North-West Rebellion Louis Riel's Mission

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North-West Rebellion

Bill Waiser

In early June 1884, four men rode into St. Paul, Montana. They had come in search of exiled Métis leader Louis Riel with a special invitation that he return with them to the Saskatchewan country to take up their cause. The 40-year-old Riel, who was quietly working as a school teacher at the local mission, had been expecting the delegation. He observed that there were four of them and that they had arrived on the fourth of June.

Louis Riel's Mission

Riel's return to Western Canada in the summer of 1884 marked a new phase in the attempt by the people of the Saskatchewan country to get the federal government to deal with a number of problems. Farmers in the region, both Mixed-Blood[1] and White, had suffered through a series of bad harvests in the early 1880s and faced a future of hardship and uncertainty. They had also lost a vital transportation link when the Canadian Pacific Railway abandoned the so-called "Yellowhead" route in 1882 in favour of one across the southern prairies. Settlers now found themselves 300 kilometres north of the main line, a situation that bred a strong sense of grievance and alienation.

The most urgent concern was land, particularly for the approximately 1,500 Métis who lived along the South Saskatchewan River between Prairie-Ronde (Dundurn) in the south and Prince Albert in the north-the so-called "South Branch" communities. Before development engulfed the region, the predominantly French-speaking, Roman Catholic Métis wanted their river-lot farms formally recognized; the square-survey system being laid out across the West threatened to throw their traditional landholdings into disarray. Several of them also sought compensation for the loss of their Aboriginal title in the North-West Territories, in keeping with similar provisions in the 1870 Manitoba Act; in fact, some argued that they had outstanding land claims in Manitoba. It is, however, a mistake to argue, as George Stanley has in The Birth of Western Canada, that Métis who had migrated to the region in steadily increasing numbers in the 1860s and 1870s, especially after the 1869-1870 Red River Resistance, were nothing more than a primitive people trying to escape the advance of a more sophisticated civilization. More likely, they either moved into the Saskatchewan country as part of their natural migration westward-the Gerhard Ens interpretation-or were pushed out of Manitoba-as Douglas Sprague contends-by intolerant Ontario settlers. Whatever the explanation for the Métis migration, the South Branch communities wanted to participate in the new economy taking shape on the northern plains but not at the expense of their distinctive culture and traditions.[2]

Throughout the early 1880s, the people of the Saskatchewan country sent the federal government a number of petitions. When Ottawa repeatedly failed to respond-the Department of the Interior acted more like the department of indifference-the Métis and Whites collectively decided to invite Louis Riel to return to Canada to help secure redress of their grievances. As the successful leader of the Red River Resistance, Riel was regarded as the best person to direct the peaceful agitation. But the Riel who welcomed the four-man delegation in 1884 was not the same Riel of Red River days. Although still a charismatic figure, he had suffered a mental breakdown in the mid-1870s and had assumed the mantle of God's personal emissary. In his new role as the prophet "David," he hoped to relocate the papacy to Canada-first to Montreal and then to St. Vital, Manitoba-and create a homeland in the North-West for the Métis, the Indians, and other oppressed peoples of the world in preparation for the day of judgement. This religious mission, not his past experience as a political leader, prompted Riel to return to Canada; the invitation was the sign he had been waiting for. The exact nature of Riel's understanding of his mission, however, is still debated. Political scientist Tom Flanagan suggests that Riel can best be understood as a messianic figure who deliberately pushed the Métis toward open rebellion to fulfil his chosen role as God's personal emissary. Writer Maggie Siggins, on the other hand, argues that Riel was a misunderstood revolutionary leader who served as a bridge between the Indian and White cultures.[3]

