, and one man on the front wall was killed, shot through the head when he stuck it up to take a look. The gunboats came up the river at night, but never stayed long. Usually the shelling lasted no more than fifteen minutes. Gatling guessed they were running low on ammunition.
Three days later Dumont discovered that Big Bear had stolen about half their supplies. The Crees had broken into the storehouse late at night and dropped the stolen supplies over the back wall. This had happened before the gunboats came. Big Bear’s men had rearranged the food stocks—sacks of flour and grain, canned goods, and dried meat—so the theft wouldn’t be discovered until they were long gone from the fort. On the morning after the theft Big Bear and his Crees rode out.
Dumont and Gatling were in the cabin when Baptiste brought the bad news. Gatling ducked to avoid flying glass when Dumont shattered his whiskey glass on the wall. Dumont got another glass from the cupboard.
“Jesus Christ!” he roared. “If I ever lay my hands on dat pig, I will stuff food down his throat till he explode. Half de supplies have gone. What de hell are we going to do?”
Gatling said nothing for a while. Then he said, “Have you talked to Riel?”
Dumont gulped whiskey. “Till I am red in de face. I talk but he don’t listen. I argue dat surrender is de only way. We can’t let de métis be wiped out. Then he look at me and say ver’ cold: ‘We must fight to de death. If you want to surrender, all you have to do is walk out de gate with a white flag.’ You can imagine how I feel. Me dat was with him from de start. Louis don’t know what is happening anymore. He don’t even know de gate is blocked. Poor Louis, he will find his glorious death pret’ soon. Me too. I tink we all die.”
Baptiste returned with more bad news: A large force of regulars was assembling in the woods. This force was way back, but it was there. Baptiste said he couldn’t be sure, but he guessed about five hundred fresh troops had arrived.
Dumont glared at him. “How do you know dis? You say you drop down from de wall and crawl on your belly. You are a crazy man, but all right. Is good information.” This time, Gatling figured, the regulars would be better prepared for an assault on the fort. Out in front of the first wave men would advance with planks to bridge the ditch. They would be covered by heavy fire aimed high. Other men would have bolt-cutters, sheets of canvas to throw over the barbed wire. The attack might be beaten back, but with great loss for the métis.
The day dragged by, but there was no attack. Nothing to do but wait. All the waiting was taking its toll in jumpy nerves and frayed tempers. Men quarreled with close friends; there were arguments over food. Food was in everyone’s mind; the portions doled out to the men became smaller. The older men were beginning to look very tired. Suicide was almost unknown among the métis, but one man shot himself.
The second attack began on the morning of the first day in May. It started with a heavy barrage. Light and heavy cannons had been moved forward during the night; now they filled the air with high explosives. The screaming of the shells rose to a crescendo that drowned out all other sound. On the river the two gunboats were laying down additional fire. As more and more shells hit the fort, men looked as if they wanted to run. A few did run, driven mad by the noise. The men who remained in their positions jeered at them, but everybody wanted to hide in a deep, dark hole.
Casualties were high, and getting higher. So many men were wounded that the hospital couldn’t handle them. They lay outside in the mud. Nothing could be done for them. One doctor had been killed, the other badly wounded. The hospital had run out of bandages, chloroform, even whiskey. Some of the wounded had been killed; others would be killed before the shelling stopped.
But it didn’t stop. It went on right through the day. The gunners seemed to have limitless amounts of ammunition. It didn’t stop even when it got dark and there was heavy rain. The gunners had the range and the shelling continued for another three hours. By now Batoche was a town of shattered buildings, some of them burning. Shell holes pocked the street. And the infantry still hadn’t advanced.
The shelling stopped abruptly and Gatling and Dumont climbed up to the firing platforms. Dead men lay on the platforms, killed by shrapnel or hardwood splinters. The riflemen left on the wall crouched down with their rifles between their legs. Dumont told them to stay where they were. It didn’t make much difference what they did.
Dumont looked at the dark woods through a shell hole in the wall. “Dey won’t have to send dere troops to attack us,” he said. “De big guns will kill us all by dem self.”
“They’ll attack full force tomorrow,” Gatling said. “Everything they have will be thrown at us. The men firing the big guns are artillerymen, but it’s an Army picnic. They’ve come a long way to find a battle. They’ll want some glory they can brag about.”
Dumont turned to look at the ruined town. “Dis time tomorrow night we’ll all be dead.”
Not me, Gatling thought.