Murder of a Policeman

When he arrived on Vancouver
Island in 1858 he was known as Charlie Brown. Due to his
proclivity for so called easy money he soon came to the attention of the newly
formed British Columbia Colonial Police and Victoria Municipal Police. However,
with a gold rush breaking out in some area of the colony almost every year, law
enforcement was hard pressed due to the constant influx of gold seekers. Due to
the lack of manpower and time as well as the insipidness of his name, little is
known about Charlie’s earlier history except that he may have been in California
and Oregon Territory.
Once in the British colony,
however, it was obvious Charlie’s search for gold would not include digging or
washing for it. He was caught on several occasions selling grain alcohol to
Indians. Following one of those occasions, while awaiting trial, he was
attacked by another arrestee, a Haida Indian to whom he had sold a barrel of
sea water as whiskey.
Mr. Brown’s last extended stay in
Victoria’s Bastion Street Jail began some time in 1875 with a one year sentence
for, once again, selling alcohol without a permit and selling alcohol to
Indians. He refused to work and was placed in solitary on bread and water.
One afternoon another Charlie,
jailer Charles B. Wright came to move Brown to a new cell. Mr. Brown threatened
to kill Wright if he tried. During the ensuing struggle Brown managed to put
Wright in a headlock. The jailer (they were armed in those days) drew his
revolver and put it up to Mr. Brown threatening to “blow his head off.” When
Brown increased the pressure, Wright pulled the trigger.
Charles Wright did not manage to
blow Charlie Brown’s head off as he had predicted. He did manage to blow his
ear off, however, thus creating “One Eared Charlie Brown” who, though he lost
an ear, gained another year to his sentence.
It has been stated, with great
justification, that “One Ear” Charlie Brown, “Hospital” Hall, and “Sebastopol”
Jones and their distribution of alcohol were the greatest reason for the
disappearance of the Songhees Indians.
Having served a good portion of
his sentence One Ear Charlie became “ill” and was transferred to hospital. He
suddenly improved dramatically, escaped and left the colony. Victory lawmen
didn’t look too hard for, as one said, “If he has left the island its good
riddance.” One Ear Charlie became a problem for US lawmen. However, he would
return to the colony in the spring of 1867 for a short time. After that short
stay he would return very briefly to the US
and then be a problem for no one.

In 1866 there was another gold
rush in the Kootenay Country, centred on a town called Wild Horse Creek.
Following some serious turbulent times the town and the Kootenay area were
being policed by four BC Colonial Constables, William Young, James Normensall,
John Carrington and a rookie, Jack Lawson. The young rookie was very popular
with the Kootenay miners.
In the spring of 1867 One Ear
Charlie Brown showed up in Oregon Territory
at Kootenay Trading Post. He stole two horses and rode north into the BC
colony.
The brothers who owned the
horses, Dutch homesteaders, rode north after their property and, having
determined the proper trail, rode on to Wild Horse Creek in search of a lawman.
Upon arrival they found that all officers were out on patrol except for the
rookie, Jack Lawson.
The Constable and the two horse
owners rode south, eventually approaching One Ear on the trail. Jack had the
brothers wait while he closed on the horse thief.
Having identified himself, Jack
inquired as to the ownership of the horses where upon One Ear made a move with
one hand toward the inside of his shirt. Jack drew his Colt and demanded One
Ear freeze but then made the mistake of diverting his attention to the brothers
behind him on the trail.
Perhaps he was concerned for the
brother’s safety or intended to call them forward to identify the horses. Maybe
it was a young man’s belief of invincibility or a disbelief in old men’s
stories of gunfights. Whatever the reason for Constable Lawson’s distracted
attention it allowed One Ear the opportunity to draw his revolver and shoot
Jack in the head.
The brothers fled back to Wild
Horse Creek for more help.
Jack Lawson fell dead from his
horse.
One Ear dismounted, dropped his
Manhattan Revolver (probably a .36 or “Navy Model” but it could have been a .31
pocket model) on the ground and picked up Jack’s relatively new Colt. (The 1860
Model Army was issued to BC officers.)
On their arrival in Wild Horse
Creek the two horse ranchers discovered the other three policemen still hadn’t
returned. They told their story to the citizens who were all upset about the
murder of Constable Jack Lawson. Four local miners were so upset they took out
on One Ear’s trail.
They followed the trail for
several days. Eventually they deduced One Ear’s intention and by taking another
trail managed to get ahead of him and lay an ambush. They confronted him on the
Walla Walla Trail 43 miles south of the BC Colonies border, not far from
Bonner’s Ferry.
According to accounts, three
shotgun blasts blew One Ear Charlie Brown from the saddle. They buried his
riddled body beside the trail.
Why three shotguns and not four?
Who knows? I suggest a possible explanation in my fictional account of the
event in the novel “Partners”.

