Showing posts with label smuggling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smuggling. Show all posts

Friday, May 13, 2011

Customs Stories III: Opium Smugglers


Smuggling contraband is a long tradition along borders, including the border area around St. Vincent...

Bold Opium Smugglers

Confiscated Opium...
St. Paul, Minn, Dec. 20, 1888 - A gang of daring smugglers has been engaged for some time in bringing opium into this state across the Northwestern border. The deputy collector at St. Vincent, Minn., acting on information from one of the gang who is under arrest, captured a wagon containing eight hundred pounds of the drug in the crude form just on the Dakota line. Detectives are in pursuit of the man to whom the opium was consigned. Opium smuggling on the extensive scale is being carried on, and such are the precautions against detections that it is almost impossible to stop it.

From: The Ithaca Democrat (December 1888)
Good thing, then, that Deputy Collector Nelson E. Nelson was on the job!

Sunday, January 02, 2011

The Life of a Customs Official in Old Pembina

Joseph O. Lemay
[Photo courtesy: Manitoba
Historical Society]
Joseph Lemay, Esq. - Judge, postmaster and collector of United States customs at the frontier post of Pembina - filled a tolerably well paid office, but was exposed, in the execution of his duties, to an almost intolerable amount of abuse and obloquy at the hands of a class of men who cared as much about the obligations imposed by civilized laws as they respected Mr. Lemay for his professional knowledge of such. His own countrymen resident at Red River Settlement were supposed to give the collector, on the whole, more trouble than did the British colonists, while he revenged himself as far as possible by strictly adhering to the letter of his instructions as regards releases for loaded goods, and relaxed no charge which it was in his power legally to enforce against the enemy. It will readily be understood that much power which might be perfectly legally used, either to retard or facilitate the transmission of goods, was necessarily vested in the hands of such a person as Mr. Lemay.

So unpopular had that public servant become among a certain class that he stood in well-grounded fear of personal violence at the hands of its members as often as they entered an appearance with a fresh cargo of bonded merchandize at his head-quarters. When at St. Paul he met his persecutors, secure under the wing of an organized police force, he has been known to exhibit somewhat more than his wonted confidence in his communications with them, receiving in reply a plain intimation that he had better take care what he did or he would walk in a skinful of sore bones the first time his interlocutors should encounter him at Pembina. His visits to Red River Settlement occasionally proved disastrous. Those with whom it was his object to do business, treacherously concealing their designs under the cloak of hospitality, pressed on his acceptance the peculiarly stimulating beverages commonly used in the country, and occasionally reduced their visitor to a condition in which he found it prudent to avoid engaging in business. To do Mr. Lemay justice, however, the latter event was one very uncommon in his experience, as he was, I believe, a match, so far as ability lay in the consumption of spirits, more than competent to deal with any adversary he would be likely often to meet. Latterly, moreover, he prudently shielded himself against all such attempts under the plea of total abstinence.

Sometimes the war was carried on more openly. The collector called one day on a man, who he alleged had deceived him, and told him, " Sir, you are a liar!" He was immediately knocked down for his pains by a blow on the eye which rendered him a deplorable spectacle for a long time. He applied to several magistrates for satisfaction on account of the assault he had sustained, and justified the offensive expression he had used on the ground: "I called him a liar because he was a liar, and I could not call him anything else."

On another occasion he was knocked down with an axe handle in the course of a dispute with a settler, rising out of an alleged overcharge of two cents in his Pembina postage accounts.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 8

As he approached Joseph Grant's house that Christmas afternoon, Ian puzzled over the blanket-covered bay horse tied by the front gate. Cutting across to the rear of the house, he slipped from the saddle and led his horse into the barn, then returned to the house. Even as he extended his hand to rap at the back door, it suddenly opened. There stood a smiling Susan; she stepped outside, stealthily closing the door behind her. Turning, she flung herself at Ian, encircling his neck tightly. His arms closed around her waist. He swung her off her feet as they kissed.

Finally, lowering her, he reached into his pocket for a small package. "It's for you. Merry Christmas darling!"

