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Robert E. Armstrong, Editor, St. Andrews Beacon
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor, 1892
Beacon
Sept 1/1892
Announcement
The editor has cast aside his pen and scissors, and is now being rattled toward the western prairie as fast as a Canadian express train can carry him. He is bound for the Pacific lope. Three years and a half of work and worry, performing the multifarious duties of editor, reporter, proof-reader, printer, pressman, engineer, business manager, “devil,” and boomer-in-general, have entitled him to a rest and he has taken it. The Beacon wishes him a pleasant journey to the Pacific and a safe and speedy return. With mind and body rested and invigorated by the change of air and scenery, and with a broader conception of the immensity and grandeur of this Dominion, he hopes to resume his labours by the end of the month.
During his absence, the Beacon will continue to diffuse its light over this neighborhood, and the various other localities on the side of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans that it reaches. The business and mechanical departments will be managed by Mr. Albert Thompson, foreman, who is authorized to receive subscriptions, sign receipts, etc., and the editor management will be left in the hands of Mr. W. M Magee, who has had considerable newspaper experience and who is quite capable of discharging the manifold duties of the office. It is to be hope that the patrons of the paper will keep those gentlemen well supplied with ”the sinews of war” during the editor’s absence.
Beacon
Sept 22, 1892
To the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
From St. John to Montreal—A Peep at Canada’s Big City—Things Seen and Heard between Montreal and Winnipeg
Winnipeg, Sept 10, 1892
A drop of ink! It looks small and harmless, comparatively speaking. Yet what a capacity for good or evil, for pleasure or pain it possesses. A drop of ink has been the agency through which many a man’s happiness has been eternally wrecked, but more frequently the means of causing him untold joy. It was a drop of ink, cleverly distributed over a page of foolscap by the master hand of George H. Ham, of the CPR colonization department that suggested to the writer his present visit to the North West—a visit which already has brought to him much pleasure.
Acting upon the suggestion contained on the sheet of foolscap aforesaid, the Beacon representative found himself on Monday morning last carefully disposing his anatomy beneath the immaculate coverlets of the Pullman sleeper. The train was not scheduled to leave until 4:25 the following morning, but as the hour was an early one to turn out of bed and as there was an awful possibility that he might not turn out at all until after the train had departed, it was considered expedient to take time by the forelock, and secure the train before sleep had overcome him.
It does not seem necessary to describe to the readers of the Beacon the country lying between Saint John and Montreal, or to give the writer’s impression between the two points. It has now become an old story. Yet there is much in even a trip to Montreal by the CP railway that is worthy of description. If the day happens to be fine, which Tuesday was not, there is much to be seen and much to be heard that would bar writing about. This is particularly true of the short Line Section, as it is termed, which runs through the forests of Maine, from Mattawamkeag on the east, to the Canadian boundary on the west. This stretch of country, diversified as it is with hill and vale, lake and river, ahs much in it to interest and attract the eye of the traveller. Six years ago, prior to the opening of the road, the writer had the privilege of traversing over that territory, and the changes since that time are really wonderful. For instance at Brownville, six years ago there were only two or three houses, all the rest of the country round about being covered with broad meadow or wide stretching forest. Today there is a handsome station with James Gilliland, formerly an ICR train dispatcher at Saint John, in charge, and quite a neat little town surrounding it. And it has only begun to grow. Greenville also shows evidence of progress. The same is true of other points. The scenery along the route is very beautiful, particularly in the neighbourhood of Moosehead Lake.
Usually the express from Saint John reaches Montreal early in the evening, but on Tuesday last, owing to the heavy train and having set rail to contend with part of the journey, the engine did not enter Windsor station, until after ten o’clock, and the passengers were quite weary and very glad to get to their hotels.
Montreal can lay claim to being the handsomest city in Canada, as it is the largest and busiest. It has magnificent business houses, the windows of which are filled with the most beautiful and costly of good; palatial private residences, stately public buildings, massive churches and hotels; tasteful and attractive parks and squares, and dashing and enterprising citizens. Looking down from the top of Mount Royal on a beautiful September morning the city looks very lovely. Montreal is growing fast. Many new residences are in course of erection in the outskirts, and many more are in contemplation. The docks at this season are lined with ocean steamers, and there is a great amount of business being transacted around the river front.
But beautiful as Montreal appeared to the writer, he found it necessary to tear himself away and hasten on his journey to the Pacific slope. At 8:40 pm the train for the West leaves Dalhousie Station and on board this train on Wednesday evening the Beacon representative stowed himself and his traps. A moment after taking his seat, a thrill whistle was heard from the engine, and the train of twelve cars shot out into the night. On and on it rattled, through the darkness, stopping for a few minutes at Ottawa, and other intermediate stations. When morning dawned, the pleasant little town of Pembroke was the first to break upon the vision of the passengers. Then gradually the fast speeding cars left the towns and villages behind, and the Pacific passengers settled themselves down to their wearisome journey towards the Plains. At North Bay, a sectional point, there were so many additions to the train list that it was found necessary to add another coach.
Concerning the points passed between North Bay and Heron Bay, excepting Sudbury, which is rapidly becoming a mining centre, it is not necessary to say much. The least said the better. At Heron Bay the first glimpse of Lake Superior is obtained, and for many miles after that the cars skirt the wild and lonely shores of this immense inland sea. A deep solitude—a solitude that can almost be felt—pervades this locality. Though the scenery is grand and majestic, the accessories are of such a sombre nature that the eye wearies of it. Look where you will along the shore and nothing meets the view except bald boulders, frowning cliffs, and spectral skeletons of trees. Years ago, this territory was swept by flame which licked up even the soil which covered the rocks, and left millions of giants of the forest standing bare and branchless. There is very little bird or animal life to be seen. A solitary eagle may be observed perched on some lonely rock, or a covey of ducks may be disturbed in some of the bays, but beyond this, little life is observable. Even human beings have let it severely alone, and for the most part the only inhabitants of this sterile, inhospitable region are the railway section men. Jackfish Bay and one or two other points are frequented by fishermen, but even these are not very numerous. Schreiber, a divisional point on the other side of Lake Superior, is quite an important coaling centre as well. Its population consists of the most part of railway employees. Nipigon, near the famous lake Nipigon, is quite an interesting spot, and it is popular among sportsmen. A party of Americans, in a private car, were laid off at this station for sporting purposes. A few miles beyond lies Port Arthur, a prominent lake port, and also a large coaling port for the railway. It was while standing at this station for minute or two that one of the passengers, an English lady, showed evidence of insanity. Leaving the car bareheaded she ran like a deer through the rain towards the woods. The colored porter gave chase and after a lively run, over very muddy roads captured the runaway and brought her back to the car, where she was kept under lock and key for the rest of the journey. Port Arthur has a population of about 3000 and revels in the possession of an electric railway and an elevation. It is also well provided with newspapers. To a man from the East the town has quite a raw look. Fort William, the next station is an important train point. There are two large elevations at that place. It is there that the railway time changes to central time, which is an hour lower than that which the train had previously been running at. There are a dozen or more interesting stations before Winnipeg is reached, but there is not noticeable change in the character of the country until Darwin is reached. Then the process of evolution begins. The hills subside, the boulder disappear, and the soil presents a level and at the same time more fertile aspect. Yet there is really no prairie to be seen until within a mile or two of Winnipeg.