Safety for Joe Public

I've done articles on this subject several times. Now here is another one from a police officer that supports my earlier work.
Looks like the facts are coming out in Gun Control and the NRA wins on this one!!
Australian Gun Law Update
Here's a thought to warm some of your hearts from:
Ed Chenel, A police
officer in Australia
Hi Yanks and Canadians, I thought you all would like to see the real figures
from Down Under.
It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced by a new law to surrender
640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by our own government, a program
costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars.
The first year results are now in:
Australia-wide, homicides are up 6.2 percent,
Australia-wide, assaults are up 9.6 percent;
Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent
(yes, 44 percent)!
In the state of Victoria alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent.
(Note that while
the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the
criminals did not and criminals still possess their guns!)
While figures over the previous 25 years showed a steady decrease in armed
robbery with firearms, this has changed drastically upward in the past 12
months, since the criminals now are guaranteed that their prey is unarmed.
There has also been a dramatic increase in break-ins and assaults of the
elderly, while the resident is at home.
Australian politicians are at a loss to explain how public safety has
decreased, after such monumental effort and expense was expended in
'successfully ridding Australian society of guns....'
You won't see this on the American or Canadian evening news. You won’t hear a
Premier, Prime Minister, MP, governor or member of a State Assembly
disseminating this information.
The Australian experience speaks for itself. Guns in the hands
of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes,
gun-control laws affect only the law-abiding citizens.
Take note, before it's too late!
In localized
instances this has been proven for decades, but now it has been proven by an
entire nation.
Will you be one of the sheep to turn yours in?
WHY? You will need
it.

"Fire arms
stand next in importance to the Constitution
itself. They are the American
people's liberty teeth and
keystone under independence...from the hour
the Pilgrims
landed to the present day, events,
occurrence and tendencies
prove that to ensure peace, security and
happiness, the
rifle and pistol are equally
indispensable...the very atmosphere
of firearms anywhere restrains evil
interference---they deserve
a place of honor with all that is good."
(George Washington)

A Wet Christmas?

The 17th day of December and I’m driving in rain
at 8ºC. (That’s 46º F for you metrically challenged folk.) I didn’t like it! The windows in the truck would allow a view for no more a few moments. We shouldn’t have muck for
Christmas.
I would be much happier with - 15º C ( 5º) until about March
5th when it should warm up and dry up in about a month.
Which also won’t happen.
Since one can’t do anything about the weather except grin
and bear it (or perhaps that should be grin and bare it.) I decided to construct a little rhyme as I was hauling fuel down the road.

The melody to “Jingle Bells” should work.

Racing through the rain
In a Razor Custom quad.
Goin’ to the neighbours place
For turkey, ham and grog.
From toddies smooth and rich
We wound up in the ditch
We’ll have to get the horses out
To pull us from this bog

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells
There they come right now
The off horse is a little shy
They’re both as fat as sows.
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells
They’ll do the job just fine
Back up to the shoulder there
And throw us out a line.

The team began to pull
The Razor made a roar,
The off horse made a mighty leap
The near horse took more load.
The double tree it broke
Pieces left and right
Man that team can really move
They just went out of sight.

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,
Will tell us where they are.
With hay and oats in the barn,
They won’t get too far.
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,
Relax and just sit back
I think I’ll have a little sip,
Will you pass me the flask?

D. M. McGowan
2011

Daylight Savings Time

I was told that Daylight Saving Time was invented by a wise
old Indian who cut his blanket in half then had his woman sew the ends together
to make it longer.

Many years later I met the wise old Indian at a club where I
was playing in Vancouver. He said that
only a politician already established in some cushy government position would
come up with the idea that someone could cut a foot of his blanket and sew it
to the other end to make it longer.

