Guardians of the Road
Now that we have followed the main line of the Canadian Pacific to the
coast and have paid tribute to the actual builders it is fitting to
devote a brief chapter to a body of men who, while not taking part
directly in the work, did so much to make that work possible that they
were often officially thanked by the railway heads for their
extraordinary assistance. I refer now particularly to the part played on
the stage of Western development by that famous corps, the North-West
Mounted Police. I am giving here the original title. Since the time when
they were so designated, the prefix “Royal” was given by King Edward, as
a recognition of the great services of these knights of the saddle.
Still later, when, shortly after the outbreak of the Great War, they
were for obvious important reasons distributed all over the Dominion,
they were given the present name of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Names have changed, but throughout the fifty years from their
organization these riders in the scarlet and gold uniform have done
their duty as law-and-order men, inflexible, untiring and incorruptible,
in their guardianship of life and property on the widest frontier in the
world. The fact that they became an important factor in the conception
and building of the Canadian Pacific Railway was foreshadowed in the
famous report made by Capt. W. F. Butler (afterwards Sir William Butler,
of South Africa,) in the year 1871, when he travelled over the “great
lone land” and made recommendation how to preserve law and order in that
vast prairie country. The railway would not have come into a country
that would not some day be populated, and no country would be populated
unless immigrants and homesteaders were given assurance that their lives
and property would be protected in the new country. So it was that
Butler recommended the formation of a “mobile force,” because a force
located at fixed points or forts “would afford no adequate protection
outside the immediate circle of these points and _would hold out no
inducements to the establishment of new settlements_.” And Butler says
he made his recommendation because he saw “a vast country lying, as it
were, silently awaiting the approach of the immense wave of human life
which rolls unceasingly from Europe to the American continent.” Butler
added that, though the Western plains were far from the Atlantic
seaboard, “still that wave of human life is destined to reach those
beautiful solitudes and to convert their now useless vegetation into all
the requirements of civilized existence.” And it is historically true to
say that homesteaders began to come to the great lone land with more
confidence once the Mounted Police had taken control of the country in
the early 70’s. The notable painting, “Any Complaints?” by Paul Wickson,
is based on this idea. It represents the police patrol riding up to the
homesteader at his plough and asking if he has been troubled by horse
thieves, or cattle stealers or lawless Indians. It was because the
homesteader could pursue his way in peace that a railway to carry what
he imported and exported, had a future. And not only from possible human
enemies, but from the terrific danger of prairie fires and such like,
did the rider of the plains stand on guard. When one, for instance, sees
Constable Conradi, despite warnings that he was attempting the
impossible, spurring his horse through rolling clouds of smoke and
saving a family from death at the risk of his own life, one realizes how
these knights of the saddle gave people a sense of security. Or when one
sees thirty of these gallant riders sweeping the plain till they found a
lost child and restored her to her mother’s arms, he understands how the
presence of these men robbed the life on the prairies of the sense of
insecurity. The element of security drew settlers to the plains and thus
encouraged railway building.
Coming to railway construction time we have the cases in which the
contractors and engineers were terrorized by the Indians in the early
stages of their work. One chief, Pie-a-Pot, who had always been a source
of trouble on account of his ugly disposition and his evident
determination not to acquiesce in the incoming of civilized life, took
it into his head one day to camp on the railroad right-of-way on the
prairie. The surveyors and engineers worked up to that point and found
Pie-a-Pot’s tent squarely in the way. Around him were many other tents
and all supported by a big band of braves who, mounted on their ponies,
circled around, discharging fire-arms into the air and indulging in
war-whoops and other hostile demonstrations. The surveyors and engineers
asked the hostile chief to move, but he only laughed at them and urged
his braves to more violent exhibitions of their prowess. The men of
peaceful occupations discreetly withdrew to a safe distance and halted
their work, but at the same time managed to send back word to the
Mounted Police headquarters as to the situation. Headquarters sent a
message to the detachment of police nearest the scene of disturbance,
though it was many miles away. That detachment of police consisted of
only two men, a sergeant and a constable. Numbers have never counted
either way with the Mounted Police, and so these two in the scarlet and
gold uniform rode miles to Pie-a-pot’s camp on the railroad
right-of-way. They told Pie-a-Pot that they were instructed to ask him
to move out of the way, but the defiant chief sat in front of his tent
and encouraged his braves to rush the two police horses with their
ponies. The sergeant and constable, however, sat their horses unmoved
and again warned the chief, who laughed in their faces. Then the
sergeant, pulling out his watch, indicated the minute hand and gave the
chief ten minutes to move. The Indians became more violent, but the
police sat tight and at the end of the ten minutes the sergeant,
throwing his reins to the constable so that the horses would not be
stampeded, leaped over Pie-a-Pot’s head and, entering the chief’s tent,
kicked out the centre pole and brought it down in a hurry. He did the
same with the four tents of the chief’s head-men and then told them to
get out at once. The Indians saw the kind of men they had to deal with
and so they moved swiftly, and the Canadian Pacific surveyors and
engineers went on with their work.
