England and Canada
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Title: England and Canada
Author: Sandford Fleming
Release date: November 11, 2015 [eBook #50433]
Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLAND AND CANADA ***
[Illustration: ENGLAND AND CANADA.--_A Journey between OLD and NEW
WESTMINSTER, by Sandford Fleming, C.E., C.M.G. etc._
_Eastern Journey- - - - - - - - Western Journey------------_
George Philip & Son London & Liverpool.]
ENGLAND AND CANADA.
A SUMMER TOUR
BETWEEN
OLD AND NEW WESTMINSTER
WITH HISTORICAL NOTES.
BY
SANDFORD FLEMING, C.E., C.M.G., ETC.
MONTREAL:
DAWSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
1884.
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year 1884,
by SANDFORD FLEMING,
in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.
GAZETTE PRINTING COMPANY, MONTREAL.
TO
The Right Honourable the Marquis of Lorne, K.T.
G.C.M.G., P.C., &C., &C.,
ONE OF CANADA’S TRUEST AND WARMEST FRIENDS,
WITH SINCERE RESPECT
THIS RECORD OF A JOURNEY FROM THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL TO THE
PACIFIC OCEAN, THROUGH CANADIAN TERRITORY,
IS DEDICATED.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_INTRODUCTORY._
CHAPTER II.
_HALIFAX TO LIVERPOOL._
Halifax--Cunard Line--Intercolonial Railway--Truro--Travelling
by Pullman--New Brunswick--Miramichi--Great Fires in New
Brunswick--Salmon Fishing--Micmac Indians--Rimouski--S.S.
Parisian--The first Ocean Steamer the Royal William--Incidents
of Ocean Voyage--Arrival. Page 11
CHAPTER III.
_ENGLAND._
Willie Gordon--Custom House Annoyances--Cable Telegram--Post
Office Annoyances--London--Spurgeon’s Tabernacle--An Ancestral
Home--English and United States Hotels--English Reserve--A
Railway Accident--The Land’s End--A Deaf Guest. Page 33
CHAPTER IV.
_ENGLAND (Continued)._
Marquis of Salisbury--Classical Studies--Henley Regatta--Red
Lion--London Dinner to Lord Dufferin--His Speech--Greenwich--
Fisheries Exhibition--Bray--The Vicar--The Thames--Minehead--
The Polynesian. Page 58
CHAPTER V.
_ENGLAND TO CANADA._
The Ocean Voyage--Its Comfort--Moville--Mail Coach Road of Old
Days--Impressive Service on Deck--Comfort on the Vessel--
Rimouski--Halifax. Page 84
CHAPTER VI.
_NOVA SCOTIA._
Early Colonization--De Monts--Champlain--Sir William Alexander--
Capture of Quebec--The Treaties--The Acadian Evangeline--
Louisbourg--First Capture--Peace of Aix la Chapelle--Boundary
Disputes--The Final Struggle--Deportation of the Acadians--
Nova Scotia constituted a Province. Page 102
CHAPTER VII.
_HALIFAX TO QUEBEC._
Home in Halifax--Start for the Pacific--The Intercolonial
Railway--Major Robinson--Old Companions--The Ashburton
Blunder--Quebec--The Provincial Legislature--Champlain--The
Iroquois. Page 119
CHAPTER VIII.
_QUEBEC, MONTREAL, OTTAWA._
Montreal--Ship Channel--Hon. John Young--St. Lawrence Canals--
Indifference of Quebec--Quebec Interests Sacrificed--Need of a
Bridge at Quebec--Montreal Trade in Early Times--Beauty of the
City--Canadian Pacific Railway--Ottawa--The Social Influence
of Government House--Kingston. Page 131
CHAPTER IX.
_TORONTO TO LAKE SUPERIOR._
Toronto--Collingwood--Georgian Bay--The Sault St. Mary--
Navigation of the Great Lakes--Manitoulin Islands--Lake Huron--
Arrival at the Sault. Page 147
CHAPTER X.
