On the evening of the second day we stopped for the night at the old
stockaded post of Pomme-de-Terre, not far from the Ottertail River. The
place was foul beyond the power of words to paint it, but a "shake down"
amidst the hay in a cow-house was far preferable to the society of man
close by.

At eleven o'clock on the following morning we reached and crossed the
Ottertail River, the main branch of the Red River, and I beheld with joy
the stream upon whose banks, still many hundred miles distant, stood Fort
Garry. Later in the day, having passed the great level expanse known as
The Breckenridge Flats, the stage drew up at Fort Abercrombie, and I saw
for the first time the yellow, muddy waters of the Red River of the
North. Mr. Nolan, express agent, stage agent, and hotel keeper in the
town of McAulyville, put me up for that night, and although the room
which I occupied was shared by no less than five other individuals, he
nevertheless most kindly provided me with a bed to myself. I can't say
that I enjoyed the diggings very much. A person lately returned from Fort
Garry detailed his experiences of that place and his interview with the
President at some length. A large band of the Sioux Indians was ready to
support the Dictator against all comers, and a vigilant watch was
maintained upon the Pembina frontier for the purpose of excluding
strangers who might attempt to enter from the United States; and
altogether M. Riel was as securely established in Fort Garry as if there
had not existed a red-coat in the universe. As for the Expedition, its
failure was looked upon as a foregone conclusion; nothing had been heard
of it excepting a single rumour, and that was one of disaster. An Indian
coming from beyond Fort Francis, somewhere in the wilderness north of
Lake Superior, had brought tidings to the Lake of the Woods, that forty
Canadian soldiers had already been lost in one of the boiling rapids of