Not long afterwards there was a similar case, though it did not go so
far. Eastern contractors and workmen, who had not been used to seeing
war-paint, were naturally somewhat alarmed one day when a band of
Indians rushed at them with the air of people who owned the earth and
wished to hold it for themselves. Superintendent Shurtcliffe of the
Mounted Police received an S. O. S. call on that particular occasion
from a contractor who was getting out ties from a bush, and had been
forced to leave “on the double quick” when a chief with the portentous
name of “Front Man” swooped down on his tie gang with a band of yelling
Indians. Shurtcliffe summoned “Front Man” and told him how dangerous a
thing it was to interfere with the progress of work authorized by the
Canadian Government. When Mr. “Front Man” heard that it was practically
the Government he had been chasing, he was very penitent and promised
the Mounted Police officer that he would behave himself in the future.
Whereupon the contractor and his men, with a new appreciation of the men
in scarlet and gold, went back to prosecute, unmolested, their peaceful
and highly necessary tie business.
There was a famous riot case at the Beaver River in the mountains, early
in 1885, where several hundreds of rough men, many of them reckless
aliens, went on strike during construction, and were backed by lawless
camp-followers at that temporary terminus. There were only some eight
Mounted Police to keep order, although many of the navvies and the
disorderly characters in the place were heavily armed. The police
detachment, however, was commanded by that redoubtable officer,
Superintendent Samuel B. Steele (later Major-General Sir S. B. Steele),
with his second in command, Sergeant Fury, a short, heavy-set, quiet man
who could be all that his name suggested if occasion required. When the
strike was pending Steele told the strikers that he would not interfere
in the question itself as the police never took sides, but he warned
them that they must keep the peace and not commit any acts of violence
or he would punish them to the full extent of the law.
A few days later Steele was down in bed with mountain fever, and one of
his men, Constable Kerr, had gone to the town to get him some medicine.
When Kerr was coming back he saw a mob being incited by a well-known
desperate character to make an attack on the barracks and to destroy the
railway property. Kerr, though alone, promptly arrested the man, but he
was overpowered by the mob and the prisoner rescued. Kerr reported to
Fury, who in turn reported to Steele, who was in bed, as the strikers
knew. Steele said, “It will never do to let the gang think they can play
with us,” and sent Fury with one of the constables with orders to arrest
the man. The arrest was made, but the two policemen were again
overpowered and came back to report with their uniforms torn by the mob.
The police were not “gunmen” and never used weapons unless as a last
resort. The limit had been reached in this case, and Steele said to
Fury, “Take three men and go back and shoot any one who interferes to
prevent you making the arrest.” Fury went back with Constables Fane,
Craig and Walters, while the other four constables guarded the barracks
which were slated for attack. Johnston, a magistrate, was there to read
the Riot Act, if necessary. In a few minutes there was a shot, and
Johnston said “Some one in that gang has gone to kingdom come.” Steele
leaped out of bed and went to the window. Craig and Walters were
dragging the prisoner across the bridge over the Beaver, the desperado
fighting like a demon and a scarlet woman following them with oaths and
curses. Fury and Fane were in the rear, trying to hold back a mob of
some three hundred men. Steele called on Johnston to come and read the
Riot Act, and ignoring his own fevered condition, he grabbed a rifle and
started running across the bridge calling the other men to follow. The
mob could hardly believe their eyes when they saw Steele and shouted
with oaths, “Even his deathbed does not scare him.” In the meantime the
desperate prisoner was struggling fiercely with his captors, biting,
kicking and shouting till they were on the bridge, when Walters lifted
his powerful fist and struck him on the head, and, with Craig, dragged
him like a rag into the barracks, where they left him and rushed back to
help their comrades. Johnston read the Riot Act and Steele, rifle in
hand, told the rioters that if he saw any man of them trying to reach
for his gun he would shoot him. He told them to disperse and that if he
saw more than ten of them together he would order his men to mow them
down. And the little detachment of eight policemen stood there with
magazines charged ready to carry out orders. The riot collapsed in five
minutes, and the leaders of it were sentenced next day. The trouble
never cropped up again. The roughs at the Beaver had tried the game of
rioting with the wrong men. And cool, daring men like these were all
along the line to keep the lawless in mind of the fact that lawlessness
would not be tolerated for a moment in the Mounted Police country.
It is not unexpectedly, then, that we come across two special letters
from builders of the great railway, expressing their thanks to the
Mounted Police. The first is from Mr. (later Sir) William C. Van Horne,
who was not given to saying gushing things. Here it is,
“January 1, 1883.
“Dear Sir:
“Our work of construction for the year 1882 has just closed, and
I cannot permit the occasion to pass without acknowledging the
obligations of the Company to the North-West Mounted Police,
whose zeal and industry in preventing traffic in liquor and
preserving order along the line of construction have contributed
so much to the successful prosecution of the work. Indeed,
without the assistance of the officers and men of the splendid
force under your command it would have been impossible to have
accomplished as much as we did. On no great work within my
knowledge, where so many men have been employed, has such
perfect order prevailed. On behalf of the Company and all their
officers, I wish to return thanks and to acknowledge
particularly our obligations to yourself and Major Walsh.