_LAKE SUPERIOR TO WINNIPEG._
Lake Superior--Early Discoverers--Joliet and La Salle--
Hennepin--Du Luth--Port Arthur--The Far West--The North-West
Company--Rat Portage--Gold Mining--Winnipeg. Page 161
CHAPTER XI.
_WINNIPEG, HUDSON’S BAY COMPANY, LORD SELKIRK._
Early Explorers of the North-West--Du Luth--De la Verendrye--
Mackenzie--Hudson’s Bay Company--Treaty of Utrecht--North-West
Company--Lord Selkirk--War in the North-West--Union of the
Rival Companies--The North-West Annexed to Canada. Page 179
CHAPTER XII.
_WINNIPEG TO CALGARY._
Winnipeg--Great Storm--Portage-la-Prairie--Brandon--Moose Jaw--
Old Wives’ Lakes--The Indians--Maple Creek--Medicine Hat--
Rocky Mountains. Page 201
CHAPTER XIII.
_CALGARY TO THE SUMMIT._
Start for the Mountains--The Cochrane Ranche--Gradual Ascent--
Mount Cascade--Anthracite Coal--Sunday in the Rockies--
Mountain Scenery--The Divide. Page 221
CHAPTER XIV.
_DOWN KICKING-HORSE VALLEY._
The Descent--Summit Lake--The Kicking-Horse River--Singular
Mountain Storms--An Engineering Party--A Beaver Meadow--A
Dizzy Walk. Page 237
CHAPTER XV.
_TO THE SUMMIT OF THE SELKIRKS._
The Eagle Pass--Kicking-horse River--Valley of the Columbia--The
Selkirk Range--The Columbia River--Summit of the Selkirks--
Major Rogers’ Discovery. Page 252
CHAPTER XVI.
_DOWN THE ILLE-CELLE-WAET._
The Descent of the Selkirk Range--Glaciers--The Last of our
Horses--Devil’s Clubs--The Ille-celle-waet--A Rough Journey--
A Mountain Storm--Slow Progress--A Roaring Torrent--Skunk
Cabbage--Marsh--A Long Ten Miles’ Journey. Page 271
CHAPTER XVII.
_DOWN THE ILLE-CELLE-WAET.--Continued._
A Difficult March--Cariboo Path--Organization of Advance--
Passing Through the Canyon--Timber Jam--A Gun-shot heard--
The Columbia again--Indians--Disappointment--The Question of
Supplies becomes Urgent--No Relief Party Found--Suspense. Page 284
CHAPTER XVIII.
_THROUGH THE EAGLE PASS._
The Kamloops Men at Last--No Supplies--On Short Allowance--An
Indian Guide--Bog-wading--The Summit of the Pass--Bluff Lake--
Victoria Bluff--Three Valley Lake--Eagle River--Shooting
Salmon--The _Cached_ Provisions--Pack-horses again--Road
Making--The South Thompson--Indian Ranches. Page 295
CHAPTER XIX.
_KAMLOOPS TO THE COAST._
Lake Kamloops--Savona’s Ferry--Irrigation--Chinese Navvies--
Chinese Servants--Lytton--The Fraser River Canyon--Old
Engineering Friends--Sunday at Yale--Paddling Down the Fraser--
An English Fog at New Westminster. Page 311
CHAPTER XX.
_ON PACIFIC WATERS._
New Westminster--Enormous Forest Trees--English Broom--Port
Moody--Down Burrard Inlet--Sea Fog--Navigation by Echo--
Straits of Georgia--The St. Juan Archipelago--Seamanship--
Victoria. Page 329
CHAPTER XXI.
_BRITISH COLUMBIA._
Sir Francis Drake--Mears--Vancouver--Astor--Hudson’s Bay
Company--Gold Discoveries--Climate--Timber--Fisheries--
Minerals--Mountain Scenery. Page 340
CHAPTER XXII.
_HOME BY THE NORTHERN PACIFIC._
Puget Sound--The Columbia--Portland--Oregon and San Juan
Disputes--Arid Country--Mountain Summits--The Yellowstone--
The Missouri--The Red River--Chicago--Standard Time Meeting--
The British Association--Home. Page 355
CHAPTER XXIII.