From Agitation to Rebellion

In advancing the grievances of the Saskatchewan country, Riel followed a public and private agenda. On the one hand, he faithfully pursued traditional methods of protest by convening meetings, submitting petitions, and ranting against Ottawa and its lethargy. On the other, he quietly plotted to repeat the success of the Red River Resistance 15 years earlier-only this time with the collective might of an Indian-Métis alliance. There was good reason for the First Nations to listen to Riel. Since the signing of Treaty 6 at forts Carlton and Pitt in 1876, the Cree had known only disappointment, frustration, and betrayal. The almost overnight disappearance of the once-great buffalo herds, combined with the difficulties of making the transition to farming, had reduced the Indians to a state of deprivation and, in many areas, outright starvation. But instead of honouring treaty obligations, Canadian Indian Affairs officials deliberately used the situation to pursue a policy of coercion and control-what Indian Commissioner Edgar Dewdney described as "sheer compulsion."[4] Promised agricultural assistance was either inadequate or not forthcoming. Rations, meanwhile, were distributed only to those bands that had settled on government-approved reserves, and, even then, the Indians had to perform menial duties in order to receive food.

These wretched conditions might have driven the Indians into Riel's arms; after all, he persistently told the local bands that their problems were his problems, and that by joining with the Métis they could drive the Whites from their lands and reclaim some of their former greatness.[5] But the Cree had made a solemn vow during the treaty negotiations to live in peace with Queen Victoria, and they were not prepared to break this pledge and plunge the region into war, even if Ottawa was violating both the terms and spirit of the treaty. Instead, the Cree, led by Big Bear, the senior chief in the Pitt district, had decided on a diplomatic offensive to force the government to honour its promises by peaceful means. This Cree initiative was enjoying unprecedented success by the time that Riel returned to Canada-there was even the possibility of co-operation with their traditional enemies, the Blackfoot-and Big Bear and others knew that the least involvement with Riel's activities would spoil any chance of persuading Ottawa to revise the treaty. Indian leaders consequently resisted the Métis leader's entreaties. They had their own solutions to their problems, and those solutions did not include open rebellion.

In January 1885, the federal government finally announced that it would be creating a commission to investigate Métis grievances. But the continuing delay only played into Riel's hands, and he began to advocate more forceful measures, in particular the creation of a provisional government, while at the same time denouncing the church and threatening Ottawa. These stances cost Riel the support of

disaffected White settlers, the local Roman Catholic clergy, and even large segments of the Mixed- Blood community. Yet he remained confident about his sacred mission and seemed to believe that the Indians would ultimately support him; besides, he already had the backing of a small group of more militant Métis who were ready to follow him whatever the cost. The suggestion by Don McLean, however, that the Conservative administration of John A. Macdonald deliberately tried to provoke Riel into action in order to speed completion of the cash-strapped Pacific railway is sheer nonsense.[6] Ottawa was already experiencing considerable difficulty attracting settlers to the North-West, and a frontier war would likely paralyze immigration to the region for several years. If the federal government was guilty of anything, it was neglect-not conspiracy.

Riel made his move on 19 March 1885, when he declared the formation of a provisional government at his Batoche headquarters and demanded the surrender of forts Carlton and Battleford. One week later, a small Métis party, under Riel's general Gabriel Dumont, intercepted a combined force of North-West Mounted Police (NWMP) and civilian volunteers on its way from Carlton to confiscate guns and ammunition at a nearby Duck Lake store. From the beginning of the troubles, Riel's strategy was to take hostages, make threats, and force the Canadian government to negotiate. But the Carlton force suspected a trap that early spring morning, and the tense standoff quickly dissolved into shooting. By the time NWMP Superintendent Leif Crozier ordered a retreat, he left behind 12 dead; the Métis lost 4 men. The police subsequently abandoned Fort Carlton and fled north to Prince Albert, where they hunkered down for the remainder of the troubles.

