The Legion of Frontiersmen

Every now and then my limitless vanity (or need to connect with the past) has me do a web search on my surname - Pocock.

Captain Roger Pocock (1865 - 1941) is the most impressive distant distant relative I'll likely ever discover. It's hard to know where to begin with this Mountie who founded The Legion of Frontiersmen in 1904.

On Boxing Day, 1904, a letter appeared in major London newspapers calling for men who had experience of work or action abroad to come together for comradeship and service to the State in times of need. The scope was later extended to women as well and the Legion has served widely and well for over ninety years and included many who made the ultimate sacrifice.

To him "Civilization is a poor thing to one who has lived the spacious life of the West" (Rules of the Game). He was one of that band of Victorian gentlemen adventurers who helped secure the boundaries of the British Empire, but whose activities were little noted by others. Roger Pocock was different from the majority of other gentlemen adventurers because he was a thinker, a man who dreamed dreams, but whose dreams and whose attempts at their realization too often ruled his head and turned him into a Don Quixote, tilting at windmills.

The photo of Capt. Pocock (lower right) shows him sporting one of the early Frontiersman uniforms. I won't bore you with all the details, but I would like to quote a portion of the adventurer's travel history ( "The History of the Legion of Frontiersmen", Brigadier D. Mack, CD, CDM Commandant Legion of Frontiersmen, Canadian Division). I find it pretty daring stuff.

In 1889, he rode horseback from Fort McLeod in Alberta to Mexico City. This ride still stands as one of the most remarkable rides on record in that he covered some 3,600 miles, alone, at an average of 25 miles a day, and found his way across unmarked, difficult, and often hostile territory.

Starting out from Fort McLeod at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, on June 20, 1899, with three good saddle horses and six pack horses, his planned trip was to take him 3,600 miles through the United States, much of the country infested with hostile Indians, settlements very scarce and far between and

he had to rely on his own judgement for direction, and his skill as a hunter for food. The journey took 200 days, although he was actually travelling only 147. W.F. Cody, who old timers as children will remember by the more popular name of "Buffalo Bill", said he envied Pocock that ride.

Passing through Blood Indian Country, and on into Northern Montana, he came across about 1,400 Blackfoot Indians in a mile wide ring of teepees, celebrating their Annual Ceremonial Dances. His Indian "know how" got him safely through this. Beyond, for many days, he rode through country in which were many herds of wild horses. Stallions would repeatedly come charging at the lone rider in challenge. Then he came across some old settlements that had been abandoned because of mosquitoes. He rode through Yellowstone Park where bears cleaned up all his provisions except for some coffee and tobacco.

Fifty miles further he entered outlaw country, where. robbery and cattle stealing was still the order of the day. At Jackson's hole, an outlaw stronghold in the vast Grand Seton Mountains, he was continually watched by hard-faced outlaws who were suspicious that he was a Sheriff, which would have meant the end of his life. The country was full of game, which helped his provision problem considerably. For 700 miles he travelled through this outlaw country, where, after .proving his peaceful intentions, he was made welcome by the outlaws and criminals who had prices on their heads, and stayed with them in their camps and cabins. Some 400 desperadoes were still living from the proceeds of armed robberies in the district, including the Jackson's Hole and Hole in the Wall gangs from Wyoming, the Robbers Roost and Brown's Park gangs from Utah and others from Wildox, Arizona and the Texas-Mexico border.

“Where are you from,” one outlaw asked him?

“England,” he answered humbly.

“England? Is that a fort?”

The Lost Legion by Rudyard Kipling

There's a Legion that never was listed,
That carries no colours or crest,
But, split in a thousand detachments,
Is breaking the road for the rest.

Our fathers they left us their blessing --
They taught us,and groomed us,and crammed,
Bu we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes,
To go and find out and be damned
(Dear boys!)
To go and get shot be damned

So some of us chivy the slaver
And some of us chivy the black,
And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast,
And some on -- the Wallaby track
And some of us drift to Sarawak,
And some of us drift up the Fly,
And some share our tucker with tigers,
And some with the gentle Masai
(Dear boys!)
Take tea with the giddy Masai

We've painted The Islands vermilion,
We've pearled on half-shares in the Bay,
We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets,
We've starved on a Seedeeboy's pay,
We've laughed at the world as we found it --
Its women and cities and men,
>From Sayyid Burgash in a tantrum,
To the smoke-reddened eyes of Lobon
(Dear boy's!)
We've a little account with Lobon

The ends of the earth were our portion.
The ocean at large was our share,
There was never a skirmish to windward
But the Leaderless Legion was there,
Yes,somehow and somewhere and always,
We were first when the trouble began,
>From a lottery-row in Manila,
To an I.D.B race on the Pan,
(Dear boy's!)
With the Mounted Police on the Pan

We preach in advance of the Army
We skirmish ahead of the Church,
With never a gunboat to help us
When we're scuppered and left in the lurch,
But we know as the cartridges finish
And we're filed on our last little shelves
That the Legion that never was 'listed,
Will send us as good as ourselves
(Good men!)
Five hundred as good as ourselves,

Then a health (we drink it in whispers)
To our wholly unauthorized horde --
To the line of our dusty foreloopers,
The Gentlemen Rovers abroad --
Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter
For the steamer won't wait for the train,
And the Legion that never was 'listed
Goes back into quarters again!
'Regards!
Goes back under canvas again
Hurrah!
The swag and the billy again
Hurrah!
The trail and packhorse again
Salute!
The trek and the lager again