 CHAPTER X 1906–14 Calgary When I went to Calgary in July 1906 the population there was about 15,000 souls, and in the five or six following years it mounted up to 65,000 or thereabouts. In the barracks the commanding officers' quarters had been torn down, having been declared uninhabitable on account of age. They were a little over thirty years old. The barrack reserve consisted of rather more than thirty-five acres, situated on the north side of the bow, at its confluence with the Elbow River, which later bounded the reserve on its eastern side, and along the northern boundary ran the Canadian Pacific Railway. I was instructed that I might build myself a house on the site of the old one, which had been prettily situated, and the sum of five thousand dollars was appropriated for the purpose. A suitable plan was soon obtained, and the work was put in hand without delay in August. The excavation of a basement was made by prisoners from the guard room. The supervision of the work was entrusted to our division carpenter named Joseph, who was a most capable mechanic, and who left us soon after to go into business for himself at Ocotooks. I said to my staff, give the working party all the meat they want to eat, and charge the excess ration to me, but tell them also that I want to be living in that house by Christmas. The consequence was that the men worked willingly and well, and gave no sort of trouble. It happened at that time that the carpenter's union took it into their heads that their wages should be increased by ten cents per hour, and at the increased rate of fifty-five cents the cost of my house exceeded the estimate by one thousand two hundred dollars. No exception, however, was taken to that at Ottawa. There was nothing mean about the police department so long as Sir Wilford Laurier was at the head of it. He is the best friend that the mounted police ever had. He gave them their pension bill and took a personal interest in the force. Any money bill affecting the mounted police passed through the House of Commons without a murmur, to which the vote of thirty-five thousand dollars to defray the expenses of the mounted police contingent attending the King's coronation. My house, it was finished early in December 1906, was certainly the best house in the mounted police occupancy at that date. Albeit it was a lone house for me to go into, as the dear mother of my children, whom I had been obliged to send for treatment to the Pacific Coast, died there on the day before Christmas Eve 1906, and my Christmas day was spent in travelling thither to bring back her remains for burial at Lethbridge. My house had a twelve-foot-wide veranda on the south and east sides, and this came in very handy in the summer of 1907, when it became a question of entertaining his royal highness Prince Fushimi of Japan. That nobleman had been to England on his royal master's business to the king of all the Britons, and was on his way home. Some angel of light had suggested to him that he should see Calgary on his way through the Rocky Mountains. The problem for me was that the royal foreigner desired to spend half a day in Calgary, and what could be done for his entertainment. In reply to the official letter I said that I should be glad to entertain the prince, and his suite, to luncheon, and it would go hard if I could not, in the interval devise some sort of amusement to attract his interest. To a man who had commanded an army of a hundred thousand men in the Russo-Japanese war, it was idle to think of anything in the nature of a military display. My reply as to the luncheon brought a prompt answer from Comptroller Fred White at Ottawa. I shall be glad to foot the bill, and upon me then descended Mr. Commissioner Perry. The programme that we arranged between us was that a travelling escort should meet the train on its arrival, with a four-horse wagon for the prince, and pair-horse carriages for his staff, and that the visitors should be shown as much of Calgary as was possible in a thirty-minute drive. This drive was to terminate at the barracks, where the party were to be transferred to motor-cars and taken into the country some ten or twelve miles to see a horse-ranch of repute, the owners of which were going out of business and were making preparations to sell their stock, etc., by auction in the very near future. The party was then to be brought back to the city to witness an exhibition game of polo which the Calgary Club had genially offered to get up for the prince's edification, and after that he and his suite were to be given luncheon at my house. The prince's westbound special train was time to leave at three o'clock in the afternoon, and every member of my command appreciated the nicety of my lifelong dictum that three o'clock meant exactly sixty minutes after two. In order to see how we could most profitably fill in the thirty minutes that we had to start with, I went out one afternoon, with the team that was to drive the prince, and drove at a good smart trot round the roads which would show the most prominent points of interest, and timed the drive by my watch. I was unexpectedly delayed at the principal fire-quarters by the chief of the fire brigade, who said that they had just had a new electric plant installed, and would I, could I, arrange to get the prince to open the new addition by stopping on the way for one moment opposite the fire-hall on his road to the railway station from the barracks, and ask him to press the necessary button. I thought then, as I still think, that Calgary's fire brigade, under its competent chief, commonly called Capy Smart, is Calgary's greatest asset, and I readily assented. But show me, I bargained, where the carriage is to stop, where the string will be hanging that is to carry the button, and mark the spot where the escort is to halt. It happened that the stopping place was across the road from the fire-hall, so that the prince and his suite would be well out of the way, they would have a good view of the proceedings, and their journey would not be interfered with. That was all satisfactorily settled, and I took out my watch to time my return to the barracks. In turning up a street from the avenue in question, when the horses had got well into their stride, we crossed a blind drain which had been insufficiently filled in, and as the hind wheels of my spring wagon crossed it, they bumped into the soft depression, which was not noticeable from the road, and I was shot up into the air for something like six inches. When I came down upon the seat, I suffered the most excruciating pain that I ever felt in my life. I made noise enough to stop the driver, and was then no more able to whisper to him to call at Dr. Sansen's house, which we had to pass. The doctor was fortunately at home. He climbed into the wagon with me, and the horses walked very gingerly home. The doctor undressed me, and put me to bed, and went away saying, I'll send you a nurse, you require a massage, for that injury to your spine. It will fit in here, as well as anywhere, to say that my nurse was a daughter of Captain Barry Valentine DeHenney, one of the twelfth royal Lancers, and subsequently, Governor of Kilmaineham Jail, wherein the late Mr. Charles Stuart Parnell was incarcerated. Captain DeHenney, on retirement from the English prison service at seventy years of age or over, went to Western Canada and died in Calgary. His daughter graduated in nursing at Victoria, British Columbia, had all sorts of experiences in San Francisco at the time of the earthquake there, and had, at the time of which I write, gravitated back to Calgary where her father's remains were resting with those of others of her family. As there is nothing for me to do, but to be massaged twice a day and to lie on my back for the rest of the time, my nurse had to act as my eyes and to ears, and an intelligent department generally, and well she did it. I had a competent working housekeeper, who was quite equal to the occasion, of cooking a good luncheon for the party, and I had no misgivings on that account, but there was shopping to be done, every conceivable arrangement to be thought out, and I could only do the thinking while my nurse did the rest, and it kept her busy. There were twelve persons, all told, in the Prince's suite, and they, with Mr. Commissioner Perry, my two subalterns, Inspector Dufus and Shaw, and myself, completed two tables of eight each. One table in the dining room and the other in the drying room. My next door neighbor, Mrs. Dufus, as good a neighbor as a man ever had, had undertaken to provide the cut glass, silver, cutlery, et cetera, for one table, and this relieved me of great anxiety, for my household had not been designed to provide for more than a dozen people at the outside. The menu I selected was well within my housekeeper's ample capabilities, and I studied the Times Cookery Book, which I had recently bought, for, et cetera. The book had been compiled by a famous ex- chef of Dominicos in New York, and would bear quite a lot of study. In it I found a sauce tartare, which was new to me, and which I determined to have. I had, as a matter of fact, outlined all the arrangements before I was hurt. I had engaged to Mr. Augade, a French musician, to make himself responsible for the small string band required. I had seen the florist about table decorations, and a decorative screen of shrubs, et cetera, for the front of the balcony, where the band was to be ensconced. The florist was also to provide the word banzee, in Smilak's letters for the veranda at the front door entrance, and the superintendent of the Canadian Pacific dining-car system had undertaken to provide four waders for the midday in question. The sergeant major had written instructions as to the hauling up and down of the Japanese flag, and I had, humanly thinking, left nothing to chance. My trouble at the time of which I write consisted in seeing that all my arrangements should be properly carried out. When the eventful day arrived, everything passed off according to schedule. The travelling escort, under Inspector Shaw, was fully up to the mounted police level, which had been fully established on the occasion of his Royal Highness the Duke of York's visit, and the carriages being spring-seated wagons, were good enough. When this special train, hurdled into the station, every horse of the escort stood on his hind legs and pawed the air with his front feet, but as a newspaper report subsequently said, the riders of the planes quickly got them in hand again, and when