Must you go away, Louis?” Alexandre, his “little pet” tugged at his big brother’s sleeve.
“I must, mon petit”
Riel had gone straight home from Bishop Taché’s house, but he knew he must not linger. Already Wolseley’s troops would be baying on his trail. But what would happen to his family now? Surely le bon Dieu will keep them safe! he thought, embracing them.
He, O’Donoghue, and Lépine rode for the border. But that night their horses wandered off while they slept. Fearful of being caught by Canadian soldiers on the main Pembina trail, they decided to cross the river. They pulled down fence rails and bound them together with strips torn from their clothing to make a rough raft. Louis lost a shoe during the crossing and had to plod on for almost fifty kilometres barefoot.
After three days, hungry and weary, the three reached the house of a friendly Métis at Pembina, on the American side of the border. But Louis still feared for his life and wanted to press on. He accepted only a meal of dried fish and a pair of shoes, then set out with a guide for St. Joseph.
“Tell them that that he who ruled in Fort Garry a few days ago is now a homeless wanderer with nothing to eat but two dried suckers,” he joked bitterly to a Métis they met on the trail.
At St. Joseph, Riel found refuge with Father LeFloch, who had once been his teacher at Red River. The first thing Louis did was send Sara a message that he was safe. He would not return, he said, “until matters are arranged.” Over the next few weeks, Father LeFloch and Bishop Taché advised him to be patient, and Louis tried. Still fearful of assassins, he moved around, sleeping in different houses.
One night, Lépine and O’Donoghue came to meet him. Lépine was as loyal as always, but the Irishman was in a bitter mood.
“You should have fought Wolseley when you had the chance!” he accused.
“Fought him how?” replied Riel wearily. “With what troops?”
“We could have taken to the woods and picked them off one by one,” said O’Donoghue.
“But we couldn’t have kept them out of Red River. And Manitoba is part of Canada now. It would have meant fighting the British.”
“Ah, you always were a coward and a traitor,” snarled O’Donoghue. “Fight me, then, if you won’t fight the British!” And he struck Riel across the face.
Louis’s face flamed with rage. “Remember this,” he snapped. “You are not Métis. My people will always choose me over you!”
But things were bad in Red River, he knew. Canadian troops, frustrated in their desire to lynch him, roamed drunk and disorderly through the settlement. They persecuted any Métis they met, killing several and badly beating others. Louis shuddered when he heard that women as well as men were abused. To make matters worse, John Schultz was back, stirring up bigotry and racism among Canadian settlers.
Riel arranged a meeting at St. Vital on September 17. O’Donoghue attended, and the two men eyed each other warily
“We can all agree on the perfidious treachery of the Canadian government,” Riel said. “It promised an amnesty, but has not sent it. And the government allows the violence to continue. So let us send a petition to the president of the United States, listing our grievances. Let us ask him to intercede with Queen Victoria on our behalf.”
“I say the British have had their chance,” cried O’Donoghue. “Let’s petition for annexation by the United States!”
“No!” shouted Riel.
The two men glared at each other. And when it came to the vote, the Métis supported Riel.
Louis stayed at St. Joseph throughout the fall and winter. His sister Marie arrived to look after him, and his brother Charles came along. Riel heard that Sara was safe too. She had been recalled to the mother house of the Grey Nuns in St. Boniface. In January she wrote that the nuns had taken the other Riel girls into their boarding school. He blessed them for offering charity and protection to his hard-pressed family. But he worried about his younger brothers and his mother.
Meanwhile, Joseph Dubuc and other friends suggested he might run in the upcoming provincial elections. Who had a better right than he to become premier of the new province of Manitoba? they demanded. Riel refused, fearing to provoke the Canadian government and hold up the amnesty, but he encouraged his friends to run. With Métis sympathizers dominating the new legislature, it would be that much easier for him to become premier once the amnesty came through. Yet when Schmidt and Dubuc and fifteen other “Rielists” were elected, he felt a flash of resentment. Why should he have to sit by while they shared in the government of the province he had created?
In February 1871, Riel fell seriously ill. He burned with fever, and his joints became painfully swollen. He may have had rheumatic fever. Julie Riel arrived to nurse him, and slowly he recovered. On May 3, Louis returned quietly to St. Vital. The news spread by word of mouth throughout the French parishes, and soon crowds gathered at the little farmhouse near the river to greet the Métis leader. Safe among his people, Louis kept a low profile. He was growing more and more alarmed, though, that the Canadian government was not keeping the terms of the Manitoba Act. Métis land grants had not been finalized, yet newcomers were being encouraged to grab some of the best lands in the province. Riel drew up a letter of protest, which he sent to Dubuc. But he spoke in public only once, to honour Bishop Taché, who had been made an archbishop.
