The residential schools established by Roman Catholic missionaries in New France in the early seventeenth century failed, in large measure, because the students ran away. As Marie de l’Incarnation lamented, the students “go off by whim or caprice, they climb our palisade like squirrels, which is as high as a stone wall, and go to run in the woods.”1 The same problem confronted the Methodist-run schools of southern Ontario in the 1850s. Alnwick, Ontario, school principal Sylvester Hurlburt reported in 1857 that although his school originally had an enrolment of fifty-one, there were only twenty students left. “Some of them,” he wrote, “went home with permission to visit their friends, promising to return in four weeks. Others ran away. Whether they will return or not is uncertain.”2
Given this background, it is not surprising to discover that truancy was a continuous issue for the Canadian residential schools. As noted in an earlier chapter, First Nations parents refused to enrol their children in industrial schools in the numbers needed to make the schools financially viable. Even after the government adopted laws that compelled parents to send their children to residential schools, many parents resisted. Those parents who did enrol their children often refused to force them to return to school after vacation. The schools themselves also had problems retaining children. Shingwauk Home principal E. F. Wilson, for example, devoted a chapter of his memoirs to the topic of “Runaway Boys.” It included the story of three boys who tried to make their way home by boat in the mid-1870s. They were found over ten days later, stranded on an island in the north channel of Lake Huron.3
Students ran away for reasons that have been outlined in previous chapters: they were lonely and missed their parents; they found the school strange and alienating; they were poorly fed, housed, and clothed; they were subject to harsh discipline; and, in some cases, they fell prey to abuse from both staff and fellow students.
After 1894, children who had been enrolled in a residential school (or had been placed there by government order because it was felt that they were not being properly cared for by their parents) but were refusing to show up at school were termed to be “truant.” Under the Indian Act and its regulations, they could be returned to the school against their will. Children who ran away from residential schools were also considered to be truants. Parents who supported their children in their truancy were liable to prosecution.
Section 12 of the regulations adopted under the 1894 amendments to the Indian Act gave Indian agents and justices of the peace the authority to issue a warrant for the return of truant residential school students. The warrants could be granted to “any policeman or constable, or to any truant officer appointed under these regulations, or to the Principal of any industrial or boarding school, or to any employee of the Department of Indian Affairs.”4
In 1920, this authority was incorporated directly into the Indian Act. Amendments gave truant officers the authority to “enter any place” where they believed there to be a truant child. Truant officers were to investigate cases “when requested by the Indian agent, a school teacher or the chief of a band.” A truant child could now be arrested without a warrant and returned to school. Parents or guardians who did not comply with the order of a truant officer faced fines of “not more than two dollars and costs, or imprisonment for a period not exceeding ten days or both.”5 In 1927, Duncan Campbell Scott announced that under the authority of the Indian Act, all Royal Canadian Mounted Police officers and constables were appointed truant officers.6 This was formalized by an amendment to the Indian Act in 1933.7
Truancy was an ongoing problem for residential schools throughout their history. Middlechurch, Manitoba, principal W. A. Burman’s 1893 report demonstrates that running away could lead to permanent, not temporary, freedom from the school. Burman said that of fifty-two students enrolled at the school, “six pupils who deserted during the year have not yet returned, and two others allowed to go home for urgent family reasons have failed to keep their promise to come back.” He said that many of the runaways had been “troublesome, and had a bad influence, and their absence, while in some respects regrettable, has led to a very marked improvement in the tone of the school.”8
In 1902, at the school at Williams Lake, British Columbia, the principal reported, “The attendance, I am sorry to say, was not very regular, especially last fall. The children ran away too frequently and too easily; they did not seem to find anything reprehensible in this so we were forced to set an example in having a few of them expelled.”9
Most runaway students headed for their home communities. Basil Johnston, who was enrolled in the Spanish, Ontario, school in the 1930s, wrote, “Our sole aspiration was to be rescued or released (it didn’t matter much which) from Spanish, and to be restored to our families and homes.”10 Students knew they were likely to be caught, returned, and punished. Still, they felt a few hours of home and freedom were worth it. In his memoirs, Johnston tells of two boys who tried to make their way by boat from the Spanish school to their home on Manitoulin Island, thirty-two kilometres away. They were apprehended 14.5 kilometres from their goal, thrashed, and assigned to latrine duties. A third boy, who left at the same time but went in a different direction, made it home for “just one glorious night with his parents, where he ate two good meals of potatoes, salt pork, fish and bannock.”11
In some cases, the schools were located quite close to First Nations communities. For some students at Mount Elgin (in Muncey, Ontario) and at the Mohawk Institute (at Brantford, Ontario), their homes were just a short walk away. Kathleen Kennedy, who attended Mount Elgin in the 1920s, recalled how she and her friend slipped out of the school.