The Battle of Duck Lake is often cited as the opening salvo in Canada's first and only civil war. The clash was significant for a number of reasons. It made a negotiated settlement impossible and effectively forced Riel and his Métis followers to fight a rebellion they could not win. The reason they could not win is that the Conservative federal government, upon learning of Crozier's defeat, quickly mobilized a large militia force to put down the insurrection; the Prime Minister, Macdonald, may have ignored Western grievances, but war was another matter. The situation was also fundamentally different than that at Red River in 1869-1870. Now, not only did Riel enjoy limited support, but, more importantly, the territories were also not as isolated, thanks to the nearly completed Canadian Pacific Railway. Ottawa could consequently get thousands of men in the field in a matter of weeks. The swiftness of the government response was also motivated in part by its misguided belief that the Métis could count on Indian support. The Duck Lake battle had taken place on that part of the Carlton trail that ran through Beardy's reserve; Indians were also spotted in Métis ranks. Canadian officials easily concluded, then, that the Cree had joined forces with Riel and that they were actually dealing with a combined Indian- Métis insurgency that could sweep across the western interior. Little did they realize that the majority of the region's First Nations wanted nothing to do with the rebellion and that most Indians at Batoche had been taken there against their will. Michel Dumas, the farm instructor at the nearby One Arrow reserve and future secretary of Riel's governing council, for example, ordered the Willow Cree to slaughter their cattle and join the Métis.[7]

Bloody Prairie Spring

This fear that the North-West Rebellion, like a prairie fire, might not be contained was fuelled by events elsewhere. Upon hearing of the Duck Lake battle, chiefs Little Pine and Poundmaker decided to lead a delegation to Fort Battleford, at the junction of the Battle and North Saskatchewan rivers, to confirm their allegiance to the Crown and secure rations for their hungry bands. But, by the time the Indians reached Battleford on 30 March 1885, all of the town's 500 residents had taken refuge in the small police stockade in the belief that incoming Cree had warlike intentions. Little Pine and Poundmaker patiently waited all day for the local Indian agent to meet with them; only when it became apparent that their mission to Battleford had been in vain did some of the Indians help themselves to provisions and other items in the abandoned stores and homes before heading back home late that night. From the vantage of

the stockade, the frightened residents believed that they were under siege-how else would one explain the looting if Cree intentions were peaceful? The Indians had done nothing, however, to harass the townspeople; the telegraph line, for example, was not cut. Indeed this same telegraph line would be used by the beleaguered residents of the stockade to plead with Canadian authorities to send someone to rescue them before it was too late.

Three days later, the horrifying news of a massacre at the tiny hamlet of Frog Lake, a community along the North Saskatchewan River near the present-day Alberta-Saskatchewan border, made things seem even worse. Chafing under the rule of a mean-spirited Indian agent, several of the more aggressive members of Big Bear's band decided to take advantage of the police defeat at Duck Lake by making prisoners of the Frog Lake residents and by helping themselves to much-needed rations. But the plan turned into a murderous rampage on the morning of 2 April 1885 when Wandering Spirit and his warriors found alcohol during their looting spree. After consuming some liquor, they turned their guns on their hostages. By the time Big Bear, who had been away at the start of the trouble and pushed aside by the warrior society, could stop the carnage, nine men lay dead, including the Indian agent, the farm instructor, and two Catholic priests. Although Riel had not orchestrated the killings at Frog Lake, the link between the two seemed obvious; it was as if the rebellion virus had infected the North Saskatchewan country. The other victim that tragic morning was Big Bear's diplomatic initiative. Even though he exercised only limited authority over his followers, as chief, he was held personally responsible for the murders.

Canada Responds

Such was the situation that faced Major-General Frederick Middleton, the 60-year-old commander of the Canadian militia who was handed the task of organizing and leading the 8,000-strong punitive force against Riel. Old Fred, as his men mockingly called him, decided from the outset to concentrate his army's energies on the Métis stronghold at Batoche, believing that a quick knock-out blow there would effectively end the rebellion. He consequently started north from Fort Qu'Appelle on 6 April 1885 with the first of the troops in the field, confident that any resistance would melt away like the spring snow once his force arrived in rebel territory. The events in the Battleford and Pitt areas, however, forced Middleton to amend his plan. On 11 April, he instructed Lieutenant-Colonel W.D. Otter and his 500 men to proceed directly from Swift Current to North Battleford, instead of descending the South Saskatchewan River to Batoche as originally arranged. Another assault force would march north from Calgary to Edmonton and then eastward along the North Saskatchewan River. Middleton largely regarded these secondary columns as a security measure; his sights remained firmly fixed on Batoche.

