Chapter XI: Fort Douglas

“Where do we land, Louis?” asked Walter.

“At Fort Douglas, where Governor Sauterelle lives.”

“I thought the Governor’s name was Mc-something.”

“It is McDonnell, but people call him Governor Grasshopper because, they say, he is as great a destroyer as those pests.”

“What do they mean?”

“They do not like their Governor, these colonists. You will soon hear all about him.”

A few cabins, set down hit or miss, less well kept than those on the west bank, and interspersed with several Indian lodges, came in view on the east shore. Black haired, dark skinned men and women, and droves of children and sharp nosed dogs were running down to the river.

“_Bois brulés_,” Louis explained, using the name he had given himself. It means “burnt wood” and is descriptive of the dark color of the half-breed.

The boat made a turn to the east, following a big bend in the river. “This is Point Douglas, and there is the fort,” said Louis, pointing to the roofs of buildings, the British flag and that of the Hudson Bay Company flying over them. Point Douglas had been burned over many years before, and was a barren looking place. The fort, like York Factory and Norway House, was a mere group of buildings enclosed within a stockade.

When Laroque’s boat reached the landing, the shore was lined with people; Hudson Bay employees, white settlers, and _bois brulés_. As each craft drew up to the landing place, the boatmen sprang out to be embraced and patted on the back by their friends. The new settlers’ warmest reception came from a group of bearded, bold eyed, rough looking, white men. When one of these men spoke to Walter in German, and another in unmistakably Swiss French, the boy’s face betrayed his astonishment.

The first man, a red-faced fellow with untrimmed, sandy beard, laughed and switched from German to French. “Oh, I am a Swiss like you,” he explained, “though I have not seen Switzerland for many a year. I am a soldier by trade, and I served the British king. We DeMeurons are the pick of many countries.”

Walter did not like the man’s looks. He had seen swaggering, mercenary soldiers of fortune before, and he was not sorry when his bold-mannered countryman turned from him to make the acquaintance of his companions.

The voyageurs were hastily unloading. They had reached the end of the journey and were in a hurry to be paid off. Murray did not even wait for the unloading. Carrying his big bundle, he strode quickly towards the fort. Louis looked after him, swung a bale of goods to his back, and trotted up the slope.

Seeing no reason why he should stand idle when there was work to do, Walter shouldered a package and followed. As he reached the gate, three men came through, and he stepped aside to let them pass. The leading figure, a red-faced man of middle age and important air, cast a sharp glance at the boy. Walter’s clothes betrayed him.

“Ye’re na voyageur.” The man spoke peremptorily in Scotch sounding English. “Put down that packet and follow me. I’ve a few words to say to a’ of ye.”

Walter had learned enough English to understand, and the tone warned him that obedience was expected. He left his load lying on the ground, and followed down the slope towards the river. From the red-faced man’s dictatorial manner, the boy guessed him to be Alexander McDonnell, the “Grasshopper Governor.” He was obeyed promptly, but the sullen, even angry, looks on the faces of the half-breeds and Scotch settlers who made way for him, showed that he was not popular. Only the ex-soldiers seemed boldly at their ease in his presence.

The new colonists were quickly gathered together so that the Governor might address them. To make his meaning plain, he used both English and French. His manner was abrupt, yet what he said was reasonable enough, discouraging though it was to the newcomers. After a few words of welcome to the Selkirk Colony and an expression of hope that the Swiss would be industrious and would prosper accordingly, he told them frankly that they had come at an unfortunate time. The settlement was ill prepared for them. The grasshoppers had utterly destroyed the crops. The food supply for the coming winter was inadequate. There was not enough to feed the colonists already established. Most of the settlers, old and new, must spend the winter farther up the Red River at Fort Daer, the Colony post at the mouth of the Pembina. Game animals, especially the buffalo upon which the people must depend for food until new crops could be grown, were much more abundant and easily reached near Fort Daer. Pemmican could be obtained there from the _bois brulés_ and the Indians. Some of the settlers had already gone. Every one of the newcomers able to endure the journey must leave on the morrow. They might pitch their tents near Fort Douglas for the night. Fuel for their fires would be supplied and food for the evening meal and for the journey to the Pembina. More than this the Governor could not promise. At the Pembina they would find timber for cabin building, game for the hunting. Some other necessaries might be bought at Fort Daer. In the spring they could return, and land for farming would be assigned to them. The Swiss had arrived at a bad time when the Colony could do little for them. They would have to do the best they could for themselves.