his highness emerged from his car they all stood, stock still in their rank. The prescribed drive-round Calgary was taken, and at Barracks, the members of the party were transferred to motor-cars which were all in readiness. Inspector Dufus drove Prince Fushimi in his own car, and led the procession. At the ranch there was a good lot of horses to be seen, and one, his highness, pronounced to be the finest horse he had ever seen in his life. Back to town, to the polo-ground travelled the party, and thence to the Barracks, where they sat down to lunch at two o'clock. The dining-room was under the room which I was occupying. Commissioner Perry ran into me for one moment to say that everything had gone like clockwork, and that there had been no hitch anywhere. I reminded him that the escort and carriages were ordered for a quarter to three. Just before that, in came Inspector Shaw to say that the Under Secretary of State objected to any change in the program, meaning the opening of the fire-hall. I replied, the Under Secretary of State has had nothing to do with the program and is not going to be allowed to interfere now. You have got your order, Shaw. Yes, sir. Carry them out to the letter. You know where the carriage is to stop. Yes, sir? Say nothing to anybody. Just carry out your instructions and deliver the party at the station by three o'clock. Away went Shaw, and away went my guests. A slight delay occurred at the fire-hall as nothing would induce the Prince to press the necessary button. One of his staff, however, did it eventually. The fire-hall doors flew open, the fire-horses jumped into their collars, and out-galloped the fire brigade in a very gratifying style. My outfit went on its way rejoicing and delivered its passengers on the railway platform at sixty minutes after two o'clock. The Vice Regal Party were then bound for Bamp, where they were time to stay a day or two, and where the Prince hoped to get some fishing. It happened that there was station there at that time, in charge of the mounted police detachment at Bankhead, a corporal, now Inspector, Townsend, who was an enthusiastic and knowledgeable fisherman. He was instructed to take Prince Fushimi under his wing, and he accordingly took him out in a boat on one of the lakes where fish were abundant. It so happened that at his first cast the Prince caught two fish on one hook, and was so delighted that he laughed heartily. His staff said it was the first time he had laughed since leaving Montreal. We had done the best we could for him, and there was nothing more to be said. My nurse stayed with me in awe for eleven days, and after she had left I found that life was insupportable without her bright eyes, cheery manner and Irish wit, and to cut a long story short I haunted her in a quiet, persistent fashion until she consented to marry me. We were married by Father Jan, Roman Catholic priest at Calgary, on April 22, 1908. This was the year in which, on April 30, I attained my sixtieth birthday, and mounted police regulations provided that unless an officer married before he became sixty years of age there would be no pension accruing to his widow. As my bright elect was fifteen years younger than myself I did not think it prudent to take any unnecessary chances in that direction, and we were thus married a little earlier than we proposed. On September 20, when the Alma Heights were won, 1911 my dear wife was ordered to hospital for treatment, suffering from pneumonia. That night Plersey sat in, and as a complication her foot had to be amputated. This was a terrible loss to the patient, as she had always been such a very active woman. Even after that she nearly lost her life in the month of December, in the same year, having to undergo an operation, for MPMA. So little a flicker of life remained in her after the operation that she could not be moved from the operation table for four hours, and she unquestionably owed her life to the surgical skill of my eldest son, who was practicing in Calgary, and who was her medical attendant, from first to last. We tied it over Christmas, and the outlook was very hopeful. For the first time in twenty-eight years the mounted police did not give their annual ball in 1911, nor since. E-division had always, from the days of barbarism, given a New Year's eve ball, and old-timers never failed to attend it when possible. But in 1911 the subject was never mooted, and I was too sick at heart to raise it. As the weeks rolled into months, we dispensed first with the night-ners, and after a time with the day-ners, and substituted a lady companion, without whom after some months we found that we could do. In November 1913 my wife gave an afternoon tea party, not in her own house, where the racket would have been too great for her, but in a Calgary restaurant, where they had just caught on, to that idea of so attracting custom, and she was like her old self, and her many guests were glad to be welcomed by her genial smile. As the year 1913 drew to a close, I began to feel less satisfied with my wife's condition, and talked to my son about it. He reminded me that he had always been apprehensive, and had warned me, as he had, of the possibility of tuberculosis intervening in her medical history, and he had had, more than once, analysis made of the patient's sputum. On March 27, 1914, I received information verifying the diagnosis, while we were in process of packing up to vacate the barracks, for the benefit of the Grand Turk Pacific Railway. As a matter of fact, we turned out of our quarters into a house in Calgary, which the government had rented for us on April 1. The guard room was not emptied of its prisoners, nor were the buildings occupied by our men and horses vacated until some days later, but I personally did not choose to be under an obligation to the Grand Turk Pacific Railway, and move myself and my belongings off their premises on the date stated. I was then in a position to talk to them, and the opportunities soon arose. As I had previously indicated, the lawn and gardens surrounding my official quarters were made by my own self. I had, for instance, a caragana hedge, to which I had devoted a good deal of time and thought and some money. I had watched over it for seven or eight years, and had sworn loudly and coherently when some maniacal cricketer now and then had dashed through it in pursuit of his ball, when he might have gone round. But that has nothing to do with this point. The management of the Calgary Cricket Club always used to protect my garden and its surroundings as far as they could, and if a light of my cucumber or melon-frame was broken by a stray ball I did not mind, but I had a rooted objection to anyone running through my hedge. The hedge which I had planted I had taken up and given to an old lady friend, who had just moved to a new house. One afternoon, soon after, I was called up by telephone, in respect of this action, by Mr. Zimmerman, solicitor of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, which had purchased this land. I explained sweetly that I had only been giving away my own property. We'll see about that, he thundered. You need not worry, I rejoined. I have seen about it. The last load has just gone. And herewith I hung up the telephone and left him talking. CHAPTER XI. OF MOUNTAID POLICE LIFE IN CANADA. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. POLICE LIFE IN CANADA. By Captain Burton Dean. CHAPTER XI. 1906-14. CALGARY CONTINUED. In giving now an account of the work of the Calgary Division, I may say the police district extended from the eastern boundary of British Columbia to the fourth meridian, a distance averaging roughly about three hundred miles, with a longitudinal width of about one hundred. To administer this expanse of country we had detachments varying in number from twenty-two to twenty-five dotted over the area. There were, in the rocky mountains and the foothills, coal mines that depended on us for police protection, and on the whole we had, comparatively speaking, very little trouble with the workmen. It is true that at one time there was a general strike of miners almost throughout the province of Alberta, and coal had even to be imported from outside sources. The elaborate governmental arrangements for arbitrating such disputes turned out to be a fizzle, cost the country money as a matter of course, and did no good at all. My clients, as I called them, that is, owners along the main line of the Canadian Pacific, used to come in and see me sometimes, but I always threw cold water upon anything in the nature of agitation. The directorate of one of the companies came one day and said that a considerable number of their workmen had acquired some rights on the company's town site by having erected buildings thereon for their own occupation, and those men would not go to work themselves, and had generally a bad influence upon the mining community at large. Obviously some legal process was necessary in order to make these malcontents vacate the company's property, and that always took time. The owners, of course, acting under legal advice, had taken their troubles to the courts, which had issued all manner of injunctions to the troublemakers to do so and so. It was in this half-way stage that one manager in particular came to me with a view to police protection. I said, I have not a man to give you, and if I had he would simply be wasting his time, if you could spend the inside of a week with me and realise how sometimes I am puzzled to find a single man for any duty whatever. When the courts are going full blast and escorts and orderlies have to be found for them. Lunatics and convicted prisoners have to be conducted to their respective destinations. Horses in the post have to be groomed and fed, even if they are turned out into the corral to exercise themselves. Do you realise that if I had not prisoners here the horses would never be groomed at all, for there would be no one to do it, and one escort cannot look after more than five prisoners in a gang at a time. I should like you to realise that my divisions consist of sixty officers and men all told, and if I withdrew a man from a detachment elsewhere and sent him to you, some other place suffers, and what do you gain? An additional red coat in your community will simply irritate your men and provoke them to breaches of the peace. That is the very thing you want to avoid. Do nothing to irritate them if you can help it. You tell me that all necessary process of the law has been served to enable your