The Métis, in the meantime, made no attempt to draw on their familiarity with the countryside and conduct a guerrilla campaign but calmly prepared to meet the Canadian response by building an elaborate system of trenches at Batoche. This decision to lie in wait on Métis home ground was made at the urging of Riel; as a prophet with a divine mission, he believed that God was on his side and that there was nothing to fear from the approaching army. Indeed, the only action that Riel approved in the first few weeks of the campaign was the dispatch of messengers to outlying Indian reserves with an invitation to join him. The recruitment of First Nations men-by force in the case of the Whitecap Sioux at Moose Woods[8]-was made necessary because too many of the local Métis refused to take part in the troubles; only an estimated 250 of a total regional Métis population of some 1,500 were prepared to defend Batoche.

By 23 April 1885, Middleton's 800-man force, now divided into columns on both sides of the South Saskatchewan River, was only two days' march away from Métis headquarters. The proximity of the Canadian forces alarmed Gabriel Dumont, and he successfully convinced the Métis council to launch a

pre-emptive attack-something that he had apparently been advocating since the early days of the rebellion. In the early morning hours of 24 April, Dumont and about 150 men prepared to ambush one of Middleton's columns at Fish Creek, where the Batoche trail swung inland from the river and ran down through a wide ravine. But, before the trap could be sprung, Middleton's advance scouts discovered the Métis in hiding and a fierce firefight ensued; after an hour, the fight degenerated into a stalemate, which lasted until the early evening when both sides withdrew from the battleground. Although the ambush had failed, the Battle of Fish Creek was a victory for the Métis. Not only had Middleton's inexperienced troops been badly mauled-the force suffered over 50 casualties, including 10 dead-but the once- confident general was left wary and cautious. He decided to postpone his date with Riel until his column was rested and reinforced, and he had a battle plan in place.

On 7 May 1885, more than two weeks after the Fish Creek fiasco, Middleton resumed his march northward with almost 900 men, heavy artillery, and a fortified river steamer, the Northcote. He planned to surround Métis headquarters; a small force on the sternwheeler would attack the village from the river, while the main party would move overland from the east. The Batoche army, in comparison, probably numbered no more than 400 men, including fewer than 60 Indians from the Beardy, One Arrow, and Whitecap reserves. How much military support the Indians actually offered Riel is debatable; not only were many aged and even more poorly armed than the Métis but most were there reluctantly.

The Canadian troops finally swooped down on Batoche on the morning of Saturday, 9 May. Middleton's plan collapsed, however, when the Métis lowered a ferry cable across the South Saskatchewan and knocked over the smokestacks of the Northcote, sending the steamer drifting helplessly downriver. The land forces, meanwhile, only managed to get as close as the church and rectory before being forced to draw back under heavy fire from well-concealed pits that lined the fields down to the village. The troops took refuge that night in a large fortified earthen enclosure, or zareba, that they constructed just to the south of Batoche.

Over the next two days, while the two sides were engaged in general skirmishing, Middleton developed a new plan of attack, which he tried to implement the morning of 12 May. He sent a small diversionary force to the open prairie region to the east of the village in an effort to draw the Métis away from their defences along the church and rectory and the riverbank. But, because of the strong winds that day, the main body of the Canadian troops did not hear the guns of the feinting action and failed to advance. An enraged Middleton berated the officers in charge of the infantry before returning to camp for lunch. This stinging rebuke, coming after days of growing restlessness, sparked an impromptu advance on the village that quickly gained momentum and easily overran the defenders, who were anticipating an attack from the east. The final assault in the Battle of Batoche was over in minutes, largely because the remaining defenders had all but exhausted their ammunition and were unable to offer any resistance. Many paid with their lives. Whereas Middleton lost only eight men during the four-day battle, the Batoche dead may have numbered as high as two dozen. Riel was much luckier. He had prayed for a miracle throughout the siege and had initially escaped with Gabriel Dumont, but he decided to surrender three days later in a bid to take his cause to the courts.