Approaching the town of Winnipeg some fine farms and ranches are observable, but the speed with which the train is running affords little opportunity for a close inspection of Winnipeg, more anon.—Beacon
Beacon
Sept 29, 1892
To the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
The Sights and Sounds of Winnipeg—A World about its Business and its People
Winnipeg, Sept 12
After a confinement of from sixty to seventy hours in the close, oppressive air of the railway coach, seeing little else but trees and rocks, the sight of such a busy, bustling city as Winnipeg is a welcome one, indeed. Here the Pacific train makes a stop of several hours, so that the passengers have a chance to stretch their limbs, imbibe a little fresh air, and inspect the first of the prairie cities of the North-West.
Winnipeg, as most readers of the Beacon know, is built upon the prairie at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine rivers. In early days it was known as Fort Garry, but there is little to recall those stirring days except a portion of the entrance of the old fort, which is now in a very dilapidated and filthy state. The gate itself is about the size of a barn door. It is made of wood, with a sheet iron facing to protect it from bullets and arrows. Ponderous iron hinges attach it to the wall on either side, and when closed, a large iron bar was stretched across to prevent its being forced open. The stone-work is about three feet thick and probably twelve feet high. There are port-holes through which guns could be protruded and the advance of marauding Indians stayed. I am told that Winnipeggers lay great store by their old fort, but I can’t believe it otherwise they would look after it better than they do.
Main street which is almost two miles I length, and proportionately broad, is the chief business street of the cit and the chief promenade. The CPR station is located at the northern end of the street, and a competing line of electric and horse cars runs along its entire length and out for a considerable distance on the prairie. There are many fine business houses and blocks along Main Street, but the presence of numerous wooden shanties, particularly at the northern end, detracts very much from the appearance of the street. The best business places are at the south end. Of hotels, Winnipeg can boast of several magnificent ones. The Manitoba, recently erected by the Northern Pacific, is the best. It is constructed of red brick, which affords a pleasing contrast to the white brick buildings all around it. The Clarendon hotel, Leland House and Queen are among the other large hostelries. There are many handsome and costly private residences here, notably on what is known as the Hudson Bay reserve and Fort Rogue. For the most part they are constructed of white brick. Some of them, I am told, cost as high as $400,000 and $500,000. The same houses could be constructed in the east for at least one third less. There is scarcely a house anywhere that does not have a lawn or garden in front of it.
Though private enterprise seems very active here, there is little to indicate the presence of a healthy public spirit. There is not the faintest attempt made at ornamentation of the streets and public places. There is not a square or part, inside the city with the exception of a small plot of ground where a monument has been erected to the heroes of Batoche, and the presence of several cautionary notices “Keep off the Grass,” indicates that even that can only be looked at. Outside the city, Elm Park is situated, but I am told that even that is rather primitive in its character. The main street5, and one or two other streets, are paved with round wooden blocks, but the surface is very uneven, and driving on them is far from comfortable. The rest of the streets are dug out of the prairie. There are no paved gutters. In dry weather the unpaved streets, though very rough and uneven, are fairly passable, but in wet periods both man and beast are in danger of being swallowed up. The mud, I am told, is something terrible. It is a black as axle grease, and so slippery that the utmost caution has to be exercised to preserve one’s perpendicularities. A young lady from Saint John, who has been a resident of the town for a year, told me that in front of her home a horse went down in the mud until half of his body was out of sight. It took a crowd of men three hours to extricate the beast. And this is no exaggeration. The sidewalks are mostly of plank and so narrow that two people walking abreast are constantly elbowing each other. The street problem is going to be a very serious one for the authorities of Winnipeg to solve, and it is one that they ought to be grappling with now. To make the place at all presentable, the streets will have to be paved or asphalted, owing to the large area over which the town is scattered, this work must of necessity cost a fabulous amount. The water system is only fair here, and does not embrace the whole city. Many points in the city are dependent upon wells and upon the water man, who charges something like forty cents per barrel. The sewerage system though greatly improved over that of five years ago, is still far behind what it ought to be. A little more attention to the cleaning of streets, gutters and yards would greatly improve the appearance of the place in the eyes of a stranger, and at the same time conduce to the continued healthfulness of the town.
The town of Winnipeg has very good fire system, in so far as men and machines are concerned, but I am told that in the event of a large conflagration the water would soon become exhausted. There are four fire stations, distributed at various points, with a paid force of firemen constantly on hand. It takes sixteen police to keep the 30,000 inhabitants of the place in order and their labors are very light. Although the licence system is in vogue here, and numerous bar are open, I have not seen in three days a single intoxicated man, and the residents tell me that the sight of a drunken man is very rare. Peace and good order seems to prevail constantly.
On Sunday, all the business houses close up, the street car horses are tied in their stables and the electric cars lie idle at the station. Everybody goes to church and the utmost quietness prevails during the Sabbath hours. They have some very fine churches here presided over by learned and eloquent clergymen. Among the minister are Rev. E.S. W. Pentreath and Rec. Mr. Hogg, from NB. They are very popular among their respective denominations.
The schools of Winnipeg are very creditable to the town. Mr. Daniel McIntyre, well know among the teacher of Saint John, is school superintendent and is very highly regarded. The boys here are said to be better than the boys in the East, say in St. John or St. Andrews. And it is not to be wondered at. I do not believe that there is the same flow of animal spirits in the youth of the West as in the East. They have no hills to course down in winter at breakneck sped, no salt water to plunge in. They don’t play truant, because they have no tommy cods to catch and no excitement to indulge in. They don’t steal apples, because there are no orchards to steal from. So that the Winnipeg boy has a great advantage over the boy in the East in the matter of goodness. He is good, simply because he can’t help himself.
Business in Winnipeg, I am told is conducted on a more healthy basis than business in many of the eastern town. There is not so much competition, and profits are larger. The monthly system of payment prevails for the most part so that no very big accounts are run. I am told by those who know that the people of Winnipeg buy a better quality of groceries than the people of Saint John, and that the ladies dress more costly. This, perhaps, not so true of their outside garments as of their underwear.
It costs a good deal to live here, nearly twice as much as it does in St. Andrews or Saint John. Flour is about the only article that is cheaper here than in the east, and the difference is scarcely appreciable. Hard coal costs $11 per ton; wood sells at $7 per cord, and if you want to have it cut you have to pay $1.75 more. Butter sells at 25 cents per pound. Fruit is very dear, almost double what it is in the east. Men’s custom made suits cost from $40 to $50, and women’s dress goods are much dearer. Men’s boots and shoes cost all the way from $4 to $10. Children’s shoes, which can be bought in the East for 75cents, and $1.00, cost here $1.50 and $2.00. Men’s white shirts cost $1.75 each, and laundry bills are higher. Rents are equally high. For $12 per month, a very small tenement can be obtained, and the man who likes to have a nice house will have to pay all the way from $20 to $50 per month. There are no idle men here.
Winnipeg can boast of some enterprising newspapers. Its men are big and handsome; its women are pretty and clear complexioned. I expected to find a great many tanned and freckled women here, but their complexions are as soft and creamy as the women of the east. The draught horses are ponderous beasts for the most part, and many fast private teams are owned here. But the awful mud is a serious detriment to the private carriage owner.
There is much more that I would like to write about, but I will have to reserve it for a future time—Beacon.
