It was a hero’s welcome. When Riel and the delegation arrived at Fish Creek, more than fifty Métis wagons were waiting to greet them. Men on horseback surged around Riel’s wagon, cheering and firing a feu de joie. Women and children in wagons applauded. Beaming, Louis swept off his hat, acknowledging the cheers, the sun glinting on his wavy chestnut hair. Marguerite proudly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Her husband was well respected among the Métis of Montana. But this - this was different!
The next day they were whisked off to Charles Nolin’s house, near the village of Batoche. Louis’s cousin had been among the Red River Métis who had left Manitoba and started over in Saskatchewan. The family settled into his comfortable two-storey house, and people came and went, eager to greet the famous Riel. “I have been received with open arms by everybody,” Louis wrote to his brother Joseph.
Louis Schmidt soon arrived from Prince Albert and offered to give up his job at the land office to come and help Riel. “Stay where you are,” said Louis. “You can be of great help to our people there. And keep writing dispatches about the Métis movement to Le Manitoba. We need good publicity!”
Riel’s first speech to the Métis radiated good feeling. “The Métis and English-speaking mixed-bloods must work together to gain their rights,” he told them. And he repeated the message to a meeting of mixed-bloods. Next he was invited to address an English-speaking audience in Prince Albert. At first, Louis hesitated. There were many Ontarians in Prince Albert, among them people who had hounded him for the death of Thomas Scott. But in the end he agreed, and his speech was a glowing success.
“I do not wish to cause trouble or raise disturbance,” he told them. “My intentions are peaceful.” He spoke of their hardships and the indifference of the Canadian government. “Gentlemen, do not compromise any of your rights,” he urged. “Do protest. React within the bonds of constitutional energy.” Only one rabid Riel-hater interrupted him, and the man was thrown out of the meeting.
Riel wrote happily to his family in Manitoba, “Not long ago I was a humble schoolmaster on the far away banks of the Missouri, and here I am today in the ranks of the most popular public men in the Saskatchewan… What has brought all this about?… it is God.”
Though Louis believed that God was on his side, he soon found out that most of the local clergy were not. Father Alexis Andre, whose parish was at Prince Albert, distrusted him. And when Riel met with First Nations chiefs to discuss their desperate need for more rations from the government, Father Andre became ever more worried, for he feared Riel might incite an uprising.
In early August, Louis made a speech criticizing local priests. “Why do they not back me wholeheartedly?” he demanded. And many listeners murmured their agreement.
Soon afterward, he and Father Andre had a row.
“You priests lead the Métis to obey the government even though their rights are trampled on,” he told the old priest. “But they are a chosen people, with a special destiny you do not understand.”
Father Andre tugged his grizzled grey beard in annoyance. “Nonsense!” he said.
Riel’s temper flared. “My task is not just political,” he shouted. “I have a special and divine mission to fulfill. The old Catholic religion is going to change. The Holy Spirit has told me that!”
“You are a fanatic,” snapped Father Andre. “Your ideas are heretical!”
“You are a coward and a man sold to the government,” Riel shot back. Turning on his heel, he stomped out.
Riel and his supporters began working on a petition to the government. A draft of it was ready by October. The document demanded aid for First Nations, patents for lands already settled, and special land grants for Métis to extinguish their aboriginal title to the land, as had been done in Manitoba. Tariff reform and homestead regulations were also requested. The Saskatchewan district was to become a province with responsible government, vote by ballot, and control of natural resources. Riel had added a list of his own grievances. After discussion, the petition was sent to the Secretary of State on December 16.
Meanwhile, Riel’s rift with the clergy had deepened. He and other Métis leaders had confronted Bishop Vidal Grandin of Prince Albert over the priests’ lack of support.
“Your clergy do not attend our meetings,” they told him. “Do they not care about our grievances?”
Despite this, Riel still attended mass regularly. But inwardly, he burned with religious exaltation. He began keeping a diary, in which he wrote down prayers and conversations with God. He also jotted notes urging himself to fast and live ever more simply, keeping to a plain diet and drinking a broth of bull’s blood as a tonic.
One day, he and Louis Schmidt were invited to a Métis wedding. “Where are you going, Louis?” Schmidt asked afterward, as a bountiful feast was spread and the fiddles were being tuned for the dancing.
“Upstairs,” said Riel. “To pray.” He spent the entire night on his knees,
I November, Father Fourmond, the priest at St. Laurent, circulated a petition calling for a subsidy for a Catholic school in his parish. Riel was furious, because he knew this petition would anger Protestants. It did, and Riel was blamed. Much of his hard work to unify French-speaking and English-speaking settlers was undone.
