Scarlet and Gold—The Rough Riders of the Plains—The
Fourth Semi-Military Force in the
World—Its Wonderful Work in the
Park—Why the Scarlet Tunic
Was Chosen—Some Curious
Indian Names—Primitive
Western
Justice.
The famous Royal North West Mounted Police of Canada, whose record
constitutes a strikingly romantic chapter in the history of Canada, was
called into being in 1873 to preserve British law and order in the vast
wildernesses lying between the Great Lakes and the mountain ranges of
British Columbia. The newly-formed Dominion of Canada had but recently
acquired these huge preserves from the Hudson’s Bay Company,
subsequently to convert them from the Northwest Territories into the
Provinces of Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba.
It was the duty of the little force, some 300 strong, known as the North
West Mounted Police—destined to gain an imperishable name throughout
the civilized world for its remarkable efficiency and valor—to
administer the law and to represent supreme authority over this immense
area of undeveloped Canadian territory. Intrepid pioneers were pushing
their way into Western Canadian fastnesses hitherto unknown except to
the aboriginal Indians, explorers, and agents of the Hudson’s Bay
Company. As may be imagined, the R.N.W.M.P. had to exercise
extraordinary discretion and courage in dealing with the free and easy
forerunners of civilization and the fierce and untamed Indian tribes.
Most of the people feared neither God nor man, and a man had to stand
upon his own naked merit and strength of character.
Mere mention of the Mounted Police recalls scores of men whose names
were for long and should be for ever household words in the west. For
instance, there is Lieut.-Col. George A. French, R.A., the first
Commissioner, who personally commanded the expedition of 1874, which
opened up the southern section of the country and cleaned out the worst
of the Yankee whiskey trading forts. Col. French was Inspector of
Artillery and in command of A Battery, R.C.A., Kingston, when appointed
to command the police—a soldier possessing a combination of dash and
disregard of red-tape which proved very useful. After returning to the
army, he served in Australia and reorganized the defensive forces of
that country, retiring from the service as Sir George French.
Lieut.-Colonel James F. Macleod, C.M.G., who was Assistant Commissioner
under Col. French, and succeeded him as Commissioner, became better
known as a judge perhaps than as a police officer, as he administered
justice in the West for many years. Fort Macleod was named after him. He
had been an officer in the Ontario militia and was Assistant Brigade
Major of Militia in the Red River Expedition of 1870, receiving the
C.M.G., for his services. Col. Macleod was pre-eminently a practical
administrator of justice.
The first year the police were in southern Alberta (1874-75), Col.
Macleod acted as commanding officer of the police and stipendiary
magistrate. His men were almost frozen in their beds for lack of proper
clothing. A raid upon one of the more or less notorious Yankee traders’
“forts,” which had been doing a roaring trade in Indian horses at a rate
of a gallon of rot-gut whiskey per head, produced a welcome supply of
buffalo robes; and besides exacting from the illicit traders fines to
the full extent of the law, Col. Macleod judiciously seized the robes,
and issuing them to his men solved a problem which at one time
threatened serious results.
The gallant officer’s influence over the Indians was very great, and
resulted in Treaty No. 7 (1877) with the Blackfeet and Blood Indians. It
is to be regretted that his services were not adequately appreciated by
the Canadian Government, and his widow and children, who had faithfully
shared in the hardships of his pioneer life, were never provided for.
Governments are proverbially ungrateful.
Col. Irvine’s Services Against Riel.
Lieut.-Col. A. G. Irvine, who was Commissioner of the force during the
Riel Rebellion of 1885, was also a Red River Expedition man, having gone
out as second in command of the Quebec Rifles. He was Col. Macleod’s
successor (1882) and possessed the same excellent qualities as his
predecessor in dealing with the Indians at critical times, and was, like
Col. Macleod, idolized by his men. When Sir Garnet Wolseley returned
east a provisional battalion of militia was left in the Red River and
Col. Irvine had command of it. When the Fenian filibusterer, O’Neil,
made his raid across the Manitoba frontier, Col. Irvine had command of
the expedition despatched to the frontier, but before the line was
reached United States troops had solved the difficulty by the simple
process of seizing O’Neil and his gang. Col. Irvine was a thorough
gentleman, and those who knew him sympathized heartily with him when the
impression somehow or other got abroad that his services had not been
satisfactory during the Riel rebellion. Those who are in possession of
the facts give the Colonel credit for splendid service to the country
upon that occasion.
