Within an hour a hundred men with a seven-pr.gun, eager to exact punishment for the insults they had suffered, took the Duck Lake trail.Ambushed by a foe who, regardless of the conventions of war, made treacherous use of the white flag, overwhelmed by more than twice their number, hampered in their evolutions by the deep crusted snow, the little company, after a half-hour's sharp engagement with the strongly posted enemy, were forced to retire, bearing their wounded and some of their dead with them, leaving others of their dead lying in the snow behind them.
And now the question was what was to be done? The events of the day had taught them their lesson, a lesson that experience has taught all soldiers, the lesson, namely, that it is never safe to despise a foe.A few miles away from them were between three hundred and four hundred half-breeds and Indians who, having tasted blood, were eager for more.The fort at Carlton was almost impossible of defense.The whole South country was in the hands of rebels.Companies of half-breeds breathing blood and fire, bands of Indians, marauding and terrorizing, were roaming the country, wrecking homesteads, looting stores, threatening destruction to all loyal settlers and direst vengeance upon all who should dare to oppose them.The situation called for quick thought and quick action.Every hour added to the number of the enemy.Whole tribes of Indians were wavering in their allegiance.Another victory such as Duck Lake and they would swing to the side of the rebels.The strategic center of the English settlements in all this country was undoubtedly Prince Albert.Fort Carlton stood close to the border of the half-breed section and was difficult of defense.
After a short council of war it was decided to abandon Fort Carlton.Thereupon Irvine led his troops, together with the gallant survivors of the bloody fight at Duck Lake, bearing their dead and wounded with them, to Prince Albert, there to hold that post with its hundreds of defenseless women and children gathered in from the country round about, against hostile half-breeds without and treacherous half-breeds within the stockade, and against swarming bands of Indians hungry for loot and thirsting for blood.And there Irvine, chafing against inactivity, eager for the joyous privilege of attack, spent the weary anxious days of the next six weeks, held at his post by the orders of his superior officer and by the stern necessities of the case, and meantime finding some slight satisfaction in scouting and scouring the country for miles on every side, thus preventing any massing of the enemy's forces.
The affair at Duck Lake put an end to all parley.Riel had been clamoring for "blood! blood! blood!" At Duck Lake he received his first taste, but before many days were over he was to find that for every drop of blood that reddened the crusted snow at Duck Lake a thousand Canadian voices would indignantly demand vengeance.The rifle-shots that rang out that winter day from the bluffs that lined the Duck Lake trail echoed throughout Canada from ocean to ocean, and everywhere men sprang to offer themselves in defense of their country.But echoes of these rifle-shots rang, too, in the teepees on the Western plains where the Piegans, the Bloods and the Blackfeet lay crouching and listening.By some mysterious system of telegraphy known only to themselves old Crowfoot and his braves heard them almost as soon as the Superintendent at Fort Macleod.
Instantly every teepee was pulsing with the fever of war.The young braves dug up their rifles from their bedding, gathered together their ammunition, sharpened their knives and tomahawks in eager anticipation of the call that would set them on the war-path against the white man who had robbed them of their ancient patrimony and who held them in such close leash.The great day had come, the day they had been dreaming of in their hearts, talking over at their council-fires and singing about in their sun dances during the past year, the day promised by the many runners from their brother Crees of the North, the day foretold by the great Sioux orator and leader, Onawata.The war of extermination had begun and the first blood had gone to the Indian and to his brother half-breed.
Two days after Duck Lake came the word that Fort Carlton had been abandoned and Battleford sacked.Five days later the news of the bloody massacre of Frog Lake cast over every English settlement the shadow of a horrible fear.From the Crow's Nest to the Blackfoot Crossing bands of braves broke loose from the reserves and began to "drive cattle" for the making of pemmican in preparation for the coming campaign.
It was a day of testing for all Canadians, but especially a day of testing for the gallant little force of six or seven hundred riders who, distributed in small groups over a vast area of over two hundred and fifty thousand square miles, were entrusted with the responsibility of guarding the lives and property of Her Majesty's subjects scattered in lonely and distant settlements over these wide plains.
And the testing found them ready.For while the Ottawa authorities with late but frantic haste were hustling their regiments from all parts of Canada to the scene of war, the Mounted Police had gripped the situation with a grip so stern that the Indian allies of the half-breed rebels paused in their leap, took a second thought and decided to wait till events should indicate the path of discretion.
And, to the blood-lusting Riel, Irvine's swift thrust Northward to Prince Albert suggested caution, while his resolute stand at that distant fort drove hard down in the North country a post of Empire that stuck fast and sure while all else seemed to be sliding to destruction.