There was three of us got together and we had these girls sit on our bed—we took the sheets off our bed and tied ’em together and put ’em out the window!!! When we got to the corner up there—at the railroad crossing—who should be standing there but my Dad. I told these girls “Oh my gosh!” I said, “There’s my father standing there. Come on, let’s get going.” So we just turned around and went back. They wouldn’t have found out about us, but some girl snitched on us.12
Raymond Hill, who attended the Mohawk Institute in the 1930s, used to run away because older students were bullying him. “I was punished a few times because I run away. I was locked up in the dormitory after the Mounties brought me back. I climbed down the wall and I was back on the reserve in 1½ hours. I ran away 6 or 7 times because I was fed up, but they must have liked me—they took me back!”13
Some students who ran away were never obliged to return. In 1900, Tom Longboat, perhaps Canada’s best-known long-distance runner, ran away from the Mohawk Institute twice. After the second time, he never went back.14 Others completely disappeared. Sixteen-year-old Russell Mallett ran away from the Brandon, Manitoba, school in April 1939.15 The police received reports of his presence in southern Manitoba and concluded he was heading for a reserve in North Dakota. United States customs officials were notified.16 The school had yet to hear from him by the middle of August 1939. The police concluded he might have succeeded in making his way into the United States, although there was no evidence to that effect. At that point, the police closed the file.17
Rather than heading home, some runaways looked for employment. When five boys—at least four of whom were from distant reserves in northern Manitoba—ran away from the Brandon school, the principal told the Mounted Police that the boys were unlikely to go to local reserves. Instead, because four of them were eighteen years old, he thought they were “likely to seek work on farms.”18 One of the boys, Thomas Linklater, was found a month later in Westborough, Ontario, working for a local storekeeper.19 Some boys were able to stay ‘at large’ for a considerable period of time in this way. On October 2, 1938, Leonard Beeswax and Abner Elliott ran away from the Mount Elgin school. Abner Elliott was located on the Cape Croker Reserve on October 13 and returned to the school. He said that he and Leonard Beeswax had parted company near Woodstock, Ontario, on October 4.20 Beeswax was not located until early January of the following year. He had been working on a farm near Kenilworth, Ontario, since running away from the school. He was also returned to the school.21
Runaway students used a variety of strategies to avoid capture. A police officer who helped track down two boys who ran away from the Shubenacadie school in Nova Scotia in 1939 observed, “The two boys that left were no amateurs in the woods and they employed many tricks to throw off pursuit.”22 When Paul Bone was picked up on the streets of Melville, Saskatchewan, by a Mounted Police officer who suspected he had run away from a residential school, he gave his name as Edward Eagle. He said he was on his way to Pelly, Saskatchewan. The officer was not convinced. He described the boy as being in his early teens and “poorly dressed,” and took him into custody. He soon discovered the boy had run away from the Qu’Appelle school two days earlier.23 One boy who ran away from the Lestock, Saskatchewan, school initially claimed he had been kidnapped by a man in a passing car and later abandoned by the roadside.24
Students were often unwilling participants in the search parties that principals organized to look for runaways. Mount Elgin student Ruth Ninham recalled, “We knew where they were but we’d go some place else just so we’d stay out longer!! We’d go to the other end of the reserve to look for them.”25
In pursuing children to their parents’ homes, the actions of school employees could be both invasive and disrespectful. In 1900, a Chilliwack, British Columbia, school employee, Mr. Pearson, was sent to retrieve a student who had been absent for a week from her parents’ home. The parents later complained that Pearson had entered their home without warning and tried to run off with their daughter as if she were “a dog.” In Pearson’s defence, Principal Joseph Hall provided this description of what had happened:
Mr Pearson went to bring her back. He found her in her father’s house. Mr Pearson does not remember whether he knocked at the door or not. Several people were in the house, and no objection was made to his entering. He explained his errand, stating that Mr Indian Agent Devlin had sent him for Charlotte. Mr Pearson told her to put on her things, meaning her hat, jacket &c. She did not attempt to get ready. He told her that if she did not put on her things she must go as she was. He then took her by the hand and drew her arm under his much as a gentleman and lady walk arm in arm, and told her to come along. Her mother then interfered, placing her hands upon Mr Pearson by way of preventing him going forward with Charlotte. He warned her that she should not do that. Two American Indians who were present also stepped up and interfered to prevent Mr Pearson from taking Charlotte away. As Mr P. was alone he released his hold upon the girl and withdrew, returning next day with help. But the girl has told me that Mr Pearson was not in the least harsh or rude, and that if any one says that he was they say what is not true.
In defending Pearson’s actions, Hall also denied charges that discipline was too strict at the school, saying that “corporal punishment is occasionally resorted to, but always with reluctance, and when other means fail to bring the refractory into submission to the authority of the teacher.”26
At the request of the principal or Indian agent, a police officer could be dispatched to return a child. In 1899, an Indian agent noted that at Mission, British Columbia, a father had “positively refused to compel his son to return to the school.” In order to force his attendance, it would be necessary to have a constable arrest the boy and arrange his rail transport back to the school.27 While the officers might incorporate this work into their usual patrols of First Nations reserves, in other cases, they made special trips, travelling by car, horse, train, and sometimes boat. In the Maritimes, on at least one occasion during this period, a tracking dog was used to look for runaway children.28 In the course of searching for a child, the officers could use their authority under the Indian Act to enter and search homes. For example, in the town of Lebret, Saskatchewan, “all the houses were checked” by the police as part of a search for two runaways from the File Hills school in 1935.29
Running away was not in itself a crime. However, most students were wearing school-issued clothing when they ran away. In 1894, the North-West Mounted Police annual report stated, “In several cases pupils who have deserted have been charged with the theft of their clothing, which is the property of the government. This has had a salutary effect in checking desertions from these institutions.”30 In coming years, principals occasionally sought to have runaways prosecuted for theft. Red Deer principal C. E. Somerset had lost control of the school in 1896. He said there was, among the students, “a spirit of insubordination manifest and several desertions have taken place.” To assert his authority, he identified one boy as “the ringleader,” and had the Mounted Police arrest him and charge him with “leaving with clothing belonging to the Indian Department.” The police held the boy for two nights and one day before returning him to the school.31 That same year, the principal of the Mohawk Institute tried without success to have boys prosecuted for the theft of the clothes they were wearing when they ran away.32
One girl ran away from the Sandy Bay, Manitoba, school on three different occasions in 1933. The third time, she took some school clothing with her: a dress, a hat, and a pair of pants. School principal O. Chagnon had her charged with “theft and truancy.” She was located by the Mounted Police and taken to court. Because the items of clothing were returned, Chagnon asked that no further action be taken. The case was adjourned indefinitely; as the police report noted, this meant that “in the event of this girl giving further trouble, she could then be dealt with in this connection also.”33
