Rainy Lake House

by Theodore Catton

  When the partners met in private council to assign posts for the coming year, William McGillivray nominated McLoughlin to take over the valuable Athabaska. To the consternation of all, McLoughlin refused. Although his attachment to Rainy Lake and Fort William was well known, partners never refused assignments. McGillivray carried a unanimous vote by the other partners to compel his acceptance. Still McLoughlin objected. When McGillivray remonstrated that such behavior by a young partner was “presumptuous” and “extraordinary,” McLoughlin replied that he would throw in his share and go to Montreal rather than be coerced. Archibald McLeod then reminded him that it was the partners’ right under their agreement to expect his cooperation, and if he persisted in his rebellious conduct they could sue him for damages. McLoughlin remained obstinate. In an attempt to resolve the situation by compromise, the partners rescinded their earlier vote and reassigned him to a different northern post. On that sour note the session ended. But McLoughlin would not give in. In protest, he ceased seeing patients at the hospital. As much as McLoughlin’s rebelliousness offended some partners, it tended to inspire others. The “doctor,” as he was affectionately known, had a lot of salt. Over the next few days, McLoughlin’s friends rallied behind him and blamed the McGillivrays for the impasse. Finally, he was quietly reassigned to Fort William for the winter of 1815–16.3

  To brighten the mood of the rendezvous, the company put on a gala ball in the Great Hall. Besides the partners, those attending the dance included “all the Ladies of the Fort” (the Nor’ Westers’ mixed-blood wives and teenage daughters) plus a few dozen men and women colonists who were “guests” of the North West Company awaiting their free passage to Lower Canada. All those holding officer’s commissions in the Voyageurs Corps dressed smartly in their red uniforms, and the “fun & good humour” continued until dawn. Unbeknownst to the colonists, their former governor Miles Macdonell endured this long night of merriment as a prisoner confined in one of the corner rooms adjoining the Great Hall.4

  As soon as the rendezvous ended, the Nor’ Westers faced new threats from the Hudson’s Bay Company. Colin Robertson, a former North West Company clerk who had defected to the Hudson’s Bay Company some years earlier, hired 100 voyageurs in Montreal and led a brigade up the Ottawa River, through the Great Lakes, and right under the noses of the Nor’ Westers at Fort William and Rainy Lake en route to the Athabaska. Never before had the Hudson’s Bay Company tapped the North West Company’s labor pool in Montreal, and never before had it made such brazen use of its rival’s transportation corridor. But this was not all. News arrived at Fort William at the end of July that the Red River colony was being resurrected. When Colin Robertson reached Lake Winnipeg on his way to Athabaska, he rallied the displaced colonists who were there and led them back to the Forks, where they rebuilt Fort Douglas and harvested what little remained of the crops. In October 1815, they were joined by more emigrants from Scotland—the fifth such party—together with a new governor, Robert Semple.

  When spring arrived, the Hudson’s Bay men took the offensive again. Robertson led fourteen men to Fort Gibraltar, where they burst in upon the fort’s unsuspecting proprietor, Duncan Cameron. Rifling through Cameron’s correspondence, Robertson found evidence that the Nor’ Westers were once more attempting to organize an Indian and Métis assault on the colony. He placed Cameron under arrest and took him to nearby Fort Douglas as his prisoner. A few days later Robertson apprehended a North West light canoe carrying dispatches to the interior and ransacked that material for more evidence of a conspiracy. A letter from Alexander Macdonell to Cameron revealed with chilling brevity what Robertson already suspected: “a storm is gathering to the Northward ready to burst on the rascals who deserve it.” In an obvious reference to the Métis the letter continued, “The new nation under their leaders are coming forward to clear their native soil of intruders and assassins.”5 Robertson apprised Governor Semple of the threat to the colony. As soon as the northern rivers were free of ice, Robertson left with his hundred voyageurs for Athabaska, taking his prisoner to York Factory on the way. On the day of Robertson’s departure, Semple took thirty men to Fort Gibraltar and dismantled it piece by piece, rafting all the pickets down to Fort Douglas.6