Beacon
Oct 6, 1892
To the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
Beautiful Brandon, the “Wheat City of the West.”—The Saunderson Farm—Work of the Experiment Farm
Brandon, Man. Sept 13, 1892
The last of my “wayside impressions” bore the date of Winnipeg, and it is only by an accident—and a pleasant one, I must confess—that the present epistle is dated from Brandon. I had dropped into one of the Winnipeg newspaper offices to rub noses with the prairie journalists, when I was fortunate enough to meet Mr. J. b. Frazer, a resident of Brandon, and an enthusiast of all matter touching the welfare of the Wheat City of Manitoba.
Mr. Fraser extracted a promise from me to stop off at Brandon, and he would engage on his part to show me some of the finest wheat countries in the Manitoba wheat belt. A day or two later, agreeably to promise, I found myself in Brandon, and I am free to admit that I was agreeably surprised t see such an infantile city in such a prosperous condition. The town is not yet ten years old, yet it has a population of 5000 souls, and can boast of public buildings and business houses that far surpass cities of greater pretensions and vastly greater population in the East. The town hall is a handsome brick and stone structure, which coast in the neighborhood of $75,000. It contains a large Board of Trade room, double the size of the Saint John board’s session room; a market place, council chamber, police court, Mayor’s office and other official offices and an opera house capable of seating one thousand people. All this is beneath one roof. Then it has just completed a $40,000 school building, heated by hot air and supplied with all the latest improvements. A large public hospital is also established here. The town is lighted by electricity and an adequate water system is now being provided. The business houses are nearly all substantial brick buildings and the finest goods are exposed for sale in their windows. Three weekly newspapers are nurtured within the bosom of this pretty little town.
The situation of Brandon, on a gentle slope of the Assiniboine, makes the drainage an easy matter, and as the soil is entirely clay there is no difficulty in making excavations. The prospect from any part of the own is very beautiful. Everything about the place is suggestive of thrift, and prosperity. The people are hustlers, every one of them. They have abounding faith in the future of their town, and are not sparing themselves in hastening its destiny. With a Brandonite it is Brandon first—everything else must give way to that idea. Hence it is that the town is making such rapid strikes.
But although Brandon is a beautiful by nature, its people have determined to beautify it sill more by laying out a handsome Park in the verdant valley, immediately to the north of the town. The spot selected seems to have been designed by nature for park, so that very little expenditure will be necessary to make it remarkably pretty. The land is owned by the CPR, but they have promised to let the town have it on pretty rosy terms.
The secret of Brandon’s prosperity lies in the fact that it is in the centre of one of the richest agricultural sections in the world. Look where you will around the town, and the eye is greeted by fertile fields of wheat, in which the grain at the present moment is either standing in the stook or in the stack.
Through the kindness of Mr. Frazer I had an opportunity of visiting the farm of the great Saunderson, “the wheat king of Manitoba.” Seven or eight years ago, young Saunderson, who was a “canny Scot,” eloped with the daughter of Rennie, the well-known Toronto seedsman, and planted himself within a mile or the present site of Brandon. He had little else to begin with but a stout heart and a strong hand, but he had a level head, and it was not long before his territory began to increase. Now he has 3000 acres under cultivation—a perfect sea of wheat. This season he cut about 75,000 bushels of grain, 6,000 of which he retains for seed. The yield is all the way from 30 to 40 bushels of wheat t the acre, and from 40 to 50 bushels of oats. He employs about 76 men. On the day on which I visited the farm, the last of his grain was being cut and bound into sheaves. He operates fourteen binders. In another part of the field, a steam thresher was at work. As the grain fell into the sacks from the machine it was placed on wagons—several of which were in waiting—and hauled into the elevator. Saunderson threshes from the stock entirely, which saves him the trouble of stacking. Most of the farmers erect tacks. It is a very wise precaution in the event of rain. Some distance away from where the thresher was working, several double horse teams were ploughing for next season’s crop, so that no time is wasted on this farm.
The little hut in which Saunderson began life, a one-story wooden building with tarred paper roof, is still occupied by him as a residence though his barns are among the finest in the Province. But it will not be long be4ore the old house will be vacant, as a magnificent stone residence is now in course of construction.
The wheat king’s horse stable—he has several of them—are constructed in a novel manner. A frame work of spars about ten feet in breadth is first erected, and outside of this is piled sods over three feet thick around the entire building. This makes it impossible for the wintry blasts to reach the equine tenants, while in the summer the interior is remarkably cool. Ventilation is obtained by wooden pipes which penetrate the sod wall over each horse’s head. The horses are magnificent animals, scarcely one of them weighing less than 1300 lbs.
Alongside eth Saunderson farm is a large wheat farm owned by a gentleman named Middleton. Prior to the great Chicago fire, Mr Middleton was a wealthy resident of the porcine city, but when the wave of flame swept over it, it left him absolutely penniless. In his extremity he took up farm in Manitoba, and he ahs met with remarkable success.
Although I did not think it possible to find more fertile soil than in this immediate neighborhood yet I am told that to the north and west of Brandon it is richer still. Nearly all the land in this neighborhood is held as high as $25 and $30 an acre, but there are many place sin this Province where equally good land can be obtained at from $4 to $10 per acre.
The Experimental Farm is located here. This I also inspected. It is managed by Mr. Bedford, a farmer of many years experience. Although the farm has only been in operation three years, yet wonderful results have been obtained from it. This year, no fewer than 700 hybrids, or “crosses” in wheat were raised. But this is not one tenth of what the farm does. Every variety of grasses and grain are here experimented upon, as well as cereals, berries, flowers and tr5ees. Not a tree in the Manitoba forest but has it representative on this farm. Maple grow very fast and luxuriant, a fact which enforced itself on my attention on seeing the large number of these trees that line many of the streets of Brandon. The farms use the trees for making “wind breaks” around their houses, and while they serve this purpose they also serve to ornament the grounds.
Brandon is well provided with railway outlets. The CPR runs East and West; the Northern Pacific, the Great North-Western and the Souris railways also centre here. All that the people of the town need to make them happy is cheap fuel, and this they think they have found in the new coal fields at Estevan, 150 miles distant—beacon.
G. Harold Stickney is adding to his store by building an ell and taking in a large room at the rear, when finished will give him ample room to show his fine stock of Wedgwood, etc. [took over from father, recently deceased]
Mrs. R. E. Armstrong went to McAdam to meet Mr. Armstrong on his return home from the Pacific.
Mr. Van Horne Interviewed
Mr. Van Horne, president of the CPR, arrived in Montreal from England, on Sunday. He said to a Saint John Sun correspondent that the CPR was not making arrangement for a fast lien of Atlantic Steamers. We would prefer that some of the existing Steamship companies would do so; although the CPR may eventually have to step in if a fast line was to be secured.
Grammar and spelling check part 3; next checked section begins at 1910
Beacon
Oct 13, 1892
To the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
Crossing the Prairies—A Word About the Mountain Scenery—Grizzlies Wanted
Vancouver, Sept 17, 1892
A pleasant day spent among the wheat fields of Brandon, and then I turn my eyes once more in the direction of the western hills. There is but one train a day going to the west, and this takes its departure from Brandon at 8 o’clock in the evening. On the day of my leaving, it was nearer 10 o’clock before the last passenger got on board, and the train shot out into the darkness.
When morning dawned my eyes rested upon the vast and seemingly endless prairies. For miles and miles on either side, there was not a tree or shrub of any kind to break what to me was s drear monotony. For hour after hour we rattled over the plain, the country becoming less thickly settled the farther west we went. The bright little towns of Qu’Appelle, Regina, and Moose Jaw having been passed, the view for many miles beyond is unbroken by the sight of a house, except at the small stations. The land appears to be very fertile and the prairie grass grows luxuriantly, but the settlers do not come in so rapidly as in the older province of Manitoba. Quite a colony of little gophers, about the size of one ground squirrel, but lighter in color, occupy the land, and as the train rattles by their domiciles the little fellows can be seen standing on tiptoe gazing at it in apparent astonishment. An occasional coyote may be observed sneaking across the prairie, and around the shallow lakes and water courses father west large flocks of ducks and other wild fowl are disturbed.