_THE INDIANS._
Indian Population--The Government Policy--Indian Instincts--The
Hudson’s Bay Company--Fidelity and Truthfulness of Indians--
Aptitude for Certain Pursuits--The Future of the Red Man. Page 380
CHAPTER XXIV.
_THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY._
Rapid Construction--Travelling Old and New--Beginning of Pacific
Railway--Difficulties--Party Warfare--The Line North of Lake
Superior--The United States Government--Mountain Passes--Soil
and Climate--National Parks--Pacific Terminus. Page 394
CHAPTER XXV.
_CONCLUSION._
England and Canada--Old and New Colonial Systems--Political
Exigencies--The High Commissioners--Lord Lorne’s Views--The
Future--The French Element in Canada--Colonial Federation--The
Larger Union. Page 420
ENGLAND AND CANADA.
CHAPTER I.
_INTRODUCTORY._
If we carry ourselves in imagination to that part of North America
nearest to Europe, we find that we have reached the most easterly coast
of the Island of Newfoundland, an outlying portion of the continent.
Standing on Cape Bonavista and looking from this promontory over the
waste of waters, we discover that between the Equator and Greenland
the Atlantic Ocean is generally of much greater width in every other
parallel than opposite our present position: that its breadth rapidly
increases as we proceed southward, if but a few degrees of latitude,
and that, in the parallels of New York or Philadelphia, the ocean is
more than double the width. Towards the continent of Europe the first
land the eye rests upon is that of the British Islands. Four centuries
back the first recorded discoverer of Newfoundland sailed from those
shores, and from the time of the Tudor monarchs this stretch of ocean
has been unceasingly traversed by European ships. It has thus been the
cradle of ocean navigation. Adventurous men, who planted the early
settlement of America, crossed to the new world on this narrow belt.
The vessels which carried them were indeed frail craft compared with
the creations of modern ship-building. But, step by step, they were
enlarged and developed to the magnificent clipper, which again has been
supplanted by the still more magnificent ocean steamer.
In old days, even in a sailing vessel of large tonnage, a sea voyage
was frequently accompanied with much misery. It was not uncommon
for emigrants to be detained at sea as many weeks as now days are
needed for the voyage. Ships might be retarded or driven back by
adverse gales, or they might remain in mid-ocean, becalmed in water
as unruffled as a mirror of glass. Steam has revolutionized these
conditions. Instead of ships being turned far from their course by
contrary winds, or with flapping canvas waiting for a fair breeze, we
behold on the waters of the Atlantic fleets of swift steamers, carrying
thousands of passengers to and fro with the regularity of the daily
post between two neighbouring cities. However formidable the voyage
once was, its greater drawbacks are now removed. A steam ferry has been
practically established between the two continents, and transportation
is effected with scarcely less regularity than between opposite banks
of a navigable river. The path of the ocean steamer has in reality
become, as it were, the Queen’s highway; and were anything wanting
to facilitate intercourse, we possess it in the telegraph. If this
belt of ocean has been the nursery of the ocean steamers, it has also
given birth to ocean telegraphy. In no part of the world are so many
submarine cables laid along the ocean bed as in this direction. We
live in a period when instantaneous communications from continent to
continent are as easily effected as from county to county. Year by year
the facilities of intercourse, both by steamship and by telegraph, are
increasing in a manner to bind closer than ever, by the ties of mutual
benefit and common interest, the different members of the British
family. On the one hand, the Canadian is enabled to visit the old land,
where his traditions have been gathered, and where there is a history
in which he can claim an inherited participation. On the other, it
provides the youth of the Mother Country with an outlet by which he
may gain a home with a kindred people, who revere the same memories,
and who will cordially welcome his labour and energies to aid in
strengthening and consolidating the institutions of that portion of the
Empire.
From a multiplicity of causes, there are different shades of character
and thought to distinguish the several members of the British family.