His resentment against the clergy smouldered. Then, one day in December, he burst in on Father Andre and other priests who were in the midst of a retreat. “You do not support our movement,” he accused. “Do you even care what happens to the Métis people?”
“From now on we will treat you as an enemy,” warned Father André.
At this, Louis fell to his knees and wept. They led him to the altar, and he swore never to lead an uprising against the government.
Father Andre knew Riel hoped for compensation for the wrongs he felt he had suffered, and thought that if he got it he might be persuaded to leave Canada. So he set up a meeting between Riel and Andrew MacDowall, the local representative to the North-West Council. Riel said that the government owed him an indemnity of $100,000 for services rendered. He had governed Manitoba from the passing of the Manitoba Act in May 1870 until the arrival of Wolseley’s troops in August. He had convinced the Métis to support the Manitoba government against the Fenians in 1871, and had given up a sure seat in Parliament to Cartier in 1872. By refusing for years to grant him the amnesty promised in 1870, the government had made it impossible for him to live and earn a living in his own country. In addition, he had never received the 240 acres (593 hectares) of land he was entitled to under the Manitoba Act.
“For all these wrongs, I am willing to accept a first installment of $35,000,” he told Father Andre and MacDowall. He could not resist getting in a pun, adding with a smile, “My name is Riel, and I want material!” Then he went on, “If I am satisfied with the deal agreed upon, the Métis will be, too.”
MacDowall took this to mean that Riel was offering to sell out his supporters for personal financial gain. However, Napoleon Nault claimed that Riel and other Métis had discussed the amount of the indemnity at a meeting and hoped to use the money to purchase a printing press for a Métis newspaper. But MacDowall’s report intensified Prime Minister Macdonald’s dislike and distrust of Riel, and encouraged him to discount the seriousness of Métis grievances.
For more than a month, people waited for the government’s response to their petition. In late January, the government set up a Land Claims Commission to create a list of Saskatchewan Métis who might receive land grants, as had been done in Manitoba. But when Riel at last saw the telegram announcing this, he was outraged. “There are no land claims for Métis who received them in Manitoba,” he protested. “Nor any mention of patents for land already occupied!”
And there was no word of any compensation for him.
On February 24, Riel stood up before a meeting in the church at Batoche after the telegram had been read out. “The government has robbed the people of the West of their land!” he cried. “It refuses to listen to their grievances!” Then he lowered his voice, and his tone became caressing. “My work here is done,” he went on. “I helped draft your petition. Well, you have the government’s answer. I can do you no more good, for the government will not treat with me. It’s time for me to return to Montana.”
“No! No!” Angry voices echoed off the rafters.
A very old Métis tottered to his feet. “If you leave, nephew, we will go with you,” he vowed, and the rest shouted their agreement.
Louis waited for the uproar to die down, his gaze moving from one eager face to another. “But the consequences?” he asked softly.
“We will accept them!” answered the voices of his people.
“Then I will not leave you,” promised Riel.
On March 1, he told another meeting that it was time to try new tactics. “Perhaps the Métis should bare their teeth,” he told them, his dark eyes burning.
The next day, Riel went to see Father Andre. “The Canadian government has broken all the promises it made to the Métis people under the Manitoba Act,” he reminded him. “It did not grant the full amnesty it promised, and most people did not get the lands they were entitled to. Now the same thing is happening here. We must establish a provisional government to renegotiate our rights. I want your support.”
“Never!” said the old priest.
On March 7, the Métis of St. Laurent received more bad news. The Canadian government had refused most of them title to the land they had claimed for years. They would have to apply again and fulfill conditions like any other homesteaders.
“Now is the time,” Riel told them. “Let us form a provisional government.”
Charles Nolin, however, was afraid to go that far. He proposed nine days of prayer and reflection before taking any action, and Riel agreed. But on March 15, Father Fourmond announced at mass that he would not allow anyone who took part in an armed uprising to take communion.
“How dare you refuse the sacrament to those who would take up arms in defence of their most sacred rights?” cried Louis.
In his diary that night he wrote, “Lord our God…allow us to take the same position we did in ‘69 and to maintain it most gloriously….”
On March 17 some Métis happened to meet Lawrence Clarke, the chief factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company post at Fort Carlton. “What do you think the government will do about Métis land claims?” they asked him.
“The only answer you will get will be bullets,” Clarke told them. “And I saw five hundred North West Mounted Police on their way to capture your leaders, especially Riel.”
This was untrue, but the Métis hurried to warn Riel.
