Before the Outbreak.

On the evening of March 28th, I closed the trading shop early and, with my skates under my arm, walked over to Frog Creek, intending to skate down to Gowanlock's. Gowanlock lived in a house near the dam, with his wife and a clerk named William Gilchrist.

The weather had been mild for some days and there was much water on the ice. I had not skated two miles before I was thoroughly wet and decided to go ashore and walk back to the settlement.

The trail took me through Big Bear's camp. The band was in the council. The smoke-blackened tops of the lodges stood among the naked poplars, through the ugly, swinging limbs of which the raw north wind swept in fitful gusts, soughing dismally. Underneath, the rumpled snow softened in the first clasp of spring. The stars hid behind the cheerless grey curtain of clouds overhead. In and out between the lodges slunk stealthy, starving curs, snapping viciously at one another over bones long picked clean.

I noticed the tense, serious looks, on the faces of the warriors smoking the long stone pipe around the fire in its centre as I entered the lodge. I saw at once that this was no ordinary social affair. I pulled once or twice at the pipe when it came to me in its course around the circle and I heard and understood, though the talk in the Cree's tongue was guarded, to make it clear that subdued excitement burned in the breasts of the Indians-that they were contemplating some eventful step.

The talk was about "news". Wandering Spirit, the war chief, rose and spoke earnestly in his low, impassioned voice and with that transfixing look in his dark eyes that I have never seen in those of any other Indian. Then he drew his shirt over his head and presented it to Longfellow, brother to a Wood Cree chief. Longfellow followed, and he in turn handed his shirt to Wandering Spirit. And all the while the calumet of compact continued to pass from mouth to mouth round the circle. Big Bear's band, it was evident, was making proposals of some kind to the Wood Crees.

Big Bear was away, hunting in the mountains to the north of Frog Lake with his two sons. Little Poplar, with his family, was at Battleford.

I knew all the Indians well, for I had met them almost daily at the trading post during the winter. But I saw that I was not altogether welcome and I soon left. As I walked home through the slush in the dull and lonely night, I had a premonition of evil days at hand and I felt uneasy and depressed.

It was three days later that we got the "news" the Indians were evidently expecting. I strolled into the mounted police barracks at eleven o'clock at night and found Constable Billy Anderson just arrived with the report of the half-breed rising at Duck Lake. He had ridden the thirty-five miles from Fort Pitt in a little over three hours, through the darkness and the melting snow, across the slippery, hilly country, and his horse steamed sweat. He had brought dispatches from Captain Dickens for the corporal in charge of the Frog Lake detachment, R. B. Sleigh.

The police at Fort Carlton and the Prince Albert Volunteers, said the dispatches, had met the rebels under Riel and Dumont and after a sharp engagement had been compelled to retreat, with a loss of thirteen men killed and many wounded. The Captain suggested that the Indian agent and the other white residents at Frog Lake should come into Fort Pitt. He added that he was ready to come with his men to Frog Lake, however, if we thought that the better plan. The Fort Pitt garrison numbered about twenty.

Anderson had brought mail for the settlement. I was postmaster and walked over to the Hudson's Bay Company's post to sort it. Indian Agent Quinn dropped in on his way to the Roman Catholic mission to tell the priest. He asked me to accompany him.

"Well, Cameron, we'll be pulling out of here before daylight. I suppose you'll be ready?" he said as we walked along. I had not considered going, and I told him so.

"There's a lot of furs and stores on hand here. My chief's at Pitt and I'm in charge. If he'd wanted me to go in he'd have written. I'm hardly at liberty to leave without orders."

Quinn stopped abruptly and faced me. "Don't be a fool, Cameron!" he exploded. "You don't know Indians as I know them. You're not obliged to wait for orders to save your life."

His vehemence surprised me, but I answered stubbornly: "If I felt like that about it, I wouldn't hesitate; I'd go. But I don't. These Indians aren't going to kill me, whatever happens. I'm not trying to influence anybody, though. Anyone who doesn't feel safe should leave, I'm thinking."

Secretly, I hoped they all would leave. I should feel safer alone with the Indians. And I smelled adventure, something that appealed to me. I was young. But as Quinn had said, I did not know Indians. I only thought I did. I realized this a day or two later.

Quinn did not try further to persuade me and we went together to the mission. Pere Fafard was in bed, but he came down and opened the door at our knock. An old man named Williscraft, staying with the priest, was present while we discussed the situation and Quinn proposed to the priest that we join the other whites and leave Frog Lake.

The missionary at once demurred. We should, he said, show that we had confidence in the Indians, now trouble was come.

Because, I suppose, he was a Roman Catholic, the priest's views upset Quinn's own better judgment. "Oh, all right, Father," he said; "if that's how you feel, I'll stay, too, though I did think that to go to Pitt would be wisest for us all."

We went in a body to Delaney's. Besides the farming instructor and his wife, Corporal Sleigh, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Gilchrist and George Dill were present. The question was debated anew. Father Fafard again voiced his views, and at length, it was decided that, with the exception of the police, we should all remain at Frog Lake. In view of the recent reverse at Duck Lake and the known sympathy of the Indians with their kinsmen, the half-breeds, while refraining from advising the others as to their course, I advocated the departure of the police. Six policemen would be no possible protection to us in the event of an outbreak against the overwhelming numbers of the Indians, while if Big Bear's band was evilly disposed they would begin the trouble by picking a quarrel with the redcoats. Sleigh was ready to go or to stay, as we wished.

Quinn agreed with me. "And, since you're going, Corporal," he said, "I wouldn't lose any time in getting away. If the Indians learned of it there's no telling. They might take it into their heads to stop you."

I said to Sleigh: "I've two kegs of powder and eighty pounds of ball over at the shop. It would be as well out of the way. If you're not too heavily loaded". "Sure," he said. "We can take it, all right."

He sent Constable Loasby with me and we brought the ammunition to the barracks. I kept a little powder and a few loose balls were left scattered about the floor. I reasoned that if the Indians rose and asked me for ammunition, it would not conduce to their friendliness to be told that I had none. Either they would suspect me of lying or of having made away with it.

Just before daybreak a double police sleigh slipped out of Frog Lake and disappeared among the hills across the chain of lakes opposite. And I had taken my last leave of Corporal Sleigh, as true a gentleman as ever wore the Queen's uniform.

When I went to my room at the post to throw myself on the bed for a little sleep, I glanced out of the window. An Indian in a red blanket, rubbing his eyes, hurried along the deserted road in the track of the departed sleigh. Here was fresh "news" for Big Bear's band.