Many years later I heard, because he was famous, that the wise
old Indian had passed away. While contemplating our visit many years before and
what he had said about the business of turning our clocks backward or forward I
had an epiphany;

Daylight Savings Time was invented by a very warped mind.

What We Need Is a Good Cattle Dog

I can't tell you how Alvin's doing. It's been a while since I seen him. You see, Alvin and I don't spend too much time together. Not like we used to. It goes back to that time we went up to Carter's to help them round up their cattle. Looking' back, I reckon I was a bit rough on him, but I thought he had a better sense of humor.
There was about ten of us who volunteered to help out. Neighbors rode over on horseback, and some hauled their horses in from as far as fifty miles away. I don't have a truck or trailer, so I rode with Alvin, our mounts in his two-horse trailer.
Most of us got there the night before, a Friday it was, so that we'd be ready t' get started early Saturday. 'Course, the early start was a bit rough on most of us since, once we got a place for our bedrolls, most of us spent the night over a few drinks, playing' cards and swapping yarns. But despite how tough a few felt that next morning we were all out there gathering' cattle in fairly decent time.
Along about two in the afternoon, we had quite a bunch of critters up by the loading pens. After turning about a dozen head into the herd, Alvin and I headed south into a low spot we hadn't checked out. Sure enough, there's twenty head or so, down in the brush.
Well, we pull up near the edge of that brush, and Alvin starts to get down.
"Where you goin'?" I asked him, though I pretty well knew what he had in mind.
"Well, horses’ll be no good in that brush," Alvin says. "We'll have to go in on foot."
I rode back up-slope a ways and had a look at that bush. It probably covered ten acres, and was as close as hair on a dog’s back.
"You're not gonna chase any cows outta that," I said. "Work like that, you need a good cattle dog."
"Well, we don't have a cattle dog," Alvin says, "so we'll have to do it on foot."
"We could also just leave the herd up where they are," I advised. "By tomorrow this bunch in the bush’ll be lonely, and come out of there on their own."
"Work don't get done by lettin' it lay," Alvin says.
I swung one leg around the saddlehorn, and proceeded to roll a smoke. "You get ‘em out here, I'll be sure to hold ‘em for you," I said, though I figured there wasn't much chance of me having to do anything.
Well, Alvin just glared at me, dropped the reins, and went waddling off into the willows.
He got four steers and a cow moving that first time out. Of course, when he got right up to the edge of the brush, the cow went left, and the steers right. Alvin was heaving pretty good and trying to figure out how five animals could go in ten directions.
He went back into the trees, picked up his hat, and carried it out and hung it on his saddlehorn. Then he glared at me, and headed back into the brush.
I pulled my hat down over my eyes and got comfortable.
During the next half hour, he kept trying to chase them cows out, and they'd just turn around and go back in the bush, as cows tend to do. Pretty soon his face began to look like a piece of raw meat, and everything he wore was soaked with sweat. I was beginning to worry that he was gonna have a heart attack, and I'd have to haul him out of there.
He was on the edge of the brush, legs spread, and hands on his knees, and just heaving. I was pretty sure there wasn't a bull on that place with a harder head than his.
I started to roll another smoke as I let my horse shuffle over toward him. "You know, Alvin," I said, "you're gonna have to cut a switch off one of those willows, and give yourself a lickin'. You're gettin' way behind!"
You know, I had to find somebody else to haul my horse home!

Over at http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/about/hownanoworks they have a novel writing contest. You can see all the info there, but primarily it's write a 50000 word novel in any genre during the month of Nov.

I certainly plan to try and hope to be in FSJ on Nov. 1 for the "official" beginning. However, working 10 and 12 hours a day, often 7 days, I don't know how successful I'll be. Here's to effort.

Chuck Wending over at terribleminds has asked for a short story of a 100 words or less. Therefore I’m posting the following. How Hennedy wound up on this wall and what he does about what he has found is up to you.
By the way, Chuck can be found at http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/09/16/flash-fiction-challenge-the-numbers-game



Hennedy exited through the main door and trotted along the front wall to the North corner. After testing the strength of the ivy that climbed the church wall he began to climb.
At the third floor he looked in the window of the locked apartment. In the dim light from a table lamp he could see the Bishop standing over what appeared to be a body. In his left hand he held a chain of prayer beads and was rubbing the right hand fingers over what appeared to be a blister on the back of that left hand.