“I can wait no longer,” he told them. “The time has come now to rule this country or perish in the attempt.”
On March 19, Riel and a party of armed horseman rode up to the church at Batoche. They had already seized arms and ammunition and taken prisoners. Riel now proposed to hold a meeting in the church.
“I protest!” cried Father Moulin.
“Listen to him!” jeered Riel. “He’s a Protestant!” Then, in a solemn voice, “Old Rome is fallen!”
They rode on through wet snow to St. Laurent. There, Riel declared a provisional government. He called it the Exovedate, a made-up word based on Latin. It meant “those chosen from the flock.” The Exovedate included Gabriel Dumont and other Métis activists. Riel himself did not join the council. He preferred the role of prophet.
For the next few days Riel tried to persuade the English-speaking mixed-bloods to support the Exovedate. But they wanted to remain neutral. Meanwhile, Gabriel Dumont set out with a party of Métis to commandeer supplies from a store in Duck Lake, a village west of Batoche. Superintendent Leif Crozier of the North West Mounted Police also sent a patrol to collect the supplies. At Duck Lake the two parties clashed. After a great deal of shoving and shouting and brandishing of weapons, the police patrol retreated to Fort Carlton.
Superintendent Crozier then set off for Duck Lake with a larger force of mounted troops and men in sleighs. They even took along a small cannon. Meanwhile, Riel had joined about three hundred armed Métis gathered at Duck Lake.
“The police are coming back,” warned a scout. “More men. With arms, a cannon!”
“We’ll ambush them on the Carlton trail,” ordered Dumont.
But police scouts saw them, and both sides sent men forward to parley. Suddenly there was a scuffle - a man on the police side moved his horse forward, and a Cree interpreter, who was unarmed, grabbed at the policeman’s rifle. The gun went off, and the interpreter fell dead. Then Crozier gave the order to fire, and Isidore Dumont, Gabriel’s elder brother, was the first Métis to die.
As the Métis returned fire, Riel sat his horse in plain view, bullets whistling around him. He prayed aloud and held up a crucifix. After half an hour, the police retreated.
“After them!” ordered Dumont.
“No!” cried Riel. “There has been too much blood spilled already. Come, we must pray for the dead.”
It was a thrilling victory. With only a few losses, the Métis had forced the famous North West Mounted Police to turn tail and run. Better yet, the police evacuated Fort Carlton that night and retreated to Prince Albert.
“Let me attack them in the dark,” urged Dumont. “We can kill many that way.”
Riel shook his head. “It’s too savage,” he replied.
The Métis “liberated” many valuable supplies from the Hudson’s Bay store at the fort. And from papers left behind they learned that an armed force was already on its way from Canada. Prime Minister Macdonald had ordered General Middleton west on March 23. Canadian troops would be sent by train to the railhead at Fort Qu’Appelle, and from there they would march on Batoche.
After Duck Lake, Riel had no hope of support from white settlers, and the English-speaking mixed-bloods remained neutral. But he still hoped other Métis and the First Nations people would rally to his cause. The past summer, Big Bear and other chiefs had already asked him to help create a list of their grievances against the government. During the fall and winter, Dumont had also maintained his network of contacts with tribes along the North Saskatchewan River. So after Duck Lake, Riel sent more messages to these tribes and to the Métis of the Saskatchewan district. “Take provisions and ammunition,” he wrote, “and come to us.” But few Métis arrived, and the First Nations followed their own agenda. Some militant warriors were encouraged by the Métis victory. Against the advice of their senior chiefs, they decided to attack. There were raids at places such as Battleford, Lac La Biche, and Frog Lake. A number of people, including two priests, were killed and others were taken prisoner. Only a few Sioux and Cree warriors went to Batoche.
Riel hoped that the threat of a rising by the First Nations would force the Canadian government to negotiate. But newspapers in the East trumpeted the killings of priests and settlers, and Riel was blamed. The threat of an Indian war increased the number of volunteers eager to rush west on the Canadian Pacific Railway and put down the Métis rebellion. Few asked what had driven desperate people to rebel in the first place.
“If we don’t do something Middleton will be on our doorstep,” Dumont told Riel. For on April 6 the Métis had learned that Canadian troops were on their way from Fort Qu’Appelle.
“Reinforcements may soon join us,” countered Riel. “We must wait and strike the enemy when they get closer.”
“Why not harass them now? Keep them from sleeping at night. Demoralize them,” urged Dumont. “That’s the way to make them lose heart!”
“We must wait for our enemies to attack us,” said Riel.
“But…” Dumont’s words trailed away. He had confidence in Louis’s faith and his prayers, and believed God would listen to him. They all did.
