I don’t know if you keep abreast of the dispatches from the territories, but that Northwest Rebellion looks bad for business, should yours happen to involve trade in pelts or rapeseed.
I’m not usually one for sendin’ our lads off to fight foreign wars in places I can’t pronounce, but I dare say the killing fields of Saskatchewan menace all good Englishmen.
This Louis Riel fella, we’ve given him all manner of chances to come to his senses. And maybe he did. Who knows? I don’t want to travel for weeks to get close enough to find out. All I know is if he did then his senses are crazy, and there comes a time to draw a line in the snow and say “Whoa there, lunatic!”
Two good legs, an English education and a handsome growth of beard – that Riel wanted for nothin’. But he wasn’t content, no. Just like another Frenchman I could name, if I knew any.
And the “Metis”: what’s that supposed to be? Everybody’s got their own special names we’re supposed to use, like how the Ching Chongs want to be called “Chinamen” now, if you please. It’s all so “politically genteel” it makes me want to puke. Puke like a Mick!
I remember when “What do ya get when ya cross a Frenchie with an Indian” used to set up a helluva good joke, not be a cause to call in the bloody army.
Anyhow, hangin’s too good for Riel, but because this country’s gone soft ever since Macdonald sobered up that’s probably exactly what the lucky bugger’ll get. I’d bet a month’s worth of rheumatism liniment on it.