The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!"
'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow!
Our men break from line, for the battle-wine
Of a fighting race has a fiery glow.
The governor thought himself mighty in power.
The shock of his strength—Ha-ha!—should be known
From the land of the sea to the prairie free
And all free men should be overthrown![B]
But naked and dead on the plain lies he,
Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote
Greedily feast on the great and the least,
Without respect for a lord of note.
The governor thought himself mighty in power.
He thought to enslave the Bois-Brulés,
"Ha-ha," laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock.
"Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay."
Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note?
Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees?
What spirits wail to the prairie gale?
Who tells his woes to the evening breeze?
Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not.
We fought with them till none remained.
The coyote knew, and his hungry crew
Licked clean the grass where the turf was stained.
Ho-ho! List you all to my tale of truth.
'Tis I, Pierre, the rhymester, this glory tell
Of freedom saved and brave hands laved
In the blood of tyrants who fought and fell!
The whole scene was repugnant beyond endurance. My ears were so filled with the death cries heard in the afternoon, I had no relish for Pierre's crude recital of what seemed to him a glorious conquest. I could not rid my mind of that dying boy's sad face. Many half-breeds were preparing to pillage the settlement. Intending to protect the Sutherland home and seek the dead lad's body, I borrowed a fresh horse and left the tumult of the camp.
I made a detour of the battle-field in order to reach the Sutherland homestead before night. I might have saved myself the trouble; for every movable object—to the doors and window sashes—had been taken from the little house, whether by father and daughter before going to the fort, or by the marauders, I did not know.
It was unsafe to return by the wooded river trail after dark and I struck directly to the clearing and followed the path parallel to the bush. When I reached Seven Oaks, I was first apprised of my whereabouts by my horse pricking forward his ears and sniffing the air uncannily. I tightened rein and touched him with the spur, but he snorted and jumped sideways with a suddenness that almost unseated me, then came to a stand, shaking as if with chill. Something skulked across the trail and gained cover in the woods. With a reassuring pat, I urged my horse back towards the road, for the prairie was pitted with badger and gopher holes; but the beast reared, baulked and absolutely refused to be either driven, or coaxed.