At many of the western prairie stations, notably at Swift Current and Medicine Hat, where the weary traveller obtains a few minutes rest and refreshment, groups of Indians line the platform with buffalo curiosities to sell. These children of the plain are very picturesque, in their dress, though not as clean as they might be. They appear in all manner of fantastic garbs. Some of them wear white sheets around their bodies, other are togged out in blanket of various hues. One favors blue, another yellow or red, and some have blanket in which half a dozen bright colors appear. Enormous earrings of brass decorate their ears, and even the men wear gaudy-looking necklaces. Most of them have their hair long, either disposed in a braid or two, or hanging down their backs. An eagle feather or a piece of bright ribbon or ornament is occasionally seen in the head-covering of the men. The women do not bother the milliner much, as their blanket usually serve for a bonnet. Like many of their civilized sisters, the Indians women, and some of the men, too, like to improve upon nature by the use of paint. They are not particular as to color or quantity. Red and yellow appear to be the favorite colors, but I saw one strapping fellow with his face covered with a light green paint. It gave him a very dyspeptic appearance. Some of the young squaws are quite pretty. I noticed one whose hair was neatly parted in the middle, and the intervening space filled in with red paint, which made her look as if she had combed her raven tresses with a razor instead of with a comb. They are all intelligent looking. Some of the braves are fine specimens of physical manhood—tall, sinewy fellow who look s if they could out-run a stag.
The variety of color to be seen on the prairie is very pleasing to the eye. Almost every shad of green can be observed, from a light pea green to the deepest tint. There are patches of yellow, and brown and red,--indeed, a dozen different shades can be noticed at one and the same time. Approaching Dunmore and Medicine Hat the country looks like a beautiful park, and some fine droves of horses, cattle and sheep are occasionally seen. The close cropped sward is a deep shade of green—the deepest I ever saw. On either side of the railway a broad plateau stretches out, bordered on the edge by rolling hills, all covered with the richest verdure. Dunmore is the junction of the Alberta Railway and Coal Company, and a large number of coal cars were to be seen standing in the yard.
Calgary is passed at an earl hour in the morning, so that we were not permitted a sight of that busy little town. At Morley, the first streak of dawn appears. Looking westward, great banks of dark clouds stand out against the horizon, but as the morning sun illumines the scene and the train hastens on, we find that what appeared like clouds were the towering crests of the mighty Rocky Mountains.
Language fails to adequately describe the marvellous majesty of these wonderful works of Nature. And, indeed, it would be almost as difficult to describe the varied emotions which agitate the human breast in the presence of these wondrous heights. One is conscious at first of a feeling of surprise. this soon gives place to wonder and then to amazement. As the mind tries to grasp the immensity of the scene the tongue refuses to give utterance to words, and the spectator stands in silent awe and wonderment. He gazes upward and still upward until thousands of feet above him he sees the snow fringed summit of the mountain, with the morning sun dancing upon it, casting shadows here and there and everywhere. It is then that he realizes how wo9nderful are the works of the Creator and what a small atom man is in the realms of Nature.
My fancy had painted the Rockies as being a range of mountains for the most part regular in outline. But there my imagination was astray. They are entirely dissimilar in their conformation, each one possessing an individuality peculiarly its own. They rise one upon the other in all conceivable shapes. Before you may be one with graceful tapering crest pointing heavenward, suggestive of the tower of a massive cathedral. behind you is another with steep, perpendicular spires whose battlemented summit and battalion-shaped front make it look like nothing but the grim castle of some terrible giant. There are some that are conical in shape, others resembling a gigantic monolith. Some are partially covered with a forest growth, while others show nothing but the bare, unadorned rock. One range is called the Saw-hack because of its similitude to the teeth of a saw, while there are thousands of others that bear no resemblance to anything in the heavens above or the earth beneath.
For the purpose of facilitating the tourist and enabling him to see as much s possible of the scenery, through which he passes, an observation car is added to the train just before it enters the mountains. The side of this car are open, so that the view on either side is unobstructed.
The scenery all through the mountains is grand beyond conception, and the little spice of danger which accompanies it makes it all the more interesting. The guide-book tells us that the sight of grizzly bears is a common occurrence in this neighborhood, but though we strained our eyes almost out of their sockets not grizzly could be seen—not even a mountain goat. It would pay the railway people to capture a grizzly or two and chain them on the mountains within view of the train.
Kicking Horse pass is a wonderfully wild and picturesque region, and here are many points like Banff, where the scenery is surpassingly grand. The climb up Rogers Pass in the Selkirk mountains—to perform which two powerful engines are needed—is very exciting. the rails cling to the side of the mountain almost the whole distance up, shooting along the brink of awful precipices, plunging into tunnels and snow sheds, and crossing canyons and chasms hundreds of feet in length. At Stony Creek, there is a trestle work 295 feet in height, and it makes one shudder to pass over it. There are numerous glaciers both in the Rocky Mountains and in the Selkirks, which are worth crossing a continent to see. An interesting sight is The Loop, in the Selkirks, where the train describes a half circle between the mountains one portion of the track passing a hundred feet or more below the other. Equally interesting and picturesque is the scenery in the Cascade range. As in the Selkirks, the train rolls along the edges of frightful precipices, with the turbid waters of the Thompson and Fraser Rivers flowing along their base. Dozens of tunnels are pierced, varying in length from half a mile to fifty feet. Across the yawning chasm, on the opposite mountain, the eye can easily follow he old post road. Prior to the construction of the railway, this road was that great highway of commerce from the sea to the inland towns and villages. Thousands of tons of freight and thousands of dollars of gold dust have been carried over it in times past. To one accustomed to the safe and well protected roads of the East it seems almost incredible that man or beast to say nothing of caravans of freight should be able to traverse this dangerous, crazy-looking highway. It does not seem more than six feet in width and at almost every point there is a terrible abyss below. the slightest deviation from the roadway would mean a fearful death. Along the banks of the Fraser river several gold seekers could be seen engaged in picking out the shiny particles from the sands of the river. Salmon drying huts, filled with recently caught salmon, were observable at every turn. Indian villages and Chinese “reservations” were also common occurrences. The little towns through which the train passes excited considerable interest. Some of them, notably Yale, have seen better days. With the completion of the road to the coast and the building up of Vancouver, their glory has departed, seemingly never to return.
It is a relief, when within a few hours ride of Vancouver, the train emerges from the mountain and pierces a fertile, heavily wooded valley. Aggaziz, where the government experimental farm is situated, is passed soon after entering upon this plateau, also Mission Junction, Westminster Junction, Port Moody and Hastings. The latter place contains a magnificent driving park, and on the day our train passed some lively horse racing was taking place thereto. There are numerous fine farms in this section, and large droves of cattle and horses and sheep could be seen feasting on the luxuriant grasses.
