Annette, the Metis Spy: A Heroine of the N.W. Rebellion

by J. E. Collins

That afternoon mirrors flashed signals from bluff to bluff; our men were surrounded by the enemy; and at the set of sun their lives lay at the-mercy of the men whom they had come to trounce. Julie was at the side of her lover, and tears were in her eyes.

"I beseech my chief for the sake of his love for me to desist, and allow these rash soldiers to depart." Her chief stood with arms folded upon his breast. There was sorrow on his face; but there was scorn there, too, as he turned affectionally to the sweet pleader.

"These men came down to massacre my people, that they might henceforth be clad with glory. They have not destroyed any of my men; but their dead strew the plain. They are at my mercy; so utterly, too, that if I desire it, not a man of all the host shall return to give tidings to his friends. You ask me to stay my hand. Ah! It is hard. But you ask it; you, my little lover-playmate of the sunny Saskatchewan. I consent!" Then he strode down among his men, and ordered them to cease. Naught-but the ascendancy which the splendid chief had gained over his followers, through his wisdom and his prowess, could have prevailed upon them to stay their hand, now that the men who had broken solemn faith were at their mercy. But they unstrung their bows, shouldered their muskets, and permitted the invaders to depart. Then Julie knelt at her lover's feet, and kissed his hand with reverent gratitude; and he laid his hand upon her head, and bade her arise.

Before I leave this feature of my narrative I may state that Captain Beaver subsequently sought to justify this wanton breach of faith with the Indians, upon the ground of military policy; affirming that the "punishment" which he inflicted upon the chief prevented the latter joining forces with the rebel Metis. As to the punishment there was very little inflicted upon the Indians;—it was emphatically conferred in another direction. As to the statement that the attack prevented Poplar from joining the rebel forces at Hatchet Creek, the same is absurdly untrue. Little Poplar did actually set out, after the attack, to join the bois-brules, and he deliberately—I was going to say contemptuously—exposed himself to the flank attack by Beaver's men, of which movement, we are told, he had been so much in dread. In due time, as the chief was pursuing his march, tidings came to him that the Metis had been overwhelmed. Then he surrendered;—and thereafter for many a dreary month there was no happiness for Julie. I may as well anticipate events, and say that this dear girl brought it emphatically to the knowledge of the authorities that her beloved chief early in the war had served the white people in the hour of peril; and that the offence for which he stood committed now had been forced upon him by the bad faith of a Canadian militia officer. At last he was released; and holding his hand, apparelled in proper attire, she walked out by his side to a little cottage wherein a priest stood waiting to wed the two. Her happiness was very great, as may be guessed when I state that in each of her beautiful eyes a tear glimmered like you see a drop of rain glitter upon the thorn bush, when the storm has ended, and the sun shines. Her lover took her many miles up the Saskatchewan, where she said she would remain till Annette got "settled." A friend has lately been at her cottage, and he tells me that she has a "cherub of a baby," absurdly like herself in all save its skin, which is rather of a mahogany cast. The chief and his petite wife are very happy; and many a time under the blossoms of their own orchard, or when the wind howls like a belated wolf, they discuss the alternation of sorrow and joy which fell to their lot when the two maidens went disguised as scouts over the unbounded prairie. My great wish is that all the pretty and noble-harted girls of my acquaintance may be as happy as my sweet Julie.

As for Annette, when the battle of Saw-Knife Creek ended, she was waiting for Julie to join her. Her hand was upon her horse's neck, and she was leaning against the animal thinking of her lover.

"Ah, at last!" The terrible words and the voice were but too plain. Turning she saw the rebel chief, triumph, passion, and revenge in his eyes. By his side were several Metis with muskets presented, ready to fire at the girl if she uttered a cry, or made resistance. Then they bound her arms, and set her upon her horse, which one of the chief's followers led by the bridle. They rode as fast as the ponies could travel across the prairie; and Annette's heart sank, and all hope seemed to die out of her life, as she realized, that the miscreants were hurrying towards the valley of Dismal Swamp where abode Jubal, the hideous hag.

As the party hurried along the skirt of the ridge flanking the swamp and the inky stream, lo! there came to her ears the notes of a bird's song. It was the guardian swan; and joy and hope crept into the maiden's bosom.

"Hear you yonder singing, my pretty bird?" the hideous chief asked, with a foul sneer. "Its song is always intended to console and reconcile maidens to their lovers."

But she turned her head away with loathing, and answered him not. Then came a sudden trampling; swords gleamed; eyes flashed in the dusk; and before the helpless girl could gather her routed senses, the beastly chief was sent sprawling from his horse with a sabre-blow; his followers were routed; and she was free.

"My own beloved," were the words whispered in her ear, and warm lips were pressed upon her mouth. "We no more part, my darling—never, never more."