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CHAPTER VI
LAW AND ORDER IN CANADA

In the older parts of the country, with the exception of the larger cities, crime is rare, justice is well administered, the ordinary forms of English law being followed; but the country has suffered in this respect from the fact that there have been criminals among the many emigrants arriving in recent years. One naturally expects that there will be lawlessness in the opening up of new countries, but certain wise laws have saved Canada from this evil. Many of the towns have passed laws prohibiting the sale of alcoholic liquors; it is illegal to sell liquor to Indians, as the Indian is dangerous when he gets "fire-water"; liquor may not be sold in any railway construction camp, or mining town, and the enforcement of this law has prevented much crime. The enforcement of the law is the duty of "licence inspectors," and they meet many queer adventures in the search for "blind pigs," as the places are called where liquor is illegally sold. At one place whisky was brought in, concealed in cans of coal-oil; at another, a shipment of Bibles on examination was found to be made of tin, and filled with the desired spirit. Another class of inspectors are the "game wardens," whose duty it is to see that the laws with regard to close seasons in fishing and hunting are observed. They travel about throughout the northland, and when they find evidence of law-breaking they seize nets, guns, game, fish, or furs, and see that large fines are imposed.

But Canadian reputation for law and justice owes more to that famous organization of guardians of the peace, the North-West Mounted Police, than to any other cause. This body of men was organized in 1873 for the preservation of order in the great North-West, which was then populated by Indian tribes and half-breeds, with very few white men. At present the force consists of 750 men, posted at ten different divisions, officered by a commissioner and assistant-commissioner, and in each division a superintendent and two inspectors. The full-dress uniform of the corps is a scarlet tunic with yellow facings, blue cloth breeches with yellow stripes, white helmet, and cavalry boots and overcoat. On service, fur coats and moccasins are worn in winter, and khaki with cowboy hats in summer. Each constable looks after his own horse – a cayuse or broncho about the size of a polo pony, worth about £12, with his regimental number branded on him, and good to lope all day and pick up his living, hobbled near his master's camp. The armament of the force consists of a carbine (.45 – .75 Winchester) and a .44 Enfield revolver.

This is the force that guards the territory stretching from the Great Lakes to the Rockies, and from the forty-ninth parallel, the United States boundary, to the Arctic Ocean – half a continent; and so well have they done what seems an impossibility, that a man may walk from one end to the other unarmed and alone, and with greater security than he could in London from Piccadilly to the Bank. The influence of the corps depends on the fact that they are absolutely fair, and that, whatever the cost or difficulty, they never give up till they have landed their man.

When Piapot – restless, quarrelsome, drink-loving Piapot – and his swarthy, hawk-faced following of Crees and Saultaux, hundreds of them, spread the circles of their many smoke-tanned tepees near the construction line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, beyond Swift Current, there was inaugurated the preliminary of a massacre, an Indian War, the driving out of the railway hands, or whatever other fanciful form of entertainment the fertile brain of Piapot might devise.

The Evil One might have looked down with satisfaction upon the assembly; there were navvies of wonderful and elastic moral construction; bad Indians with insane alcoholic aspirations; subservient squaws; and the keystone of the whole arch of iniquity – whisky. The railway management sent a remonstrance to the Powers. The Lieutenant-Governor issued an order; and two policemen – two plain, red-coated, blue-trousered policemen – rode forth carrying Her Majesty's commands. Not a brigade, nor a regiment, nor a troop, not even a company. Even the officer bearing the written order was but a sergeant. That was the force that was to move this turbulent tribe from the good hunting-grounds they had struck to a secluded place many miles away. It was like turning a king off his throne. Piapot refused to move, and treated the bearer of the Paleface Mother's message as only a blackguard Indian can treat a man who is forced to listen to his insults without retaliating.

The sergeant calmly gave him fifteen minutes in which to commence striking camp. The result was fifteen minutes of abuse – nothing more. The young bucks rode their ponies at the police horses, and jostled the sergeant and his companion. They screamed defiance at him, and fired their guns under his charger's nose and close to his head, as they circled about in their pony spirit-war-dance. When the fifteen minutes were up, the sergeant threw his picket-line to the constable, dismounted, walked over to Chief Piapot's grotesquely painted tepee, and calmly knocked the key-pole out. The walls of the palace collapsed; the smoke-grimed roof swirled down like a drunken balloon about the ears of Piapot's harem. All the warriors rushed for their guns, but the sergeant continued methodically knocking key-poles out, and Piapot saw that the game was up. He had either got to kill the sergeant – stick his knife into the heart of the whole British nation by the murder of this unruffled soldier – or give in and move away. He chose the latter course, for Piapot had brains.