Students who ran away numerous times also could be charged under the Juvenile Delinquents Act. In such cases, they could be sentenced to a reformatory until they turned twenty-one.34 In 1935, two years after she was charged with theft, the girl at Sandy Bay was brought up on charges under the Juvenile Delinquents Act.35 Two boys ran away from the Mount Elgin school in the fall of 1937. After searching for them on their home reserve, the Mounted Police located the boys walking along a railway track, headed for Melbourne, Ontario. They were returned to the school.36 One of the boys, aged twelve, ran away in March 1939, only to be returned again by the Mounted Police.37 Within days, he ran away again, taking some school clothing with him. He was arrested and charged with being “incorrigible.” The arresting officer thought his mother likely had been “encouraging the boy to truant.” He described the boy as coming from “a very poor and filthy type of Indian.”38 In court, the boy, due to his “lack of intelligence,” was not asked to plead. Because the boy promised to attend school without giving “further trouble in future,” Mount Elgin principal Oliver Strapp asked that the boy be given another opportunity.39 Further trouble ensued, and Strapp discharged the boy in the fall of 1939. On an application from his mother, he was declared “incorrigible” in 1940, and spent part of that summer in the Observation Home of the London and Middlesex Juvenile Court. From there, the Mounted Police escorted him to the Chapleau residential school in Ontario.40
For schools with limited budgets, retrieving a runaway student could be expensive. In October 1899, Father Bedard, the principal of the Mission school, informed Ottawa that three boys had run away. Efforts to retrieve them had failed, and the only option open to him, he wrote, was to have a warrant issued for their return. But, he said, this would cause him extra expenses at a time when the $60 per capita the school received from Ottawa did not cover a student’s board. As a result, he intended to simply let the matter drop.41
In 1914, Indian Affairs agreed to pay half the cost of returning a truant student to the Mohawk Institute.42 One truant officer, John Lickers, attempted to charge $30.75 to return four children to the Mohawk Institute in 1922. That included “railway fare, bed, breakfast, and dinner, stabling for his horse in Brantford, $1.50 for arresting each child and 55 miles of mileage.”43 Indian Affairs declined to pay the mileage or the charge for arresting each child.44 When a group of First Nations men abandoned their duck hunt to successfully track down a boy who had run away from the Anglican school in The Pas, Manitoba, in 1925, the principal paid them a total of $35.45 In 1930, the Mounted Police charged twenty-five cents for each mile travelled while searching for and returning runaways in Saskatchewan. The fee for bringing an eight-year-old boy into the Qu’Appelle school from the Sioux Reserve was $7.50.46
In some cases, the students or their parents were obliged to pay the costs incurred in locating and returning runaways. In 1906, Indian Affairs reimbursed the Mount Elgin school $13.50 in expenses incurred in returning a runaway to the school. However, the local Indian agent was instructed that the interest from the savings account into which the boy’s annuity payments were being made should be directed to the department until “the amount of this account has been repaid.”47 Six years later, local Indian superintendent Gordon Smith reported that Isaac Bradley had paid off the balance of the “constable expenses in taking his children back to the Mt. Elgin Institute.”48
The rest of this chapter examines four themes related to truancy: the prosecution of parents who assisted students in their truancy, the prosecution of students who ran away, the prevalence of truancy throughout the system (often described as “epidemics” of runaways), and the failure to put in place policies to ensure proper searches were conducted for children who ran away.
The 1894 Indian Act amendments made parents who did not return truants to school subject to prosecution. According to the 1894 Regulations Relating to the Education of Indian Children that was issued under the authority of the Indian Act, parents were given three days to return their child to school after being served with a notice.49 As noted in earlier chapters, government policy on the enforcement of these provisions wavered. However, from the 1920s onwards, enforcement became increasingly aggressive, particularly after 1927, when all Mounted Police officers were appointed as truant officers.
In 1930, for example, the parents of eight-year-old John Yuzicappi refused to send him to the Qu’Appelle school, arguing that he was too ill to attend. Having obtained a different opinion from a local doctor, Indian agent R. S. Davis had the Mounted Police locate the boy and escort him to school.50 Four years later, the boy ran away from school. On January 28, 1934, a Mounted Police office travelled to his home reserve and visited his parents, but could find no trace of him, although he “believed the boy was hiding somewhere in the neighbourhood.” He warned John’s parents “of the folly of harbouring the lad by keeping him away from school.” He was informed on February 2 that the boy had returned to the school.51
The Blue Quills, Alberta, school journal entry for May 1, 1932, reads: “The savages having received the order to bring their children to the school unless they want the police to get involved, some parents do obey the order today. But there are still those who turn a deaf ear.”52 In 1935, James Gideon and his wife, of Missanabie, Ontario, refused to return their twelve- and fifteen-year-old daughters to the Chapleau school after the Christmas holidays. Mr. Gideon claimed that “he could give them better care at home than they would receive in school.” The local Indian agent dispatched a Mounted Police officer to the Gideons’ home and the children were returned to the school.53 In August of 1939 in Manitoba, Portage la Prairie principal Joseph Jones visited the home of a boy from the Roseau River Reserve who had not returned to school that fall. The boy refused to go back and his father would not send him. Acting in the capacity of a truant officer, a Mounted Police officer served the father with a notice that if he did not send his son back to school in three days, he would be charged under the Indian Act. Within two days, the boy had been sent to the school.54
Even if the warning had been ignored, the government might not have prosecuted the boy’s father. In 1931, a Mounted Police officer who had helped return a truant boy to the Grayson, Saskatchewan, school noted that, “owing to the father’s ignorance and poverty, the Indian Agent did not wish me to enter a prosecution.”55
But, it was just as likely, if parents did resist, that prosecutions would be initiated. In June 1936, Mounted Police constable R. D. Toews tracked Gilbert Beaulieu, a truant from the Sandy Bay school, to the camp of a Métis man north of Langruth, Manitoba. Toews reported that “on seeing the uniform,” Beaulieu “took to the bush and although I chased him about a mile and a half east thru the bush I was unable to apprehend him.” Toews then went to the camp of the boy’s father, who said “he would not assist the police in getting his boy.” After discussing the matter with the local Indian agent, it was decided not to look further for the boy until school reopened at the end of summer.56 On September 24, Toews discovered that young Beaulieu was being sheltered by Sandy Bay Chief Louis Prince. By the time he got to the chief’s house, Gilbert had fled once more. Beaulieu’s father was there, however. This time, he told the constable, “You can go to hell. I’m boss here.” When Toews later tried to serve the boy’s mother with a notification under the school attendance provisions of the Indian Act, she refused to accept it, on the advice of Chief Prince. Officer Toews placed it on the ground in front of Beaulieu’s mother, only to have Chief Prince pick it up and throw it in the police car. The chief then told the constable he had no business on the reserve.57 On Toews’s recommendation, Chief Prince was charged with obstructing a police officer. Gilbert’s father was charged with failing to return a truant child to school. Gilbert was finally taken into custody at his father’s camp on October 20. From there, he was sent to the distant Lestock, Saskatchewan, school.58 His father was fined $2, plus $5.75 in court costs. Either unable or unwilling to pay the fine, he spent ten days in jail.59