Previous to the outbreak he repeatedly drew the attention of those in
authority to the trouble brewing, and when the outbreak occurred he
showed great ability in conducting the march of his force of 100
policemen from Regina to Port Albert. With the temperature below zero,
he covered 291 miles of prairie trail in seven days, and the half-breeds
were preparing to intercept this force at Batoche when, to their
amazement and disgust, they learned that Col. Irvine had discreetly made
a détour, had crossed the Saskatchewan at Agnew’s Crossing, some
distance down, and was within a few miles of Prince Albert. Armchair
critics thought that Col. Irvine should not have remained in Prince
Albert, but should have joined General Middleton. However, after the
rebellion, Gabriel Dumont, while in the East, confided to me that had it
not been for Col. Irvine’s force in Prince Albert and the patrols he
kept out, the rebels would have attacked the unguarded supply posts and
wagons in the rear of Gen. Middleton’s column, which would have forced
that officer to halt or retire, for he had never more than two or three
days’ rations with him at the front. The half breeds were afraid to
leave their camp and women at Batoche open to attack by Col. Irvine for
an adventure in rear of Gen. Middleton’s force.
Commissioner Lawrence Herchmer who was a very efficient head of the
forces had served as subaltern in the British Army and had later acted
as commissariat officer on the staff of the International Boundary
Commission. I was in the Ottawa press gallery and on the day of his
appointment received a wire from a friend in Chicago announcing the
fact. I rushed over to Fred White, then Comptroller of the force, and
showed him the message. He was astounded that the news should have come
from Chicago for, he told me, “the appointment was made only ten minutes
ago.” I asked if it wasn’t William who had been appointed, but he said:
“No, it’s Lawrence.”
A. Bowen Perry, the present Commissioner, was one of the first class of
students at the Royal Military College, winning a commission in the
Royal Engineers on graduation, but serving only a few years in the Army.
He came to the front in the Riel rebellion under General Strange. He had
a nine-pounder gun in his charge and risked his life to save it when
crossing the Red Deer River. There being no other means of crossing
Major Perry decided to make a raft to carry his gun and equipment over.
Owing to the extemporized moorings breaking, the raft, with gun and
ammunition on it, ran away and was drifting down the swift current when
Major Perry managed to get the end of a rope fast to an overhanging tree
and it held. Owing to the peculiar position of raft, rope, tree and
current had the rope parted again, Major Perry must have been crushed to
death or drowned. He took the risk and won.
Assistant Commissioner C. Starnes, who is a nephew of the late Hon.
Harry Starnes, of Montreal, joined the force in ’86, having previously
been adjutant of the 65th Montreal Battalion of Montreal, his native
city, during the rebellion of ’85. He served in different parts of the
Northwest and on Hudson Bay, and was in the Yukon during the winter of
1897-8 and, relieving Supt. Constantine at Dawson until the arrival of
Supt. Sam Steele. He was loaned to the militia during the war, and did
excellent service in Quebec. His promotion came in December, 1919, and
he is now second in command at Ottawa.
Superintendent G. E. Saunders was one of several officers of the force
who splendidly showed by their records that officers who wear monocles
and bestow careful attention upon personal appearance are none the less
good men, and efficient, confidence-inspiring officers. Severely wounded
in South Africa, he again saw service in the Great War and rendered a
splendid account of himself. He was perhaps one of the handsomest
officers in a force which was largely composed of good-looking men.
I recall a number of former officers of the force whom it was a treat to
look upon—Assistant Commissioner J. H. McIlree, as plucky and as
courteous as he was good-looking; Superintendent Frank Norman, alert,
eagle-eyed and active; Superintendent R. B. Deane, one of the fine old
school of officers, formerly of the Royal Marines; Superintendent J. D.
Moodie, who was the first Mounted Policeman to command a deep sea naval
expedition, namely that to Hudson Bay; Col. Walker, of Calgary, is still
in the flesh, and like his namesake, Johnny Walker, still going strong.
Inspector W. D. Jarvis was another of the original officers of the
force, he having gone out as Inspector in command of A Division and
having had charge of the column which proceeded via Qu’Appelle,
Touchwood, Batoche, Carlton and Pitt to Edmonton while Col. French and
Col. Macleod were marching through Southern Saskatchewan and Alberta.