  With the two fur companies now seizing one another’s forts and arresting one another’s principals, this was turning into an ugly, messy affair. One side or the other, probably both, must be acting outside of the law, and the leaders began to think hard about how their stories would play in court. The Nor’ Westers anticipated bringing their case before a judge and jury in Canada, while the Hudson’s Bay men expected to find legal redress back in Britain. Up to this point in the conflict McLoughlin had had little direct involvement; if anything, he had let it be known that he had a distaste for such skullduggery. But now, as events moved toward a tragic resolution, he decided to act—another instance of his often abysmal timing.

  In early June 1816 two partners, Archibald McLeod and Robert Henry, joined McLoughlin at Fort William. The information reaching them from Red River was sketchy, but they knew that Fort Gibraltar had fallen. The three men settled on an aggressive plan: with a force of voyageurs they would go to Red River, picking up some of their Indian allies at Rainy Lake on the way. Exactly what they expected to do when they got to Red River was a question that would later be examined in court. On the eve of their departure, the three partners explained their intentions in a letter to another partner. Like so much of the North West Company’s correspondence, their letter would subsequently fall into the hands of Hudson’s Bay men and be turned against them in court. Although the prosecution would cite the letter as evidence that McLoughlin and his partners planned an attack on the colony, its careful wording obscured their purpose: “We shall, and will, be guarded and prudent; we shall commit no extravagances, but we must not suffer ourselves to be imposed upon; nor can we submit quietly to the wrongs heaped upon us by a lawless, unauthorised, and inveterate opponent in trade.”7 A defense witness in the eventual trial, a voyageur who was on the expedition, would testify that the Nor’ Westers’ purpose was merely to safeguard the supply of pemmican at Red River. They were to “go fetch those provisions [and] if not molested, pass the Settlement singing, and return in the same way; but, if attacked, they were determined to defend themselves.”8 But this sounds like a whitewash after the fact. Robert Henry’s statement in a letter to his uncle in Montreal probably came closer to the truth: “It was our intention to storm the fort. Our party consisted of 100 men, 70 fire arms and two field pieces.”9

  At Rainy Lake en route to Red River, McLoughlin tried to persuade some of the Indians to join the expedition, and a handful did join. The expedition picked up another partner with all of his men from the post on Rainy River, and yet another partner with more engagés when it came to Lake Winnipeg.

  As the expedition started up the Red River toward the Forks, it caught sight of eight boatloads of colonists coming downstream. On first impression, it looked like the colony had been routed again and the whole population was evacuating. The Nor’ Westers gave a victory yell and started thumping the sides of their canoes. But when they drew up alongside the lead boat and asked where the governor was, the colonists gave them the shocking news that Robert Semple and twenty-one of their number had been killed in an attack by some sixty or seventy mounted Métis. Only one Métis had fallen in the lopsided fight. The partners were horrified, knowing that they themselves were implicated in the slaughter. McLeod, who was in command, detained the colonists for questioning. He seized the late governor’s trunk, broke the lock with an axe, and rifled its contents looking for any captured North West letters of an incriminating nature. In addition, he took four colonists into custody who admitted to having witnessed the battle. Finally, McLeod allowed the rest of the colonists to go on their way while the Nor’ Westers hurried on to the Forks.10

  At the Forks they found the Métis occupying Fort Douglas. McLeod immediately took charge, assembled everyone in the mess house
, and congratulated the Métis on their victory. Sickened by the heavy loss of life though they were, the Nor’ Westers assured the Métis that the North West Company stood with them in their defense of their homeland against the English. The mixed-blood Métis were, after all, mostly the Nor’ Westers’ own progeny. The partners had promised gifts of clothing to all those who would join in driving out the colonists, and now McLeod had those presents distributed. He also opened a keg of liquor so that everyone could drink to their shared success.11