company to rid itself of the abjectional persons now encumbering your property. There is no necessity for the mounted police to butt into that proposition, and they have no right to do so. When the time comes the order of the court will be issued to its own officers, sheriffs, bailiffs, etc., and if those officers find they cannot execute the orders of the court, reference will unquestionably be made to us. It will then be for me to decide whether I can enforce the decree of the court or whether I have to apply for assistance in the last resort to understand, of course, that the militia might have to be called out. All that you have to do, my friend, is to sit tight and let the machine work. Don't let your men think you're worrying, be as genial to them as you can, and you may avert a great deal of damage to your works. The manager in question, when he left me, said, Captain Dean, it does me good to come and talk to you. I feel like a different man. Well, I replied, it is an inexpensive form of entertainment, and you are quite welcome to any comfort that I can give you whenever you choose to come for it. But I bar visiting that village of yours, good-bye. And with a laugh we parted. I have more than once mentioned prisoners in connection with Calgary. The guard room there contained more prisoners than any other guard room of the Mounted Police except at Dawson City in the Yukon. The only jail for females in the province of Alberta was situated in our grounds and was in our charge. I found it necessary to make a change after I had a few weeks' experience of Calgary, and imported a matron of my own selection from Maple Creek, and a great help and comfort she was to me. Sarah Stidaford was the widow of a staff sergeant of royal engineers who had served with his regiment in India and South Africa and had ridden in a baggage wagon over many a weary mile. When I first met her in 1902 at Maple Creek she had lost her husband, was over sixty years old, and had been nursing maternity and other cases for twenty years. Some of the cases that we had to deal with were heartbreaking. That is, were old Sarah Stidaford shone. Without any apparent desire to do more than past the time of day if her patient were sufficiently affable for that much civility she would unobtrusively get to the bottom of the trouble and was thus better enabled to deal with the sufferer who never failed to meet sympathy with confidence. One poor woman I remember had had, I think, fourteen children in a very short space of time and was literally played out. She was done to death with motherhood, babyhood, and hard manual labour. No change, no relief from the monotony of the bald-headed prairie, with its dismal outlook, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, and after that, the beyond. Father has got his work to do. There is in it some change, and it is not so bad for him. The children have their fun at school or elsewhere. But when, or where, does poor mother get any relief? Has she a neighbour with whom she can exchange a word once a week? In that country, of illimitable distances, it is most likely that she has not. The poor woman that I have been speaking of went to the asylum, and I have not heard of her since. Another case of a woman, just as sad, lingers in my memory. It happened in the country, and when the police report came in I wrote a marginal note on it. The saddest story I have ever read in my life. Briefly it was this. An inquest had been held on the body of a woman who had taken her own life, and a letter which she had written to her children was put in as an exhibit. The substance of it was that she loved her children as much as ever and grieved to be parted from them, but the conditions of her life were intolerable, and she was therefore driven to deliver herself from her thrall-drum by the poison-route. Her husband was apparently a shylock who must have his pound of flesh, and by the time her conjugal duties in that respect had been performed, she had done to her family the manifold and ever-increasing duties of a mother and a housekeeper. There was no time left in this world for a space to breathe, and she frankly admitted that she could not continue the fight. Hence the inquest. We did not take Coroner's inquests very seriously in Western Canada. As a Coroner's warrant there will not suffice to place a man upon trial for homicide, but in every instance the mounted police used to collect all the available evidence and place it upon record. It not infrequently happened that a body which had been buried by virtue of a Coroner's order had to be exhumed and the cause of death investigated in a magistrate's court. There is, on the other hand, a danger of going to the other extreme if the ancient Coroner's quest is too lightly set aside. I had one notable instance of this in the early days at Lethbridge, what was known as the Yard Engine, in the course of its daily preambulations up and down a stretch of mile and a half or so, while shunting coal and other cars and making up trains, had imperceptibly become the vehicle whereby school children had thought that they might have a free ride. Between their homes and their school, etc. A kind-hearted engine driver was always complacent, and he allowed them to climb into his cab in order to let them have their ride, and was always careful to take good care of them. But this practice was fraught with possibilities which might render the railway authorities ultimately responsible for a violent death, and when their attention was called to it they issued a pre-emptory order that no person, other than one of their own recognized employees, should take unauthorized passages by such trains. Unhappily it befell that, notwithstanding the driver's care, a boy was killed. I rang up the Coroner, and insisted on an inquest. He replied that, this was obviously an accident, and the boy had no business to be there. I agreed with all that, but represented that the boy had come to a violent end, that something or somebody was responsible for the accident, and that it was the Coroner's business to inquire into the particulars. At the inquest these were thoroughly thrashed out, and the storekeeper of the company deposed that he had been visiting an extensive coal shed, and on his way back to his office had crossed the railway lines in the neighbourhood of the accident, had noticed the switching question, and as he passed by thoughtlessly pushed it over, with the result that the flat cars were deflected from their proper line of rails on to the line whereon some loaded cars were standing, and a boy died of violent death in consequence. Accidental death was the jury's verdict, and there was nothing more to be done. To return to Mrs. Stutterford, the manner in which she controlled her various ward women of all nationalities and lunatics, amply justified my selection of a matron. As time went on, we had to get a night matron and then an assistant. With all the help which I did not stint to give her, it was difficult to keep the old woman from working herself to death. The number of prisoners that she looked after frequently ran from twenty to twenty-four, in accommodation that was supposed to provide for ten or twelve at the outside. It was just as bad on the male side. On one occasion I had ninety-six prisoners all told in my custody in premises which were intended to receive only about fifty-five men, women, and lunatics. That was an exceptional occasion when a bunch of prisoners for stealing rides on the railway was brought in when my back happened to be turned, and the provost very properly did not refuse to receive them, as I would have done had I been on the spot. I resolutely refused to receive more prisoners than I could reasonably provide for. The cells in both guard rooms were always full, and beyond that it became a matter for my consideration. As a rule I allowed that we could find room for about seventy without unpleasant overcrowding, but ructions sometimes threatened. The situation once became particularly strained. We had some months previously had a half-breed prisoner named Moses Brown, committed for a term of imprisonment from the city. We knew Moses and his actions quite well. He was suffering from a loathsome disease, and was a nuisance to everybody whom he approached. On the day of his arrival I instructed the provost to give him a pair of the cheap garden-shears, and to conduct him to the limit of the police reserve on the banks of the river, and invite him to cut as much of the wire grass growing there as he felt disposed. If he should get tired in the course of the afternoon he would be welcomed to rest. When at locking up time the guard went round to look for Moses he was not to be found, and the weeks ran into months before we heard of him again. We did not want to hear, be it observed, and I did not offer any reward for his recapture. Moses could not, however, apparently go away to his relations and friends on the prairie, and give them the exclusive benefit of his society, but he must gravitate again towards Calgary and their foul foul of the city police. His return came to my notice when the provost handed me a warrant of commitment, and said, Moses Brown is back. How did he come, said I, by the city Black Maria, sir. Tell the Black Maria to give my compliments to the chief of the city police, and to say that we have no accommodation here for Moses Brown. A day or two later the deputy, Attorney General, at Edmonton rang me up. Good morning, etc., etc., what is the difficulty between you and the city police magistrate? Is there any? I inquired. I was not aware of it. Well, he rejoined. I have a letter here from him which leads me to think that there must be considerable trouble between you. Is that so? I retorted. I don't think you need worry. The young gentleman, perhaps, is under the impression that he is running my guard room, as well as his own office, and if you will believe me, he is not doing anything of the kind. At the same time I would say, send me that letter. It will amuse me to answer it. Goodbye. That settled that. Our guard rooms were, I should not omit to remark, places of execution, and although we had only two death sentences actually to carry out, we had several other prisoners, under sentence for whom we had to provide the death watch, and an intolerable nuisance it was, until the sentences were commuted for one cause or another. A man named John Fisk, whose crimes, etc., is described under the heading of the Tucker Peach Murder, was the first to go. While he was