Excitedly, she opened one end of the wrapping and a portion of gold chain fell out, followed by a small gold locket. "Oh,My! Ian, it's lovely." Turning it over, she noticed her initials. She looked up affectionately at him and stroked his cheek with her free hand. Then she turned to point toward the door. "Charley Brown is visiting Marguerite. Have you met him?"

"Not yet, but I've heard a lot about him. He's reputed to be quite a man." He noted gooseflesh forming on her arms and reached for the doorknob. "You'll catch a cold in that thin blouse. Let's get inside."

Opening the door, he stepped aside to allow her to enter first. Ian could hear voices from the front room as he removed his coat. Taking him by the hand, Susan led him in to meet the others.

She smiled as she proudly said, "Look who's here. It's Ian."

Pete, Joseph Grant and his wife Annette were sitting by the double front windows. Ian could see the two men had been celebrating, for each held an enameled cup in his hand. A gallon jug stood beside them on the floor. Susan's mother smiled. "Merry Christmas,Ian." Her smile broadened. "These two have a head start. They'll probably be asleep in another hour."

Pete's words came out in a slur. "Happy Christmas!" He grinned foolishly, and then waved to Susan. "Ne tah nish [daughter]. He comes to see you -- not us." He slapped his knees gleefully.

"Not your daughter . . . mine!" Grant looked to Pete angrily.

Pete rolled his head sorrowfully, "No matter."

During the drunken interchange Ian felt Susan's grip on his hand tighten appreciably.

Easing his grasp, Ian stepped toward the man seated opposite Marguerite. Offering his hand, he said, "I'm Ian McLaren, from Emerson."

The lawman stood to grasp Ian's hand. "Charley Brown, from Pembina."

Ian eyed the older man critically and judged him to be about thirty years of age. He had the size to be a sheriff -- about one hundred and ninety pounds, broad shoulders and a good six feet in height. He had a firm, square jaw, dark blue eyes and wisps of sandy, curly hair at his temples. His appearance was that of a placid, gentle man, but Ian had heard of his prowess when it came to breaking up fights with force.

"I've never been in your store. You're in partnership with Kabernagle, aren't you?"

"Yup. The sheriff's job came after I got out of the Army. It's an occasional job, but the pay is fair." He turned to smile at Marguerite. "Why don't the four of us play whist?"

Marguerite smiled at Ian, pretending to pout. "See, Charley is tired of me already. He wants a change."

Ian had intended to spend his time with Susan, but there seemed no alternative. He looked to Susan, who nodded her acceptance of the situation.

"Sure, why not?"

While Susan brought two chairs, Charley stage-whispered to Ian, "I brought the jug of cheer." He turned his head conspiratorially toward the two drinkers, "Gives us a little privacy." Both Susan and Marguerite smiled at his remark, apparently aware of his stratagem.

Drawing for partners, Ian was paired with Marguerite. The cut for the deal fell to him. The last card dealt was a diamond, making diamonds trump. Ian soon found Marguerite not only an excellent whist player, but also witty and knowledgeable.

As dusk approached, Annette brought a lamp to their table, and then went to the kitchen to prepare supper. When the girls arose to help their mother, Charley pulled two cigars from his vest pocket, offering one to Ian. Biting off the end, he questioned, "You're buying furs aren't you?"

"Yes. Thanks to Pete I'm having pretty good luck." As Charley leaned forward to light Ian's cigar, Ian attempted a nonchalant pose, never having smoked a stogy before.

"Watch out for McMurtrie at the customs house," warned Charley. "He knows a lot of furs are being smuggled across the line from Canada." He sat back, eyeing Ian dispassionately. "No skin off my back. It's not my bailiwick, but if he can prove you're buying Canadian furs, he'll make trouble, probably even try to seize them."

Ian took an instant liking to Charley, realizing his advice was sound. From what rumors he'd heard, the sheriff was scrupulously honest.

