Siggins - Riel: a life of revolution

For Mike, Bill, Fangfang and Yaya,
each one an inspiration

Oh my God! How has Death become my fiance, with all the honor I feel towards her?

And how can it be that the more she repels me, the more she seeks me out?

AUGUST 2, 1885

I t was a perfect prairie day. The drought had mysteriously broken; orange lilies, white primrose and rich pink prickly roses had come alive and were running amuck in the luxuriant grasses. The sky was a stunning azure, without a speck of cloud. A breeze played about.

As W.W. Harkins, Willy to his friends, bumped along in the little buggy, he thought to himself, this is exactly what the prairies are supposed to look like, which didnt give him much comfort. He was very nervous. He had convinced his paper, the Weekly Star of Montreal, to cough up the money to send him here, and he wasnt at all sure of success. Hed pulled as many strings as he could, with his cronies in the Conservative Party, the few officers he knew in the North-West Mounted Police, the lawyers he drank with, but he wasnt sure anything had come of it. Since he wasnt exactly a favourite with the publisher anyway, failure would likely mean his job.

Three miles west of the shack town of Regina, he spotted the Mountie headquarters. Driving up to the main building, he braced himself, then asked for the man in charge, Inspector R. Burton Deane. Much to his amazement he was told that everything had been arranged. He would be the first person to interview the notorious Louis Riel since the Mtis leader had given himself up two and a half months before.

The prison that held the condemned man had formerly been the guard house, a wooden structure, single storey, with a long slanting roof overhanging little windows, all heavily barred. Six Mounties in brilliant scarlet uniforms paced up and down outside, two more guarded the entrance and inside yet another stood at attention before the cell. Harkins thought the security around Jesse James would not have been any heavier.

The reporter was led not to Riels cell, but to another airy room set up as a makeshift office. He sat tense, waiting, until he heard a banging down the corridor.

Two guards accompanied a burly, handsome man into the rather cramped quarters. In his right hand he carried an iron ball that was attached by a coarse chain to a shackle around his ankle. Harkins was taken aback by this, but his embarrassment was soon relieved, for the prisoner, bowing low, clasped his hand warmly and exclaimed, Ah, my young friend, I am happy to meet you. I have seen you at work in the courtroom last week.

Im pleased to meet you, Mr. Riel. My request now is to interview you for my paper.

The Montreal Star, oh, yes, I recollect it is a well-known newspaper. I am surely glad to meet its representative.

Harkins then suggested they sit down. Riel did so, depositing the iron weight on the floor beside him.

A few days before, in the crowded Regina courtroom, the reporter had watched as the curious had scrambled around Riel, much to the annoyance of the Mounties on guard, asking him for his autograph. Harkins hesitated at first, but then did exactly the same thingif your patience is not exhausted by previous experience.

Riel took up a sheet of NWMP supply paper and penned the following:

To the Readers of The Star.

I have devoted my life to my country. If it is necessary for the happiness of my country that I should now cease to live, I leave it to the Providence of God.

Louis Riel

Any sharp journalist would have asked the essential question, and W.W. Harkins was no slouch. Have you any hopes of escaping the scaffold?

Riel paused, forming his reply carefully. Then his eyes burrowed into the reporter: Yes, yes, that is a subject I like to converse about. Humanly speaking nothing can save me. Do I look excited? he continued with a flash of a smile. NoI do not, for I will be preserved from death at this critical hour through the divine and saving influence of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Death lies beside me in my bed. When sleep begins to close my eyes, she whispers. Her voice touches the bottom of my heart; it says that sleep is a rehearsal for death. Notice, she says, how sleep comes to you. That is almost how 1 will greet you on the day you will have to meet me.

Relaxing a little, Harkins noted how impressively handsome this man was at forty years of age. Somewhat tall, and broad-shouldered without an ounce of fat, he had thick, curly hair, auburn-brown, worn long but nicely kept, a prominent, straight nose, a heavy brown beard, rather thin lips and those eyesdark, glistening, expressive, as mesmerizing as they had often been described.

The reporter asked him why he sometimes called himself Louis David Riel. At that the Mtis leader rifled through his pockets and eventually pulled out a well-worn piece of paper. This is my marriage certificate, he explained. As you will observe, I was married in Montana to a Cree woman. Well, listen and I will read. He turned the document over and read the reverse side. I, Louis Riel, on this the occasion of my marriage, and in conformity with a custom prevailing in Catholic countries, hereby have taken in addition to my name the title of David.

When I was being hunted in the woods of St. Norbert like a wild beast, my friend Dubuches a judge nownamed me David after the great prophet who also spent years in the wilderness. I love and admire David so why shouldnt I take his name?

Death reveals how much she is attached to me. She speaks tenderly, saying: I am your wife. I dont want to turn my back on you. Youll never hear me say Im leaving you. I follow faithfully wherever you go. I am always trying to embrace you for I love you. My only desire is to have and possess you.

Harkins realized at that point that Riel had grabbed hold of the conversation and that it would be no small matter to get a word in edgewise. But then, why would he want to? This was front-page stuff. He did manage one question: For how many years have you been aware that you possessed the gift of prophecy? Since 1874, Riel responded matter-of-factly. The reporter began madly scribbling down his words.

On the eighteenth of December 1874, while [I was] standing alone on a mountaintop near Washington, D.C., the same spirit that appeared to Moses in the midst of clouds of flame appeared to me in the same manner. I was astonished. I was dumbfounded. It was said to me: Rise, Louis David Riel, you have a mission to accomplish for the benefit of humanity. The words, spoken in Latin, were addressed to me: I received my divine notification with uplifted arms and bowed head. Since then, said Riel, he had dedicated himself to humankind. And always with practical results. And the province of Manitoba? Without our provisional government it would still be nothing more than a colony tied to the apron strings of Canada. I deserve to be called the Father of Manitoba.

When everyone, even your relatives and friends, has fled from you, deserted the place where you have been put, I, Death, whom you dont love and whom you fear so much, I will be your constant companion. Who can separate me from you? Who will come to take you from my arms? Who will disturb our union when I press you to my breast in the grave?