Problems with runaways often appeared to come in waves, which were often referred to by Indian agents as “epidemics.” The agents viewed such epidemics as a sign of underlying problems at a school. In 1928, Indian agent J. Waddy wrote that at the Anglican school in The Pas, “hardly a day goes bye [sic] that one or more do not take leave on their own account. The fault is hard to spot, but I think it is mostly from a lot of those nearing the age of eighteen trying to get away before their time expires.”60 In 1928, the legal age of discharge was not eighteen, but fifteen, suggesting that there was no legal authority to keep the boy in school after that age. That same year, the Gordon’s Reserve school in Saskatchewan also had an ongoing problem with older boys running away. The boys generally left by taking off a screen window and dropping about three metres to the fire-escape platform. Those who had been returned to the school explained that they left to work in the harvest fields. They argued that if they were going to be forced to work—as they were at the residential schools at that time—they preferred to be paid.61
In 1935, ten pupils ran away from the Birtle, Manitoba, school. At the time, the Indian agent put the problem down to homesickness, since he felt the children were well treated and well fed.62 The runaway problem continued into the next year. Then, the school inspector, A. G. Hamilton, believed the problem was attributable to the “spirit that pervades the school,” adding that he always thought it was a mistake to have the principal’s wife act as school matron.63 (It was a common practice in Protestant schools for the principal’s wife to serve as matron.) In 1937, five girls tied sheets together and slid out the dormitory window. In reporting on the escape, Indian agent A. G. Smith wrote, “To be candid I cannot blame the girls as the life they have been leading is enough to breed discontent.”64
The following four examples outline ongoing problems at schools in Alberta, Manitoba, and the Maritimes. They demonstrate the level of parental opposition to schooling in some locations, the school’s dependence on coercion in maintaining enrolment, the significant distances that the young truants were able to cover, the administrative disdain and hostility towards students, and the government’s inability to make the schools anything other than quasi-penal institutions.
Both the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches maintained schools on the Blood Reserve in southern Alberta, near the town of Cardston. In 1927, the Indian agent on the Blood Reserve, M. Christianson, reported that there were seventy-five school-aged children on the reserve who had not either returned to school or enrolled in school. When he visited their parents, he discovered that many of them had no intention of sending their children to school. It took a letter from the police, plus a follow-up visit from the agent, to fill the Anglican and Catholic schools on the reserve. The same year, there was an ongoing runaway problem at the Roman Catholic school on the reserve. Christianson wrote:
The man in charge of the boys at the R.C. School certainly could do a lot more than he is doing to keep the boys from getting away. My own opinion is that he is lazy and would rather read a book than be around where the boys are playing. The school authorities seem to be under the impression that if the children run away, it is up to the police to bring them back. The Department can well understand that the police soon get fed up when they are called upon to bring the same boys back time after time.65
Indian Affairs Deputy Minister Duncan Campbell Scott suggested that the principal of the Catholic school should consider taking away certain privileges from those students who ran away, going so far as to suggest the principal might want to consider punishing the entire student body. That, he said, would minimize “any chance that the culprit is made the object of hero worship or of sympathy.”66
In 1928, a school inspector wrote that academic progress at the Anglican school near Cardston on the Blood Reserve “has been hampered by the irregular attendance. This is particularly true among the older boys where long absences have occurred.” Of the Catholic school, he wrote, “The majority of the pupils who showed no progress over the last year on the tests given have been out of school for a considerable time.”67 Indian agent J. E. Pugh acknowledged that truancy “has been bad. In fact, at times one could almost designate it a continual in and out.” Pugh thought the problems stemmed from the half-day system, the lack of recreation, and the lack of “an environment of making the children in the schools feel happy and content as a whole.”68
A seventeen-year-old boy from the Fisher River First Nation in Manitoba ran away from the Brandon school in early March 1936. Principal J. A. Doyle believed that his return was “essential for the sake of the boys and the discipline of the school.”69 The boy had jumped a freight train and travelled to Winnipeg, where he was arrested and charged with “breaking and trespass.” The juvenile court judge hearing the case imposed no sentence other than a return to the school. Principal Doyle agreed to keep him there until the end of the holidays. However, it was agreed that if he did not “give good conduct,” his discharge would be delayed.70 On March 25, Chief Moses McKay sent a letter to Indian Affairs about the boy’s case. His letter indicates he had previously requested that he be returned to his home. According to McKay’s letter, it was believed that the boy had run away after being punished for an undisclosed transgression.
He was disappear from school [sic]. He done something wrong and they got after him and they found him alright. The understanding I got from the parents that these children at Brandon are not treat it [sic] right. And this boy Stanley his time soon be up. The parents says this boy was not sent to do wrong or to get hungry, and if that’s the case it is no use to keep that boy any longer. Also that School Brandon should be investgate [sic] according to the complaints I heard. Its no use for them children to get hungry when the Dept. Supilys [sic] it or look after it.71
Fifteen-year-old Harry Royal ran away from the Brandon school twice in 1936, making it to his home reserve in Saskatchewan on his second attempt. There, he and another boy he had run away with said that their main complaint with the school was “they did not get enough food and it wasn’t properly cooked.”72 Shortly after Royal was returned to the school, three other boys ran away. The three of them, Wallace Hahawahi, Kenneth Thompson, and Peter Ryder, were located at the Sintaluta Reserve in Saskatchewan.73 Hahawahi’s father was reported as being “very indignant about allowing his son to return to the school stating that he was over 16 years of age and that he needed him at home.” While he agreed to let the boy return, he asked the farm instructor to contact the Indian agent and attempt to seek his discharge. The attempt was successful and the boy was allowed to remain on the reserve with his family.74 Another of the runaways, Kenneth Thompson, gave the police the following statement: “I am a Treaty Indian of Assiniboine Indian Reserve, I am 17 year of Age. I wish to state the reason I ran away from school was because I have to work too hard in fact I do not study at all. I am working around the school all the time. I consider if I have to work I may as well work at home for my father.”75
Ryder’s father told the police that “this boy was 17 years of age, that he was through school, and he wished to keep him home.” Despite this protest, both Thompson and Ryder were returned to the school.76
In the closing years of the 1930s, the Shubenacadie school in Nova Scotia experienced continual truancy problems. It was not uncommon for some students to make numerous attempts to leave the school. When a boy ran away from the Shubenacadie school infirmary in the spring of 1937, Principal J. P. Mackey immediately informed Indian Affairs of his departure. According to Mackey, “This is the first boy to leave for at least from four to five years, so no matter how far he may roam, I want him brought back here.”77 Mackey did not know it, but it was the beginning of an ongoing problem with runaways at the school.