"I can't tell where the furs come from, I can only guess. I can't speak Cree; Pete does that for me. I expect some of the furs are from across the line, but I don't go out of my way to buy them. And I buy only on the American side of the border.

Changing the subject, he asked, "Have they found out who murdered that girl at Roseau?"

"No, but Constable Bell, of Emerson, suspects the transients living at Roseau Crossing. They all worked for the C.P.R. last year and one of them was a foreman named Brogan. They're all hard cases. Lordy! The sad part is that there are plenty of women out there glad to mix with them for money. But some cruel bastard had to grab a young girl, and then strangle her! Hell!" He shook his head. "The man must be deranged. If the Indians out there find the guilty one, they'll kill him sure. Then there'll be real trouble!"

Ian nodded, "I worked under that crooked-necked Brogan last summer. He's a cruel, sadistic man, always filthy dirty, with a mouth to match. I'll never work under him again. No man should have to take his abuse." He pondered, "I wonder how he got that crooked neck."

Charley nodded grimly, "I know the man too. He's caused me plenty of trouble in Pembina. It beats all why the railroad contractors hire men of his ilk. I'll never understand. Maybe they figure a bully gets more work out of the men. You know, I fought through nearly four years of the late war," He grinned, "even got me captured when I tried to steal some Confederate horses. I learned that you can push men only so far; you've got to lead them to get results."

He went on to tell Ian how he was transferred to Fort Pembina in 1870, quitting the Army in '75. He explained how he and Kabernagle had teamed up to build their store for the sale of liquors, tobacco and luxury food items.

Susan called them to supper, interrupting their conversation. There were only five to eat, since Pete and Joseph had both fallen asleep in their chairs.

While Annette carved the remaining meat from the well-picked carcasses of two geese, Marguerite set the table and Susan made coffee.

Seating himself, Brown studied Ian. It was plain to him that this boy intended to marry Susan. Perhaps not in the spring, but soon. The thought both revolted and shamed him, for although he was involved with Marguerite and felt comfortable with her, he could never marry her. Miscegenation was a horror to him. His boyhood training in West Virginia made a mixed marriage abhorrent, a hell, leading to genocide. He remembered the lecture his father had given him after catching him in a compromising situation with a young slave girl. "Birds do not mix! Animals do not mix! Human beings do not mix!" Those statements had been repeated over and over by his father as he thrashed young Charley with a heavy strap.

Knowing that he was being unfair to Marguerite left him with a feeling of guilt and regret, but somehow he could not cast her aside. Also, she seemed more than agreeable to continue their liaison.

When Annette questioned about the tragedy at Roseau Crossing, Charley explained, "We have to put up with the good and bad in these small towns. Each starts with one or two small shacks, finally building into a settlement. The trouble starts when the toughs show up. Up to now we've had little trouble in Pembina. It's been mostly petty thievery or the theft of a horse. Of course, this coming summer hoards of men will show up to work on the railroad. I expect there will be plenty of fighting and a few broken heads. Why, between the C.P.R. and Jim Hill's railroad, they're expecting nearly 2000 workers to show up.”

"It hardly seems possible," Ian mused. "Where will they find that many men?"

"Heck," said Charley, "they'll come from St. Paul, Minneapolis, Mankato and all over. It's said Hill is to build an engine house and track for 400 boxcars on that clearing just north of town. They plan on driving piling to cross the slough on the north end of the lake, and make a Y track further east to turn the trains around."

When supper was over, Ian volunteered to help Susan with the dishes while Charley and Marguerite moved quietly back to the card table. Annette discretely vanished into another room, leaving the couples alone.

Susan smiled at Ian mischievously as she turned the wick of the kitchen lamp down so that it emitted only a feeble light. Doing the dishes took an abnormally long time; their hands mingled together in the warm dishwater, then upon each other. They were careful to avoid the open doorway to the living room, but on one occasion Susan peeked into the room and grasped Ian's hand, pointing. Charley and Marguerite were tightly embraced across the small table.