At noon the train enters Vancouver and my journey from ocean to ocean is completed.—Beacon
This Canada of Ours
(R. E. Armstrong)
He is a miserable specimen of a Canadian, who does not, after traversing the dominion from sea to sea, feel a sense of pride that he is the citizen of such a grand country. For it is a grand and noble country. Nowhere in the world can there be found such a combination of beautiful and majestic scenery as there is in Canada. From the picturesque little town of St. Andrews to the no less picturesque city of Victoria, a succession of every changing beauties meets the eye of the traveller. Every hour almost reveals something now and something beautiful in the landscape around him. Mighty mountains, with snow-cap’t summits piercing the heavens; noble lakes and swift flowing rivers; broad and fertile prairies, from whose expansive bosom the nations of the earth might be nourished; wide stretching forests—all these and much more, can be seen in crossing from ocean to ocean over the rails of the Canada pacific Railway. And, while the hand of Nature has strewn its gifts so lavishly, the hand of man has not bee idle. He has adapted the lakes and rivers to his uses; out of the forest and out of the earth he has built himself magnificent cities, and by his industry and intelligence he has made the prairies and the luxuriant valleys in the mountain region, to blossom as a rose. In the construction of the railway alone he ahs attained one of the grandest achievements the world has ever witnessed, and oftimes the traveller does not know which to admire the most—the mighty mountains, or the engineering skill which pierced those mountains and linked the two extremites of a continent together.
There is no doubt that our western heritage is a grand one. Its fertility is not surpassed the world over. Rich as is the tract along the line of railway, there are richer tracts which have not yet been traversed by the “iron horse.” People from all corners of the earth are pouring in and settling this beautiful land. England, Ireland and Scotland have contributed their hundreds; scores have come in from Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Russia and other European countries; Greenland and Iceland have sent men and women by the hundred, while China has been so lavish with her children that he almost-eyed pig-tailed, Celestial is met at every turn. Yet there is room for more. thousands and thousands of acres still remain to be taken up.
the cities of the West have grown with marvellous rapidity. Where, a few years ago, the untutored Indian, with arrow and bow, chased the buffalo over the plain, there are now beautiful cities. Towns have sprung up almost in a day in some places, and as the agricultural and mineral wealth of the country is developed these towns will increase and multiply.
While admitting that the West has many advantages, we are not among those who are going to decry the East. A glimpse of the West has not lessened in any degree our regard for the East. We are satisfied that if the people of the East would devote more of their time, and money, and labor to the advancement of the interest of their country and less to the advancement of political parties; if they would strive to obtain free market for their commoditie4s where a beneficent providence, intended that they should; if they would display the same zeal, the same enterprise, the same untiring energy, the same determination the same unity, the same public spirit, as the people of many of the western cities do, and cultivate a little more faith in themselves and in their country, the East would be quite as prosperous as the West, and a more desirable place to live in. . . .
Beacon
Oct 20, 1892
On the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
A Glimpse at Vancouver and the British Columbian Capital
It seems but yesterday, yet half a dozen years have elapsed, since Vancouver, then a sleepy little hamlet of a few hundred souls, located among the giant pines and cedars of the Straits of Georgia, was overtaken by a whirlwind of flame, and everything in the shape of a human habitation levelled to the ground. From this fire, Vancouver really dates its existence—its second birth.
But there were many at the time who did not view the situation of affairs in a happy light, and who thought the death knell of the town had been sounded. these disposed of their property as best they could, and removed to other localities, while a few of sanguine disposition clung with tightened grasp to their little heaps of ashes, and looked hopefully forward to the dawn of a brighter era.
With the stretching of the rails of the CPR into the town, the hopes of the latter class were re4alized, and from that date Vancouver began to advance with rapidity. Recognizing that it would be the ocean terminus of one of the largest railway systems in the world, thousands of speculators and others rushed into the town and secured lots of land. Real estate values advanced with leaps and bounds, with the result that many who had purchased wisely and who did not hold on too long, found themselves suddenly the possessors of considerable wealth. Their success acted as an incentive to others, and lots far removed from the business centre, out among the blackened trees and stumps, were bought up like hot cakes at fancy prices.
Although on the onward march, Vancouver did not progress with the rapidity that many of the real estate owners had anticipated, and in consequence there are large numbers who now find themselves possessors of very expensive properties, which they cannot realize upon for some years to come. A few of these people have let go of their estates, through financial compulsion, but there are still many who are clinging on by their eyebrows, and suffering deprivations in the hope that next year, or the year after, may bring their lands within the charmed circle.
Vancouver is prettily situated, and in time will be a large and beautiful city. Its growth would be greatly hastened however, if so many of its lots were not held by hungry land sharks, who are demanding prices far ahead of what the present circumstance of the own warrant. There is no doubt that these high prices, and the costly rents which most follow as a natural consequence, are preventing many desirable people of moderate means from locating in the town. To a visitor from the East, the vacant lots, with the huge, blackened stumps, give the place a rather raw appearance. By degrees, however, these relics of primeval times are giving way before the march of civilization, and probably in ten years fro hence, there will not be an uncovered stump within the city limits.
Business, during the past summer, has not been particularly bright at Vancouver, and the visitor, who goes there expecting to be carried off his feet by the surging tide of commerce, will be disappointed. The streets do not look any more thronged, than eastern cities, and the stores are seemingly no better patronized. Yet, if you get hold of a Vancouver man, who is in business, and who is making both ends of that business meet, you will find him arguing that there is no place on earth like Vancouver,--no place more desirable for business purposes, no place, where a home is more enjoyable. One of the most enthusiastic Vancouverites I encountered was Mr. Harold Clarke, a native of SA, who is now associated with a prosperous book-selling and printing house, and who is very happily married. Mr. Clark thinks that Vancouver is the town for all young men,--or old men either—of progressive spirits to locate themselves in. Mr. Andrew Linton, also a charlotte County man, has one of the finest boat shops on the Pacific coast, and he too appears convinced that he has struck the right spot. Mr. Robert Shaw and Mr. Johnson, from this County, expressed themselves in similar vein. In short, after hearing the opinions of half a dozen eastern men who are located in Vancouver, I began to think that my first impressions of the town ere a little “off,” and that it was really the busy and beautiful place they had pictured.
The town has much to commend it. it has a good harbor, the situation is healthful, and the scenery surrounding it is very beautiful. Its winters are very mild, and were it not for the prolonged rains between September and May, the climate would be the most desirable on the continent. To be sure, Vancouver people will tell you that they do mot mind the rain there, that it does not wet you like the rain in the East, etc., but, after a day’s experiences of it I can couch for its drenching capabilities. It wet me most thoroughly.
Vancouver has some very imposing buildings and many very beautiful private residences. The Vancouver hotel, the property of the CPR, has no rival north of San Francisco. The Manor House, in which I found an old friend, Charlie Quintaon, holding down the clerks’ desk, is also a creditable hotel. Besides these, there are several other good hotels. The town is well provided with newspapers, there being three daily papers printed there—The World, News-Advertiser, and Telegram. The former is an evening paper, and is a splendid property. It is owned by Messrs. McLaggan and O’Brien, the latter a native of Northumberland County. They have recently built themselves a new business abode, and are looking forward to the erection of another large building in the near future. the paper is a model of typographic excellence, and its columns are always worthy a perusal. The proprietors are ever ready to extend a hearty welcome to visitors from the East. And as it is about the only newspaper office between Montreal and the Pacific coast that has any New Brunswick papers on its exchange list, its sanctum is always eagerly sought for by the visitor from this province. By the way, in speaking of Province men, I found many of them located at Vancouver, some doing well and others not so well. [here a list of them]
Vancouver outside trade is gradually increasing. The palatial steamers of the CPR line which run to Japan and China, attract a great deal of business, both in the way of freight and passengers. Large tea ships from across the sea enter the port every now and then, and their cargoes are distributed all over the American continent. The lumber mills and the canneries also draw a large number of vessels to the port. IT is expected that the bonus of 300,000 which the townspeople have voted t give to the Northern Pacific railroad, will also induce that company to take advantage of their port and thus increase its trade. The population of thee town is now at little over 20,000 and its constantly increasing.