Inspector Jarvis was much beloved in the force. It will be interesting
to many friends and admirers of the late Sir Sam Steele to know that
Inspector Jarvis was largely instrumental in securing a commission for
that gallant officer. Sir Sam, who had been a non-commissioned officer
in A Battery under Col. French, was sergeant-major of A Division of the
Police on Jarvis’s march to Edmonton in 1874. Forage and rations gave
out and rotten weather was experienced. It was then that Sam Steele’s
pluck and energy showed up and Inspector Jarvis in his official report
spoke very highly of his services, especially mentioning that he had
done manual labor of at least two men. Sir Sam’s services at turbulent
railhead camps during the construction of the C.P.R. through the
mountains, at Loon Lake and Frenchman’s Butte in 1885, in the Yukon in
the gold rush days, in South Africa while commanding Lord Strathcona’s
Horse, and in England during the recent war, are too well known, or
should be, to require reference to them here.
Superintendent A. R. Macdonnell was one of the old-timers who knew how
to handle the noble red man and the half-breed. Upon one occasion in
1885, he set out with three or four men to get eight Indian horse
thieves, and located them in a camp of 45 lodges near Wood Mountain. The
chief man in the camp presuming to make threats, Supt. Macdonnell simply
covered him with his revolver, ordered the thieves to be produced,
triumphantly took them and the stolen horses out of the camp, and on
returning to headquarters tried the prisoners and sentenced them.
Superintendent Macdonnell was commonly known as “Old Paper Collar,” a
name bestowed upon him for his alleged partiality to that very practical
and at one time economical article of attire.
Treating With Sitting Bull.
Among the giants of those days Major James M. (“Bob”) Walsh was noted as
one of outstanding courage and wisdom in dealing with white men or
Indians. His word was law and he never broke his word. His cool
fearlessness and his integrity gained for him the absolute confidence
and the high regard of the Indian chiefs throughout the Northwest
Territories, and this enviable esteem stood him in good stead upon the
memorable occasion of his dealing with the great Sioux chief, Sitting
Bull, following the Custer massacre in 1876. Gold had been discovered in
the U.S. territory allotted to the Indians. Prospectors and miners had
invaded the Indians’ hunting-grounds with the result that trouble ensued
between the white men and the Indians. Sitting Bull and his braves
finally came into conflict with the U.S. authorities, and Gen. Custer
and his men were exterminated at the battle of the Little Big Horn River
in Montana in June, 1876.
After the battle Sitting Bull and many of his warriors fled northward
and entered Canada near Fort Walsh, a police post founded by Major Walsh
in 1874 among the Cypress Hills. Sitting Bull was pursued by a party of
U.S. troopers, who, incensed by the Custer disaster, were disposed to
follow him into British territory and wreck vengeance upon the Sioux
chief.
But Sitting Bull claimed sanctuary under the British flag, and it was at
this critical juncture that Major Walsh’s courage, sagacity and sound
judgment prevented an awkward and dangerous international situation.
Major Walsh, under the instructions of Col. Macleod and Col. Irvine, had
naturally kept himself closely and accurately informed concerning the
warfare between Sitting Bull and the U.S. authorities, and was aware not
only of the Custer massacre but also of Sitting Bull’s flight toward
Canada. He was promptly on hand when the Sioux chief and his band of
warriors crossed the boundary line, and warned the pursuing U.S. forces
not to invade Canadian territory or the N.W.M.P. would be compelled to
deal vigorously with the situation. Major Walsh was widely known
personally and by repute on both sides of the boundary by white men and
Indians, by the civil and military authorities. The U.S. troops halted
at the border.
Major Walsh, accompanied by one of his sergeants, rode into the camp of
Sitting Bull to ascertain his intentions and discuss the situation. The
Sioux chief and his men were in a dangerous mood after the Custer
engagement and their harsh treatment by the United States, and were
ready to fight to the last man if need be. They did not know if Major
Walsh came as friend or foe, and he certainly took his life in his hand
when he rode into Sitting Bull’s camp. But the Major told Sitting Bull
that he and his people might remain in Canada so long as they obeyed the
laws and created no disturbance, as indeed they did remain, more or less
happily, for the rest of their days.
