Reminiscences of a Raconteur, Between the '40s and the '20sHam, George H. (George Henry)
History
Reminiscences of a Raconteur, Between the '40s and the '20s
Ham, George H. (George Henry)
Canada; Ham, George H. (George Henry), 1847-1926; Journalists -- Canada -- Biography
I went, but before I did I engaged Alex. Berard, a Fort Rouge Metis,
whom I knew well, to accompany me. I agreed to give him $300 if he got
me into Riel’s camp before the troops at Batoche, and as a pledge of
good faith gave his wife $18, on the distinct understanding that if I
were killed, I wouldn’t pay the $300 and would get my $18 back. Aleck
and I, with a lot of provisions, went out to Qu’Appelle where General
Middleton and his forces were preparing for the northern movement.
Unfortunately, like the parrot who got its neck twisted, I talked too
much and disclosed my plan to a comrade, who told it to some one else
and finally it reached the ears of the General, who at once sent Aleck
home. Thus what might possibly have been one of the greatest newspaper
scoops of the day was frustrated and the ultimate decision arrived at by
myself was that whenever a blooming idiot was missing I could assuredly
find him by gazing into a mirror.
In no cheerful frame of mind I strolled out along the beautiful valley
of the Qu’Apelle, which in English means “Who calls?”—and I heard a
voice “Hey there, George” calling me—the sweet dulcet voice of Col.
Allan Macdonald, the Indian agent at Qu’Appelle.
“Hop in here, old man, and take a drive,” he said.
So I got into his buckboard and innocently asked where he thought his
destination might be.
“Oh, just over to the File Hills,” he said. “There’s a report that
Nicol, the farm instructor, and his wife have been killed by the Indians
and I’m going out to see.”
We passed an Indian on a load of straw en route, and I never realized
till then how much better poor Lo looks on a load of straw than he does
on the war path. We reached the Superintendent’s house just before dark
to find that the report of his death was a little premature, and also
ascertained that the File Hill Indians were not in the most beautiful
frame of mind. After supper, beds were made for us on the floor, and the
Colonel cautioned me to sleep with one eye open and to have my gun
ready, which I did by promptly falling sound asleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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