The boy, Steven Paul, proved to be quite elusive. He was questioned by an Indian agent in Kentville, Nova Scotia, but released after he gave his name as Leo Francis.78 When he was eventually picked up on May 21, 1937, in Hantsport, Nova Scotia, he was “very sick and hardly able to walk.” The Mounted Police transported him to Kentville, where he was left in the custody of Indian agent Clarence Spinney. Eight days later, he ran away from the Cambridge Reserve, where Spinney had placed him. On June 1, he was found working on a farm near Grafton, Nova Scotia. This time, the police placed him in the custody of the county jailer before returning him to the Shubenacadie school.79 Even though Paul was supposed to be discharged on July 1 of that year, Mackey decided that, as a punishment, he would be required to remain at the school two days for every day that he had been truant.80 By doing this, Mackey revealed the degree to which school administrators had come to acknowledge that the schools were penal institutions.
Another boy also ran away that term from Shubenacadie. On the morning of July 7, 1937, Andrew Julian decided not to join the other boys assigned to milk the school’s dairy herd. Instead, he headed for Truro, where he was reported as being sighted in the rail yard. He was not located until the end of the month. By then, he had made it to Nyanza in Cape Breton, which was, according to Mackey, a distance of 260 miles (418.4 kilometres).81
In the following school year, there were only three cases of truancy. Noel Julian ran away on January 5, 1938. He was found in the town of Stewiacke, Nova Scotia, later that day.82 The following May, two boys ran away and were returned within a day.83
However, the 1938–39 school year was one of ongoing problems. Within two weeks of his arrival at the school in the fall of 1938, Steven Labobe (also spelled LaBobe in some documents), originally from Prince Edward Island, ran away with another boy.84 Two weeks later, news reached the school that the fifteen-year-old Labobe had succeeded in getting back to his home reserve on the island. Rather than have him returned, Mackey recommended that he remain on the reserve “under the guardianship” of the local Indian agent. The fact that he would have been discharged within the year due to his age, coupled with the overcrowded condition of the Shubenacadie school, worked in Labobe’s favour.85
Gregory Denny had left the school with Labobe in September 1938.86 He made it back to his family’s reserve at Pictou Landing, Nova Scotia. Whenever the police searched the reserve, his parents hid him “in the woods.” Eventually, the local Indian agent, a church minister, apprehended the boy and returned him to the school.87 The day after his return, he ran away again, managing to catch a ride on a train to Truro, Nova Scotia. The Indian agent located him on the Pictou Reserve and again returned him to school. Three days later, he ran away for a third time, this time accompanied by fourteen-year-old Noel Julian.88 It would be another two weeks before the boys were located and returned to the school.89
It appears that Julian’s head was shaved as punishment, since, according to a Mounted Police description issued after his escape again from the school on November 10, 1938, “JULIAN’S head had been shaved.” This time, Julian had run away with a fellow student, fifteen-year-old Richard Poulette.90 The two boys hopped a train, jumping off before it reached the Truro station. Poulette was apprehended in the Truro rail yard the next day and held in the local jail until he could be returned to school.91 Julian was found in Mulgrave, Nova Scotia, on November 16 and taken back to the school.92 He ran away the following month, ending up in hospital in Antigonish, suffering from what was reported as “flat feet.”93
In mid-March 1939, Sam Augustine, originally from New Brunswick, ran away, along with Noel Julian’s older brother Joe. Noel Julian, whom Principal Mackey described to an Indian agent as “an old offender,” and Peter Labobe, who was Steven Labobe’s brother, also ran away.94 It was the fifth time Noel Julian had run away. In a letter to the Indian agent in Antigonish, Mackey, who had caught a cold while out looking for the runaways, wrote, “I feel that Saint Patrick’s Home is the only place for that imbecile.”95 The St. Patrick’s Home was a Catholic-run reformatory in Halifax to which boys could be sentenced under the Juvenile Delinquents Act.96
Peter Labobe was located living in a trackman’s shanty along the Canadian National Railway line. He was “without food and with feet in bad condition.”97 Joe and Noel Julian were picked up on April 12, 1939, at Antigonish. Mackey then arranged to have the two boys placed in the St. Patrick’s Home.98
While the Julian boys were on the run, two other students, Wallace LeBillois and Leo Toney, also ran away. In searching for them, the police brought in a tracking dog, a Doberman pinscher. Both boys were located and returned to the school before nightfall.99
Six children ran away from the Chapleau, Ontario, school in a three-day period in 1937. The Mounted Police brought back four of the boys, and two others were found and returned by a group of older students. Since two of the boys had slipped out the fire-escape window, the principal arranged to have the window sealed (there was still access to the escape through a door). He informed the local Indian agent that all six boys would be given “a sound whipping.”100
In coming years, problems at the school mounted. By May 1939, Principal A. J. Vale sought to discharge four fourteen-year-old girls he thought were too difficult to discipline. According to Vale, “They are spoiling the other girls. They are very rude and obstrepourous [sic] to the ladies of the staff and very hard to control.”101 The superintendent of Welfare and Training for Indian Affairs, R. A. Hoey, suggested that instead of discharging them, the principal organize them into “a vocational group,” undertaking crochet work and weaving, with the understanding that the girls would be allowed to keep some of the money made from the sale of their work. Hoey could not, as the principal suggested, commit the girls to a correctional home, since they were not “guilty of an offence that would justify such an action.”102
The situation only deteriorated. Vale identified one fourteen-year-old girl as a particular problem. He said she had a bad temper, and, at one point, had threatened a female staff member with a knife. She was “severely whipped” for this offence. On another occasion, she encouraged ten other girls to attempt to run away with her, and “tried to get the girls to agree to fight if they were to be punished.”103 In the late spring of 1939, a group of girls who were not allowed to go home for the summer ran away, and had to be brought back to school by the police. As punishment, Vale clipped their hair short.104
It was well understood that students who ran away, particularly in winter, were at considerable risk. Earlier chapters, for example, described the death of Duncan Sticks, a boy who froze to death after running away from the Williams Lake, British Columbia, school in 1902, and the death of an unnamed boy who ran away from the Anglican school in The Pas in late 1926. These were far from the only examples of truancy ending in tragedy. Emile William ran away from the Kuper Island school shortly after school resumed in 1907. He could not be located and. the following spring, was reported to have drowned.105 In 1918, William Cardinal, who had come down with influenza at the Red Deer, Alberta, school, died after running away from the school.106 Three boys tried to escape from the Fort Alexander, Manitoba, school by boat in 1928. According to the principal’s report, “Three of our boys—two who had recently arrived from Bloodvein and one who had been here for a while—deserted; they stole a boat and took off on the lake so quickly that it was impossible to catch them, and they likely drowned the next day.”107 That same year, Joseph Brachet, the principal of another Manitoba school, Pine Creek, reported:
Eight boys left. We caught five of them. One returned home half dead. The other two have not been found for four days now, despite calling all around for help from the police. Four girls ran away last night. They are being pursued, but their whereabouts are unknown. These desertions are bothering me a lot, almost to the point of making me sick. In my opinion, I would not keep the students on such a tight leash; the bow that is always bent will break. It is hard for children to stay silent for long or to sit still for a certain amount of time. However, I am not saying anything because I do not think that my advice will be taken.108
In the documents it has reviewed, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada has not located any copies of reports from either the Fort Alexander school or the Pine Creek school to Indian Affairs on these apparently fatal events. Neither has it located an Indian Affairs response to these events.