It was a sober and depressed group of immigrants who listened to Governor McDonnell’s speech. In spite of what they had heard and seen of the ravages of the locusts, they had clung to the hope that their worst troubles would be over when they reached Fort Douglas. They had expected to be housed and fed for a little while at least, until they could make homes for themselves on their own land. Now that dream was over. They must go on,—all of them who could go on. And when they reached a stopping place at last, it would be only a temporary one, with the doubtful prospect of depending on hunting for a living, and perhaps starving before spring. No wonder discouragement and foreboding rested heavily upon their hearts. Even Walter Rossel, young and strong and hopeful, was dismayed at the Governor’s words.

The Swiss were a steadfast and courageous people. They soon roused themselves to make the best of a bad situation. Food and fuel for the night at least had been promised them. They left the future to Providence, and set about pitching camp. Heretofore the voyageurs had done part of that work. Now, having reached the end of their journey, having unloaded the boats and been paid off, they joined their own friends at Fort Douglas or crossed the river to the _bois brulé_ settlement on the east bank. Only Louis Brabant lingered to lend encouragement and help to those whom the long journey had made his friends.

After their first curiosity, the old settlers showed little interest in the new. To the Scotch and Irish, the Swiss were foreigners in speech and ways. The colonists knew from experience the hardships of the voyage across the ocean and of the wilderness trip from Fort York. They could understand the discouraging situation in which the newcomers found themselves, but they could do little or nothing for them. They were not hard hearted, but, pinched for food themselves, they could not be overjoyed at the coming of all these additional hungry mouths to be fed. Had the Swiss been actually starving, the old settlers would have shared with them the last pint of meal and ounce of pemmican, yet they could scarcely help resenting the arrival of the strangers. Why did the heirs of Lord Selkirk keep on sending settlers without providing for them even the barest necessities? No wonder the old colonists grumbled and growled. If their attitude towards the new was not actually unfriendly, it was far from cordial or encouraging. Only the ex-soldiers mingled freely with the Swiss, and even invited certain families to their cabins.

Walter did not like the appearance and manner of these men, but they aroused his curiosity. “Who are the DeMeurons?” he asked Louis. “How did they come here, and why do they call themselves by that name?”

“They came with Lord Selkirk when he recaptured Fort Douglas from the Northwesters. They were soldiers brought over from Europe to fight for the King in the last war with the Americans. After the war they were discharged and Lord Selkirk engaged about a hundred of them to protect his colony. Because most of them had belonged to a regiment commanded by a man named DeMeuron, the settlers call them all DeMeurons. Lord Selkirk gave them land along the _Rivière la Seine_, which comes into the Red about a mile above here, but they do little farming, those DeMeurons. They would rather hunt. I blame them not for that. The other colonists have no love for them.”

“I don’t like their looks myself,” Walter replied, “but they seem kinder to strangers than anyone else here is.”

“The DeMeurons are all bachelors,” Louis explained with a grin. “They seek wives to keep their houses and to help them farm their lands, and perhaps they think Swiss girls will work harder than _bois brulés_. So they are kind to the fathers and brothers that they may not be refused when they propose marriage to daughters and sisters. Soon there will be weddings I think.”

“I should hate to see a sister of mine marry a DeMeuron,” was Walter’s emphatic comment. He changed the subject. “Have you found out,” he asked, “if it is true that Lord Selkirk is dead?”

“Yes, it is true. He died, they say, a year ago last spring.”

“Then who owns the Colony now, the Hudson Bay Company?”

“I don’t quite understand about that,” was the doubtful reply. “I asked one of the Company clerks at the fort and he said that the land and everything belong to Lord Selkirk’s heirs. But M’sieu Garry, the Vice-Governor of the Company, as they call him, was here during the summer, and with him was M’sieu McGillivray, a big man among the Northwesters, and now, since the two companies are one, of the Hudson Bay also. They were much interested in the settlement, the clerk said, and made plans about what should be done.”

“Lord Selkirk was one of the owners of the Company, wasn’t he?” Walter questioned. “Then his heirs must own part of it. Perhaps the Company is going to run the Colony for them. Does Governor McDonnell belong to the Company?”

“That I don’t know. It was Lord Selkirk who made McDonnell governor. Truly it is _he_ who runs the Colony now, with a high hand.”

Mention of Governor McDonnell brought Walter’s own personal problem uppermost in his thoughts. “Do you suppose they will really send us on up the river to-morrow?” he asked.

“Yes, truly. It is the only place for you to go. Here you would starve before spring. Perhaps a few may stay, those the DeMeurons have taken into their cabins. You, Walter, will go of course, and I am glad. Pembina is my home, and we go together.”

“But I can’t go until the Periers come,” the Swiss boy protested. “I intend to stay with them wherever they are, and I ought to wait for them.”

Louis shook his head. “I think the Governor will not let you. What good would it do? As soon as the second brigade arrives, they will be sent on to Pembina. You can wait for them there as well as here. Come with me to-morrow. My mother will make you welcome, and we will find a place for your friends. Perhaps we can have a cabin all ready for them. They would be glad of that.”