When President Theodore Roosevelt’s friend and guide Bill Sewall of Island Falls applied to run the U.S. customs district comprising Aroostook County, the Bangor Daily Commercial sent a reporter up north to find out what the job was like. The result was a rip-roaring account of the adventures of Victor Peters of Bridgewater, one of the dozen agents who patrolled the back roads along the Canadian border armed with heavy-duty revolvers in carriages with rubber tires to make it easier to sneak up on criminals.

Peters, a “typical son of the soil, born in a border town, reared as farmer and woodsman,” kept a “$500 bottle of gin” on his desk to remind his guests of the perils of breaking the law. And that’s where his tales began.

Maine had a prohibition law that was easily evaded in most places. But residents in rural towns sometimes found it easier to travel on the numerous woods roads to the “line stores” straddling the border or to one of the towns just over it to buy their liquor. [To learn more about line stores, read my March 14 column.]

Two of these gentlemen were riding along in a horse-drawn carriage one day when Peters came up behind them on one of those narrow roads. A chase ensued for several miles. Deciding he had to prove he meant business, the lawman drew his revolver, shouting he would shoot their horse if they didn’t stop.

“He then tried to get a shot at the horse without hitting either of the men. This was difficult, and the first shot went wide. A second brought no definite results, but a third shattered a spoke in the front wheel of the buggy,” wrote the reporter for the Commercial

Still the men whipped up their horse, while Peters strove to get abreast of them to end the chase with a sure shot. Finally forging ahead until his horse was abreast their hind wheel, he made a leap along his horses’ rump, and landed in the back of the buggy. The two men turned, and a struggle ensued for possession of the reins. “Peters is rather a small man, but tough as a hackmatack root. As he reached for the reins one man tried to pin his arms, and the other to choke him,” recounted the reporter.

Freeing himself, he struck one over the head with the butt of his revolver, knocking him senseless to the side of the road. The other man was quickly choked into submission, and the horse was stopped. Both were taken prisoners and later arraigned before a U. S. commissioner, who bound them over for trial.

A $500 bottle of gin? There was but one bottle in the carriage. It had a Montreal label on it. The horse and buggy were confiscated and sold at auction for $200. Lawyers fees and fines cost another $300.

Another class of smugglers were the professional liquor dealers who visited the line stores or crossed the border to buy large amounts of liquor. The problem was particularly noticeable when the circus came to Bridgewater, which had a population twice as large as it does today.

On one such occasion, Peters lay in wait for the rum sellers about midway between the line and the village, which is three miles from the boundary. Soon a wagon came along with three men in it. One was a boundary line liquor seller, another his brother and the third a character also known in the neighborhood.

“Peters stood in the road and held up his hands for them to stop. They whipped up and tried to ride him down. He seized the bridle and clung to the horse’s head. The driver lashed the horse, but Peters held on like a bulldog, and after being dragged some distance, stopped the horse,” the reporter wrote. “The border man then jumped from the carriage and advancing on Peters struck him across the face with the whip. He then ran for the woods and disappeared.”

In the carriage, four ‘square-faced’ bottles of gin were found. The driver subsequently was made prisoner and sentenced to 50 days in jail in Portland for striking Peters, besides losing $75 on the team, which he had hired. He had previously paid fines of $165 for smuggling potatoes. Once he got out of jail he opened a line store in the neighborhood.

Another type of smuggler was the “excursionist,” who took the train across the St. John River into Canada and filled his “grip.” Peters recounted how he and another agent accompanied such a group, raiding the smoking car they occupied on the way back. The drunken men proved to be tough customers. Sixty quarts were confiscated for Uncle Sam.

Liquor wasn’t the agent’s only quarry. Farmer-smugglers were a whole other class of lawbreakers. Evading duties could be profitable.

“Temptation to make money illegally is always before him, for potatoes sell for 25 cents a bushel more in Maine than over the line, hay for $4 a ton more, wool for seven to 12 cents a pound more, and so on, the increased prices in each case being represented by exactly the amount of the duty,” Peters told the Commercial’s man.

In one instance a farmer with 100 poor acres on the American side of the line and 200 rich acres on the Canadian side, was observed carrying many more potatoes to the railroad than his American farm could yield.

Peters inspected the farmer’s potato house on the American side and noticed how many potatoes it contained. That day the farmer hauled several loads to town. At night the collector again made an inspection and found there had been no decrease in the quantity of potatoes in the house.

Next day the performance was repeated. For several nights the government man lay concealed near the potato house, and one night saw loads arrive in the dark from the Canadian side. Two trips were made before dawn, and the farmer and his sons talked of hauling three loads that day to the railroad.

“At dawn the deputy collector revealed himself, and took the farmer into custody. A carload of potatoes ready to be shipped was seized, and the farmer had to pay a fine of $650. He had smuggled in about 2,000 barrels of potatoes, all told. He has since disposed of his Canadian land and gone out of the smuggling business,” wrote the reporter.

Peters had seen everything. One Canadian egg farmer was caught after leaving 25 cases of eggs at a Maine railroad siding consigned anonymously to a commission house in Boston. Sometimes farmers drove their sheep from Canada to Maine, sheared them and then drove them back after selling the wool.

“From such episodes as those have arisen numerous threats against Peters and other deputies,” said the Commercial story, which appeared on Dec. 15, 1904. “Peters has been told he would be shot someday, but he laughs at all such threats.”

Peters was “representative of the men who succeed as customs officials in the strenuous northeastern corner of the United States where smuggling tempts all classes on both sides of the border, and often leads to the downfall of many an upright citizen,” the reporter concluded.

Wayne E. Reilly can be reached at wreilly@bangordailynews

.net.