awaiting the due process of the law, a man came to see me one afternoon, just as I was stepping off my verandah steps into my garden, a fine big man he was, with the eye of a religious enthusiast. He wanted to see John Fisk to convert him from the error of his ways. Before it was too late, and I explained to him, very patiently and quietly, that the convict was being attended daily by the spiritual pastor of his own choosing, and that even if I wished I could not admit a stranger to the exercise of that holy office. It would not be fair to the Methodist minister, who was looking after the prisoner's spiritual welfare. My visitor, as I found, was not open to any sort of reason. He had a wild eye. He was as big a man as myself, and was probably fifty pounds heavier. When he finally realized that he was not to have the entree of the prison he said, I summon you to the bar of God for refusing to allow me to see the condemned prisoner. I replied, I'll be there, I'll meet you, but in the meantime you cannot see John Fisk. Then he raised his voice and began to rant, and I heard an up-stair window softly open, and pictured to myself an anxious little face looking out, so I walked quietly up to him and said, If you brawl here I will have you locked up. He glared at me for a moment, and I did not know what he might do, but suddenly, without a word, he turned on his heel and I did not see him for dust. The other condemned convict was an American citizen who had brutally murdered the employer who had brought him into Canada from the United States, and he gave us quite a bit of extra and unnecessary trouble. His name was Jasper Collins, a native of Missouri, USA, and the story of his crime is related under the heading of The Benson Murder and Arson. This young man started a hunger strike. He would not take any nourishment, so we had to feed him forcibly. He would not speak or help himself in any way, so a constable was told off to nurse him. This was in addition to the death-watch, who sat in a chair in the guard room and gave his undivided attention to the occupant of the condemned cell. He thus brought himself to a very weak state, had to be assisted up the steps to the scaffold, and was sitting in a chair when the drop fell. I cannot omit to mention the loyal and devoted service which our prisoners used to receive from the Salvation Army. Every Sunday morning of their lives they held services on both sides of the guard room, by men on the male side, by lasses on the other, and both sexes were always welcome. Rain, hail, shine, or snow, the army never failed to keep watch and ward, and their one most persistent question to every poor creature who showed any reciprocity to their persuasions was, what can we do for you when you come out? They would take an expectant mother into their fold, nurse her through her confinement, and take every tender care of her and her baby until they could make some permanent provisions for both. And all this for the sake of the faith that was in them. No other denomination troubled itself to do the like. One of the Roman Catholic priesthood always made a point of holding a short service in the guard room every Sunday afternoon, and the women gladly listened to him, whether they were members of his flock or not. When a Roman Catholic bishop was appointed to the Sea of Calgary the Oblate Fathers of the Immaculate Mary, O. M. I. they signed themselves, were generally withdrawn from the city parishes, and their places were taken by English-speaking clergy. The Oblate Fathers had spent their lives on the Western Prairie, and had helped to open up the country, witness the venerable Father Lacombe, without whose incomparable influence among the blood Indians the Canadian Pacific Railway would not have been constructed without trouble in 1882. The then general manager of the CPR, the late Sir William Van Horn, recognized this when he sent to the Reverend Father a life pass on the railway as a charm against conductors. In his latter years Father Lacombe conceived the idea of immortalizing himself by the erection of a Lacombe house for the old and destitute pilgrims, among whom he had spent so many years of his life. All sorts of stories are told of his begging faculty, he had literally nothing himself. There was a very nice property of about two hundred acres situated on Fish Creek about ten miles distant from Calgary, and Father Lacombe had his eye on this. For various reasons Pat Burns, the cattle-king, did not respond to invitations in this direction, and drove the old father to several other locations whereof he could take his choice. But he was quite irresponsible, and was in no way to be diverted from Fish Creek. When it came to the final point the old father said, You give me that or you give me nothing. Fish Creek is the site of his home, to which I paid almost my last visit in Calgary to say good-bye to my old friend, then in the very late eighties and feeble. I can never forget his coming to see me in 1902 when I was in hospital at Lethbridge, worn out both mentally and physically, and having been obliged to send my wife to the Pacific coast for change of air and treatment. CHAPTER XII OF MOUNTAID POLICE LIFE IN CANADA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. MOUNTAID POLICE LIFE IN CANADA BY CAPTAIN BIRTON DEAN CHAPTER XII THE PASSING OF THE CALGARY BARREX 1914 It was in 1907, the year after I took up my abode in my new house at Calgary, that the agitation began which eventually resulted in the site of the Calgary barracks being handed over to the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway Company. In the course of that summer a man whom I knew very well dropped into my office and said he was the agent of a syndicate which had placed considerable sums at his disposal for the purchase of the property in the immediate vicinity of the barracks. He interviewed the divisional tailor and offered him fifteen thousand dollars spot cash for a house and twenty-five foot lot which he owned near the barracks. The tailor, being a man of singular domesticity, said that he must consult his wife and did so at the noonday recess. On receipt of his conjugal instructions, however, he found the aforesaid agent was no longer looking for him. When he discovered the agent and said that he was willing to sell, the agent replied, Oh, my dear fellow, that money has been invested elsewhere, you did not accept my offer, my people would not wait, and I bought another property, the money is now all gone, so that you see you are out of luck. This syndicate that I have mentioned was composed of liberal politicians, possessed of the inside information as to the tentative negotiations that had begun, who were interested in exploiting the public domain to their own advantage. A year or so later I was instructed to have the barracks painted and a contract of about seven hundred dollars was let for that purpose. Before the work had commenced I met a prominent lawyer, one of the inner circle in the barrack grounds one day, who said, Captain Dean, within three months you will see the Grand Trunk Pacific men in possession of these grounds, removing the buildings and leveling the site, preparatory to constructing a big Union station here. The Union station was intended to accommodate the Canadian Northern and Grand Trunk Pacific railways, both of which desired a foothold in Calgary in opposition to the Canadian Pacific. I said to my friend, Do you know that we have just let a contract to paint all these buildings here? Waste of money. He somewhat angrily replied, and I retorted, That may be so, but the indications are that your dream is not going to be immediately realized. Year after year rolled on, and there were no results in sight. The Grand Trunk Pacific may be said to have been Sir Wilford Laurier's foundling. His desire was to go down to history as the promoter of a transcontinental line which should worthily compete with the Canadian Pacific, and the railway authorities thought that they could acquire a parcel of something over thirty-five acres from the Dominion government for a song. But they reckoned, without their host, for Sir Wilford had no idea of throwing away an important asset like that for nothing, and he stipulated that the price should be one million dollars. That was a hopeless proposition to the GTP, as they were called, but there are more ways of killing a cat than by choking it with cream. When Mr., now Sir Robert Borden, then in opposition, toured the country prior to the general election of 1911, and held a very large meeting at the Calgary rank, the then member for Calgary cast reflections at the Dominion government for holding up the Grand Trunk for a million dollars in the case of a property worth, say, a hundred and fifty thousand. Although we were both urgent conservatives, my wife and I were so disgusted at this statement that we abandoned our seats on the platform and went home. This statement, which was uncontradicted, lighted a fresh spark of hope in the hearts of the before-mentioned liberal syndicate. My God! said they, we may come through it after all, and the irony of it was that the chance came to them, through their political opponents, who were bound to be, again in the government, whether it was right or wrong. Eventually, a committee of Calgary men was deputed to look over the site and form an estimate of its value. The only map, apparently extent, used to hang in my office and the Comptroller, R. N. W. M. P., in an early stage of the conference, asked permission to carry it off to Ottawa, as he had none. My recollection is that the map showed the site to consist of thirty-seven acres and a fraction. Be that as it may, it came to be spoken of as embracing about thirty-five acres. The Committee of Townsmen assumed the site to consist of thirty-five acres and calculated that each acre would cut up into ten lots, making thirty-five thousand lots of twenty-five foot width. These assessed, at one thousand dollars a lot, with one dissentient member, a Mr. Diamond, a Calgary jeweler, who considered that the lots were worth five thousand to peace. After the Board and Government came into power, the Assistant Judge of the Exchequer Court was sent to make inquiries on the spot and to assess the value. He held an informal sort of inquiry, and eventually fixed upon two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars as the figure. It was essentially an inquiry designed to popularize the award with a party in power. But even then the amount was regarded at Ottawa as