That autumn, Riel heard through Father Ritchot that O’Donoghue was planning to invade Manitoba with a ragtag army of Fenians and set up a republic. So when Archbishop Taché sent for him, he knew what was on his mind.
“Lieutenant-Governor Archibald is worried,” the archbishop said. “He fears that the Métis will join O’Donoghue if he invades Canada.”
“Would you blame them if they did,” said Riel. “considering the way they have been treated by the government?”
“Are you associated with O’Donoghue in this matter?” the archbishop demanded.
“No,” replied Riel. Then he shrugged. “But I am not sure what I should do. You know perfectly well that my life is not safe. I may go in the front and fight against the Fenians, and I am sure to be killed by those behind me. But you can rest assured there is not the slightest danger of me or any one of my friends going with the Fenians.”
On September 28, he called a meeting to discuss matters. The Métis must remain unified, he said. And he moved that those at the meeting “should pronounce themselves in favour of the advantages already possessed by the Manitoba Bill.” When O’Donoghue sent messengers asking the Métis to join him, nobody did. And the Métis began drilling in St. Boniface in support of the Manitoba government. In early October Riel heard that O’Donoghue and his conspirators had been arrested by American forces.
On October 8, Riel drew up his men in ranks on a field at St. Boniface. French-speaking members of the new legislative assembly were there to inspect the troops. With them was Lieutenant-Governor Archibald. There were cheers, and guns fired in salute.
“This is one of our leaders. Thanks to him you have such loyal troops,” said one of the legislators.
“Sir,” said Louis, holding out his hand.
Though no names had been mentioned, Archibald knew perfectly well who this man with the challenging gaze was. With a nod, he shook his hand.
Riel eagerly read accounts of the incident in the papers. Of course Canadians in Red River and Ontario howled in protest. But most Manitobans thought the lieutenant-governor had done well. Surely the longed-for amnesty would arrive now! Riel told himself. Had he not proved his loyalty in time of need? But the hullabaloo about the handshake caused hatred against him to flare up again in Winnipeg. On December 8, while he was away at a meeting, a band of masked men broke into the Riel homestead and ransacked it.
“One of them put a gun to my head. He asked me where you were,” Marie told him, trembling. “Of course I didn’t tell him!” she added, with a toss of her head.
Mon Dieu! thought Riel. Is it safe for me to stay? Is it safe for my family?
One day Archbishop Taché summoned Riel and Lépine. “Prime Minister Macdonald has asked me to give you a message,” he said. “He wishes you both to leave the country for a time.”
“Until the Orange Protestants of Ontario stop baying for our heads?” asked Riel bitterly.
“Until things quiet down,” agreed the archbishop. “If you will stay away for a year, he offers you money to live on.”
“Does he think he can buy us?” snapped Louis, and Lépine growled his agreement.
“He knows you are both poor men,” said the archbishop smoothly. “If you agree to go, there will be money to help your families too.”
Riel and Lépine exchanged glances. It was true that they hardly dared leave their farms. In the end, both agreed to go. They left under escort on February 23, 1872, bound for St. Paul. There, Riel settled down to write a memorandum about the Scott affair, to be published in a Quebec newspaper.
But even in St. Paul their enemies shadowed them. They learned that the Ontario government had offered a bounty of five thousand dollars for their arrest. Then John Schultz showed up in St. Paul. Men came to Riel and swore that Schultz had tried to bribe them to steal his papers. Riel and Lépine fled to a nearby town, but there they overheard men plotting to murder them for the reward.
Lépine decided to return to Red River. “If I’m going to die, let it be in my own country,” he said.
Lonely and bitter, Riel finished his manuscript. He had been waiting for two years now and had even accepted exile, but still no amnesty had come. It was time to act, he decided. His friends wanted him to run in the upcoming federal election - he would do it!
Riel began campaigning in the francophone parishes of Red River. He expected to win Provencher riding handily. Louis imagined himself standing before the Canadian Parliament explaining Métis grievances and justifying his actions, and his spirits kindled. If they would only listen, he knew the amnesty would be granted. He was sure of victory, but then Cartier was defeated in the federal election in Quebec. Archbishop Taché and others reminded Riel that Cartier had promised the amnesty. If Louis allowed Cartier to win in his place, the great man would be in his debt. The archbishop also passed on messages from Prime Minister Macdonald that seemed to promise movement on the amnesty if Riel cooperated. So on September 13, 1872, Louis refused the nomination in Provencher and Cartier was elected by acclamation. Louis and his supporters quickly sent Cartier a pointed telegram, reminding him of “the cause entrusted to you.”