Dealing with the Indians

The fall of Batoche was the first Canadian victory of the North-West campaign. It also marked the end of the Métis provisional government and, with it, Riel's brief reign as prophet of the New World; his unshakeable belief in his divine mission had pushed his followers into open rebellion but failed to save them in the end. The troubles were far from over though-the matter of Poundmaker and Big Bear still remained.

Following their unsuccessful pilgrimage to Battleford, the Cree, in early April, had anxiously gathered on the Poundmaker reserve along a creek not far from the base of Cut Knife Hill. Far from joining the rebel cause, as events in late March had implied, the local bands were just as frightened and confused by events as the townspeople cowering in the fort. Like their White counterparts, they had essentially come together for defensive reasons. This uneasy calm was shattered following the arrival of Otter's relief column at Battleford on 24 April. Disappointed that he had not seen any action on his march north from Swift Current and determined to punish the Indians for their apparent siege of Battleford, Otter assembled an attack force of about 325 men, complete with two cannons and a Gatling gun, and planned to storm the sleeping Cut Knife camp in the early hours of 2 May. But the Indians were alerted to the coming of the troops and mounted a counterattack, which proved so effective that Otter's retreating force might have been wiped out if not for Poundmaker's restraint of the warriors.

Two days after the surprise Otter attack, the Cut Knife camp was visited again-this time, by a group of Métis emissaries who had been sent by Riel to bring the Indians to Batoche in preparation for the showdown with Middleton. Poundmaker had steadfastly avoided such a commitment since the Métis leader's return to Canada the previous summer, but he was effectively taken prisoner and forced to go along. The Cut Knife party, however, was soon abandoned at the east end of the Eagle Hills, just south of Battleford, when the Métis agents learned of the fall of Batoche and Riel's surrender. It now fell to Poundmaker, the diplomat, to reach a settlement with Canadian authorities, and, on the morning of 26 May, exactly two months after the Duck Lake skirmish, he proudly led his people into Battleford to submit to a waiting General Middleton.

Poundmaker's surrender left only Big Bear, who had been busy adding to his list of supposed rebellion crimes, still at large. On 15 April, less than two weeks after the brutal Frog Lake slayings, Wandering Spirit and his warriors moved against Fort Pitt in order to secure the area and gain access to much- needed food and provisions. Yet, instead of attacking the defenceless post, the Indians, at Big Bear's urging, allowed the Mounted Police detachment to escape aboard a scow down the ice-choked North Saskatchewan River to Battleford. The remaining occupants of the post, including several families, were taken hostage and joined a growing camp, eventually numbering around 1,000 people, back at Frog Lake. Nothing more was done. The Cree made no attempt either to move eastward to Batoche or to prepare for an eventual Canadian response. As in the case of the Cut Knife camp, they waited peacefully to see how the rebellion would unfold.

The answer was soon forthcoming in the form of the Alberta Field Force headed by Major-General T.B. Strange. On 20 April 1885, the 1,000-man column had left Calgary for the North Saskatchewan country and, despite encountering not a hint of Indian resistance along the trail, marched into Fort Edmonton like liberating heroes. Not until 26 May, however, did the force finally arrive in the Fort Pitt district-just in time to interrupt a thirst dance, which the Cree were holding for spiritual guidance at the base of Frenchman Butte.[9] The arrival of the troops threw the camp into turmoil and, under Wandering Spirit's guidance, the Cree moved a few miles north to a more defensible position along the valley of Red Deer Creek. The Battle of Frenchman Butte, as it was incorrectly named at the time, started on the morning of 28 May when Strange shelled the Indian pits on the north side of the creek valley and then ordered his men forward into the ravine. But Wandering Spirit had chosen his position well, and Strange had to abandon the frontal assault in favour of using his cannon to inflict whatever damage he could; both sides eventually withdrew after a few hours of skirmishing.

