The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [66]
the uplifted face glowing as with prophetic fire, the tall swaying form instinct with exalted emotion, swept the souls of his hearers with surging tides of passion. Cameron, though he caught but little of its meaning, felt himself irresistibly borne along upon the torrent of the flowing words. He glanced at Jerry beside him and was startled by the intense emotion showing upon his little wizened face.
Suddenly there was a swift change of motif, and with it a change of tone and movement and color. The marching, vibrant, triumphant chant of freedom and of conquest subsided again into the long-drawn wail of defeat, gloom and despair. Cameron needed no interpreter. He knew the singer was telling the pathetic story of the passing of the day of the Indian's glory and the advent of the day of his humiliation. With sharp rising inflections, with staccato phrasing and with fierce passionate intonation, the Sioux wrung the hearts of his hearers. Again Cameron glanced at the half-breed at his side and again he was startled to note the transformation in his face. Where there had been glowing pride there was now bitter savage hate. For that hour at least the half-breed was all Sioux. His father's blood was the water in his veins, the red was only his Indian mother's. With face drawn tense and lips bared into a snarl, with eyes gleaming, he gazed fascinated upon the face of the singer. In imagination, in instinct, in the deepest emotions of his soul Jerry was harking back again to the savage in him, and the savage in him thirsting for revenge upon the white man who had wrought this ruin upon him and his Indian race. With a fine dramatic instinct the Sioux reached his climax and abruptly ceased. A low moaning murmur ran round the circle and swelled into a sobbing cry, then ceased as suddenly as there stepped into the circle a stranger, evidently a half-breed, who began to speak. He was a French Cree, he announced, and delivered his message in the speech, half Cree, half French, affected by his race.
He had come fresh from the North country, from the disturbed district, and bore, as it appeared, news of the very first importance from those who were the leaders of his people in the unrest. At his very first word Jerry drew a long deep breath and by his face appeared to drop from heaven to earth. As the half- breed proceeded with his tale his speech increased in rapidity.
"What is he saying, Jerry?" said Cameron after they had listened for some minutes.
"Oh he beeg damfool!" said Jerry, whose vocabulary had been learned mostly by association with freighters and the Police. "He tell 'bout beeg meeting, beeg man Louis Riel mak' beeg noise. Bah! Beeg damfool!" The whole scene had lost for Jerry its mystic impressiveness and had become contemptibly commonplace. But not so to Cameron. This was the part that held meaning for him. So he pulled up the half-breed with a quick, sharp command.
"Listen close," he said, "and let me know what he says."
And as Jerry interpreted in his broken English the half-breed's speech it appeared that there was something worth learning. At this big meeting held in Batoche it seemed a petition of rights, to the Dominion Parliament no less, had been drawn up, and besides this many plans had been formed and many promises made of reward for all those who dared to stand for their rights under the leadership of the great Riel, while for the Indians very special arrangements had been made and the most alluring prospects held out. For they were assured that, when in the far North country the new Government was set up, the old free independent life of which they had been hearing was to be restored, all hampering restrictions imposed by the white man were to be removed, and the good old days were to be brought back. The effect upon the Indians was plainly evident. With solemn faces they listened, nodding now and then grave approval, and Cameron felt that the whole situation held possibilities of horror unspeakable in the revival of that ancient savage spirit which had been so very materially
Suddenly there was a swift change of motif, and with it a change of tone and movement and color. The marching, vibrant, triumphant chant of freedom and of conquest subsided again into the long-drawn wail of defeat, gloom and despair. Cameron needed no interpreter. He knew the singer was telling the pathetic story of the passing of the day of the Indian's glory and the advent of the day of his humiliation. With sharp rising inflections, with staccato phrasing and with fierce passionate intonation, the Sioux wrung the hearts of his hearers. Again Cameron glanced at the half-breed at his side and again he was startled to note the transformation in his face. Where there had been glowing pride there was now bitter savage hate. For that hour at least the half-breed was all Sioux. His father's blood was the water in his veins, the red was only his Indian mother's. With face drawn tense and lips bared into a snarl, with eyes gleaming, he gazed fascinated upon the face of the singer. In imagination, in instinct, in the deepest emotions of his soul Jerry was harking back again to the savage in him, and the savage in him thirsting for revenge upon the white man who had wrought this ruin upon him and his Indian race. With a fine dramatic instinct the Sioux reached his climax and abruptly ceased. A low moaning murmur ran round the circle and swelled into a sobbing cry, then ceased as suddenly as there stepped into the circle a stranger, evidently a half-breed, who began to speak. He was a French Cree, he announced, and delivered his message in the speech, half Cree, half French, affected by his race.
He had come fresh from the North country, from the disturbed district, and bore, as it appeared, news of the very first importance from those who were the leaders of his people in the unrest. At his very first word Jerry drew a long deep breath and by his face appeared to drop from heaven to earth. As the half- breed proceeded with his tale his speech increased in rapidity.
"What is he saying, Jerry?" said Cameron after they had listened for some minutes.
"Oh he beeg damfool!" said Jerry, whose vocabulary had been learned mostly by association with freighters and the Police. "He tell 'bout beeg meeting, beeg man Louis Riel mak' beeg noise. Bah! Beeg damfool!" The whole scene had lost for Jerry its mystic impressiveness and had become contemptibly commonplace. But not so to Cameron. This was the part that held meaning for him. So he pulled up the half-breed with a quick, sharp command.
"Listen close," he said, "and let me know what he says."
And as Jerry interpreted in his broken English the half-breed's speech it appeared that there was something worth learning. At this big meeting held in Batoche it seemed a petition of rights, to the Dominion Parliament no less, had been drawn up, and besides this many plans had been formed and many promises made of reward for all those who dared to stand for their rights under the leadership of the great Riel, while for the Indians very special arrangements had been made and the most alluring prospects held out. For they were assured that, when in the far North country the new Government was set up, the old free independent life of which they had been hearing was to be restored, all hampering restrictions imposed by the white man were to be removed, and the good old days were to be brought back. The effect upon the Indians was plainly evident. With solemn faces they listened, nodding now and then grave approval, and Cameron felt that the whole situation held possibilities of horror unspeakable in the revival of that ancient savage spirit which had been so very materially