Sitting Bull maintained an intense hatred for the United States which he
claimed had persecuted him infamously and had callously violated its
treaties with him repeatedly. But he became a firm friend and ardent
admirer of Major Walsh, and in after years it was the Major who arranged
and presided over interviews between Sitting Bull and sundry American
journalists and politicians. John J. Finnerty, one time war
correspondent of the Chicago _Times_, has given a graphic description of
such a meeting, and the Major in his scarlet uniform is a conspicuous
figure in the group.
Another characteristic incident occurred in 1877 when bands of the
Saulteaux and Assiniboine Indians became involved in a tribal fight near
Fort Walsh. Major Walsh and a handful of policemen rode into the Cypress
Hills direct to the headquarters of the warring tribes—many hundreds of
them—arrested the ring-leaders, told them he intended to take them to
Fort Walsh to be tried by the law of their Mother, the Great White
Queen, and at once brought about peace and quietness among the fierce
and reckless warriors. Those who know the character of the Indians there
in those days appreciate the risk run by Major Walsh and his few
policemen.
Major Walsh had various titles among the Indian tribes of the great
West. By some he was known as “Wahonkeza,” meaning “Long Lance”, while
the Piegans called him “The White Chief of the Assiniboines.” The
Assiniboines called him “The-one-that-ties” from the fact that on his
first official visit to the Piegans he shackled four of the wrong-doers
with great promptness. He negotiated the cession of Assiniboia by the
Indian chiefs to the Canadian Government.
Major Walsh and the late Dr. G. W. Beers, of Montreal, were often
classed together as fathers of modern lacrosse in Canada.
Assistant Commissioner W. H. Herchmer was dearly beloved in the force as
a dare-devil and there was considerable expression of surprise in some
quarters when his brother, Lawrence Herchmer, was made Commissioner in
1886, instead of him. “Old Bill” Herchmer, as he was known, came into
public notice first as commanding officer of Lord Lorne’s escort on his
western tour, and again attracted attention as Chief of Staff to Colonel
Otter during the 1885 campaign. He commanded for many years at Calgary,
where his sadly tragic death was deeply regretted.
Inspector G. A. Brisbois was known in the force as the founder of
Calgary. He commanded B Division under Col. French and was sent up to
the forks of the Bow and Elbow to watch some trading posts established
near there. He had rough barracks built, which were the first permanent
buildings on the site of the present city. Inspector Brisbois dated his
first official report in 1875 from “Fort Brisbois,” and for some time
the barracks were so designated. Popularly Calgary was known by a
variety of names as “The Mouth,” “Elbow River,” “The Junction,” etc.
Confusion resulting, Colonel Macleod was deputed by Sir John Macdonald
to confer a name on the post and he called it by the name of his
paternal home in Scotland, “Calgarry,” which is Gaelic for “Clear
Running Water.” The spelling reformer has since been busy, and so we now
have the name with the single “r.”
Of course, there are many others of the former officers and men of the
force one could and would like to write about did space permit—men like
Supt. Griesbach, the first to join the ranks as a buck policeman, and
whose son is now representative of Edmonton in the Dominion parliament;
Lawrence Fortesque, C.M.G., I.S.O., who enlisted as a buck policeman and
rose to the comptrollership of the force—he is now retired and living
in England, but he pays occasional visits to Canada and I had the
pleasure of renewing old acquaintance with him the other day in Ottawa;
Major Winder; Jacob Carvell; Dalrymple Clarke, a nephew of Sir John
Macdonald; Supt. Shortcliffe; Capt. Jack French, who was shot at Batoche
in ’85, while attacking a Metis stronghold, and whose posthumous son is
an officer of the force and won the I.S.O. for service in the arctic
regions; Dr. Kittson, the original surgeon, a member of Commodore
Kittson’s family; Dr. G. H. Kennedy, from Dundas, Ont., who succeeded
Dr. Kittson; Dr. Dodds; Dr. Jukes, who was possessed of a remarkable
memory, and had high literary tastes; Veterinary Surgeon Burnett, who
has been 34 years with the force and is a horseman with very few equals
anywhere; Supt. Gagnon, 27 years in the force, who married Hon. Joseph
Royal’s daughter, who received the surrender of Big Bear and
distinguished himself overseas; Supt. L. N. F. Crozier, who commanded at