Again, after the killing of Custer, Sitting Bull became a more or less orderly tenant of Her Majesty the Queen. With 900 lodges he camped at Wood Mountain, just over the border from Montana. An arrow's flight from his tepees was the North-West Mounted Police post. One morning the police discovered six dead Saultaux Indians. They had been killed and scalped in the most approved Sioux fashion. Each tribe had a trademark of its own in the way of taking scalps; some are broad, some are long, some round, some elliptical, some more or less square. These six Indians had been scalped according to the Sioux design. Also a seventh Saultaux, a mere lad and still alive, had seen the thing done. The police buried the six dead warriors, and took the live one with them to the police post. Sitting Bull's reputation was not founded on his modesty, and with characteristic audacity he came, accompanied by four minor chiefs and a herd of "hoodlum" warriors, and made a demand for the seventh Saultaux – the boy.

There were twenty policemen backing Sergeant McDonald; with the chief there were at least 500 warriors, so what followed was really an affair of prestige more than of force. When Sitting Bull arrived at the little picket-gate of the post, he threw his squat figure from his pony, and in his usual generous, impetuous manner, rushed forward and thrust the muzzle of his gun into Sergeant McDonald's stomach, as though he would blow the whole British nation into smithereens with one pull of his finger. McDonald was of the sort that takes things coolly; he was typical of the force. He quietly pushed the gun to one side, and told the five chiefs to step inside, as he was receiving that afternoon. When they passed through the little gate he invited them to stack their arms in the yard and come inside the shack and pow-wow. They demurred, but the sergeant was firm; finally the arms were stacked and the chiefs went inside to discuss matters with the police.

Outside the little stockade it was play-day in Bedlam. The young bucks rode, and whooped, and fired their guns; they disturbed the harmony of the afternoon tea, as the sergeant explained to Sitting Bull. "Send your men away," he told him.

The Sioux chief demurred again.

"Send them away," repeated the sergeant, "if you have any authority over them."

At a sign Sitting Bull and the chiefs made towards the door, but there were interruptions – red-coated objections. And the rifles of the chiefs were stacked in the yard outside. Sitting Bull, like Piapot, had brains; likewise was he a good general. He nodded approvingly at this coup d'état, and told one of the chiefs to go out and send the boys away.

When the young bucks had withdrawn to their camp, the sergeant persuaded Sitting Bull and the others to remain a little longer, chiefly by force of the red-coated arguments he brought to bear upon them.

"Tarry here, brothers," he said, "until I send Constable Collins and two others of my men to arrest the murderers of the dead Indians. The Saultaux are subjects of the Queen, and we cannot allow them to be killed for the fun of the thing. Also the boy told us who the murderers are."

Then Constable Collins – big Jack Collins, wild Irishman, and all the rest of it – went over to the Sioux camp, accompanied by two fellow-policemen, and arrested three of the slayers of the dead Indians. It was like going through the Inquisition for the fun of the thing. The Indians jostled and shoved them, reviled them, and fired their pistols and guns about their ears, whirled their knives and tomahawks dangerously close, and indulged in every other species of torment their vengeful minds could devise. But big Jack and his comrades hung on to their prisoners, and steadily worked their way along to the post.

Not a sign of annoyance had escaped either of the constables up to the time a big Indian stepped up directly in front of Jack Collins and spat in his face. Whirra, whirroo! A big mutton-leg fist shot through the prairie air, and the Sioux brave, with broken nose, lay like a crushed moccasin at Jack's feet.

"Take that, you black baste!" he hissed, between his clenched teeth. "An' ye've made me disobey orders, ye foul fiend!"

Then he marched his prisoners into the post, and reported himself for misconduct for striking an Indian. The three prisoners were sent to Regina, and tried for murder. I do not know whether Jack was punished for his handiwork or not, though it is quite likely that he was strongly censured at least.

In 1896 a party of several hundred Crees, who had gone on a raid into Montana, were returned by the United States authorities, under guard of a cavalry regiment, and the Mounted Police were notified to meet them and take charge at the boundary. What was the amazement of the American officers to be met by a sergeant and two constables; but such was the influence of their uniform that the Indians meekly marched ahead of them back to their reserve. In 1907 a single constable followed an escaped convict and noted desperado for over 2,000 miles of the pathless northern wilderness, and brought him back to stand trial. These are but samples of what the North-West Mounted Police have been doing for over thirty years for the fair name of Canada.

When the Strathcona Horse were organized for South African service, 300 members of the corps were mounted policemen; the gallant commander was the commissioner, Lieutenant-Colonel Steele, and the whole Empire is familiar with their record there. Many of the members are "remittance men," the younger sons and often the prodigals of well-known English families, and not infrequently of noble birth. In recent years there has been added to their duties the care of the Yukon, and the maintenance of order in this great gold camp far up at the Arctic Circle has fully sustained their reputation.

