The John A. Macdonald Retrospective 2-Book Bundle. Ged Martin

Under the 1870 deal, male heads of Métis families had been granted “scrip,” vouchers for free land grants. Some claimed they had never received their entitlement, others demanded a fresh handout. Unsympathetic, Macdonald claimed many Métis had sold out to speculators. In any case, they could obtain free land grants of 160 acres (about sixty-five hectares) under Canada’s homestead policy to encourage settlers. Throughout 1884, Ottawa was more concerned with hotheads in the Manitoba Farmers’ Protective Union: Macdonald’s son Hugh, now a lawyer in Winnipeg, warned they might seize unguarded militia stores if an insurrection broke out. It seemed implausible that the Métis would take action on their own, but they might get caught up in some wider movement. In September 1884, there were reports of possible trouble around Battleford. “I don’t attach much importance to these rumours,” Macdonald wrote, “but there is no harm in taking precautions.”

      Louis Riel had returned from the United States in July 1884. Macdonald intended “to deal liberally” with Riel and use him to “keep the Métis in order.” The governor general, Lord Lansdowne, agreed that Riel’s reappearance was “anything but a misfortune.” Unfortunately, continuing anger in Ontario at the killing of Thomas Scott made direct negotiations with Riel politically impossible and, as in 1869–70, he proved difficult to pin down through intermediaries: terms submitted in September were described as “what we request for the present.” Riel also conflated Métis grievances with personal compensation claims, imaginatively estimated at $100,000, making the mistake of seemingly presenting them as a blackmailer’s price to quit Canada. Paying Riel to disappear, Macdonald insisted, would be an admission of government weakness. Riel’s mental state was a further complication. During 1884–85, he renamed the days of the week and the stars in the sky, declared himself to be a prophet as well as a member of the French royal family, and appointed the archbishop of Montreal as pope of the New World. The government’s subsequent claim that Riel’s delusions were compatible with rational political action was controversial at the time and unconvincing now.

      In December 1884, the Métis dispatched a petition of grievances to Ottawa and, on January 28, 1885, Cabinet authorized an investigation. Macdonald’s defenders argue that this rapid response removed any pretext for rebellion: he had acted, he later admitted, “with the greatest reluctance” but on the principle, “let us have peace” — the voice of the traumatized veteran of 1837. But critics claim that the angry Métis interpreted the move as a delaying tactic. Government public relations proved poor: Riel was offended to hear the news casually some days later, a discourtesy that probably pushed him towards rebellion. However, Riel’s mystical belief in his own destiny fatally handicapped the uprising. In 1869, trouble had begun in November, while the Red River was inaccessibly wrapped in winter; in 1885, Riel defied the government in March, when spring was in sight and militia forces could be deployed against him. Believing his Métis to be divinely chosen, he made little attempt to build alliances with Native people or discontented settlers. He refused to allow his supporters to exploit their knowledge of the terrain and fight a prolonged guerrilla campaign. He did not even sabotage the Canadian Pacific Railway, which quickly brought government forces from eastern Canada.

      Maybe Ottawa could have moved faster in response to Métis grievances, but in the early months of 1885, the government faced what seemed a far greater crisis over the transcontinental railway. Although nearing completion, the CPR had yet again run out of cash. With its assets mortgaged to the government, no private investment was likely but, as Macdonald wrote on January 24, “however docile our majority, we dare not ask for another loan.” In fact, his backbenchers were far from docile. On March 17, as the company faced catastrophic financial crisis, Macdonald reported “blackmailing all round,” with Quebec and Maritime MPs raising their demands. “I wish I were well out of it.” After fruitless talks in Ottawa on March 26, George Stephen regretfully accepted that he must declare bankruptcy. But earlier that day, at Duck Lake in the far-off Saskatchewan country, Louis Riel had led his Métis into a clash with the Northwest Mounted Police, killing twelve of them. On March 27, the news reached Ottawa. It looks like the greatest coincidence in Canadian history, making possible the trade-off that confirmed Macdonald’s political genius. He would use the CPR to save the West, and the uprising as the opportunity to rescue the company.