the action at Duck Lake in 1885, and whose reports to the Government
previous to the rebellion, if acted upon, might have prevented any
uprising; Inspector Joe Howe, the nephew of the great Nova Scotia
statesman, who was wounded at Duck Lake and later rendered distinguished
service in South Africa; Assistant Commissioner “Zack” Wood, who was an
officer in the 90th in 1885, did great service in the Yukon, and is now
stationed in the arctic regions; Charlie Constantine; Wroughton;
Belcher; Shortcliffe, Morris, who commanded the post at Battleford
during the Riel trouble; Routledge; Supt. Alfred Dickens, son of the
distinguished Loyalist, who held Fort Pitt to the last and then escaped
the Indians by rafting down the river; Strickland; poor Chalmers, who
died a hero’s death while trying to save the life of his comrade
Saunders in South Africa; Jack Cotton; Inspector Jack Allen, who figured
in the final incident of the “Almighty Voice” tragedy in May, 1897, was
a born fighter, and has seen service since the early sixties—at Windsor
(Ont.) border, during the Civil War, and during the Fenian raid in ’66,
and was through the South African war and did great service in Great
Britain during the recent Great War; Supt. Cecil R. Denny, of a
distinguished Irish family; Col. Osborne Smith, after whom Fort Osborne
in Winnipeg was named, and who was temporary commissioner of the force
for a brief period in 1873, Major Charles F. Young, a British officer
who fought in the Maori war in New Zealand, and is now police magistrate
in Prince Albert, (a man of convivial habits, but with a stern sense of
duty—a sort of kind-hearted official who would shed tears when illicit
liquor was destroyed at his command); Asst. Commissioner John A.
McGibbon, from Montreal; J. O. Wilson, of Dundas, Ont., who did
excellent service in the Riel rebellion; Inspector Cuthbert, whose
father was one of the seigneurs of the province of Quebec; Supt. Snider
from Peterborough, who made a high reputation in different parts of the
country; Supt. Primrose, from Pictou, N.S., who is now a police
magistrate at Edmonton; Supt. Moffat, of Toronto; Inspector Antrobus;
Charlie Wood, who rose from a buck policeman to be editor of the Macleod
_Gazette_, and is now a judge in Saskatchewan; Supt. E. W. Jarvis, who
later was a member of the lumber firm of Macauley & Jarvis in Winnipeg,
and commanded the Winnipeg Field Battery during the Riel Rebellion;
Victor Williams, who won honor and fame during the late world war and
was a worthy son of a distinguished father, Col. Williams of Port Hope,
Ont., who died at the front in ’85; Asst. Commissioner Routledge, of
Sydney, C.B., who died in 1919; Inspector Ed. Allen—and others whose
names are deserving of recognition in the scroll of fame, but memory
fails me, I regret. But some day when a full and complete history of the
force is written, they will not be forgotten.
[Illustration: ROUGH RIDERS OF THE PLAINS—WINTER UNIFORM OF THE
R.N.W.M.P.—AN INDIAN POLICEMAN—INDIAN CAMP.]
* * * * *
One name, however, will be emblazoned in bright letters—that of Col.
Fred White, for years comptroller of the force, to whom is due the
gratitude of not only the members of the force, but of the people of the
Dominion and the Empire for his eminent services.
* * * * *
To tell a tithe of the heroic deeds performed by the Old Rough Riders,
of their daring adventures, of their courage and fearlessness under any,
and all circumstances, no matter how hazardous, would fill a huge
volume. The taking of a culprit from a hostile camp of 500 or 1,000
warriors by one or two buck policemen, the bringing of murderers and
violent lunatics a thousand miles through pathless regions, in the
depths of winter, evidenced the long arm and the strong arm of British
law, and gave the force a glory that can never fade.
The Why of the Scarlet Tunic.
The adoption of the scarlet tunic for the Mounted Police was an
inspiration, and knowing something of the denseness of the official
mind, I often wondered why such a really sensible thing had been done by
officialdom in selecting a uniform for the Mounted Police. It appears
that in 1872 the government sent Colonel Robertson Ross, commanding the
militia, to reconnoitre the far west, and he made the trip overland from
Winnipeg to the Pacific. In his report, which recommended the
organization of a mounted force to open up the western country, he
explained that prejudice existed among the Indians against the color of
the dark green uniform worn by the men of Irvine’s provisional (rifle)
battalion at Fort Garry.