being inadequate, for it was raised by Mr. Borden to two hundred and fifty thousand. Certain witnesses, most of them interested, tendered their evidence, but the Judge failed to call the one disinterested witness, namely the City Assessor, who could have told him that the twenty-five foot lots adjoining the barracks' enclosure on its western side were valued for city taxation purposes at twenty thousand dollars each, and that those on the eastern boundary across the Elbow River on the same avenue were valued at five thousand dollars each. A mean estimate between the two would have been a business-like proposition, and would have supported Sir Wilford Laurier's estimate, but that was the last thing that the party in power had in their minds. So it came about that the Grand Trunk Pacific, for the payment of a quarter of a million dollars, obtained a very desirable slice of the public domain which was worth at least four times that sum. It was not until St. Valentine's Day that I received official notice that the barracks had to be vacated by April 1st following, which was a fair sample of mal-administration on the part of the Dominion Government. Mr. Borden had had two years and a half wherein to consider whether or not, and at what price, he would sell the barracks site to the railway company, and, after all that, the department's concern were allowed six weeks wherein to make arrangements which it was not possible to make in that time. That was where one of the pleasantries of opposing politics came in. It was the duty of the provincial government to make provision for the prisoners, and they had done nothing of this kind, so that in effect the Dominion Government's order to us to vacate the barracks by April 1st was an absurdity. Until provision had been made elsewhere for the prisoners they were obliged to stay where they were, and so long as the prisoners had to be looked after, our men could not be moved so that it was not until the last day of the month of April that we sent away to MacLeod in a special train, forty male and nineteen female prisoners, with two matrons and a suitable escort. I saw Mrs. Stutterford then for the last time, as she was going to inaugurate the woman's prison in MacLeod. Quarters in the city had been provided for our men and horses, and we moved into them within a day or two after the departure of the prisoners. The once pretty sight soon became unrecognizable, the shrubs and trees were removed, the buildings torn down, and the only house left intact was the one that I had vacated, and that was moved to the opposite end of the enclosure for occupation by the station agent. Personally I had no particular regrets, my wife and I had agreed that we would leave Western Canada at the end of June to seek out some little spot in England where the Mara shall kneel, Rose will grow out of doors, and to that end early in the year 1914 I had be spoken our passages to Liverpool to leave New York by a ship sailing on July eleventh. We moved off the Grand Trunk property on April first, and settled in a house which I rented in West Calgary. There the best that I could do was to establish my patient in comfortable surroundings under canvas at the back of the house with electric lights, bells, heat, and a fan, for the weather was so variable that the fan and hose pipe spray were required in the daytime to keep the tent cool, and at night the heater had to be turned on to keep it warm. Comfortably housed in a double-roof tent with two excellent nurses to wait upon her by day and by night, my dear wife spent her last days and passed away peacefully and painlessly on the morning of July twenty second. I laid her to rest by the side of her old father in the Roman Catholic Cemetery at Calgary, and had a suitable headstone erected, and then, having had only two months leave in my thirty-one years of service, I applied for a six-month leave from the ensuing October first to be retired on pension at the expiration thereof. My department was generous enough to assent to every request that I made, and Commissioner Perry was very considerate. He pressed me to consider myself quite free from office obligations during my stay in the West, and to devote my attention to regaining my own health and strength. I took him largely at his word, and on the night of September thirtieth I bade farewell to Calgary, the associations of which, despite the sympathy of kind friends, had become unendurable. CHAPTER XIII. MOUNTAIN POLICE LAW The raison d'etre of the subject matter of the following chapter is to be found in the circumstances that, at the date of which I speak, the relations of the Mounted Police Courts to the ordinary Courts of Law stood as an unknown quantity. There was an undefined feeling that they were subject to the control and supervision of the Supreme Court, but the question had never been raised in a concrete form, and neither bench nor bar was interested in the abstract question. I had on one or two occasions noticed on the part of young, aggressive lawyers, indications which led me to think that some day the question might be raised in a matter that would call for a pronouncement thereupon by some competent authority, but so far there had been no clash. In the month of November, 1898, however, the monster raised his head in such an uncompromising fashion that something had to be done to settle the dispute for all time. As it happened it fell to my lot to take the assertive monster in hand, and, as it also happened, perhaps fortunately, it had fallen to my lot to learn in my old court some military law which no other officer in or connected with the Mounted Police had had occasion or opportunity to learn. The difficulty came to a head in this wise. In November, 1898 I was in command of the division at MacLeod, as well as of that at Lethbridge, and used to spend four days of each week at the former place. Belonging to one of the detachments of the MacLeod division was a constable named B. O. Nettleship. It happened that on November 29th this constable would complete the term of service for which he had engaged and would be entitled to claim his discharge. He had recently come into a legacy of a few hundred dollars and intended to settle in British Columbia. He was a man of whom I personally knew nothing, but his record was good. He had been a handyman in his detachment, and was a fairly good axman, et cetera, and I felt quite kindly disposed to him. When, therefore, he appeared before me on the morning of November 23rd and asked me to give him leave of absence until the end of his term and to allow him to sign off, as it was called, before he left, so that he would not have to come back on the 29th to complete his discharge papers, I cordially agreed. I convened the usual Board of Officers to carry out the regulations in such a case, namely, to verify and record the particulars of the man's service, to adjust his accounts and to ascertain whether or not he had any claim against the government in connection with his past service. This was all a pure matter of form, usual in every disciplinary community of which I have had any knowledge, and was designed not only to protect the government in the future, but to see that the person about to be discharged was in process of receiving all dues that were properly coming to him. During my weekly visit to MacLeod I had to compress about a week's work into four days, and was naturally kept pretty busy. That afternoon, while in my office, the door between that and the clerk's office, being open, I was very much annoyed by the strident tones of a man's voice, which seemed to have a great deal more to say than was necessary. And at last it worked so much upon my nerves that I called to the chief clerk and asked who the man was and why he was talking so much. The sergeant replied that the man was constable nettleship, whose discharge papers were being made out by the board of officers, and that he was under the influence of liquor. I said, sent him out of the office at once, to return to duty, his pass is cancelled, let the sergeant major know. This was the only alternative to placing the man under arrest on a charge of intoxication, however slight, according to the wording of the Mounted Police Act. I thought that in all probability he would reappear next morning, say he was sorry, and renew his application for leave. I had it vaguely in my mind that if he should do so I would give him his leave and let him go. This, however, proved to be the last thing that nettleship intended to do, for in the course of the same afternoon he deserted. He went to stay with some friends of his in MacLeod, who kept him per due, for a couple of days or so at a great risk to themselves, and then he developed diphtheria. The health officer promptly isolated him in the pest-house, and applied to me to make the necessary arrangements for his medical attendance, nursing and maintenance. I replied that a man of the name he mentioned was then in a state of desertion from the Northwest Mounted Police, and I declined to accept any responsibility for his medical attendance, etc. I added that he was quite able to pay his own expenses. There was at that time living and practicing in MacLeod, a very clever lawyer. To him, nettleship applied for advice in his dilemma. The proposition made was quite simple. Nettleship had money which was burning a hole in his pocket, and his legal adviser was quite willing to relieve him of any inconvenient surplus. The lawyer advised his client that he was no longer a member of the police force, and he may, for ought I know, have honestly believed that the advice he was giving was good. I made no secret of my intention to hold nettleship accountable for his act of desertion as soon as he should be released from quarantine, and the lawyer then made application to a judge of the Supreme Court sitting in Calgary for a writ of prohibition. The affidavits upon which this application was based, bristled with falsehoods, and I made a trip to Calgary with material to contradict them. While at Calgary I spent Sunday afternoon with an old Regina friend, Mr. Justice D. L. Scott, and to him I confided my troubles. He listened patiently for a time, and at last said, Dane, do you mean to tell me that I cannot issue a writ of prohibition to prevent you from doing something that I think you ought not to do? I replied, That's exactly what I do mean. So long as I do not exceed my jurisdiction you have no lawful right whatever to interfere with me. In general terms I explained the situation