But the amnesty did not come, and Riel’s thoughts turned again to politics as a way of putting pressure on the Canadian government. If the people of Manitoba elected him, the longed-for amnesty would surely be granted! So he spoke to the member of the provincial legislature for St. Vital, who agreed to step aside so Riel could run in his place. His friends warned him that if he tried to carry out this plan, warrants would be issued for his and Lépine’s arrest. And sure enough, on December 3 two men tried to arrest them on the charge of the murder of Thomas Scott. He and Lépine escaped, but once more they had to go into hiding. The will-o’-the wisp of the amnesty was still beyond Riel’s grasp.
In January 1873, Riel’s sister Marie died. Shaken, Riel went on a religious retreat during March and April. Sara, who had become a missionary at Île-à-la-Crosse in the Saskatchewan country, wrote letters urging him to think again of becoming a priest. But in May, Riel learned that Cartier had died. Now there would be a byelection in Provencher riding. Louis decided to run, but once again his enemies tried to stop him. In September, new warrants were sworn out against him and Lépine. Though Lépine was arrested, Riel escaped. Guarded by loyal supporters, he hid in the woods across the river from St. Norbert.
One evening his friend Dubuc watched him warming himself over a campfire. “King David, in the Bible, also had to hide from his foes,” he joked.
Louis looked up, smiling. “David…” he mused. “A name of renown.”
On October 13 Riel was elected by acclamation. His friends spirited him out of Red River and sent him off to Montreal.
He received a hero’s welcome. Former schoolmates - Dr. Ernest Lachapelle, Jean-Baptiste-Romuald Fiset - rallied around. Old friends like Rodrigue Masson introduced him to people who mattered. One of these was Alphonse Desjardins, the owner of he Nouveau Monde. His newspaper had published Louis’s first letter from Red River and backed the Métis cause. Another was Honoré Mercier, an important politician.
“You are the very symbol of our culture,” they told him. “Attacks on you are attacks on all French Canadians.”
“I know the support of the people of Quebec is my only hope of gaining the amnesty,” Riel said. “And the plight of my Métis people is part of the greater struggle between English-speaking and French-speaking people in Canada.”
On a dark autumn day, Riel and some supporters met in a house in Hull, across the river from Ottawa. Haunted by the thought of Lépine in prison, Louis wanted to take his seat in Parliament at once, and then convince the government to grant an amnesty for him and Lépine before his friend came to trial. But gazing at the looming grey towers of Parliament, he felt his heart sink.
“My enemies are there, waiting to seize me,” he said. “Will I even get a chance to speak?”
So he returned to Montreal. Not long afterward, the government was dissolved, and a new election was called. So Riel went to New York State, where he could rest in safety. In December, 1873, he visited Father Fabien Barnabé, who lived in the village of Keeseville, one of many “little Canadas” where French Canadians had come to live and work in the United States. Father Barnabé lived with his mother and his sister Evelina.
“It’s so good to feel part of a family again,” Louis told them. But his mind was already on the next election. In preparation, he wrote another defence of his actions in 1869-70, explaining the execution of Scott and the Canadian government’s promises of an amnesty. By mid-January, he was back in Montreal. The election was to be held on February 13, 1874. Riel could not campaign in person but that didn’t matter to his loyal supporters in Red River. He was elected by 195 votes to 68.
And this time I’ll take my seat in Parliament, he promised himself.
On March 26, 1874, snow crunched under Riel’s polished boots as he walked toward the Parliament Buildings. In the crowded lobby, he glanced around nervously. But no one paid any attention to the bearded stranger with Monsieur Fiset, the member for Rimouski.
“You must take the oath of allegiance,” Fiset told him. And he led Riel to the office of the Clerk of the House of Commons.
The busy little bureaucrat behind the desk barely glanced up. “Another new member?” he asked, as Riel stepped forward.
The clerk read the oath aloud, and Riel replied, “I do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.” Then he leaned forward and signed the Parliamentary register with a flourish.
Just as Riel and Fiset were leaving, the clerk’s eye fell on the signature. “Louis Riel!” he cried, jumping to his feet.
From the doorway, Louis gave him a cheeky bow.
For the next several days, Louis gleefully followed the newspaper accounts of his adventure. Sensation-seekers had packed the Visitors’ Gallery in the House of Commons wondering if the outlaw would take his seat. An amnesty bill for those involved in the Red River Resistance was being voted on, and Rodrigue Masson and Joseph-Alfred Mousseau moved that Riel and Lépine be included in it. They were voted down. The next day, Ontario politicians had demanded that Riel take his seat or be expelled. But Louis, who had returned to Montreal, did not appear. On April 9, the House voted to expel him from Parliament.