So Riel and the Exovedate focused on religious issues. Louis prayed and wrote down his revelations. Some of these he brought to the Exovedate, which voted on the measures he advised. Among these were changing the day of worship from Sunday to Saturday, and renaming the names of the days of the week. The council had already voted him prophet of the Métis.
But despite his trust in his revelations, even Riel had his moments of dread. On April 21, he wrote in his diary: “I have seen the giant - he is coming. It is Goliath.”
At last, Dumont confronted Riel. “The men’s nerves are in tatters from doing nothing,” he complained. “We must act!”
“You know my thinking,” replied Riel. “And the Exovedate backs me.”
“But why give all the advantages to the enemy?” demanded Dumont. “Let me slow them down, give our allies time to arrive.”
Riel gave in. “All right!” he sighed. “Do as you wish.”
“We’ll deal with them as we do buffalo!” growled Dumont.
On the night of April 23, Dumont rode to Fish Creek with a force of two hundred Métis. Riel went with him and insisted that they get down on their knees and pray at every stop. Word came that police were moving along the Qu’Appelle road, so Dumont sent twenty-five men and Riel back to guard Batoche. “We won’t be saying the rosary so much now, so we’ll move faster,” he joked as he and his men rode on.
Dumont hid his men among the trees and bushes of the ravine. The next morning, Canadian scouts spotted Métis horsemen, and the chance of an ambush was lost. The Canadians moved forward, and firing began. Middleton had a force of eight hundred men and a nine-pounder cannon. But the Métis fought fiercely, falling back, as ordered, when they ran out of ammunition. By afternoon there were only fifty-four Métis fighters left in the ravine. In the nick of time, Dumont’s brother àdouard galloped up with seventy reinforcements.
Back in Batoche, Riel had gathered the women and children around him. The shooting and cannon fire at Fish Creek could be clearly heard. Kneeling on the ground, his arms extended in the form of a cross, Louis stormed heaven. “Hear my prayers, O Lord!” he cried.
As darkness fell, the shooting died away and both forces fell back. Against all odds, the Métis had fought Middleton’s troops to a standstill. In the East, the battle was reported as a stinging defeat for the Canadian forces. At Batoche, the Métis celebrated their miracle.
Middleton waited for reinforcements before he advanced again. Dumont spent the time having trenches and rifle pits dug around the village. When the Battle of Batoche began, on May 9, he rushed his men from one position to another, making his force seem far larger than it really was. The Canadian troops had better weapons - modern rifles, cannon, and even a Gatling gun, a kind of early machine-gun. But although they skirmished with the Métis fighters, they failed to capture the village.
Amid the whine of bullets, the boom of cannon, and the deadly chatter of the Gatling gun, Louis walked around holding a crucifix. He read from the Bible and prayed that the enemies of the Métis would be destroyed. But on the morning of May 12, the Canadian troops, weary of Middleton’s cautious tactics, stormed the village.
As the rifle pits were overrun, Riel knelt in prayer. “Work your miracle now,” urged one of his followers. “Its time!” But this time there was no miracle. The Métis fought house by house, but at last the surviving fighters retreated, still firing. They faded into the woods, and the battle was over.
Riel and Dumont met among the trees.
“What are we going to do?” asked Riel.
Dumont shrugged. “We are beaten. We must die,” he said. “You must have known that in taking up arms we would be defeated. Very well, they must destroy us.”
Marguerite Riel and the children were hiding in a cave near the river. Dumont found blankets for them, and Riel later saw them safely across the river to the house of Moïse Ouellette. Then he returned to the other shore. In the confusion, he and Dumont missed each other, and Dumont was told that Riel had surrendered. On May 13, when he received a letter from Middleton offering protection, Gabriel responded bluntly, “You tell Middleton that I am in the woods, and that I still have ninety cartridges to use on his men.” Soon after, he rode for the Montana border.
Riel’s courage was of a different sort. Let them put me on trial, where I can plead for the Métis cause, he told himself. Let the people of Canada hear what I have to say. I will surrender. “I’m the one they want,” he told Napoléon Nault, “and when my enemies have me they’ll be overjoyed: but my people will be at peace and they will get justice.” To Middleton, Louis wrote: “My council are dispersed. I wish you would let them [be] quiet and free… Would I go to Batoche, who is going to receive me? I will go to fulfill God’s will.”
Later that day, with a white handkerchief tied around his sleeve and Middleton’s letter in his pocket, he walked up to a party of Canadian scouts.
“Who goes there?” came the challenge.
“Louis Riel,” was the reply.