as I asserted it to be, and he finally said, Well, if what you say is correct I suppose there is something in your contention. I had applied to headquarters prior to my visit to Calgary for authority to employ Mr. C. C. McCall, a Calgary lawyer, to represent the Mounted Police in this matter, being well assured that he would at all events have taken some trouble to look into the matter. But he was what the grits called a Tory, and my application found no favour. The Liberal Party was then in power, and wanted every visible fragment of the loaves and fishes. The Northwest Territories were a sort of private game-reserve operated principally in the interests of the Sifton family, the prominent member of which was the Minister of the Interior in the Dominion Cabinet. I was therefore in no way surprised when I received instructions to employ Mr. A. L. Sifton, who was the Calgary Crown Prosecutor at the time. This gentleman had in his official capacity previously mishandled an excellent case for me, so I hardened my heart, left my case in his hands, and returned to my command to work up the case myself. In course of time the case came up for argument in chambers at Calgary, and a lawyer who was present remarked to me afterwards, if I had not known that Sifton was representing the police I should have thought he was appearing for the other side. It was no wonder, then, that the rule Nisi was issued, and I was prohibited from dealing with Nettleship. The prejudice of the learned judge obtruded in every line. He set up a man of straw and battered him out of all recognition, to the admiration and delight of counsel on both sides. In the meantime I had laid a charge of perjury against Nettleship on one of the many false statements in his numerous affidavits, and insisted the Crown Prosecutor at Lethbridge, Mr. C. F. P. Coneybear, K. C., to appear for the Crown. The charge was fully proved by the only two witnesses, besides Nettleship, who knew the facts who positively contradicted the accused. But the judge showed his bias again, took the case from the jury and directed them to return a verdict of not guilty, which they did. Then Mr. Coneybear, as instructed by myself, gave notice of appeal to the court in Banco against the writ of prohibition. We had got on to a business footing at last, and the ball was with me. My friend Coneybear had the most excellent law library, which he placed unreservedly at my disposal, and during the ensuing weeks I made full use of it, and burnt many gallons of midnight oil in preparing that which would effectively call my opponents bluff. On March 10, 1899 I was ready for the fray, for on that day I dated to the Commissioner of the Mounted Police a letter which epitomized the results of my labours and researches. This letter I knew would be referred to the Department of Justice at Ottawa, and from there it was forwarded to Mr. A. L. Sifton at Calgary to prosecute the appeal. That gentleman could not, without breach of professional etiquette, take out of Mr. Coneybear's hands the actions which the latter had initiated. And so, fortunately, we were able to travel still along business lines. The letter contained a good deal of interesting matter, dicta of eminent English judges, and so forth, known to an extremely limited circle of professional men in the Northwest. But as the text is by far too long to be here reproduced in extenso, I shall hear mention only that, after having marshaled my evidence, I concluded by saying, I submit that the Northwest Mounted Police, if not a military body, are as nearly military as it is possible for an armed body of constabulary to be, that the statute, by virtue of which they exist, enjoins and provides for the maintenance of discipline, and that their discipline is essentially of a military character. Their regulations, respecting the grant of an indulgence of a pass, and the form of pass itself, are adopted from those in vogue in the British Army. They are purely matters affecting the interior economy and discipline of the Northwest Mounted Police. Similarly, the regulations and customs affecting the grant of discharge, from the force, are a question of interior economy and discipline. The question of the pass is the crux of the whole matter, for, apart from that, the question of the discharge would never have been raised. It is clear from the learned judges' minutes of judgment that the questions of pass and discharge must stand or fall together. This being so, I am entitled to contend, on the lines of Chief Baron Kelly's judgment, that the issue and subsequent cancellation of Constable Nettleship's pass affected a police indulgence granted by a police officer in his capacity of commanding officer of police to a police Constable admittedly under his command, and that the question being thus purely of a police character involving a question of police discipline alone is cognizable only by a police tribunal and not by a court of law. An eminent grit lawyer and politician in MacLeod, Mr. Malcolm McKenzie, to whom I showed my letter, remarked as he handed it back to me. If your counsel does nothing more than take that letter into court and read it, he cannot lose his case. It is not a brief, it is a complete argument. The case for the Mounted Police was very ably represented by Mr. Coneybear to the court in Banco at Regina. One of the judges, Mr. Justice McGuire, had apparently heard Judge Brillo's side of the story and interjected so many interruptions to Mr. Coneybear while he was speaking that, to use the expression of a lawyer who was present and told me afterwards, he almost heckled him. However Mr. Coneybear withstood the ordeal with unshaken impoturbability, and the end of it was that Mr. Justice McGuire, after Judge Wetmore had written the judgment of the court, added a judgment of his own, giving reasons additional to those given by the court why the writ of prohibition should be quashed. It would be too tedious to set forth these judgments at length. The judgment of the court, as rendered by Judge Wetmore, concluded in the following words. This being so, we must find that the order of Mr. Justice Brillo was granted unconsciously, and in view of what appears above, it is not considered necessary to allude to any other questions raised in the appeal. The judgment of the court is, that the order granted by the learned judge be rescinded, and the writ of prohibition issued thereon and all proceedings thereunder set aside with cost to be paid by the respondent. When Nettleship's counsel was subsequently notified of this issue, all that he had to say was, Oh well, I got all that I wanted out of it. His advocacy was said to have netted him from $1,200 to $1,300. He had the money and Nettleship had the experience. Previously it had been the other way about. To arrest Nettleship and prosecute him for his desertion would, I thought, have looked like a persecution. So I took no steps to carry into effect the logical sequence of the full court's dicta. I looked at Nettleship in a quite impersonal light. What I was wholly and solely concerned with was to place the mounted police-courts on a solid footing, and I think most readers will agree with me that some such steps was imperatively necessary. END OF CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV OF MOUNTAIN POLICE LIFE IN CANADA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Mounted Police Life in Canada, by Captain Burton Dean. CHAPTER XIV An unrecorded incident of mounted police history. The Crooked Lakes Affair. On the evening of February 20, 1884, I was requested to go to the commanding officer's quarters, and there I met Mr. Hader Reed in conference with Superintendent Hirschmer. The Lieutenant Governor of the Northwest Territories, who was also Commissioner of Indian Affairs, had gone away on leave and had appointed Mr. Hader Reed, the Assistant Commissioner of Indian Affairs, to be Administrator during his absence. Mr. Reed had been an Indian agent at Battlefield in the days when Superintendent Hirschmer had been stationed there in command of the Mounted Police Post, and a close friendship had sprung up between them. Mr. Reed was thus at this time administering the affairs of the country, and his word was Law. On the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, about eighty miles east of Regina, is a place called Broadview, and about ten miles north of the village, as it was then, was an Indian Reserve. A report from the local Indian Department officials had just been received by the Administrator that about sixty or seventy Indians had broken into the government storehouse, had threatened the life of the farm instructor, a Mr. Keith, and had stolen some sixty or seventy bags of flour and bacon. Mr. Reed's mission was able to ask that a posse of police be sent to the spot to look into the matter. It was finally settled that I should go in charge of ten men who were not to take their arms. They would take their side arms, of course, but not their carbines. A freight train was due to pass Regina at nine forty-five o'clock next morning, and we went to the station to catch it, but it did not come until three p.m., and it was nine p.m. when we reached Broadview. We had had very sketchy meals during the day, so supper was the first consideration, and teams and bobslays were ordered for ten-thirty p.m. I then went to see Mr. Dodd, who was the resident J.P., and had a chat with him. He was very pessimistic and advised me not to go out to the reserve with so few men, but I said it was my duty to go, and that I should assuredly do so. It seemed that Mr. Keith had been in Broadview expecting us to arrive earlier in the day, but had grown tired of waiting and had gone back to the reserve. He left a message with Mr. Dodd to the effect that the matter was very serious, that the Indians were armed, and had sworn to shoot the first man who attempted to arrest one of them. He quoted Mr. Mackenzie, a trader living on the reserve, and doing business for the Hudson's Bay Company, as saying that the Indians were uglier than any Indians he had ever seen. We were faded not to reach the reserve that night, for he presently transpired that the only procurable horses were tired after a day's work which they had already done, and that the guide who was to show us the way to the farm-buildings was by no means sure of the road. Considering that Mr. Keith had not thought it necessary to wait for us, I concluded that there was perhaps no desperate need of haste, and ordered the teams for seven-thirty the next