The Indians were thoroughly shaken by the intensity of the assault and decided to flee north through the muskeg-riddled forest, rather than face the troops again. They eventually reached the southwest corner of Loon, or Makwa, Lake on 2 June. But any hope of safe haven was dashed the next morning when an advance party of about 60 men under NWMP Inspector Sam Steele, swooped down on the unsuspecting Indians and their prisoners, who were camped at the lake narrows. The fight at Steele's Narrows, the

final battle of the rebellion, lasted little more than half an hour, but it seemed to break any remaining Indian resistance. The camp divided into smaller groups that went their separate ways and the last of the prisoners were released.

The flight of the Indians kept the Canadian troops busy for most of June. With the capture of Riel and the surrender of Poundmaker, Major-General Middleton was determined to apprehend Big Bear and bring the campaign to a successful conclusion, even if it meant tying up his troops for several weeks in a seemingly futile chase. He consequently moved to Fort Pitt with a large force and ordered three other columns north: Commissioner A.G. Irvine of the NWMP would march from Prince Albert to Green Lake; Lieutenant-Colonel Otter from Battleford to Turtle Lake; and General Strange from Frog Lake to Cold Lake. But the largest manhunt in Canadian history came up empty-handed. In fact, it was only because the fugitive Indians decided that they could not wander in the northern wilderness for much longer that they either gave themselves up at the nearest community or sought asylum in the United States. These defections meant that Big Bear was effectively abandoned by the time he surrendered to authorities near Fort Carlton on 4 July; by that point, the old chief had been reduced to a shell of his former self and his strategy for dealing with the Canadian government lay in total ruin.

The Queen's Justice

Big Bear's surrender is often cited as ending the North-West Rebellion and, consequently, bringing about the collapse of the Indian-Métis alliance.[10] This interpretation is entirely at odds with events during the troubles; it also overlooks the series of trials, which were held that summer and into the fall in Regina and Battleford, culminating in the execution of Riel and eight Indian warriors. These actions went beyond punishing the Métis and the Indians and restoring the peaceful image of the Western Canadian settlement frontier. Ottawa was determined to see that Canada's Aboriginal peoples were never led astray again and used the apparent Indian involvement in the rebellion to justify a number of repressive actions.

The first and most famous-both then and now-of the rebellion trials was that of Louis Riel, who appeared in a Regina courtroom on 20 July 1885 charged with high treason. Believing himself guided by the hand of God, Riel had surrendered to Middleton after the fall of Batoche in the hope that he could use his trial as a platform for his cause. Although his lawyers claimed that their client was insane, the Métis leader's eloquent closing address to the jury was not that of a madman. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. Despite a recommendation for mercy, several appeals, and continuing doubts about his mental fitness, Riel was hanged at Regina on 16 November; his body lies today in the cathedral cemetery at St. Boniface, Manitoba.

Many critics have since questioned the fairness of Riel's trial and whether justice was served. Some have suggested, for example, that the charge was invalid, the trial venue inappropriate, the judge under- qualified, and the jury biased. But cases of this nature could quite legitimately be held in the territorial capital before a local magistrate and six-man jury. The other complicating factor was Riel's mental state. Clearly, his behaviour before and during the rebellion raised serious questions about his sanity. But Riel refused to support the defence of his own lawyers, fearing that his whole purpose would be compromised, if not completely undermined, by an insanity plea. Besides, according to the standards of the day, the Métis leader was legally sane because he knew the difference between right and wrong. It has also recently come to light that the federal government, including the prime minister and his minister of justice, interfered in the judicial process in order to convict Riel at any cost.[11] These revelations have been used to buttress the continuing campaign to have Riel posthumously pardoned; at the time, however, the alleged interference would have constituted a minor technicality and would not have resulted in a new trial.