Fifteen-year-old Agnes Ben left the Birtle school on March 11, 1930.109 According to news reports:
Scores of Indians from the reserve and pupils from the Indian school have combed the snow-covered countryside for many miles around under the leadership of officers of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The search has continued unbroken, both day and night, the Indians scouring the prairies after darkness fell with the aid of lanterns.110
The girl’s body was not located for six weeks, when it was discovered in a hollow by a farmer looking for his stray horses. It was believed she had been trying to make her way home to the Birdtail Reserve, but became lost in a blizzard and froze to death four kilometres from the reserve.111 According to the Presbyterian Church records, “All possible search [sic] was made, the Indian Agent was notified shortly after 10 p.m., the same night [that she had disappeared] and no blame attached to the superintendent.”112 In 1931, the principal of the Mackay School in The Pas waited until Monday evening to inform Indian agent W. G. Tweddell that a boy had run away the previous Saturday morning. Eventually, the Mounted Police was alerted and the boy was found, alive, nine days after he had run away. Tweddell complained, “This caused unnecessary trouble and expense, and the school to my knowledge took no steps to find the boy.”113
Tweddell’s comments underline a serious policy failure. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada has not located specific, system-wide instructions as to what measures Indian Affairs expected principals to take when students ran away. In many cases, principals organized searches, informed local Indian Affairs officials, and sought the assistance of the Mounted Police. But they did not do this in all cases. This lack of policy direction contributed to the deaths of at least six students at three schools in the late 1930s: Round Lake, Fraser Lake, and Gordon’s Reserve. These cases highlight the lack of federal policy on this issue, the failure to introduce policy, and the failure to hold churches and principals accountable for unacceptable behaviour.
Sometime between 1:30 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. on January 13, 1935, three boys, Percy Ochapowace, Glen Gaddie, and Alec Wasacase, ran away from the Round Lake school in Saskatchewan. It was -32 degrees Celsius and, shortly after the boys left the school, a blizzard blew up. After walking a distance, they made a fire to warm themselves. They then separated, with Wasacase and Gaddie heading west, while fifteen-year-old Ochapowace went south, towards his home. According to Wasacase, he and Gaddie
travelled about one and one half miles and were cold and tired again, and built another fire. We lay down for awhile [sic] and went to sleep. I woke up and could not see Glen Gaddie. I found him covered up in snow. I got him on his feet and we noticed a light. We walked towards the light and reached the home of Alex Belanger. We found Mrs. Belanger home alone. We had something to eat and went to sleep. We stayed there over night and the next morning went home.
According to Mrs. Belanger, it was about 8:00 p.m. when the boys arrived at her house.
On the night of January 16, three days after the boys had run away, Alex Belanger encountered Percy Ochapowace’s brother Daniel, and asked if Percy had got home safely. Daniel, under the impression that Percy was still in school, was taken by surprise. When he realized that his brother had run away and had not returned home, he went from house to house, looking for him. At 10:00 p.m., he ran into the Ochapowace Reserve farm instructor, Leander Carlson, and told him that Percy was missing.
Early the following morning (January 17), Carlson alerted the local Mounted Police detachment that three boys had run away from the Round Lake school on January 13, and that one was still missing. The police informed the local Indian agent, J. P. B. Ostrander, who was unaware that any boys had run away. Ostrander then contacted the school principal, R. J. Ross, who could provide no additional information. The investigating officer, H. S. Casswell, and Ostrander then went to the reserve, where they interviewed Wasacase and Belanger and organized a search party of thirty-five First Nations men.
With the search party underway, Casswell and Ostrander went to the Round Lake school, where they interviewed Ross. He stated he had not realized the boys were missing until 5:00 p.m. on January 13, several hours after they had left:
I did not think it worth while sending after them, as they would have nearly reached home by this time. It is not customary to follow boys, 12, 13, or 14 years of age after they get a 2 or 3 hour start on us, from the school. I did not get in touch with anyone outside of the school to let them know the boys had left, but I wrote a letter to Mr. Ostrander, on 16th Jan./35, informing him that these three boys had run away from the school. The letter was posted in Stockholm on Jan. 17th, 1935. I did not know that the boy had not arrived home safely until I received the telephone call from Mr. Ostrander this morning.