Many of them had asked: “Who are those soldiers at Red River wearing
dark clothes? Our brothers who lived there many years ago (belonging to
a wing of H.M. Sixth Regt. of Foot sent to Red River in 1846) wore red
coats, and we know that the old king’s soldiers who fought against the
Yankees wore red coats and that the soldiers of our Great White Mother
wear red coats now. The soldiers who wear red coats are friends of the
Indians, and if the men in Red River wore red coats we would know that
they are the Great White Mother’s warriors, and we would not be
suspicious of them.” Sir John Macdonald appreciated the force of this
argument and ordered that the color for the Mounted Police tunic be
scarlet instead of rifle green as at one time proposed.
By the way, the term “fort” as used in the far west at this time was
found to be very much of a misnomer. Any kind of an old log hut which a
trader made his headquarters was dignified by the designation of “Fort.”
These forts were usually named after the trader who built them—Fort
Kipp, Fort Hamilton, etc. Forts “Whoop Up” and “Stand Off” were in their
day central depots or warehouses for several smaller posts and
travelling “outfits,” and “Whoop Up” was in comparison with most of the
others a real fort with bastions and defensible barricades.
In 1886, when out for the Toronto _Mail_ to enquire into an expected
Indian rising, I wrote an article favoring the use of barbed wire around
the alleged forts as a means of entanglement for the Redskin enemy, and
a great many people looked upon it as a weak sort of joke. The great
part barbed wire played in the recent war showed that the Mounted
Policemen and pioneers who had suggested the idea to me thirty-four
years ago knew what they were talking about.
I do not think it is generally known now that the late Henri Julien,
probably the most brilliant newspaper artist ever produced in Canada,
accompanied French’s expedition into the West, attached to the staff.
Julien’s sketches appeared in the _Canadian Illustrated News_ and did
much to draw attention to the then unknown West. He did more than
sketch, for in the Commissioner’s diary of September 3, 1874, which I
had the privilege to look over the other day, appears the following:
“Julien ran a buffalo and killed him. I came in for the finish and had
the beast cut up and brought in on an ox cart. I had the meat placed in
one of the water barrels and well salted.”
For many years the North West Mounted Police were under the
administration of Sir John Macdonald, in his capacity as President of
the Privy Council. An instance of the ready wit of the “old man” came
under my observation in my early days in the Press Gallery. The Mounted
Police estimates were under consideration in Committee of Supply. Sir
Richard Cartwright, who was following the proceedings, had spotted a
suspicious-looking item in the annual report of the Mounted Police, and
thought he saw an opportunity of badgering Sir John. “I note in the
report of the officer commanding the detachment at Macleod,” said Sir
Richard in his most pompous manner, “an extraordinary statement
regarding the disappearance of stores. Will the right hon. gentleman
deign to inform the House how he accounts for this extraordinary
paragraph, ‘2,000 bushels of oats, 10 kegs of nails—eaten by rats.’ ”
The old man rose with a smile on his countenance, and quickly replied,
“The explanation which I have to offer to my honourable friend, for what
he considers an extraordinary circumstance, is a very simple and
reasonable one. The rats, having gorged themselves upon the 2,000
bushels of oats, evidently felt that they were in need of an iron
tonic.” The committee burst into a roar of laughter, in which Sir
Richard himself heartily joined.
To-day, as in the early ’70’s and ever since, those of us who know the
valorous deeds of the Rough Riders of the Plains will ever take off our
hats to one of the greatest semi-military forces the world has ever
seen.
Western Justice As It Was.
In the days of the Cariboo gold rush sixty thousand miners, adventurers
and all the riff-raff that follow in the wake of a great mining
excitement, filled the Cariboo country in Central British Columbia. The
C.P.R. had not been built in those days, and the Argonauts crowded in
overland through the Yellowhead Pass and down the Fraser to Quesnel, or
from Victoria to Yale by steamer, thence on foot, horseback, stage or
any other way up the Cariboo Road.
Barkerville became a larger city than Victoria, the seat of government,
500 miles away. Yet with all this rabble of people, rough character and
law-abiding men drawn from every quarter of the globe, Cariboo was
maintained as an orderly, safe district through the efforts of one man,
Sir Mathew Begbie, who was judge and various other officials all in one.