Ottawa's decision to let the execution proceed did not end Riel's role in Canadian national life. He has come to serve as a symbol for various groups and issues-whether it is racial tolerance, Western regional protest, Aboriginal rights, or French-language and Roman Catholic interests.[12] His name, meanwhile, continues to evoke a wide range of images and emotions-many of which, unfortunately, obscure or confuse Riel's purpose and the grievances of the Métis. One of most persistent beliefs is that Riel's death marked the death of the national Conservative Party in Quebec because it was the Macdonald cabinet that allowed the sentence to be carried out. But, even though a protest party was elected in the province in 1886, the federal Tories continued to govern with significant Quebec support for another decade; it would take another Western issue, the Manitoba Schools Question, and a Quebec Francophone leader, Wilfrid Laurier, to swing Quebec to the Liberal party.

As for the rank-and-file Métis who supported Riel, most were disarmed and sent home after the fall of Batoche. Only 26 were held over for trial; there might have been more if Gabriel Dumont and other members of Riel's government had not managed to elude Middleton's troops and slip away to the United States. The court seemed prepared to see the Métis defendants as poor, simple men who had been manipulated by Riel; consequently, only 11 were sentenced to seven years, while the remainder were given much shorter prison terms or simply discharged. This government strategy of blaming Riel-and Riel alone-for the rebellion deflected attention away from Métis grievances. Nothing was done to address these concerns in a meaningful way, even after Liberal leader Wilfrid Laurier was elected prime minister in 1896; he had once told a Quebec audience that he too would have shouldered a gun with the Métis if he had lived on the banks of the Saskatchewan River in 1885. Despite this ongoing neglect, Métis communities did not die with the rebellion as is commonly assumed. Batoche, for example, was rebuilt and thrived in the last years of the nineteenth century; only when the railway bypassed the village did it fall on hard times.

Ottawa reserved its most severe punishment for the Indians-even though their involvement in the troubles was isolated, sporadic, and limited. Indian Affairs officials had been desperately searching for a way to undermine the growing treaty rights movement and used the rebellion as an excuse to crush any remaining vestiges of First Nations autonomy. The Canadian government consequently identified 28 reserves as disloyal, even though in several instances the bands had taken no part in the fighting and simply fled their homes in fear of what might befall them. It also secretly adopted a series of measures for the future "management" of Indians, including the requirement that Indians not leave their reserves without first securing a pass. Above all, the Macdonald administration was determined to make an example of those individuals who were brought to trial. And there was no shortage of Indian defendants. Over 50 Indians-more than twice the number of Métis-were convicted of various crimes. Prominent among them were Poundmaker and Big Bear, both of whom were found guilty of treason-felony even though their trials clearly demonstrated that they had acted as peacekeepers during the rebellion; both chiefs would be released early from Stony Mountain penitentiary but be dead within less than a year. Several others received ridiculously long sentences for such offences as stealing a horse or burning a building. The full measure of Ottawa's authority was played out at Battleford later that fall when bands from the surrounding reserves were made to witness the simultaneous hanging of eight warriors found guilty of murder on 27 November 1885. It was the largest mass execution in modern Canadian history- an event that has been overshadowed by the controversy associated with Riel's death. Indeed, the executions have almost been forgotten.

What were the implications for Western alienation? In the aftermath of the rebellion, Ottawa finally granted the North-West Territories representation in Parliament: four seats in the House of Commons and two in the Senate. But the gesture was little more than an empty one, especially when the federal government retained control of Western public lands and resources even after the new provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta had been created in 1905. The sense of grievance that had been at the heart of the North-West Rebellion consequently continued to fester in the following decades and helped shape

and fuel a protest tradition that has become one of the defining characteristics of Western Canadian history. Indeed, in inviting Riel to take up their cause in 1884, Westerners began a tradition of turning to charismatic political figures to do battle against federal indifference and neglect. That this search for a messiah persists to this day says as much about the region as it does Ottawa-Western relations.