An Epitaph A Day - November 17

Keeps Death's Spectre Away

Canadian Mounted Police

Many instances have been recorded of the pluck and perseverance of the members of this force.

Once in the middle of winter it was imperative that a despatch should be sent to a far distant post. A young collegian who had donned the red coat volunteered to perform the mission.

In the teeth of a blinding blizzard, with the thermometer registering 53 degrees below zero, he set out on his long journey. The despatch was never delivered, the bearer never returned.

After the snow had gone in the spring an Indian found a skeleton clad in a faded red uniform. The fatal despatch was in the pocket, and on it were written these words:

"Lost. Horse dead. Am trying to push on. Have done my best."

His dying hand had written a better epitaph than any that "storied urn or animated bust" could proclaim to his memory.

Source:

Canada, An Illustrated Magazine. 906.