He administered justice with a ready and iron hand, and put fear into
the hearts of those of lawless tendencies. On one occasion he had
convicted and fined a malefactor $200.
“That’s dead easy,” flippantly said the culprit, “I’ve got it right here
in my hip pocket.”
“—and six months in jail. Have you got that in your hip pocket, too?”
came the ready amendment to the sentence, thus vindicating the dignity
of the court and proclaiming to all and sundry that a British court of
justice, even though held under a pine tree, was not to be trifled with.
This story has been told and retold, credited to magistrates and judges
mostly in the southern States, but it really happened in Sir Mathew
Begbie’s court in Cariboo in the early seventies. At least one man is
living to-day who was present on the occasion and that is my old friend,
Colonel Robert Stevenson, the pioneer prospector, of Similkameen, B.C.
Another characteristic incident is told of the Judge. A sandbagger, who
was haled before him for assault and battery and against whom the
evidence was pretty clear, was found “not guilty” by the jury—to the
Judge’s utter disgust. In disposing of the case, he said to the
prisoner:
“You are guilty, and I know you are guilty, but this precious jury has
decided that you are not. You are free—free to go out and sandbag every
blessed juryman that has let you off. Now go!”
Another story illustrating Judge Begbie’s ready resourcefulness and
sense of justice, combined with a contempt for precedent, was a case
where two partners in the ownership of a mining claim quarreled and then
had a dispute over the division of their ground. After listening to a
lot of tall swearing and contradictory evidence, Judge Begbie stopped
the trial and turning to the litigants said:
“You, Jones and Brown”—that wasn’t their names but nobody remembers now
who they were—“are agreed that you want to divide this ground?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you can’t agree on how the lines are to be run.”
“No, sir—” but they got no further.
“Very well, Jones, you go out to the ground and run a line dividing it
the way you think it should be divided.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the exultant Jones.
“And, Brown.”
“Yes, sir.”
“To-morrow you go out and take your choice of the two halves as Jones
divides it.”
Probably not since the days of Solomon has a legal dispute been more
equitably or effectually settled than was that by Judge Begbie—an
Englishman just out from the Old Country, in a wild frontier mining
camp.
Judge Rouleau held court at widely-scattered points throughout the
Northwest Territory and he was noted for the rough and ready, but
shrewdly-just, quality of his decisions. On one occasion a half-breed,
Louis Frechette, was charged before Judge Rouleau and a jury with the
theft of a mule. The evidence was not very convincing—hardly sufficient
for a Carolina mob to hang a nigger on—but the jury evidently believed
somebody ought to be convicted of stealing the mule. There was no doubt
the mule had been stolen. That was the only point that there was no
doubt about. However, the jury brought in a verdict of “guilty” much to
the chagrin of the judge, who thereupon was bound to sentence the
accused which he did as follows:
“Louis, stan’ up. Louis, you have been convict’ of steal de mule. I
sentence you to ‘tree mont’ in the polis Barracks at Regina. An’ Louis,
d—— you, if I t’ink you guilt’ of steal dat mule I would give you
t’ree year.”
Thus did the good judge vindicate the law and at the same time express
his contempt for the jury’s verdict.
Another time when a half-breed was up for some offence or other, the
evidence was very conflicting and barely warranted a conviction, if
that. But he was found guilty and the judge, addressing the prisoner,
said:
“Boy, I am not altogether sure you are guilt’, an’ so I will be lenient
wit’ you. I sen’ you to de penitent’ for five years.” Goodness only
knows what penalty would have been inflicted upon the unfortunate
culprit if the judge had been absolutely sure of the prisoner’s guilt.
But the judge was not so far wrong, after all—he sentenced the
disreputable man on general principles, that if he wasn’t guilty of this
particular crime, his everyday, dissolute, good-for-nothing life would
be all the better for a little enforced retirement, and the countryside
would also materially benefit by it.
Passing Death Sentence on a Nuisance.
In another case of Western justice, I myself was the presiding
magistrate in the Winnipeg police court, owing to the unavoidable
absence of Colonel Peebles, the regular distributor of justice. A
worthless drunken pirate, who had the championship for being the best
all-round nuisance in whatever locality he happened to be, was brought
up charged with being drunk and disorderly. The evidence was clear, and
I felt that full justice should be sternly administered. So I put on my
black Derby hat, and ordered the prisoner to stand up.