Casswell and Ostrander then rejoined the search party. Percy Ochapowace’s frozen body was discovered at 6:30 p.m., about two and a half kilometres from where he had parted company with Gaddie and Wasacase. Wearing only a sweater, overalls, socks, and rubber boots, he had crawled into a willow stand in search of shelter. The following day, Dr. Allingham examined Percy’s body at the Ochapowace Reserve, and interviewed the principal and Percy’s father, Walter Ochapowace. He concluded that death was due to exposure and stated “no inquest was necessary.”114
In his report to Indian Affairs on the death, Ostrander wrote,
In view of the extremely cold weather and bad roads the Revd. Principal would have been well advised to have an immediate search made as the boys [sic] tracks could have been followed in the snow but apparently as the boys ranged from 13 to 15 years of age he thought they would reach their homes in safety.
… As would be expected the father of the deceased as well as other Indians who have children in this school are considerably upset and are inclined to place the blame on the Revd. Principal for failing to have the boys immediately followed when it was found that they were missing and also for not taking steps to inform them and myself more promptly. When I asked the Revd. Principal why he had not acted more promptly he informed me that he did not anticipate any serious consequences owing to the age of the boys as he thought they would have no difficulty in reaching their homes.115
Indian Affairs departmental secretary A. F. Mackenzie informed Ostrander that
the Principal should have instituted an immediate search when it was discovered that the boys had left the school, more especially so in view of weather conditions. He should have informed the parents and yourself and instituted a search at once. The death of the boy, under the circumstances, is much regretted, and I would request that you convey to the parents the Department’s sympathy for their loss.116
There was no suggestion that any policies had been violated or that there was a need to establish policies for searches for runaways. There was no suggestion that the United Church, which ran the school, be contacted regarding the lapse in judgment on the part of the principal. There was no suggestion that a circular be sent to other schools regarding the need to undertake searches in the case of runaways. There were to be no consequences, or assigning of responsibility, or remedial action, for a decision that Indian Affairs clearly believed to be inappropriate.
Garnett Neff, a lawyer hired by the deceased boy’s father, Walter Ochapowace, asked Dr. Allingham to reconsider his recommendation not to hold an inquest. Dr. Allingham had been doing work for Indian Affairs in the region since 1914. He refused to reconsider. Neff then called upon Indian Affairs Minister T. G. Murphy to hold “a full investigation into all the facts surrounding the death of the boy and to clear up definitely whether there be any culpable or criminal negligence involved.”117 In a note, Murphy stated that the death had been “thoroughly investigated by the Coroner,” and, as a result, “no further action is considered necessary.”118
In his frustrated response to Murphy, Neff pointed out, “The mere fact that it would appear that the officials of the Round Lake school knew nothing about the death of this boy until the Thursday following would indicate a laxity and culpability for which they should be held responsible.” He also announced his intention of writing to the provincial attorney general, to request a coroner’s inquiry.119 The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada has not been able to locate any record of such a request. Neff did write to the federal minister of justice, Hugh Guthrie, requesting the appointment of a commission of inquiry, under the Enquiries Act. He did not dispute that Percy’s death was caused by exposure, but said that Percy’s father and other members of the community believed “there must be extreme laxity and carelessness either in the interpretation of such rules as there may be or in the rules themselves that it does seem to be inhuman that if it be true, no enquiry or search was made for the boy for three or four days in extreme weather.” Neff thought such an inquiry should examine both “the facts surrounding the death of this boy” and “the whole scheme of control of the children in this School.”120
The request was rebuffed. In closing off the correspondence, the minister of justice wrote to Neff that he did not believe “an inquiry under oath would elicit any information not already in the possession of the authorities.” Guthrie then attempted to suggest that the schools were really not government responsibilities, saying it was his understanding that “the school is an undertaking of the United Church of Canada, and that it is built on reserve land and is in receipt of a grant from the Department, and is subject to some measure of inspection by the Department, but is not in any way under its management or control.” To the extent that the superintendent general of Indian Affairs was “under any responsibility in the matter,” he was suggesting to him that he investigate to see if “more care is exercised with regard to the custody and care of the children residing therein.”121
On January 2, 1937, four boys who had run away from the Fraser Lake, British Columbia, school were found frozen to death on Fraser Lake. The older boy, Allen Patrick, was nine; Andrew Paul and Justa Maurice were eight; and John Jack was seven. The boys, who had been denied permission to visit their parents, were present for a meal at 4:00 p.m. Two hours later, it was noted that they had disappeared. The principal, Father McGrath, was not informed that they had run away until after 9:00 p.m. He concluded that they had gone to the families of friends and that he would leave them there overnight. It was not until the early afternoon of the following day that he visited their families and discovered that the boys were not there. A search party was organized and the boys’ bodies were found at 5:00 p.m. They had tried to cross the lake on an evening when the temperature had fallen to -29 degrees Celsius.122
At the inquest held into the deaths, Aboriginal witnesses said that harsh corporal punishment led children to run away from residential schools. In his testimony, the principal challenged this, saying that “runaways occurred more frequently lately due to the fact corporal punishment was being discouraged by higher authorities.”123 The coroner’s jury concluded that the deaths were due to “exhaustion and consequent freezing” and were “unavoidable.” The jury also stated that
more definite action by the school authorities might or should have been taken the night upon which the disappearance took place.
Further it is our opinion that more co-operation between the authorities and the parents of the children would in future help to lessen the danger of any repetition of such an incident.
On the relationship between discipline and runaways, the jury recommended that “excessive corporal punishment, if practiced, should be limited.” The jurors also recommended that the school disciplinarians should be able to speak English.124
In investigating the deaths, the Indian agent, R. H. Moore, had discovered that, in the fall of 1936, Roman Catholic Bishop Bunoz had appointed two priests, recent arrivals from France, as school disciplinarians. This was done against the wishes of the acting principal, Father McGrath. Neither of the new disciplinarians spoke any English. Moore believed the behaviour of the disciplinarians was responsible for an increase in runaways from the school. He told McGrath to replace them or the truancy problem would get out of hand. It was only at the inquest that Moore realized that the principal had not made the change, since he did not believe he had the authority to countermand the Bishop’s order.125
British Columbia Indian Commissioner D. M. McKay conducted his own investigation into the deaths in March of that year. Sylvester Patrick, the stepfather of Allen, said that Allen had complained about the treatment he received at the school. Patrick also stated that one of the teachers at the Fraser Lake school had previously taught at the Fort St. James school when Patrick was a boy, and punishment at that school had been “severe.” The father of a boy who had not run away, C. Charley, told McKay he thought “sometimes they whip them too hard.”126
Commissioner McKay concluded that
the delay in informing Acting Principal McGrath of the absence without permission of the children was a very serious and costly omission, quite inexcusable and cannot be explained away by weak assumptions nor a shifting of responsibility; this should not have occurred, nor would have occurred, where administrative authority and responsibility were known, definitely fixed, appreciated and recognized.