  Later that day, a party of Métis and Nor’ Westers rode down to the battle­field to review what had happened. The fight had occurred about two miles north of Fort Douglas, among the settlers’ long lots. A nearby copse would give the incident its name in history, the Battle of Seven Oaks. McLoughlin and his companions found that the dead had been stripped of their clothes and left on the ground to be scavenged by wolves. As nearly a week had passed since the event, there was not much left of the corpses but skeletons. In the presence of those human remains, the Nor’ Westers queried the Métis about what had taken place. While each Métis recounted his part in the battle, the Nor’ Westers nodded their approval and voiced admiration for their brave deeds. Then, satisfied that the bloodletting had all been in self-defense, everyone returned to Fort Douglas, where another four kegs were opened for a final victory celebration.12

  19

  The Surrender of Fort William

  Returning from Red River, the Nor’ Westers arrived at Fort William to find the rendezvous already in full swing. With news of the Battle of Seven Oaks preceding them, they found the other partners all atwitter at Robert Semple’s folly in provoking the Métis to attack. Everyone agreed that the poor fellow had brought about his own death and the destruction of the colony through his rash and overbearing actions; none dared to suggest that they themselves were the least bit culpable.

  William McGillivray, meanwhile, fulminated against the opposition. He declared that the war with the Hudson’s Bay Company must now be pushed to the hilt. He wanted McLeod to go to Athabaska and face off against the turncoat Colin Robertson. Meanwhile, he would return to Montreal and keep an eye on their biggest enemy, Lord Selkirk.1

  Selkirk had crossed the Atlantic the previous fall and had passed the winter in Montreal. That spring, he was reported to be hiring a combined force of voyageurs and Swiss mercenaries—the latter recently discharged from the British army—for an expedition to Red River. Now, as July turned to August at Fort William, the Nor’ Westers speculated about what their adversary might do next. Had Selkirk’s expedition set out? Had Selkirk yet learned of the Battle of Seven Oaks and the destruction of the colony? What would he do when he got to Fort William? The partners had all heard Selkirk’s name cursed and reviled for so many years that it was now hard to imagine confronting the devilish British lord in the flesh. McLoughlin shared in the general feeling of suspense. Unlike the other partners, however, he had more at stake than his financial fortune. As the proprietor of Fort William, his own post and family’s home lay smack in Selkirk’s path.

  The anticipation grew when Selkirk’s scouts were observed in birchbark canoes paddling up the Kaministiquia River. Brazenly, these men passed in front of the fort, landed about a half mile above the gate on the other side of the river, and right there, in plain view of the Nor’ Westers’ rendezvous, began to clear ground for Selkirk’s military-style encampment.

  On August 12, a cry from the watchtower signaled that the rest of Selkirk’s expedition was arriving. First appeared Selkirk in a Montreal canoe with a bodyguard of seven soldiers and a crew of sixteen Iroquois canoemen. Following him were a dozen canoes strung out in a line, carrying 100 soldiers with muskets and bayonets, four light six-pounder guns and two nine-pounders, more than a ton of gunpowder, over 100 barrels of salted pork and lard, 500 gallons of high wine, and numerous packs of flour and other supplies. Most of the soldiers were Swiss mercenaries of the De Meuron Regiment—veterans of the Napoleonic Wars who had fought in Wellington’s army in Spain before being redeployed to North America in 1813. Another contingent included men of the Glengarry Fencibles and De Watteville Regiment, who had joined the expedition at Kingston. All these soldiers, mustered out of service in the spring, had responded to Selkirk’s offer of soldier’s pay and a tract of land when the expedition reached the Red River valley. Among Selkirk’s recruits were four officers, with Captain P. d’Orsonnens in overall command. Also with the expedition was Miles Macdonell, now free on bail for a few months pending a trial before the King’s Bench in Montreal. Selkirk also tried to enlist two justices of the peace to provide his expedition with legal counsel and the important weapon of arrest warrants, but when both men backed out he assumed those powers himself.2