morning. Before going to bed I wired an epitome of the local opinion to Superintendent Hirchmer. It was clear and calm when we started the next morning, with the snow rather deep and the thermometer about thirty degrees below zero. Traveling was slow and we did not reach the farm until nine-thirty a.m. Mr. Keith then secured some jumpers for the further progress of the party on account of the deep snow, and it was half past ten before we fairly got under way. We were, of course, entirely in Mr. Keith's hands, and his idea was to visit each of the minor chiefs and to ascertain where his Indians were to be found. Fortunately he had provided a very competent interpreter, a full-blooded Indian named Gaddy, who had the reputation of being honest enough and independent enough to interpret correctly without fear or favour. He could, moreover, understand and interpret good English. The first minor chief that we visited was named Little Child and was at home. He was almost blind and had no taste for frivolities. He said he was sorry the young men would go in for dancing instead of working. His good example seemed to have impressed the rest of his band, for only one of them was implicated in the current disturbances. We had here to wait for a guide to be procured, because we had to break our own trail, and it was necessary in the few hours of daylight to make as many shortcuts as possible. We made a meal on some grub that we had brought with us, and then headed for Yellowcalf's house. He was the chief of the combination, had raised a fairly good crop, and was supposed to be loyal. We found his flag flying, but no one at home saved Squas. From thence we proceeded to Acus's, whose Squas were at home but no one else. At five p.m. we went down to the valley, and in course of time came to the house of a half-breed named Jacob Bear. There we came across the most astute Indian of the whole tribe, named Usup. It was uncertain how far he gave the other Indians the assistance of his sympathy, but no overt act had ever been traced to him. He was in fairly good circumstances, dressed respectably, was a good hunter, and talked intelligible English. From him we learned that the Indians, some sixty or seventy in number, were in a house close to the river. Also he offered to take us to the place. I asked him if he would tell the Indians that I was there, and should like to have a talk with them, and that I should like to take with me Mr. Keith, Sergeant Bliss, and the interpreter. He returned with a message that the Indians were willing that I should as I had proposed, and then I sent the rest of my men back to the farm. We had driven about twenty-five miles in the junipers, and it was seven o'clock, time for a meal, if there had been one in sight, which there wasn't. The house which we were about to enter was a substantially built log-house, with one door facing the east, and one small window facing the south, a one-roomed house measuring about thirty feet by eighteen feet. An oblong excavation from eighteen inches to two feet deep had been made in the centre, and the Indians were sitting around this oblong with others standing behind them. The place was literally packed with Indians, and it was as much as we could do to find standing-room. However we eventually did so, and I stood at the northwest corner of the dug-out, which was a convenient place for speaking from. When I first went in at the door I stepped, of course, into the evacuation, not being able to see it, and not knowing it was there, and very nearly came a cropper, at which there was a general guffaw. Without wasting any time, however, I told the Indians that I was very glad to have the opportunity of talking to them. That complaint had been made that a large number of Indians had broken into the government warehouse, had threatened the life of the farm instructor, and had stolen a great many bags of flour and bacon, and the great white mother had sent me to ask them what they had to say about it. I said, the great white mother is very sorry to hear that her Indian children have done this wicked thing. She keeps a store of food on the reserve so that her Indian children shall not starve. She gives them of this food every two or three days, and expects that they will be content with what she gives them without money and without price. She feels quite sure that her Indian children would not have stolen her goods unless some bad men had put bad thoughts into their hearts, and she expects that those Indians who led the others in this bad act will give themselves up to be tried in her court, in the same way as white men are tried when they break the queen's law. That, and much more to the same effect, threw more than two weary hours. Each sentence was interpreted as it was uttered, and while the interpreter was doing his part, I was thinking out the next sentence in words of one syllable as nearly as possible. Three Indians replied in speeches of some length, and said that promises had been made to them by the Indian commissioner which had not been kept, and that the assistant Indian commissioner had kept down their rations in a manner which constituted a breach of faith. They argued also that they helped themselves to the flour and bacon because they were hungry. I thought a good deal more of the Indians' complaint then, than I do now, for the burden of the red man's song, is always grub grub more grub. These rascals had been dancing for thirteen days, straight on end, and had neglected even to go and draw their rations. Hence the occasion for the theft. I told them that I would tell the Indian department what they said, and advised them, if they seriously intended, to attempt to explain their conduct by the representation that they were hungry, to show their good faith by giving up the leaders of the raid to be tried by the courts. They replied that they would talk it over, and if I would stay there overnight they would give me an answer in the morning. There was no place that I knew of wherein I could stay for the night, and having had nothing to eat since midday, I decided that I had better go back to the farm. So I told them there might be some messages there for me, which might require an answer, and that it was necessary that I should go. The Indians were perfectly respectful and friendly, from first to last. There was one, and only one, who meant to be offensive. He asked me as I was going out of the door what the police were going to do about his horses which he had lost some time previously. His tone and manner were distinctly impertinent, and I made him answer a good many questions, asking finally if he had reported to the police that he had lost his horses. He said no, and I retorted, how did you expect the police to know that your horses were lost if you did not tell them? An approving ugg behind me indicated that at least one of my hearers had a logical mind. And under cover of it I went out into the night. We had talked from seven to nine-fifteen p.m. and it was eleven o'clock before we reached the farm. I found there a telegram from Hirchmer to say that he and ten more men were on the way. He arrived the next day in the four noon, having brought no arms, and about one o'clock we all started for the house in the valley. Colonel MacDonald, Indian agent, also arrived in his own cutter and preceded us. The Indians, of course, were watching us and knew exactly what was going on. When we came inside of the house we could see that there were a number of armed Indians round about it. Some had shotguns and some had Winchester rifles, but every Indian present had a firearm of some sort. As Colonel MacDonald was driving up to the door, the men who were standing there sternly waved him off. They made the same signs to us, but we took no notice of them, and the entire party got out of their respective sleighs. Hirchmer was very impatient. Colonel MacDonald, who had not spoken to the Indians at all, wanted to talk, but Hirchmer would have none of it. He told me to fall the men in, and I did so. Then he said, You'd better draw pistols. And I gave that order also. Instantly the heels of a butt was applied to the window sash which fell out with a crash, and the cavity bristled with muzzles. Indians simultaneously appeared around the corners of the house, all having arms and all being ready to shoot. Finding remonstrance useless, Colonel MacDonald whipped up his horse and drove off, saying, I'll have nothing to do with it. Hirchmer and I were two or three paces between our line of men and the house, when, without warning me of what he proposed to do, Hirchmer suddenly said, Well, I suppose we'd better go right in, and start it off by himself. Everyone who knew Billy Hirchmer knew that, whatever his failings were, lack of courage was not one of them, and he presumed that Bluff would carry the day, as it had previously answered his purpose, in the North. He had not made allowance for a band of Indians who were strangers to him, and were, as Mr. McKenzie had told me, very determined. In the North he had been accustomed to deal with the Crees, but the Indians with whom we were now dealing were Soto, who were always looked upon as a rather superior race. A young fellow, named Jim Holford, consumed with curiosity, had, as we learned afterwards, followed our slaves on horseback into the valley, but an Indian had warned him to go back, saying if there was going to be any fighting he would be killed with the rest of us. He took the advice and went. Hirchmer had taken no more than a couple of paces towards the door, when a big, fine-looking and determined Indian, who was guarding the door, presented his double-barreled shotgun, full in his face, at a distance of something like two feet. Hirchmer stopped dead, as in my opinion he was well advised to do, for there was certain murder in the dusky, ruffian's eye. The other Indians followed his example, and we were all covered. A moment on the part of any one of us would have precipitated a climax. As the seconds passed without any ulterior act it became evident that it remained with ourselves to force the situation or not. I do not know what Hirchmer proposed to do in the house even supposing the Indians had admitted us all. We had no warrant to arrest any one, no information had been laid, and neither of us knew who the guilty parties were. Thus, from a criminal point of view, we had no loka stand-eye whatever. We were in effect provoking the Indians to commit willful murder by threatening to thrust ourselves into premises into which we had no right