“George,” I said with dignity and solemnity, “you have been found guilty
of being a general trouble provider and a universal nuisance. The
sentence of this court is that you be taken from the place from whence
you came, immediately after breakfast next Friday morning, and be hanged
by the neck until you are sure enough dead, and may the good Lord have
mercy on your alleged Protestant soul.”
George stood aghast, but just then the good old Colonel came in, and
intimated to me that I couldn’t hang a man for being drunk, even if he
was a confounded nuisance.
“I can’t, eh? What on earth am I here for, tell me that, Colonel
Peebles?”
Chief Murray and other court officials corroborated the Colonel’s
statement and, as I am always willing to oblige, I immediately relented
and ordered the prisoner to still stand and also to stand still.
“George, some warm if misguided friends have intervened in your
miserable behalf, and have pleaded with me to be merciful. I
shall—instead of sentencing you to the gallows, where you should go—I
shall banish you off the face of the earth. Now get!”
And George did, but before he got very far he came over to St. Boniface,
where I had an office, and borrowed $6.00 from me to take him to
Pembina, which is just across the international boundary and outside the
jurisdiction of the Winnipeg courts. I warmly congratulate myself that
that was the only time I ever “committed a nuisance.”
Grand Old John Kirkup.
In the early days of railway construction in British Columbia, John
Kirkup was greatly in evidence in the cause of public peace and order.
He was generally at the end of the line where the toughs congregated.
John was a big husky fellow, strong as an ox, tender as a child, and
wore a very pleasant, smiling countenance. He was a police force all by
himself and a terror to law-breakers. One night while a couple of C.P.R.
civil engineers were playing billiards in one of the camps, three toughs
from across the boundary came in and began rolling the billiard balls
around. John was on hand, and quietly advised the interlopers to desist.
When they wanted to know what business it was of his, he coolly told
them that if they continued annoying the players he would have to arrest
them. They laughed sardonically and spread themselves in a triangular
position to lick him. Before they knew it, every mother’s son of them
was on the floor. John, with lightning rapidity, had effectively stunned
the trio with his baton, and before they recovered from their surprise,
he had them handcuffed and kicked them all the way to the skookum house,
where they did time in a chain gang for a month.
* * * * *
Another time, in the early ’90’s, John and I were strolling down the
main street of Rossland when we came across two tramps who were engaged
in a violent vocabulary duel. After listening a moment to their
unparliamentary language, boisterously addressed to each other, John
interfered:
“Hear, you fellows, follow me.”
He led them to a quiet vacant lot, a block or so away.
“Now, strip off your coats and go to it, and be mighty quick about it,
too.”
They did, and it was one of the finest bits of hit, bite and kick and
catch-as-catch-can that I ever beheld. When they were nearly exhausted,
John tapped them on the soles of their boots, and pulled them apart.
“Now,” he said, “hit the trail, both of you, and if I catch you again,
I’ll—”
But they didn’t wait to hear what John would do. They were off for the
great United States and they stood not upon the order of their going.
John Kirkup was one of the outstanding figures in the early days of
British Columbia, and while he was rewarded for his admirable services
by the appointment to a gold commissionership, his great reward for the
good he had done on earth awaited him in the Great Beyond.
A Lethbridge Pirate.
Strange to relate, a man at Lethbridge stole a row-boat which was tied
up to the shore of the lake which is just south of that enterprising
town. He was arrested, and brought before a local justice of the peace,
who decided that according to high authority, as set forth in the legal
tomes dealing with such cases, it was a case of piracy—and naturally
so, to feloniously steal a vessel off the high seas. There was nothing
to do, according to the code, but to sentence the offender to death. The
J.P. was a tender-hearted man, and deferred sentence until he had
consulted with higher legal authority, which he did, and the culprit
fortunately escaped the gallows.
The Mounted Police To-Day.
The force to-day is 1,800 strong, six times its original strength, and
its operations are extended all over the Dominion. Amongst the
newly-recruited force, like the first command, are a large number of the
brightest and bravest of young Britishers, many of whom are sons of
distinguished families, and they are maintaining the enviable high
prestige that the force has gained since its organization nearly half a
century ago.