"These men came down to massacre my people, that they might
henceforth be clad with glory. They have not destroyed any of my men;
but their dead strew the plain. They are at my mercy; so utterly,
too, that if I desire it, not a man of all the host shall return to
give tidings to his friends. You ask me to stay my hand. Ah! It is
hard. But you ask it; you, my little lover-playmate of the sunny
Saskatchewan. I consent!" Then he strode down among his men, and
ordered them to cease. Naught-but the ascendancy which the splendid
chief had gained over his followers, through his wisdom and his
prowess, could have prevailed upon them to stay their hand, now that
the men who had broken solemn faith were at their mercy. But they
unstrung their bows, shouldered their muskets, and permitted the
invaders to depart. Then Julie knelt at her lover's feet, and kissed
his hand with reverent gratitude; and he laid his hand upon her head,
and bade her arise.
Before I leave this feature of my narrative I may state that Captain
Beaver subsequently sought to justify this wanton breach of faith
with the Indians, upon the ground of military policy; affirming that
the "punishment" which he inflicted upon the chief prevented the
latter joining forces with the rebel Metis. As to the punishment
there was very little inflicted upon the Indians;--it was
emphatically conferred in another direction. As to the statement that
the attack prevented Poplar from joining the rebel forces at Hatchet
Creek, the same is absurdly untrue. Little Poplar did actually set
out, after the attack, to join the bois-brules, and he deliberately--I
was going to say contemptuously--exposed himself to the flank attack
by Beaver's men, of which movement, we are told, he had been so much
in dread. In due time, as the chief was pursuing his march, tidings
came to him that the Metis had been overwhelmed. Then he surrendered;
--and thereafter for many a dreary month there was no happiness for
Julie. I may as well anticipate events, and say that this dear girl
brought it emphatically to the knowledge of the authorities that her
beloved chief early in the war had served the white people in the
hour of peril; and that the offence for which he stood committed now
had been forced upon him by the bad faith of a Canadian militia
officer. At last he was released; and holding his hand, apparelled in
proper attire, she walked out by his side to a little cottage wherein
a priest stood waiting to wed the two. Her happiness was very great,
as may be guessed when I state that in each of her beautiful eyes a
tear glimmered like you see a drop of rain glitter upon the thorn
bush, when the storm has ended, and the sun shines. Her lover took
her many miles up the Saskatchewan, where she said she would remain
till Annette got "settled." A friend has lately been at her cottage,
and he tells me that she has a "cherub of a baby," absurdly like
herself in all save its skin, which is rather of a mahogany cast. The
chief and his petite wife are very happy; and many a time under the
blossoms of their own orchard, or when the wind howls like a belated
wolf, they discuss the alternation of sorrow and joy which fell to
their lot when the two maidens went disguised as scouts over the
unbounded prairie. My great wish is that all the pretty and
noble-harted girls of my acquaintance may be as happy as my sweet
Julie.