dwelt apart; there were the French parishes and the Scotch
and English parishes, and, although each nationality spoke the same
mother tongue, still the spread of schools and churches fostered the
different languages of the fatherland, and perpetuated the distinction of
race which otherwise would have disappeared by lapsing into savagery. In
an earlier chapter I have traced the events immediately pre ceding the
breaking out of the insurrectionary movement among the French
half-breeds, and in the foregoing pages I have tried to sketch the early
life and history of the country into which I am about to ask the reader
to follow me. Into the immediate sectional disputes and religious
animosities of the present movement it is not my intention to enter; as I
journey on an occasional arrow may be shot to the right or to the left at
men and things; but I will leave to others the details of a petty
provincial quarrel, while-I have before me, stretching far and wide, the
vast solitudes which await in silence the footfall of the future.

CHAPTER NINE

Running the Gauntlet--Across the Line--Mischief ahead-Preparations--A
Night March--The Steamer captured--The Pursuit-Daylight--The Lower
Fort--The Red-Indian at last--The Chief's Speech--A Big Feed--Making
ready for the Winnipeg--A Delay--I visit Fort Garry--Mr. President
Riel--The Final Start-Lake Winnipeg--The First Night out--My Crew.

THE steamer "International" made only a short delay at the frontier post
of Pembina, but it was long enough to impress the on-looker with a sense
of dirt and debauchery, which seemed to pervade the place. Some of the
leading citizens came forth with hands stuck so deep in breeches'
pockets, that the shoulders seemed to have formed an offensive and
defensive alliance with the arms, never again to permit the hands to
emerge into daylight unless it should be in the vicinity of the ankles.

Upon inquiring for the post-office, I was referred to the Postmaster
himself, who, in his-capacity of leading citizen, was standing by. Asking
if there were any letters lying at his office for me, I was answered in a
very curt negative, the postmaster retiring immediately up the steep bank
towards the collection of huts which calls itself Pembina. The boat soon
cast off her moorings and steamed on into British territory. We were at
length within the limits of the Red River Settlement, in the land of M.
Louis Riel, President, Dictator, Ogre, Saviour of Society