It was late when Susan accompanied Ian to the barn for his horse. After tightening the girth on his saddle, he turned to hold her in his arms. She thrust her body firmly to his, burrowing her face into his neck. For long moments they held each other without speaking. Both were experiencing the same feelings of desire.

"I never believed I could love anyone as much as I love you," Ian spoke softly.

"I feel the same." Raising her head, she looked into his eyes. "Why do we have to wait?"

He kissed her gently. "I've got to find security for us. The railroad will be selling land this coming spring and I know the two quarters I want. When I get a house built for us, then it will be time."

She raised herself on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. Her arms tightened around him fiercely and she arched her body tightly against him.

"Golly, Susan. Don't do that! It's all I can do to keep from tearing your clothes off. You nearly drive me wild. We've got to wait."

She was still thrust against him, her abandonment involuntary. Then she murmured, "Let's not wait too long."

Groaning in his frustration, he released her and reached for the bridle of his horse. Leading the animal out of the barn, he stepped into the saddle and gazed down at her. Presently she turned and walked back to the house. It wasn't until he heard the door close that he nudged his horse into motion toward home.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Customs Stories I

From Clarence Bingham comes this story of life as a Customs Officer back in 1950s Pembina (and surrounding area...)

I went to work for the U. S. Customs at Pembina in December 1949, so did not get over to the Noyes depot much after that.

All the old Customs Border Patrol officers had a story or two about inspection experiences while examining the special trains chartered to return members of "that fraternal organization" from the convention in Winnipeg during prohibition. One that Lester Eddington1 told is that they started a rumor in the Winnipeg depot that you could successfully smuggle your liquor into the U.S. by hanging it out the coach windows on a string when the train got to Noyes, until the inspector went through the coach and checked your luggage. When the train got to Noyes the Customs officers walked down the outside of the train and cut the strings holding the bottles. Les said It was easier than looking for it in the luggage and saved the paper work of assessing a fine, because you did not know who it belonged to.





I spent a lot of nights and days in the car with Les during the Selkirk Wheat smuggling in 1952-53. I am sorry it was before the days of small tape recorders or I could have a wealth of border lore...


- From C.L. Bingham, aka Bing







1 - Police cars, like police work, have changed considerably over the years. Few of the early-day police cars were given insignias identifying their purpose. An early-day North Dakota federal officer, Lester Eddington, wrote in his autobiography, "...we did not wear uniforms, just carried Customs caps to use while stopping cars." Because of this, stopping cars was not easy; many times the officer would pull alongside the offending vehicle and display his badge to tell the driver to pull over. Even more dangerous was the practice of stepping out into the lane of traffic to hold one's hand in the air, ordering the offender to stop. - From The History of Mopar Squads: Chrysler, Dodge, and Plymouth police cars

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Smugglers Pointe

SmugglersSmugglers Pointe: This was a famous pioneer locale on the trail between Pembina and Walhalla in Section 29-164-53, Felson Township one mile northeast of Neche. It was the only point where the heavily wooded valley of the Pembina River straddled the border with Canada, and therefore offered smugglers a natural cover to perform their affairs. William H. Moorhead operated a store and tavern here 1864-1878 (Source: North Dakota Place Names, Page 180)

...Which is interesting since the same William Moorhead was at one point the local official whose job it was to stop smuggling. Can anyone say "conflict of interest" here?!

Monday, June 23, 2008

A Long Tradition

Whenever there is money to be made, wherever there is opportunity, there is smuggling. And smuggling has a long tradition at the border between Manitoba and its neighboring states North Dakota and Minnesota, including my hometown area. It continues to this day, but let me tell you a bit of the beginnings of it all...

SMUGGLERS POINT, Neche and Felson Townships, Pembina County, North Dakota. A well-known ford across the Pembina River here is mentioned many times by Alexander Henry either as grand PASSAGE or the PEMBINA TRAVERSE. By the 1860s there was so much smuggling from Canada into the USA in this vicinity that Mr. Wm H. Moorehead was appointed customs inspector in an effort to curb this illegal traffic.

From the Boundary Trail Heritage Region