to force our way without the Queen's warrant. If disaster had befallen us, as for two or three seconds seemed extremely probable, our blood would have been upon our own heads. Presently Hirchmer called for Yellow Calf, the chief, who persuaded the Big Indian to lower his gun and talk became once more the order of the day. The Big Indian was not easily appeased, his blood was up, and he wanted to pull the trigger at some one of the men. I could not tell which one nor why he wanted to shoot, but I thought he would do some mischief, and Yellow Calf thought so too, or he held on to the gun for some little time. It is to remember that up to this time no shot had ever been fired in anger between the police and the Indians, and a very grave responsibility would thus rest upon any person who should initiate hostilities. At this juncture the Indian agent reappeared, and an adjournment was made to Usopp's house, a little way off where a prolonged pow-wow was held. The Indians, however, were no longer in the complacent mood of the evening before. They had hardened to their hurts, and resolutely refused to give up the offenders. An arrangement was made, providing that the administrator should be sent for, and we wended our way back to the farm, where we arrived about eight p.m. Hater Reid arrived on the following afternoon, and the Indian agent was dispatched to invite the Indians to a conference at the farm next morning. He stayed with them all that night, and eventually succeeded in inducing them to come and talk matters over. At about 9 a.m. on February 25, Usopp, Yellow Calf and some others, escorted by armed and mounted braves in full war-paint, duly arrived, and the whole forenoon was spent in talk. The administrator said after a time that he would like to talk to some of the young men themselves, and after some difficulty they were persuaded to come, very nervous and fearful of treachery. Late in the afternoon, after an eloquent speech from Usopp, Interpreter Gaddy said it was the finest speech he had ever heard an Indian make. Four Indians, named Yellow Calf, Kanawas, Moisey, and Penipakesis, consented to go to Regina for trial, and we all took the night train, thither. The trial took place on February 28, before Colonel Richardson, Stippenderry Magistrate, and Kanawas, Moisey, and Penipakesis, were charged with larceny. Yellow Calf was not included in the indictment, as he was not concerned in the raid, and had moreover kept the peace on the previous day. Mr. A. E. Forgett, now senator, clerk of the Legislative Assembly, appeared on behalf of the accused, who pleaded guilty, and made a strong plea for mercy on account of the Indian's ignorance of the white men's laws. The Indians were convicted and discharged on suspended sentence. It was practically understood, from the first that this was to be the outcome of the trial. When the court rose, Colonel Richardson, called Hirschmer and me into his room and said, What were you gentlemen doing there without a warrant? My answer was easy. I simply obeyed orders which I received from my superior officer. Hirschmer's answer was not so easy, and he said nothing. All this, looked at from any point of view, was a very unfortunate occurrence. The police had made a faux pas, and had lost in a great measure their most valuable asset, their prestige. The story was naturally noised about among the Indians, and there is no doubt that it contributed somewhat to the turbulent spirit which manifested itself among the BF Indians later in the same year. So far as the government was concerned, the matter was promptly hushed up. Hirschmer never made any allusion to it in any of his reports. I wrote the report which Hader Reed sent to his department, and he struck out of it all reference to the complaints made by the Indians that they were starving. There were in those days only four newspapers in the whole of the Northwest Territories, that is, the Leader at Regina, Forge McLeod Gazette at McLeod, the Saskatchewan Herald at Battleford, and the Bulletin at Edmonton. I never saw any account of the trouble in any of these papers until October 1887. The Edmonton Bulletin published an editorial on the subject. It was used as a vehicle to attack the Lieutenant Governor, the Assistant Indian Commissioner Hirschmer himself, and his brother, who had been in 1886, appointed to the commissionership of the Mounted Police. Thus it will be seen that the story took rather more than three years and a half to filter through to Edmonton from broad view. The Indian department in those days had some very persistent critics in Parliament, who did not think it necessary by any means to confine themselves to the truth in making virulent attacks upon the departmental officials. It may be imagined, therefore, how careful the latter were to conceal anything which could be used to their discredit by their unscrupulous enemies in the opposition. The editorial, to which I have alluded, closed in the following words. Bad management has been succeeded by worse, and bad precedent by still worse, until the force which was the pride of Canada and the safety of the North West has been made a laughing-stock for the very men who a few years ago held it most in respect. I could, if I chose, write a great deal on the subject from this aspect but as I have set out to write nothing of which I have not a personal knowledge I refrain. I can only say that in the interval between October 1st, 1887, and the time at which these lines are written, nous avons changé tout cela. There is now living only one white man who knows all the particulars attending the émoutée at Crooked Lakes, Mr. McKenzie, to whom I referred. He kept a small trading establishment on the reserve and was in the confidence of the Indians. It was suggested to me that I should submit my narrative to Mr. McKenzie and ask him whether his recollections agreed with mine. I judged it highly expedient to do so, knowing how often I myself had grown tired of hearing tales current in the North West which were more or less figments of the imaginations of the narrators. I received in return from Mr. McKenzie a long letter, an afterward a very kind intimation. You are at liberty to make any use of my letter that you see fit. The following is an excerpt from the letter referred to. I have a very vivid recollection of that very regrettable and unwarranted disturbance at Crooked Lakes in 1884. Your story and review of all the details is most complete, faithfully portrayed and in accordance with the facts as they actually took place. I was in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's trading post on the Crooked Lakes reserve, continuously some years prior and subsequent to the 1884 trouble. I grew up with all those young men implicated, knew every soul on all the reserves personally, spoke the language, and was conversant with the daily circumstances of each individual family. It is a long story, with which you are no doubt conversant, how the Plains Indians were being gathered together at and prior to that time by the government, and being placed on different reservations. Crooked Lakes, being one of the largest, received the greatest number of Indians, and of course in those days had to be fed regularly or rationed regularly. The reducing of these rations from time to time to practically nothing in the hard winter of 1884, when there were no rabbits or anything else to hunt for food, brought these Indians face to face with actual starvation. In some cases, children died of starvation during that month. Their mother is not being able to suckle them from their weakened condition, from lack of even partial nourishment at this critical period. Mr. Reed further instructed Mr. H. Keith to reduce the rations still lower. I asked Mr. Keith for God's sake not to reduce their rations any lower, or there would certainly be trouble. He carried out Mr. Reed's instructions, a few more died. The Indians came and asked for grub, which they were denied, broke into the government's storehouse, threw out as much flour and bacon as they wanted, and threw Keith out on top of it. I ran up from my store in time to save Keith's life, took him away from them, and told him what a foolish mistake he had made. Before I got him to my store he took one of his feds, which he was subject to, and remained unconscious for fully an hour. In the meantime the Indians were loading up their jumpers with flour and bacon, and making a general distribution to those present, and sending flour and bacon on to those who were too feeble to come after it. While the air was about thirty degrees below zero that morning. After they divided up the flour and bacon they all came to my store, all of course very excited, but offered me no violence, only some of my best friends among them said in a jocular way that they had come in to clean up my store also, as they wanted tea, tobacco, sugar, rice, and currants, so that they would have one good feed before they all died of starvation. I told them not to touch anything, that I had been helping many of them a good deal all winter, and was very sorry for what they had done in a moment of excitement, through the foolhardiness of one of their young men, for which all the Indians would now be held responsible by the government, whose name was Big Ben Kitchy, Usopp's son. I gave them what they wanted, and they all went their way to prepare the feast, having plenty of grub for the time being, for themselves and families, after which the young warriors repaired to the house and the valley in which you found them, and it was very lucky for the MP that day that the Indians had had a good feed, so that their tempers were somewhat cooled off by their stomachs being full, or there would not one of you ever have come out of that valley alive, hampered as you were with your buffalo coats, deep snow, and with only side arms. I shot her yet when I think of what would have occurred had a shot been fired even by accident. There is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip, and anyway that great tragedy was averted by a bloodless battle. I am the only living white man today that was on the ground, and was intimately and personally acquainted with all the details of this affair, which I reported to my company at that time, and received their thanks for the way I handled the Indians and prevented them from looting our stores by providing them gratuitously with small amounts of provisions on that deplorable and critical occasion. They were supplied with a more liberal ration after that