Victoria the capital of BC, which in its regal beauty reminded me very much of St. Andrews, is situated on Vancouver Island, and is reached by a delightful sail of six hours through a lovely archipelago. It has a more finished appearance than most of the western cities of this Dominion, and looks at it if had come to stay. It is intensely English in its aspect—a circumstance which causes the Victorian no little pride.
As the ages of western cities go Victoria is quite venerable. In fact, it is almost forty years of age. It is substantially built, on a foundation of solid rock, and can boast of many elegant public and private buildings. the government buildings are not calculated to excite much admiration. They are low, wooden structures with not the slightest pretensions to architectural beauty. Unless Vancouver succeeds in robbing Victoria of the seat of government, which does not seem at all likely, it is probably that new provincial buildings of more modern design will shortly take the place of the present old-fashioned structures.
There are many beautiful spots in and around Victoria, for glimpses of which I was greatly indebted to Mr. Donald Walker, a former resident of SA, who is now among the leading citizens of the Columbian capital.
the climate of Victoria is very salubrious, and the soil exceedingly rich. All kinds of fruits and cereals grow in abundance, while the flower gardens, are a sight to behold. Roses that in the East would have to be carefully nurtured in hot houses, flourish in the open air in the greatest profusion.
On account of its situation, Victoria is quite cosmopolitan in its character. Representatives of almost all civilized nations tribes and tongues may be encountered in its streets. Chi Lungs and Le Wings are as thick as flies in August. Added to these are the native Indians by no means a pretty set: tall, swarthy Kanakas from the Pacific islands; almost eyed, intelligent-looking Japanese, and the usual mixture of French and English, Scotch and Irish.
Seal fishing has become a very important industry at Victoria, as it is a very hazardous one. Those vessels that have not been captured by the Russian bear have brought in good cargoes for the most pat, and have made piles of money for their owners. Among some of the sealing people I found a strong feeling against England for allowing the United States and Russia to walk over them, as they term it. They think that Great Britain should rush in without parleying and seize both of the above-named offenders by the throat, but this is not the way that international difficulties between friendly nations are settled nowadays. Without doubt, England will see that the rights of her people are protected against foreign aggressors, if not by peaceful means than by more forcible measures.
The port of Victoria is a very important one; in addition to steamer connections with the Canadian Pacific railway from Vancouver, the Northern Pacific have also placed a magnificent steamer on the straits. Then there are the steamers running daily between Port Townshend, Seattle and Tacoma by Washington state. the China steamers, and the steamer to and from Alaska, to say nothing of vessels of all nations, also make of a Victoria a port of Call.
In my last letter I may find space for an allusion to some other Pacific coast cities--Beacon
Beacon
Oct 27/1892
The magnificent summer residence, which General Manager Van Horne, of the CPR has been building on Minister’s Island, is almost completed. The red sandstone which was largely used in its construction, and which has undoubtedly added to its beauty, was quarried on the island, within a few rods of the house. A barn of larger proportions is now being built a short distance from the Van Horne house.
A series of terrible, ear-splitting shrieks came from the region of the St. Andrews foundry on Tuesday. Some people thought that the enterprising proprietor had recently added a steam siren or calliope to the foundry plant, and hastened down to examine it. They were considerably surprised to find that the noise was not caused by a siren or calliope, but came from the stentorian lungs of the foundryman, who had discovered a neighbour’s cow floundering in his well, and was anxious to get her out before the water became mixed with her milk. The cow was owned by James Heenan. By the aid of a rope, she was extricated from her uncomfortable position. The next time she goes browsing around the foundry-yard, toning up her system with iron filings, she will give the well a wide birth.
On the Pacific
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
A Glimpse at Seattle and Tacoma, the Twin Cities of the Sound
In the evening shadows a swift little steamer steals out of the inner basin of Victoria Harbor and shoots off across the Straits of Georgia towards the Puget Sound cities. this boat, the “city of Kingston,” is very pop0ular with the travelling public, and is always largely patronized.
Port Townshend is reached a little before midnight, so that the stranger, who would desire to study the character of the place, must stop off until the following day. It is only a few years since Port Townsend was one of the liveliest shipping ports on the Sound, but with the building of Seattle and Tacoma, and the making of them ports of entry, its trade has gradually been drifting to these larger cities. In order to hold their business several of the shipping forms of Port Townshend have found it necessary to establish branches qt the cites mentioned. Among others, the firm of which Mr. Ternant Steeve is a member, has op0ened on office at Tacoma. Mr. Steeve, whose wife is a Saint John lady (sister of Mrs. W. M. Magee, of Saint Andrews), has charge of this office, and has lately removed his domicile thither.
The City of Kingston touches the wharf at Seattle about three o’clock in the morning, which makes it a little awkward for the traveller, but as there is always a sufficient number of cabmen and police around there is little danger of him gong astray.
Seattle is a wonderful city in many respects. It seems to have sprung up in a day almost. A little above two years ago it was devastated by fire. Scarcely a habitation was left. Today, every mark of that fire has been buried beneath immense buildings of brick and stone, and the population of the place has increased from a few thousand souls to fifty-five thousand. Seattle was one of those cities which went up with a boom, and real estate men, who find it exceedingly difficult now to unload themselves of their burdens, declare that it will go down with a boom. but the people of the place don’t think so, although they admit that the town is feeling the reaction of the land boom very keenly. They have confidence in the future, and are full of enthusiasm. such a word as “fail” seems to have no place in their lexicon. There are none more enthusiastic with regard to Seattle’s ultimate destiny than the New Brunswickers who have made of that city their home. Mr. Charles H. Lugrin of Fredericton, who will be remembered as editor of the Saint John Telegraph for a time, and afterwards as Secretary for Agriculture, is one of the most hopeful ones. he is now managing editor of the Seattle Telegram, a bright little paper, which wields considerable influence in the State. Mr. Lugrin is also a regular contributor to several of the magazines. He is regarded in Seattle as one of its foremost citizens. The project to cut a canal through from Seattle to Lake Washington (a sheet of water thirty miles long), which is now agitating the people of that locality, and which has been dragged into the Presidential canvass in the state), as evolved from Mr. Lugrin’s active brain. And if one is to judge from the enthusiasm with which the people of Seattle regard the scheme, it is more than likely that it will be carried into effect. Occupying a desk in the same room with Mr. Lugrin is Mr. Lovett M. Wood, who will be recognized as the talented young journalist who established the “Maple Leaf” in Albert County. Both Mr. Wood and his wife are delighted with Seattle. Mr. Fred. Ackman, also of Albert County, is another New Brunswicker who is fascinated with this smart little city. Mr John Leary, well known in this Province, was one of the first settlers. By shrewd investment he has amassed a considerable wealth, and he is now regarded as the most “solid man” that Seattle has. During a brief visit to the Telegraph office, I had the pleasure of meeting two other New Brunswickers—Mr. Gaunce, formerly of Fredericton, and Mr. Raymond. Mr. J. O. V. Seely, whose smiling countenance adorns an office on Walker’s wharf, Saint John , a few years ago, is now doing business on one of Seattle wharves. He is the same light-hearted “ollie” of old, and was delighted to see me.
