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.
It was all in fun, for Moushoom is as happy and proud as any of us.
I could not help but think of poor Madame Riel’s baby. Her little boy lived only a few hours after his birth last month in St. Boniface. Monsieur Riel went to his death without ever seeing his newborn son.
We are so blessed. In time my baby brother will be baptized Alexandre for Louise’s father, and Thompson for Moushoom. Alexandre Thompson Louis Bouvier. I need not write the reason for the third name.
Tell the truth, Moushoom said to me, but I no longer seem to be able to recognize it. Once I thought that Batoche was the most quiet place in the world, and that nothing could change the way of life that had always gone on here. I was wrong. I thought that friendship could never survive what turned out to be a terrible war. I believe that at least some of it has.
As for Monsieur Riel, I do not know what to write about him any more. I read Emma’s letter aloud to my family. Louise and Papa agreed that Monsieur MacLeod’s words were true.
Moushoom agreed as well, but he added that there was more that could be said about the matter. “Time will judge Louis Riel, Josephine, as it will judge all of us.”
I believe that is so, but I cannot help but wonder what will be said about Monsieur Riel, and Batoche, and we Métis, in distant years to come. For now, though, my family is here around me and that is enough. As for promises, I vow that I will always hold my head high when I hear the name Métis. And I will always write the truth, no matter how hard it is to do that.