An Encounter with Chinese Smugglers.
I had done some local work as a "special "on the boats of Puget Sound plying between Port Townsend and the British Columbia ports.
Having had some little success in discovering contraband opium, I at last obtained permission from the "tyees" to serve for a short time on probation, as a "deputy" in another district, and inland, at a point where considerable smuggling of Chinese across the line from the British side was supposed to be going on, much against Uncle Sam's desire and proclamation.
I nosed around among the border settlers and villagers for some days, full of enthusiasm and the novice's desire for a tremendous scoop that was to cover me with glory and fill my capacious but empty pockets with clinking coins of a bright yellow hue. The name Brandreth Jones should become the terror of all smugglers. The pages of American and foreign papers, and particularly the British Columbia ones, should overflow with descriptions of the noted, courageous, cunning, and eagle-eyed Jones, the peerless and unequaled officer of the Northwestern border.
Visions of thrilling encounters bristling with shining knife-blades and pistol barrels, succeeded by clouds of obscuring smoke, cries of the utmost terror, "Oh, Jones! have mercy!" "Let up! Jones!" from the despairing wretches I had caught red-handed in the act of enticing the "Celestial" unto forbidden ground, flitted through my busy brain during the first few days of experience as a deputy.
B. Jones always figured very conspicuously in these sanguinary conflicts, as viewed through the horoscope of the future of aforesaid hero (to be); in fact he appeared to be the only one the least bit "in it "at all. Two or three wild-eyed smugglers at a time make only a weak dessert, the only trouble appearing to be on these occasions that the approach of B. Jones, Esq., is the signal of a general stampede, and most of the malefactors escape so quickly, and in so many directions at once, that but few are caught. Of course "back-loads "of Chinese are left behind, for Jones to mail to headquarters; but the bushwhackers too often get off scot free in the trackless forests.
Where this hero appears to shine the loudest is when there are sufficient numbers of the enemy to warrant their facing the merciless pursuer. Then does this great man sparkle in his full effulgence, and scatter confusion in their ranks. Surrounded, harrassed, and utterly routed, they are only too glad to yield with their lives intact, and with the few broken heads that necessarily follow after such a man as Jones had been in their midst with his war paint on. Very glad, indeed, are they to yield themselves up to the "iron hand of the law," with their prisoners Slim Slam, Ching Chung, Bim Fin, Un Lung, etc., etc., and more of the same kind, without further argument.
And then comes the vision of the proud marching through the busy streets of the city. How proudly B. Jones prances through the gaping crowds with his beetle-browed prisoners the innocent Chins. The cynosure of all eyes, what cares he for the envenomed glances of his jealous colleagues who have grown gray in the service? Why, nothing! Jones gloats in it! Then follow the letters of congratulation, the vigorous hand-shake of a much pleased community, last, but not least, the heavy salary and advancement.