They are called into being by geographical position, by race, by
climate and other influences. Diversities exist, and why should it not
be so? It is a shallow and unwise pretension which would ignore the
fact. The inhabitants of neighbouring counties, even the members of
one family, have not the same characteristics or identical likes and
dislikes. As in the family so in the state. It is natural, and in some
respects advantageous, that varieties of character and power should be
traceable; on the other hand, as the family likeness may be seen in
a group of individuals, however in many respects they may differ, an
essential unity of national life and sentiment may be found one and the
same amid characteristics the most divergent. The people of Canada and
of England differ as the current coin of the realm differs. While in
the currency there are dissimilarities of name, of value, of colour and
of metal, all are impressed with the stamp of the one sovereign; so in
the people there are diversities, but all can be recognized as British
subjects.
If we turn our eyes in the direction opposite to Europe, we find
Newfoundland situated as a barrier between the outer ocean and an inner
sea; the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Whatever its destiny, Newfoundland is
the one portion of British North America which has not allied her
fortunes with the Canadian Dominion. Geographically, the island stands
as a gigantic breakwater to shelter from the surges of the Atlantic the
continent to the west, and to protect the entrance of the St. Lawrence.
The Gulf of St. Lawrence has been compared to the Baltic, but, unlike
the Baltic, having but one narrow channel of entry, it is approachable
from the ocean by two wide navigable openings. These passages--the
Straits of Belle Isle and St. Paul--lie to the north and south of
Newfoundland. Around this inner Baltic-like sea we behold the Maritime
Provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island, to
which may be added the eastern portion of Quebec. These Provinces
occupy an extensive coast line, indented with bays and capacious
harbours, presenting all the facilities for shipping, commerce and
fisheries. They are bound together, and to the other Provinces of the
Dominion, by one trade, one tariff and by one common nationality; on
the other hand, they have each distinct local institutions for their
own domestic government.
Continuing our glance westward, a thousand miles from Bonavista, beyond
the ancient fortress of Quebec, we behold Montreal, the commercial
metropolis of the Dominion. Here are seen ocean steamers of the largest
class discharging cargoes loaded twelve days back in Liverpool, Glasgow
and other parts of Europe. Advancing our view another thousand miles,
over cultivated fields and flourishing cities and lakes of unrivalled
magnitude, our vision carries us through deep forests beyond the
Province of Ontario to the confines of Manitoba, in the middle of the
continent. Still another thousand miles to the west, across prairies
abounding with a fabulous fertility of soil, we reach the foot-hills of
a snow-capped mountain range, concealing the country which lies beyond
it. To penetrate this barrier we must advance by the known passes, and
for hundreds of miles follow deep defiles, traversing further mountain
ranges, until we reach the wide grassy plateau interspersed with
picturesque lakes in the heart of British Columbia. We may still pierce
another serrated wall of mountains by a deep and rugged valley, and, by
following a tortuous and foaming river to its mouth, we meet the flow
of tide of another ocean far greater in extent than that which lies
behind us.
Carrying our vision beyond the shore of the western mainland, across
a strait similar to that separating England from Europe, we see the
Island of Vancouver, washed by currents warmed in the seas of Asia.
Vancouver Island is not quite so large as England, but it enjoys the
same climatic conditions, and possesses in profusion many of the same
mineral treasures.
British Columbia is the youngest colony of the Empire, and until
recently was practically the most distant from the Imperial centre.
Its chief city bears the name of Her Majesty. The sun does not rise
on Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, until eight hours after
it gilds the towers of Westminster. One-third of the complete circle
of the globe separates the Imperial capital from the capital of the
Pacific Province, but no land intervenes which is not British, and the
whole distance is under the shadow of the one national flag.
In imagination we first glanced across the ocean at its narrowest
limit. Turning our glance landward, we have looked across a continent
at its greatest width. All we have scanned, from sea to sea, is Canada.
The vast proportions of the Dominion, its varied features, its lakes
and rivers, mountains and plains, its sources of wealth and magnificent
scenery, are but little known to Englishmen. A country to be known must
be seen. It is not enough to examine a terrestrial globe or ponder over
maps and geographies in order to form an estimate of the character of
half a continent. They suggest but a faint idea of territorial extent.