But Riel had created the public relations sensation he wanted. And what would be the point of risking jail by trying to take his seat? he told himself. A Select Committee of the House of Commons had been created to investigate the events of 1869-70 and the question of the amnesty, and his recent pamphlet was being widely discussed. On May 27 Louis wrote to Dubuc, “The fact is, our cause is making progress… our cause is shaking the Canadian Confederation from one end of the country to the other. It is gaining strength daily.” Of course, now that he was expelled, his seat in Provencher was vacant. Why not run for it again, just to underscore his popularity?
While waiting for the election, Louis resumed his wandering life. He went to Keeseville in June for a visit, and there he flirted with Evelina Barnabé. He had always yearned for a family of his own, and hoped to find a pious girl who might become his wife. Now he had met one. It didn’t hurt that she was slender, blonde and blue-eyed. And her glances told him that she returned his interest.
But the question of the amnesty and the upcoming trial of Ambroise Lépine preyed on his mind. In the “little Canadas” dotted around New England, Riel stayed in the houses of priests sympathetic to his cause and gave fiery speeches at protest meetings demanding the amnesty for himself and his friend. Homesick, he travelled west as far as St. Paul, but he heard that Schultz, his old enemy, had been seen there, and soon returned to the East. In Quebec, he visited influential people who could help his cause, including Bishop Bourget of Montreal. On September 3, 1874, he was again elected to Parliament by the stubbornly loyal voters of Provencher riding.
In November Riel was deeply shocked when Lépine was convicted of murder and sentenced to be hanged. He had believed no Manitoba jury would convict him. Reading the protests in the French-Canadian press, he comforted himself that at least the people of Quebec were on his side. Heartsick, he barnstormed throughout New England, rousing public opinion against the verdict. Then he went to Washington, D.C., to stay with Edmund Mallet, an influential French-Canadian friend.
While he was there, he had a remarkable experience. On the 18th of December he climbed a mountain not far from the city. Suddenly a burning cloud appeared before him. From the depths of it a spirit - the same spirit who showed himself to Moses, Louis was sure - spoke to him, saying “Rise up, Louis David Riel, you have a mission to fulfill.” Stretching out his arms and bowing his head, Riel received the heavenly message.
In January 1875, the Governor General of Canada commuted Lépine’s sentence to two years’ imprisonment. Riel was overjoyed. Then in February, he picked up a newspaper and his heart beat faster as the words “amnesty” and “Red River” leaped out at him. An amnesty had been proposed for everyone involved in the Red River Resistance! But his heart sank as he read on. He and Lépine would only be amnestied after five years’ banishment, and their political rights would be suspended for the rest of their lives. Despite the protests of Riel’s friends in Parliament, the measure had passed. And on February 24, he was again expelled from the House of Commons.
The longed-for amnesty came as a cruel blow. Five more years! Hadn’t he already been a fugitive for five years? As an exile, how could he earn a living and help his family? Riel wondered. And barred from his rightful place in politics, how could he fulfill his mission to help his people? Sorrowfully, he penned a poem:
Far from one’s homeland
Having friends is in vain.
For despite their tenderness
One’s soul is ever sad.
Friends, forgive me if your kind hearts
Are afflicted by the tears I shed.
Every moment of the day my yearning soul
Sends its thoughts far away
To the place where I was born…
Restless, he resumed his American travels, staying at the homes of friends, making speeches. At meeting after meeting in the “little Canadas” he protested against his banishment. And he begged the French Canadians there to emigrate to the North-West Territories.
“It is the only way French-Canadian culture can compete there against the flood of English-speaking immigrants from Ontario,” he told them. “Go, make new lives for yourselves!”
People applauded, but Riel feared they would not heed him. The North-West was too far away for them, the life there too harsh.
Late that fall, he dashed west to Indianapolis, to visit an influential American senator. Now that Canada had turned its back on him, he had been mulling over plans to invade Manitoba and set up a new government in the North-West. He was convinced that the Métis would support him. He needed money, though, and a promise that the Americans would back him against Canada. But the senator was unimpressed. In December, he returned to Washington, D.C., where he spoke with President Ulysses S. Grant.
“We will establish a Métis and French-Canadian republic in Manitoba, and another republic for Irish Catholics farther west,” he told Grant. “Tens of thousands of supporters will rally to my cause!”
The President listened politely, but promised nothing.
With nowhere left to turn, Riel struggled to fan the embers of his hopes. Politics had failed him, true. But he consoled himself with the memory of his vision on the mountaintop. Had not God himself told him he still had a mission to fulfill? And since then had Bishop Bourget not written him a letter echoing those very words? Louis brooded on Bourget’s letter. He carried it over his heart, and placed it at the head of his bed at night. His only comfort now was the burning belief that his true mission would soon be revealed.