Seattle streets are a surprise to the stranger who enters her gates. I don’t thin there is another city on the American continent where the streets are so steep. Those running east and west are almost perpendicular, necessitating the placing of cleats on the wooden sidewalks to prevent the pedestrian from tumbling. It is a veritable ladder town. It is probably this difficulty of locomotion that has led to such an excellent street car service in Seattle. There are over one hundred miles of street car track—electric and cable—in and around the city, and a better conducted system it would be hard to obtain. One of the cable lines runs over the city to Lake Washington, on the shores of which a beautiful Park has been laid out. Boat houses, bathing houses, band stands, dancing pavilions and a zoological garden (in which the chief tenants are several fur-bearing seals, black bears a mountain lion, kangaroo, foxes and several deer) are among the attractions in this charming recreation ground. the scenery around Seattle is very picturesque, and were it not for the rain which prevails six or seven months out of the year it would be a most desirable abiding place.
A two hours sail brings the tourist into Tacoma. it was to boom this city that the prince of cranks, George Francis Train, started out on his globe trotting expedition few years ago. The notoriety which it gained at that time undoubtedly brought it into world-wide prominence, but the boom which Citizen Train caused has on g since passed away. For a big city Tacoma is about as quiet as the make them.
But, despite the fact that the bottom of the real estate boom has been badly punctured, Tacomans will not admit that their city is on the wane. and, indeed, if one is to judge from the numerous new streets that are being opened up, and the many public and private buildings that are being erected, such is not the case. talking of building, when a Tacoman makes up his mind to build, he does not waste two or three summer in gossiping with his neighbor over it. he goes to work at once and he crowds all the men, he can get on to his horse until it is finished. As an example of this push stands the Jewish Tabernacle, . A wealthy Jew, who owns the largest dry goods business in the city, decided to erect a place of worship for himself and his fellow religionists. Within 9 hours after his resolution was formed the tabernacle was erected and three thousand people were gathered in it. to be sure, it was not a handsome building. On the contrary, it is rather a homely structure, but it serves the purpose. As a rule, Tacoman churches are not very elaborate affairs. Religion seems to have been a secondary, consideration in building the town. With the early Tacomans it was business first and religion afterwards. For this reason the churches are not so handsome architecturally speaking nor yet large, as many in the East. In Old Tacoma, the first section of the town to be settled, a very novel idea in the way of a church spire and belfry attracted my eye. the church had been erected alongside a gigantic tree, the top of which had been cut off until it was about ton a level with the roof of the building. Upon this stump a belfry was constructed, and to hid the charred surface of the tree, climbing plants have been twined over it. The effect was al pretty as it was novel.
Tacoma streets are steep, but they can not begin to compare with the declivities in Seattle. there is also a very good electric and cable car service.
What the city undoubtedly wants is manufacturing enterprises. . . .
Society in these western cities is not the refined society of the east. Intellectual attainments, good breeding and blueblood count for but little unless accompanied by the almighty dollar. The aristocracy of the dollar is the aristocracy that is on top. Among these “dollarcrats” there are many whose intelligence and taste do not keep pace with their pockets. Hence, western society is a little peculiar. As one eastern lady tersely expressed it, You never know hat is going to happen next.”
There is no love lost between Tacoma and Seattle. These “twin cities of the Sound” are undoubtedly rivals. So far as business goes Seattle appears to have the advantage, but socially, Tacoma is looked upon as the leader. this rivalry was very good humouredly exemplified in a little Rencontre that took place in my hearing between a Tacoman and a Seattleite, who were travelling in the cars toward he Canadian boundary. The Seattle man fired the first shot, when he asked the man from Tacoma, in a drawling sarcastic tone, “When are you going to get the mowing machines at work on Pacific Avenue?” I may explain that Pacific Avenue is the leading business street of Tacoma. “Well, to tell the truth,” retorted the Tacoman, “We’ve been so busy over our way getting out mowing machines for Seattle that the grass has been worn off pacific Avenue, and we found it necessary to put down paving stones.” And in this bantering vein a running fire of hot shot was poured at each other until he man from Tacoma had reached his destination—Beacon.
Beacon
Nov 3, 1892
(David Keezer recently deceased)
Beacon
Nov 10/1892
On the Pacific Slope
Wayside Impressions of a Wandering Editor
From Tacoma to New Westminster. A Good Place for Chinamen but a Poor Place for Canadians. Pleasant Experience among the Mountains at Ashcroft.
The journey by rail from Tacoma, in Washington state, to the Canadian boundary, must be a delightful one when pursued under summer skies, but when the chill, wet breath of Autumn is spreading itself over the land, and the leaden colored clouds are gently dropping their distillation, a great deal of the pleasure of the journey vanishes,.
The morning that I bade adieu to Tacoma was wet one. The rain that was descending so persistently was not the “dry rain” that Tacomans romance about, but a drenching, soaking rain, that, despite mackintosh and umbrella, soon found its way to one’s flesh. A few minutes after 7 o’clock the train shoots out of Tacoma, makes a circle around the southern end of the city, and then hies itself northward among the hop fields, the farms and villages towards the city of Seattle. There are several pretty little town interspersed between Tacoma and Seattle, but as I had neglected to arm myself with a railway folder before starting I cannot name them in their order. One of those towns, rejoicing in the euphonious title of Puyallup (a name strongly suggestive of jalap) impressed me very much. It appeared to be right smart little place, with a good country around it. It was told that Dr. Musgrove, formerly of Saint John , was practising there and was doing well.
the traveller does not have much time for loafing when he reaches Seattle. On the morning of my arrival I had but three minutes in which to purchase a ticket to New Westminster and rush for the train. Part of those three minutes was devoted to scolding the flinty hearted ticket seller, who had the gall to charge me 20 percent, discount on my Canadian money. I felt disposed at first to resist eh aggression, but there was no use—it was either a case of yield or miss the train, and I yielded. But I hope some day to get even with that railway robber.
There are a few towns scattered between Seattle and the Canadian boundary, but for the most part the railway runs through the primeval forest. And such giant trees as one sees in those Washington forests! Great, massive fellows, with trunks as large round as a molasses hogshead, and tops that seem to pierce the clouds, are seen on all sides. There were some prostrate giants which caught my eye that it would have been impossible for a man to have seen over.
As the train stopped for a few minutes at Everett, which is down on the map in very black letters as n ocean terminus of one of the transcontinental railways, I got a brief glimpse of what a boom town is like in its early stages. The town appeared to consist of a three-story wooden hotel of very unpretentious appearance, the railway station, and three or four freshly built houses. Several streets were laid out through the stumps, one of them, about sixty feet wide, being planked the whole way across. This was probably the chief street of the place, though it could only boast of two newly boarded houses. In front of the hotel, in the pelting rains, were gathered a score or more land boomers and real estate sharks. three or four others were seated in a coach, which was toiling slowly through the mire in the direction of the principal avenue. I had often felt a desire to grow up with one of these booms towns, but the peep I got of Everett in the rail and mud was not calculated to strengthen that desire very materially. A month has elapsed since then; probably by this time Everett has developed into quite a city.
