ns, things began to quiet down again, and soon the arrival of
the civil governor, the Hon. Mr. Archibald, set matters completely to
rights.

Before ten days had elapsed the regular troops had commenced their long
return march to Canada, and the two regiments of Canadian militia had
arrived to remain stationed for some time in the settlement. But what
work it was to get the voyageurs away! The Iroquois were terribly
intoxicated, and for a long time refused to get into the boats. There was
a bear (a trophy from Fort Garry), and a terrible nuisance he proved at
the embarkation; for a long-time previous to the start he had been kept
quiet with un limited sugar, but at last he seemed to have had enough of
that condiment, and, with a violent tug, he succeeded in snapping his
chain and getting away up the bank. What a business it was! drunken
Iroquois stumbling about, and the bear, with 100 men after him, scuttling
in every direction. Then when the bear would be captured and put safely
back into his boat, half a dozen of the Iroquois would get out and run
a-muck through every thing. Louis (the pilot) would fall foul of Jacques
Sitsoli, and commence to inflict severe bodily punishment upon the person
of the unoffending Jacques, until, by the interference of the multitude,
peace would be restored and both would be reconducted to their boats. At
length they all got away down the river. Thus, during the first week of
September, the whole of the regulars departed once more to try the
torrents of the Winnipeg, and on the 10th of the month the commander
also took his leave. I was left alone in Fort Garry. The Red River
Expedition was over, and I had to find my way once more through the
United States to Canada. My long journey seemed finished, but I was
mistaken, for it was only about to begin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Westward--News from the Outside World--I retrace my Steps--An
Offer--The West--The Kissaskatchewan--The Inland Ocean--Preparations--
Departure--A Terrible Plague--A lonely Grave-Digressive--The Assineboine
River--Rossette.

One night, it was the 19th of September, I was lying out in the long
prairie grass near the south shore of Lake Manitoba, in the marshes of
which I had been hunting wild fowl for some days. It was apparently my
last night in Red River, for the period of my stay there had drawn to its
close. I had much to think about-that night, for only a few hours before
a French half-breed named La Ronde had