CHAPTER VII
THE SHIP OF THE PRAIRIE

"All aboard!" Such is the commanding cry which rings out in a Canadian railway-station when a train is quite ready to start. "All aboard!" shouts the conductor as he walks briskly alongside the train. In climb the waiting passengers, and without further warning the big, ponderous engine begins to move; and as it moves, the big bell which it carries begins to toll, and keeps on tolling until the train is well clear of the station. There is no string of guards and porters crying, "Take your seats, please!" and no ringing of a station bell, as in England. The conductor is the master of the train. Indeed, he is more like the captain of a ship, and wields almost as much authority over his passengers as does the captain of a big Atlantic liner. You will notice that his cry when the train is ready to start is one that would be appropriate to use to people intending to embark on a vessel. The camel in tropical countries is called the "ship of the desert." It would be just as suitable to call the Canadian train the "ship of the prairie," especially as many phrases are used with regard to trains that we are more accustomed to associate with travelling by sea. For instance, when a Canadian merchant sends away by train a quantity of timber or of potatoes, or even groceries, he always speaks of "shipping" them. Again, the men who are in charge of a train – namely, the engine-driver, the stoker, the conductor, the luggage-clerk (baggage-man), the post-office officials (mail-clerks), and the parcels official (express agent), are spoken of collectively as the "train crew."

The Canadian engine, which is a big, heavy thing, generally painted black, so that it has not the smart look of an English railway locomotive, carries a huge acetylene lamp fixed high up on the front of the funnel, and with this it can light up the track for many yards in front of it as it puffs along at night. When it wants to give a warning, it does not whistle in the shrill way an English railway locomotive does: it gives out an ear-splitting, hoarse, hollow-sounding scream or roar that can be heard a long way off, and also rings the big "chapel" bell. And when it is entering a station, it keeps on clanging its bell until it comes to a dead standstill at the platform.

The through trains on the transcontinental railways carry three classes of passengers – colonist, tourist, and first-class, or "Pullman," as they are called, from the name of the great American firm which long made the Pullman or palace cars for all the railways in America. Those who travel by the latter live as luxuriously as if they were at an hotel; a dining-car accompanies them in which a full-course dinner is served; there are libraries, shower-baths, even barber's shops, on some of these trains, and each train is fitted with observation-cars with glass sides, from which one can view the scenery at fifty miles an hour. Besides this, the railways maintain fine hotels at all the places of interest, just as is done at home.

The conductor of the train not only does what the guard on an English train does, but he also performs the duties of ticket-examiner and booking- or ticket-clerk as well. Whilst the train is still travelling he walks through the cars, one after the other, and examines and punches the passengers' tickets; and if a passenger has not got a ticket, the conductor will give him one and take the money for it. This saves the railway company the expense of having ticket-collectors at every station. Another reason why the conductor performs these duties is that at many of the small stations there is no station-master and no booking-clerk. Except in certain of the largest towns, there are no porters at the railway-stations. In consequence of this, railway-travellers generally carry only a small portmanteau or valise in their hands. The general name for a handbag, portmanteau, or valise is "grip." Before setting out on a journey the traveller hands his heavy baggage over to the "baggage-master," who ties a strong cardboard label to it bearing a number and a letter of the alphabet and the name of the town the traveller is going to, and at the same time he gives a similar piece of cardboard, bearing exactly the same number and the same letter and the name of the town, to the passenger. When the passenger reaches the town he is going to, he goes to the baggage-office and presents his cardboard ticket, and the official gives up to him the trunk or box which bears the corresponding number and letter. This is called "checking baggage through."

The passenger coaches, known as "cars," on the Canadian railways are very different from the passenger carriages in England. You do not enter at doors in the sides, but you climb up to a platform at the end and enter from the platform. A gangway runs through the middle of the car from the one end to the other. In this way, even when the engine is running at full speed, you are able to travel all through the train, crossing from one car to the other by means of the platforms at the end of each. On each side of the gangway of the car are the seats, facing each other, and affording room for four passengers in each recess. At night the seats can be pulled out until they meet one another, and in that way they make a bed, on which the porter places mattresses and bedclothes and around which he hangs curtains. About one-half of the passengers generally sleep, however, above the heads of those who lie on the seats. High up, all along the sides of each gangway, there are big, broad shelves, which can be let down at night, and pushed up again out of the way in the daytime. It is on these shelves that many of the passengers sleep. Each "shelf" will hold two people.

At each end of each car there are dressing and washing rooms, and on emigrant sleeping-cars a recess holds a small stove for cooking. In the early morning, on an emigrant or colonist train, quite a crowd of people gather round the door of their little dressing-room, waiting their turns to get in, for the room is very tiny, and will not hold more than three persons at a time, especially when one is a man trying to shave without cutting his chin, for very often the cars shake and rattle, and even lurch and jump. Every man comes in his shirt-sleeves, and carries his towel and hair-brush, his soap or his comb; and whilst they stand about waiting their turns, there is generally a good deal of good-natured gossiping and jesting, especially if the train shakes much, and they stumble against one another. On a Pullman, or first-class sleeping-car, however, the accommodation is much better, and one can wash and dress almost as comfortably as in a good hotel.