      Canada’s destiny had a close shave during those two crucial days, but the connection between Riel and the railway is less dramatic than it seems. Central Canada was already aware of trouble in the West; the Montreal Gazette headlined “The Riel Rebellion” on March 25. The shootout at Duck Lake was not immediately linked to the CPR, for it was assumed that the Mounted Police and the Winnipeg militia could contain the outbreak. In any case, had the company crashed, the transcontinental railway itself would have become the property of the government, as the CPR’s chief creditor. Campbell urged that Cabinet should “face the evils which the fall of the company (if it must fall) would undoubtedly entail” rather than lend any more money. If Macdonald performed a political about-face, posing as “guardian of the country rather than the company,” Parliament would surely vote the necessary money to finish the project and the Conservative party would sidestep political disaster. Although this seemed unduly optimistic, once MPs grasped that they would have to pay for its construction anyway, they might accept another CPR bailout. Far from the bad news of March 27 producing a miraculous turnaround in attitudes to the CPR, the company was kept on life support through short-term bank loans for several months. Parliament was debating Macdonald’s Franchise Bill — denounced by the Liberals as a device to ensure that only Conservatives were added to the voters’ lists — and not until mid-June were proposals for financial aid introduced. In vain, Stephen urged “extreme urgency.” Macdonald, he concluded had “the best possible intentions” but it seemed “impossible for him to act until the last moment arrives.” “Putting off, his old sin,” Campbell called it, adding “Macdonald has lost his grasp.” But “Old Tomorrow” judged the timing right, and the necessary funding was secured in July 1885. On November 7, the two ends of the transcontinental railway were joined in the mountains of British Columbia.

      Nine days after the famous “Last Spike” completed the CPR, a metal bolt was shot back to open the trapdoor under the Regina gallows, and convicted traitor Louis Riel fell to his death. Riel’s execution still divides Canadians, and the prime minister bears chief responsibility for the political decision to confirm the death sentence passed upon the rebel leader. “If Riel is convicted he will certainly be executed,” Macdonald wrote in June. From a modern perspective, that sounds like the judicial murder of a political opponent. In the contemporary context, we should emphasize that Riel was the only person to die for his role in the uprising — although eight Aboriginal men were also hanged for a specific crime, the killing of settlers at Frog Lake, with dozens of Native people rounded up to witness the grisly mass execution. Memories of the “martyrs” of 1837 lingered in Quebec, and Macdonald knew that widespread repression would create victims and long-term wounds. He even tried to dismiss the uprising as a “mere domestic trouble” which should not “be elevated to the rank of a rebellion,” but he ruefully agreed when Lord Lansdowne objected that the episode was more than “a common riot.” “We certainly made it assume large proportions in the public eye … for our own purposes,” Macdonald admitted. Punishing Riel made it possible to exercise clemency to his followers without making the government look weak. Most rebels served only short prison sentences.

      The jury that convicted Riel also recommended mercy, an implied criticism of the government’s failure to tackle Métis grievances. Therefore, in confirming Riel’s death sentence, Macdonald was sitting in judgment on himself. There was the further complication of Riel’s mental state: if he was mad, could he be held responsible for his actions? At the last minute, the government commissioned three medical reports on Riel’s sanity — although Campbell asked how anybody could determine in November whether he had been sane the previous March. Chosen as lead investigator was Michael Lavell, warden of Kingston’s penitentiary — an appointment he owed to Macdonald. Lavell was experienced in dealing with mentally disturbed prisoners, but his medical qualifications were in obstetrics. Macdonald gave him precise but narrow instructions, and Lavell duly reported although Riel was an oddball, he had known right from wrong. Yet Riel’s continued insistence on accepting responsibility for his actions as he faced the noose surely cast doubt on his sanity. However, only one of the three doctors, the francophone F.-X. Valade,