  The Nor’ Westers watched the long line of canoes glide past the fort and nose up to the beach one by one upstream on the opposite bank, where the expedition’s scouts had already cleared ground for a sizeable encampment. As soon as the cargoes were unloaded and the tents erected, Selkirk sent a canoe across the river with a message for William McGillivray: release all of the colonists and employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company whom you are holding prisoner. McGillivray replied with a note that there were just four men of that description and they were not prisoners, but he would send them over forthwith. Despite McGillivray’s claim that they were not being held prisoner, however, two of the men reported to Selkirk that they had been kept in close confinement and another claimed that he had been kept in irons. And all were eyewitnesses to the destruction of the Red River colony.3

  The next morning an officer of the Glengarry Fencibles by the name of John McNabb appeared at the gate with a guard of nine soldiers, claiming to have a message for McGillivray. McLoughlin, as the fort’s proprietor, allowed the man to enter. In company with his friend Kenneth McKenzie, he escorted McNabb to their chief’s private quarters, which occupied a corner room in the Great Hall. The instant they entered the room, McNabb pulled an arrest warrant from his jacket and thrust it toward McGillivray. McGillivray, who was sitting at his desk writing a letter, remained calm; he had expected as much. He assured McNabb that he would cooperate as a gentleman. Turning to McLoughlin and McKenzie, he requested that they accompany him to the enemy camp. If necessary, he explained, the two partners would offer themselves as “bail” (hostages) so that he could return to Fort William. McLoughlin must have bristled at this conceit—the idea that he should make himself Lord Selkirk’s prisoner in place of the precious McGillivray! Nonetheless, he consented to the plan. McGillivray, imperious to the last, then insisted that McNabb stand by while he finished writing his letter.4

  As soon as the three Nor’ Westers landed on the opposite bank of the river, McNabb coolly placed them all under guard and reported to Selkirk alone. Shortly, he returned from Selkirk’s tent with warrants for McLoughlin and the other partner as well. Whatever qualms McLoughlin had about giving up his own freedom to secure his leader’s release, now he saw with perfect clarity what a foolish idea it was. McGillivray’s ploy had simply gotten all three of them put in chains.

  Selkirk then sent a force of fifty men in two big canoes back across the river to Fort William. From where McLoughlin sat in chains in the enemy camp, he could only wait and wonder. By and by he heard a bugle call, then nothing—just the thrum of crickets and the murmur of the river flowing past—until finally, late in the day, back came Selkirk’s men with the remaining North West partners all under arrest. To the partners’ shame and amazement, they had allowed Selkirk to take Fort William without giving him any resistance. Captain d’Orsonnens, with a squad of soldiers, went through the company offices placing seals on all desks and crates containing documents. The two hundred or so voyageurs were made to retire outside the stockade, and a handful of De Meurons were left behind to stand guard over the cannons, powder magazine, and armory.5

  And after all that, McLoughlin and the other partners had not yet laid eyes on Selkirk himself. All they had seen was his slanting signature sc
ratched across each of their arrest warrants and his officers’ soldierly bows as they went in and out of his Lordship’s tent. Finally, late in the day, Selkirk sent for them. When McLoughlin stooped inside the tent and faced him, he saw a man who was visibly unwell, with a sallow complexion and sunken eyes. When he spoke, he paused between sentences to cough into a handkerchief.6

  The partners’ collective interview with Selkirk must have struck them as a farce, for here was their archenemy posing as an impartial magistrate. The British lord addressed each of them in turn, asking if the accused understood the charges laid against him. The most serious charge was accessory to murder, on the grounds that the Nor’ Westers had aided and abetted the Métis in the “massacre” at Seven Oaks. As captives of their enemy, the partners had little choice but to say they understood the charge. With Selkirk fussing over his absurd attempt at due process, each partner in turn agreed to his terms of parole. Each gave his word of honor not to resist the soldiers occupying the fort nor disturb anything that had been sealed for evidence. Then all the partners were allowed to return to their sleeping quarters in Fort William.7