The Why of the Scarlet Tunic.
The adoption of the scarlet tunic for the Mounted Police was an inspiration, and knowing something of the denseness of the official mind, I often wondered why such a really sensible thing had been done by officialdom in selecting a uniform for the Mounted Police. It appears that in 1872 the government sent Colonel Robertson Ross, commanding the militia, to reconnoitre the far west, and he made the trip overland from Winnipeg to the Pacific. In his report, which recommended the organization of a mounted force to open up the western country, he explained that prejudice existed among the Indians against the color of the dark green uniform worn by the men of Irvine’s provisional (rifle) battalion at Fort Garry.
Many of them had asked: “Who are those soldiers at Red River wearing dark clothes? Our brothers who lived there many years ago (belonging to a wing of H.M. Sixth Regt. of Foot sent to Red River in 1846) wore red coats, and we know that the old king’s soldiers who fought against the Yankees wore red coats and that the soldiers of our Great White Mother wear red coats now. The soldiers who wear red coats are friends of the Indians, and if the men in Red River wore red coats we would know that they are the Great White Mother’s warriors, and we would not be suspicious of them.” Sir John Macdonald appreciated the force of this argument and ordered that the color for the Mounted Police tunic be scarlet instead of rifle green as at one time proposed.
By the way, the term “fort” as used in the far west at this time was found to be very much of a misnomer. Any kind of an old log hut which a trader made his headquarters was dignified by the designation of “Fort.” These forts were usually named after the trader who built them—Fort Kipp, Fort Hamilton, etc. Forts “Whoop Up” and “Stand Off” were in their day central depots or warehouses for several smaller posts and travelling “outfits,” and “Whoop Up” was in comparison with most of the others a real fort with bastions and defensible barricades.
In 1886, when out for the Toronto Mail to enquire into an expected Indian rising, I wrote an article favoring the use of barbed wire around the alleged forts as a means of entanglement for the Redskin enemy, and a great many people looked upon it as a weak sort of joke. The great part barbed wire played in the recent war showed that the Mounted Policemen and pioneers who had suggested the idea to me thirty-four years ago knew what they were talking about.
I do not think it is generally known now that the late Henri Julien, probably the most brilliant newspaper artist ever produced in Canada, accompanied French’s expedition into the West, attached to the staff. Julien’s sketches appeared in the Canadian Illustrated News and did much to draw attention to the then unknown West. He did more than sketch, for in the Commissioner’s diary of September 3, 1874, which I had the privilege to look over the other day, appears the following: “Julien ran a buffalo and killed him. I came in for the finish and had the beast cut up and brought in on an ox cart. I had the meat placed in one of the water barrels and well salted.”
For many years the North West Mounted Police were under the administration of Sir John Macdonald, in his capacity as President of the Privy Council. An instance of the ready wit of the “old man” came under my observation in my early days in the Press Gallery. The Mounted Police estimates were under consideration in Committee of Supply. Sir Richard Cartwright, who was following the proceedings, had spotted a suspicious-looking item in the annual report of the Mounted Police, and thought he saw an opportunity of badgering Sir John. “I note in the report of the officer commanding the detachment at Macleod,” said Sir Richard in his most pompous manner, “an extraordinary statement regarding the disappearance of stores. Will the right hon. gentleman deign to inform the House how he accounts for this extraordinary paragraph, ‘2,000 bushels of oats, 10 kegs of nails—eaten by rats.’ ” The old man rose with a smile on his countenance, and quickly replied, “The explanation which I have to offer to my honourable friend, for what he considers an extraordinary circumstance, is a very simple and reasonable one. The rats, having gorged themselves upon the 2,000 bushels of oats, evidently felt that they were in need of an iron tonic.” The committee burst into a roar of laughter, in which Sir Richard himself heartily joined.
To-day, as in the early ’70’s and ever since, those of us who know the valorous deeds of the Rough Riders of the Plains will ever take off our hats to one of the greatest semi-military forces the world has ever seen.