You must traverse its different sections, and bestow time in examining
its fields and forests, its natural landscape, its cities and its
civilization.
There are few, indeed, who possess anything like an adequate conception
of the immense extent and resources of the Dominion. It is scarcely
possible even for Canadians themselves to conceive the wealth of
territory and the varied magnificence of scenery and the productive
capacity of the land, the destinies of which it is their privilege to
control.
During the past summer (1883), circumstances induced the writer to
visit England, to recross the Atlantic, and make a journey through the
whole extent of Canada to the Pacific coast. The railway took him to
the base of the Rocky Mountains. From thence he entered the passes, and
by pack-horse and on foot he followed the route proposed to be taken by
the Canadian Pacific Railway through British Columbia.
As is customary in such circumstances, the writer sent home, at
convenient opportunities, a diary of his daily progress. He is aware
that the notes of travel which have interest for a circle of intimate
friends, have often but slender claim to public attention. These notes,
however, give a sketch of the first continuous journey ever made,
indeed the only one yet attempted, through the whole longitudinal
extent of the Dominion by the route taken. From the interest which has
been attached to his notes of travel, the writer has been prevailed
upon to prepare them for publication, and, with the view of supplying
such information as the future traveller may desire, a few historical
notes have been included in the narrative.
Canada is certainly not within the actual geographical limits of the
Mother Land, yet it is no mere rhetorical phrase to say that this half
of the North American continent has become an integral part of the
Empire. Seventeen years ago, when the British North American Act of
1867, creating the Dominion, passed the Imperial Parliament, British
and Canadian statesmen laid the foundation of a great future for the
confederated provinces. From that date Canada has steadily, step by
step, done her part to realize all that was then foreshadowed of her
future. She undertook to establish a highway for commerce through her
forests, prairies and mountains, to connect the most distant Provinces.
In a short time the national highway will be opened from the Atlantic
to the Pacific, and Canada will become a recognized central commercial
link between England and Asia.
The writer ventures to think that the record of the journey he made,
will show how closely England and Canada are brought together by the
modern agencies of steam and electricity. Equally it will be obvious,
how easily the British subject in Canada may revivify old associations;
and how the denizen of the United Kingdom can, without discomfort,
visit the whole extent of the Dominion, to enjoy the varied scenery in
the many forms in which it is presented. The writer sincerely hopes
that what he ventures now to submit may be instrumental in leading
others to enjoy what proved to him a delightful summer tour by sea
and land. It is not without diffidence that he yields to the wish
expressed for the publication of his notes. He is desirous, however, of
establishing that such a journey as he has accomplished presents many
other points of attraction independent of the beauty of the scenery
and novelty of the associations. There is much to repay enquiry in the
examination of our system of government and of the institutions of the
several Provinces; in ethnological developments; and in geological and
kindred scientific researches. It will be found, too, that there is a
past history which gives attraction to many a scene, and in all that
constitutes and promotes the advance of nations there is presented much
of varied interest worthy of investigation.
The writer does not hide from himself the fact that, in describing
scenes and events, he may say much that is well known to many. He makes
no pretension to original research. His endeavour is simply to present
the notes of his journey side by side with some leading historical
facts, in a way which may admit of generalization and be useful to
the ordinary reader. Hence it is not impossible that the professional
_littérateur_ may, with a certain cynicism, consider that the following
pages contain much that is not worth the record.
The two voyages across the ocean and the journey over the continent
embraced a total distance travelled of about 14,000 miles, the eastern
and western portions of which began and ended at Halifax.
CHAPTER II.
_HALIFAX TO LIVERPOOL._
Halifax--Cunard Line--Intercolonial Railway--Truro--Travelling
by Pullman--New Brunswick--Miramichi--Great Fires in New
Brunswick--Salmon Fishing--Micmac Indians--Rimouski--S. S.
Parisian--The first Ocean Steamer the Royal William--Incidents
of Ocean Voyage--Arrival.
Halifax, selected for its excellence as a harbour in connection with
its geographical position, is well known throughout the world as one
of the most important stations for the British Navy. For upwards of a
century it has been pre-eminently the Admiralty port for the British
fleet in North Atlantic waters, and it was its superiority as a harbour
in all respects which determined the demolition of Louisburg in 1756.