McKay said that McGrath was not aware of either his authority or the scope of his responsibility. His control was weakened by the fact that the school’s two disciplinarians spoke no English, and McGrath spoke no French. McKay also believed that if a search party had been organized when the boys were first reported missing, “the children would not have perished.” He thought the boys ran away not because of any discipline, but simply “out of a natural desire for freedom and to be with their parents during the holidays.” He also thought that the government should “take steps to strengthen its administrative control of our Indian Residential schools through the full use of the privileges which it reserves of approving the more important appointments to the staffs of these schools.”127
Even though the coroner’s jury had pointed to the need for more “definite action” when children ran away and for co-operation between authorities and parents, it appears that Indian Affairs did not issue any system-wide policy statements to principals in the wake of this tragedy. The residential school system, and those in charge of it, appeared resolutely unwilling to learn from its errors.
On Saturday, March 11, 1939, eleven-year-old Andrew Gordon ran away from the Gordon’s Reserve school in Saskatchewan. He slipped away in the middle of the afternoon when the students were on a skating expedition.128 According to the boy’s supervisor, Linton Tooley, it was not until 5:15 p.m. that he noticed the boy was missing. He reported the absence to Principal R. W. Frayling, who instructed him “not to allow the boys, in the future, to go to the lake as it gave them a better chance of escape.”129 Frayling asked some First Nations men who were delivering wood to the school if they knew where the boy had gone. They knew nothing, but agreed to return the boy to the school if they encountered him. It was not until the following day that Frayling took any additional action, dispatching Tooley to visit one of Andrew’s relatives. Tooley could not find the relative, who, he was told, had gone to visit Andrew’s home. On this rather flimsy basis, the school concluded that “the lad was home.” On Monday morning, Frayling asked Tooley if he had any word of Andrew’s whereabouts. There was a snowstorm that day and Frayling planned to return the boy to the school once the roads had been cleared.130 Frayling reported to the local Indian agent that Andrew “had not been punished in any way, was well behaved and of a bright spirit and cheerful disposition.”131
Andrew had never reached home. On Monday evening, a visitor told his father, David Gordon, “I believe your boy ran away from school.” On Tuesday morning, the father set out for the school. On his way, he came across tracks that he believed belonged to his son. He followed them, encountering five spots where the boy had stopped to rest. At the sixth, he found his son, frozen to death. Gordon then contacted the Mounted Police and Indian Affairs.132 It was the first time either agency had been informed of the boy’s disappearance of three days earlier. In a letter to Indian Affairs, Frayling asserted he and the school were blameless in the case. He said that in the past, when children whose parents lived on the Gordon’s Reserve had run away, the parents had always brought them back. As a result, although he had notified the police and the Indian agent when children from more distant reserves had run away, it had not been policy to do so in the cases of children from Gordon’s Reserve.133
In his report on the death, Indian agent J. Waddy wrote:
My opinion is that in case a pupil runs away the first duty of the principal is to see the parents are notified, especially in winter.
There have been so many desertions here it appears that the staff have lost control of that part.
I recommend that the bishop be asked if he is satisfied that his staff did everything possible to help in this case.134
According to Thomas Robertson, the inspector of Indian agencies, a coroner’s jury ruled that death was due to exposure, “with no charges of negligence on the part of anyone.” Robertson concluded, however, that “there has been negligence with regard to this case, and that the death should never have occurred.” He thought the supervisor should have kept a closer check on the boys and that once Andrew was discovered to be missing, a search should have been mounted. He was stunned that no serious attempt was made to determine if the boy had reached home. “It is hard to understand that a boy of his age, under those weather conditions, should be lost without any search being made.” Having reached these damning conclusions, he noted that he thought of the school as being well run and that the principal would ensure that nothing of this matter would ever happen again. “Unless the Indians or the people of the district start any agitation, any action on our part would not be in the best interests of anyone.”135 A few months later, Waddy, the Indian agent, informed Robertson that Frayling had lost the confidence of the First Nations people, and recommended that the principal be transferred. Anglican Archdeacon Irwin suggested he be given a reprimand and left in place, and Inspector Robertson suggested waiting.136
In the end, R. A. Hoey, the superintendent of Welfare and Training for Indian Affairs, chose to keep Frayling on as principal. However, he did send him a letter outlining his instructions for what was to be done when students escaped from the school:
1)The information should be conveyed to the agent and to any police officials that may be available in the community;
2)A search should be instituted at once.137
In dealing with the issue, Indian Affairs had not been able to produce any documents indicating that principals had been instructed to follow such a course of action in the past. By sending these simple direct instructions to only one principal, Hoey passed up an opportunity to deliver a system-wide instruction on an issue that had plagued that system in the past, and would continue to do so into the future. Frayling remained on the job for another five years, until the end of 1944.138
Beyond the lack of policy, there was also disregard for the policy that did exist. The department did not follow its own internal policy for the review of student deaths. In the event of a death, the Indian agent had specific responsibilities. He was supposed to convene a board consisting of himself, the school principal, and the attending physician. Parents were to be asked to attend and make a statement or send a representative who could make a statement on their behalf.139 Instead, in this instance, Indian agent Waddy mailed Frayling a copy of the forms to be filled out once the board had completed its work, instructing him to complete it and return it to him.140 There is no evidence that the parents were ever contacted or given the opportunity to make a report. As Waddy admitted in his own report, “There was no board really as the principal made a written report.”141
The deaths of these children highlight many of the system’s failings. The poor living and working conditions that arose from the low level of funding, the harsh discipline used to maintain order under those conditions, and a determination to sever the bonds between parent and child all combined to give students strong reason to run away. High student-to-staff ratios made it possible for students to slip away without being noticed. The government had developed regulations that compelled attendance at residential schools, but it didn’t exercise its right in this, as in other areas, to stipulate how children were to be cared for once they were in those schools. Instead, the school system went from tragedy to tragedy.