“I am, sir,
“Yours very truly,
“W. C. Van Horne,
“_General Manager_.
“To Lieutenant-Colonel A. G. Irvine
“Commissioner,
“North-West Mounted Police,
“Regina.”
And at the close of the next year we find the following from another
very practical man, John M. Egan, General Superintendent of the Western
Line, who did not make incursions into the realm of the sentimental. The
letter runs as follows:
“My dear Colonel:
“Gratitude would be wanting did the present year close without
my conveying, on behalf of the Canadian Pacific Railway, to you
and those under your charge most sincere thanks for the manner
in which their several duties in connection with the railway
have been attended to during the past season.
“Prompt obedience to your orders, faithful carrying out of your
instructions, contribute in no small degree to the rapid
construction of the line. The services of your men during recent
troubles among a certain class of our employees prevented
destruction to property and preserved obedience to law and order
in a manner highly commendable. Justice has been meted out to
them without fear or favour, and I have yet to hear any person,
who respects same, say aught against your command.
“Wishing you the season’s compliments,
“I remain,
“Yours very truly,
“Jno. M. Egan.”
Taken together these letters, written by matter-of-fact men, are great
tributes paid to the men of the Mounted Police for the part they played
in those critical periods of the history of the pioneer railway. In such
masses of railway men of all kinds and nationalities thrown together in
construction times, there was constant danger of disorder under certain
conditions. There were amongst these men, many adventurous agitators who
cared nothing for the ultimate success of the railway. Had the
whiskey-peddlers who always hover around such camps been allowed to ply
their nefarious trade, there would have been constant danger to the men
themselves from high explosives carelessly handled. And there would have
been the ever-present menace of unreasonable outbreaks causing delay and
damage to a great and necessary undertaking. No wonder that such highly
practical and observant men as Van Horne and Egan understood and gladly
acknowledged the co-operation of the Mounted Police in a vast national
enterprise.
People have often wondered how this road, traversing some three thousand
miles across lonely prairie and lonelier mountains, escaped having its
trains held up by robbers, as was common in some other similarly
situated countries. In an official report some years after the road
opened Superintendent Deane of the Mounted Police at Calgary refers to
an effort at train-robbing that year and starts out with the following
revealing statement: “It has for years been an open secret that the
train-robbing fraternity in the United States had seriously considered
the propriety of trying conclusions with the Mounted Police, but had
decided that the risks were too great and the game not worth the candle.
After the object lesson they received last May, it may be reasonably
supposed that railway passengers will be spared further anxiety during
the life of the present generation at least.”
The special event to which Deane refers was a train hold-up at Kamloops
in British Columbia by a notorious train-robbing expert, Bill Miner,
alias Edwards, etc., assisted by two other gunmen, William Dunn and
“Shorty” Colquhoun. A train robbery had been committed by the same gang
some months before, but local authorities could not trace the robbers.
When the second robbery took place at Kamloops, the railway heads
thought they could not afford to take more chances, although Provincial
Police, especially Fernie, of Kamloops, were doing good trailing work.
Mr. Richard Marpole, then Superintendent of the Canadian Pacific Railway
at the Coast, who was always devoted to the interests of the road, wired
to General Manager (later Sir) William Whyte to secure the help of the
Mounted Police, who were not then on duty in British Columbia. Mr. Whyte
telegraphed to Regina to Commissioner A. B. Perry, head of the Mounted
Police, who, wiring Calgary to have two detachments ready, left for that
point to take charge of the case. From Calgary, Perry (now Major-General
and C.M.G., retired after years of distinguished service) sent Inspector
Church, an excellent officer, with a detachment, to Penticton to cut off
the escape of the robbers over the boundary-line. Perry left for
Kamloops with a detachment under charge of Staff-Sergeant J. J. Wilson,
with Thomas, Shoebotham, Peters, Stewart, Browning and Tabateau. The
weather was bad and the horses secured at Kamloops were poor, but,
despite these handicaps, this posse trailed and captured the robbers,
after a sharp fight, within forty-eight hours. The effect of that lesson
is still apparent, as Deane prophesied.
When the last spike had been driven on the Canadian Pacific Railway at
Craigellachie, and there was a through train to the Coast, Steele,
above-mentioned, who was back again on Mounted Police work in the
mountains, was given a trip to the Pacific out of compliment to himself
and the force generally. It was a time when the railway men were trying
out the road which they knew had been well constructed. Steele describes
his trip in a semi-humorous way, and speaks of the train going at
fifty-seven miles an hour, roaring in and out of the tunnels and
whirling around the curves. He says it was a wild ride, but adds these
fine words, “Many years have passed since that memorable ride, and
to-day one goes through the mountains in the most modern and palatial
observation cars, but the recollection of that journey to the Coast on
the first train through, is far sweeter to me than any trips taken
since. It was the exultant moment of pioneer work and we were all
pioneers on that excursion.” And we add again, all due honour to the
law-and-order men in scarlet and gold who had watched over the
construction of the long steel trail.