Whatcom is another western town which ahs grown up very rapidly. it is only in its infancy yet, but it possesses electric cars and all other “modern conveniences,” and is going ahead all the time. It may yet prove a formidable rival to Seattle and Tacoma. The railway branches off at this place, one line running towards Mission Junction on the CPR, and the other in the direction of New Westminster. The latter branch crosses the mouth of the harbor on a trestle. I have a very distinct recollection of this fact, as owing to an accident to the engine we were hung up on this trestle for nearly three hours. The weather was so raw and cold that the conductor was compelled to light a fire in the car stove to prevent the passengers from freezing to death.
Usually Westminster is reached about 5 o’clock in the evening, but on the day I write about the clock had struck eight before the train reached its destination at South Westminster. Then the passengers had to wait ten or fifteen minutes more on the little ferry boat which crosses the river, so that it was nearly nine o’clock before they set foot on New Westminster streets. And pretty muddy streets they were, after forty-eight hours of steady rain.
A good natured policemen whom I met at the ferry wharf very kindly offered to find a hotel for me, but this was not such an easy task, as the usual fall Exposition was open and almost every hotel was filled from cellar to garret. After being turned away from two hotels, at last found a rest for myself and my baggage at the Queen—a very comfortable hostelry. Snatching hasty meal I enquired the direction of the Exposition building, and started hitherward. After a climb up two or three very steep hills and through some very quiet streets, I at last found myself in the presence of the Exposition building. The structure, though neat, is not very large, being probably half the size of the Exhibition building in Saint John. The exhibition was rather disappointing, but this was in large part due to the very stormy weather. The exhibits consisted chiefly of fruit and flowers, and both of these I must confess, were very fine.
The following morning was clear and bright, so that I had a good opportunity of looking the town over. It has a very pretty situation, overlooking the banks of the Fraser River, but as the greater part of the water front is occupied by the Chinese quarter—which for filth and nastiness would be pretty hard to beat—much of the attractiveness of the place is lost to the stranger. There are many fine residences and several quite imposing churches there. The stores have bright appearance, too. There are several mills, a foundry and two or three canneries in the immediate neighborhood, but as the bulk of the laborers are Chinese. Town does not derive a great deal of benefit from their existence. A St. George man who sought me out at the hotel, told me that if he had been a Chinaman, instead of a respectable Canadian,, he might have not steady employment, but as it was he had been in the town eight months and had not been able to earn enough during that time to pay for his board. he declared that notwithstanding the gilded reports that were being circulated regarding the progress of the place, there were score of vacant dwellings and stores. His advice to all eastern people who were contemplating making New Westminster their abode was to stay at home, if they had anything to do a all. Still, there are some eastern people in that town—and some of them are from Charlotte County—who are prospering. My St. George friend’s plaint about Chinamen was no doubt, well grounded. They are found everywhere—in mills, in canneries, in private residences acting as “maids of all work,’ in the hotels. No matter where you turn you jostle against these greasy-faced pigtailed sons of China. I don’t blame the people of the United Stats for trying to shut this class of immigrants out of their cities; some day Canada in self-defence will have to take a leaf out of the Yankee book on this matter.
Having completed a hurried inspection of New Westminster and bade adieu to the native of the granite village, I dropped into an electric car, and inside of two hours was on board the Canadian pacific train at Vancouver, settling myself down for the long journey home.
Among my fellow passengers was Mr. Walter Shaw, who is stationed at Ashcroft with Mr. James Haddock, an old St. Andrews boy. He had in his pocket a very pressing invitation for me from Mr. Haddock to spend a day with him, and knowing that it would not be a day ill spent I determined upon accepting the invitation.
Ashcroft is a peculiar little village, occupying a position on a narrow sandy plateau, about twelve hours ride from Vancouver. In front of it, across the railway track, is a range of steep, sandy foothills (they would be called mountains on this side of the continent), on which the only herbiage is sagebrush and wormwood. Behind the village, the Thompson river swiftly flows to mingle its waters with those of the mighty Fraser. Above, the river there is another range of high foothills, similar to that in front of the village, and beyond these foothills, both to the north and south, are majestic mountains, covered along their sides with a thick forest growth, and on their summits with the eternal snows. There is not a blade of grass to be seen, though, where irrigation is possible, almost anything will grow. the village is chiefly a supply depot for the mining camps and towns that are scattered hundred of miles back among the mountains, and nearly every day “bull trains” and “pack trains” take away great loads of freight and bring back in payment gold dust and nuggets. the trail followed by these freight caravans is dangerous to the extreme, in many places overhanging canyons hundreds of feet in depth, but the teamsters and their animals have become so accustomed to braving these dangers that they have not the slightest fear. Accidents are rare, though, when they do occur, they are generally attended with fearful fatalities. The inhabitants of Ashcroft are few. There are a dozen or more white families and the balance of the population is composed of Chinamen and Indians. Mr. Haddock has a comfortable home and his domestic relations appear to be of the happiest kind. He has a very amiable wife and two sons and a daughter, all of these healthy and good-looking, and all of them delighted with the freedom of their western home. Had I been the Governor-General of Canada, or the Sultan of Muscat, I could not have been more hospitably entertained than I was by Mr. and Mrs. Haddock and their interesting family. Mr Walter Shaw’s family resides nearby, and they, too, are infatuated with the “wild and woolly west.” Mrs. Steadman is sister Mrs. Shaw, is now visiting there.
Every Indian in the neighborhood has his horse, and they are accomplished and fearless riders. They are very fond of racing their steeds, and will water their money, their old duds, their blankets, anything, everything, upon them. During my stay . . .
There is scarcely a form of outdoor amusement in the vicinity of Ashcroft, that does not call for the use of a horse. Therefore, nearly all of the population, male and female, little and big, are expert riders. Mr. Haddock’s youngest sons, a manly little lad of thirteen years, rides like an Indian. Seated on a spirited four year old, he made my head almost swim as he dashed like the wind up hill and down dale, with himself and horse almost hidden by the clouds of dust they raised. His eldest son is an old hand at the business and can ride the wildest of Indian steeds. Mr Haddock has developed into quite an accomplished equestrian himself.
I enjoyed a few hours duck shooting on a lake a few miles back from the railway among the mountains. The journey hither was accomplished on horseback, and as it was a novel experience for me, climbing such precipices astride of a horse, I must say that it was with a good deal of fear and trembling that I occupied my seat. But the horse was a coolheaded sensible beast, and he carried me safely through. the exercise proved most exhilarating and as the scenery was of a grand and inspiring character I enjoyed my first mountain ride very much. Thanks to my host and his little son, I was able to bag several very fine ducks, indeed, in that respect, I was “high line” for the day. We lunched in a romantic little grove, alongside a murmuring mountain stream, and I never enjoyed a meal more. An Indian woman , the wife of the boss of a pack train, who was up in the mountains finding a pasture for her horses, dashed past our retreat as we ate our repast, and a very pretty picture she made as she galloped way over the ills.
but I am wearying my reader with this protracted tale. and so I will hurry through. While the morning stars were blinking and bobbing at each other, I bade goodbye to my very kind friends at Ashcroft and proceeded on my journey.
It would take another letter to describe my experiences on the homeward journey, but I will not write it, as I have no desire of taxing the patience of my reader beyond forbearance. I have to thank numerous friends in Winnipeg, among their Mr. Horace Welden, Mr. R. V. Millidge and Mr. Daniel McIntyre, Superintendent of Schools, all former Saint John men, also Mr. Daniel Gillmor of Montreal, for courtesies extended me. the trip from ocean to ocean, outward and homeward, proved most delightful, and I can safely add in conclusion that no safer or more comfortable railway than the CPR can be found on the continent of America, and none that has more courteous and obliging officials—Beacon.