Nearly all Canadians are great travellers. The large towns are mostly situated wide apart, and to get from the one to the other you generally have to make long journeys. In all countries railways are important features; but in Canada, owing to the vast distances and the way in which the population live scattered over the immense territory, the railways are of especial importance. Frequently the railway is the first pioneer in opening up a district for settlement, being built to reach a wealthy mine or a petroleum-field, and as the railway penetrates mile after mile into the unoccupied valley, little towns spring up alongside it. In this way the hoarse bray of the railway-engine awakens the sleeping echoes of mountain glen or river valley before the sound of the settler's axe is heard or the smoke of the emigrant's camp-fire seen. The two biggest railways in Canada are the Canadian Pacific Railroad, known in short form as the C.P.R., and the Grand Trunk Pacific Railroad, or the G.T.R. Both these form a link, and a very important link, in the route between England on the one side and Japan, China, and Australia on the other.

In the Rocky Mountains and in the other ranges the gradients on the railways are necessarily very steep, one at the Kicking Horse Pass (so called from the figure of a great horse which can be seen in the rock on the side of the mountain) is 6 in 100. In rainy weather, and in the spring, when the frost loosens the soil, huge boulders may come sliding down and cover the track. As the track curves in all directions (near Glacier one can see four tracks side by side as it loops round to climb the mountain-side), it would be impossible for the engineer to see these obstructions in time to save his train, so the track is patrolled constantly by men night and day. On the steep gradients there are switches which lead off from the main line and run up the mountain-side, so that a train rushing down the slope and running up on to one of these tracks soon loses its impetus and slows down. These traps are used to stop the train when there is danger ahead, the patrol opens the switch, which automatically sets a signal, so that the engineer knows what is coming, and the train loses its force up the steep switch instead of plunging into the abyss below. As you lie in your berth at night and watch the great shining spot of the searchlight on the front of the engine as it lights up mountain, crag, and deep defile 1,000 yards ahead, the clear whistle rings out in the night; anxiously you count one, two, three, four, and sink back relieved. "All right on the main line!" and you know that the lonely patrol man is faithful in the humble task on which the life of hundreds may depend.

In many parts of Canada the snowfall is very heavy, and causes the railways constant trouble, for if the wind blows it soon piles up, so that the trains cannot force their way through it. Of course it would take too long to shovel it out by hand, so gigantic snow-ploughs are used. These are pushed ahead of the engine, and send the snow flying to the fences on both sides of the track. Where it is very deep and frozen hard, a "rotatory low" is used, with a large boring machine attached to the front of it to cut its way into the drifts, and often from two to four engines may be needed to force it through the deepest cuts. In the mountain districts, where the track is exposed to snow slides, the tracks are covered by great sheds of strong timber, over which the white avalanche can slide into the cañon below.

The history of the Canadian railways has thus been very different from that of the English railways, for these last were mostly built to connect the big towns together, and the towns existed before the railways were built.

There is also another great difference between the English and the Canadian railways. In the former country the men who built the railways were obliged to buy all the land they wanted to build them on. In the latter country – Canada – the land was given by the Government to those who constructed the railways; and not only that, but the Government paid them to build their lines by granting them many acres of land on each side of the track all the way through. This was because there were not enough people in the regions through which the railways were made to provide sufficient passengers and traffic to pay the expenses of running trains.

In the mountainous districts, especially in the Far West, the railways are often the principal highways. There are no other roads, and so people walk along the railway-lines. When a man tramps a long distance in this way he is said to "count the ties," for the cross-beams of wood on which the steel rails are laid are not called "sleepers," as they are in England, but they are called "ties." And it is usual for these ties to be looked after, over a distance of several miles, by a small gang of men called "section men." It is their duty to keep the railway-track safe by cutting out old and worn-out ties, and putting new ones in their places. In lonely parts of the country the section-men's house, or "shack," is sometimes the only human dwelling to be found for many miles. The section-men generally go to and from their work on a machine called a "trolley," or hand-car, a sort of square wooden platform running on four wheels. The men stand on the platform and work two big handles up and down, very much as a man works a pump-handle, and by that means turn the cranks which make the wheels go round. "The speeder" is the name given to a smaller vehicle or machine, which runs on three wheels, one of them running at the end of a couple of iron rods, something like the outrigger on a surf-boat of Madras. The speeder is worked by one man, who propels it after the manner of one riding a bicycle. This is a very useful means of travelling when a doctor is summoned into the country and there is no train to be had for several hours; for on some of the Canadian lines there is only one train a day each way, the same set of engine and cars running up and down the line every day.