It was held that no second naval arsenal was required in proximity to
Halifax, and consequently not one stone was left standing upon another
at Louisburg after its second capture. The enterprise of the city
has intimately connected its name with the history of the navigation
of the ocean. Ships of Nova Scotia may be seen on every sea, and it
is here that the centre has been, around which the commerce of the
Province revolved. It was in Halifax that the Cunard Steamship Company
took its origin, under the distinguished family who have so long
lived there: an organization which may well be considered one of the
most successful known. For nearly half a century the record of their
immense fleet shows that not a passenger has been lost or a letter
miscarried. The irreverent Frederick the Great was wont to say that
Providence was generally on the side of large armies. His own good
fortune in the field was owing, however, mainly to his supervision of
the simplest detail and attention to discipline. In a similar manner
the unprecedented success and the perfect organization of the Cunard
Company must be traced to the unwonted care and vigilance continually
observed in connection with the enterprise. The principle laid down by
Mr. Cunard was that nothing was to be left to chance; that the best of
all material and workmanship was to be obtained in the construction
of his steamers; that the crew were to be subjected to the strictest
discipline; and that no possible care or precaution, even in the
simplest detail, was to be omitted. The result of these efforts from
the initiation of the company is seen in the magnificent Cunard fleet:
a noble monument to the name it bears.
My connection with Halifax sprang from my relationship with the
Intercolonial Railway, the explorations of which I was appointed to
conduct in 1863, and of which I remained Chief Engineer until its
completion in 1876. My acquaintance with this locality consequently
extends back twenty years. I have formed there many warm friendships,
which I am happy to think I still retain, and scarcely a year goes by
without my passing some portion of the summer months at that delightful
suburb of Halifax known as the “Northwest Arm.”
In common with all who have been connected with Halifax, I must express
my humble view of the charm which the place possesses. Its scenery
of wood, hill and dale; its ample expanse of water in all forms; its
healthy climate and fresh air; its cool evening breezes in the heat
of summer; its pleasant drives and the varied features of its daily
life; all leave an impression not easily forgotten. But when to these
recognized advantages the social elements of Halifax are added, it is
held by common consent that there are few cities more attractive. And
when we remember the well-bred, travelled men, many of whom also highly
educated, to be met among the officers of the garrison and on board
the ships at the station, with their continuous efforts to return the
hospitalities of the citizens, we all must acknowledge that Halifax, in
its social aspects, possesses features and a charm peculiar to itself.
A line of steamers runs from Halifax to Liverpool, but I had taken
my passage by the steamer “Parisian,” of the Allan Line. The weekly
steamer of this line, as a rule, leaves her moorings in front of
Quebec at a fixed hour on the forenoon of Saturday. The traveller
ordinarily goes on board the tender an hour earlier. But a train
leaves Toronto, 480 miles west of Quebec, on the evening of Friday,
connecting at Montreal on Saturday morning with an express mail train
for Rimouski, a point on the St. Lawrence about 200 miles below Quebec.
By this means letters can be posted at Toronto, indeed at nearly all
the cities in Canada west of Quebec, to the last moment. This express
mail, which makes rapid time, reaches Rimouski late on Saturday night.
By it, passengers who have been unable to embark at Quebec may take
the steamer, as it always remains off Rimouski to receive the mail.
Travellers to Europe from the Maritime Provinces may also embark at
Rimouski by taking the regular train over the Intercolonial Railway
from St. John or Halifax. The latter is the route which I followed.
On the afternoon of the 15th June I said goodbye to my family at
the station at Halifax, and with my youngest daughter I started for
England. The day was bright and beautiful; indeed, although sea fogs
prevail at certain seasons of the year, I know no latitude where the
air is purer than it is in Nova Scotia, or where nature, during summer,
is more attractive. There were several of my friends on the train, and
when the sadness of parting passed away there was everything to make
the trip cheerful.
After leaving Halifax we have supper at Truro, a large, clean-looking
Nova Scotian town, situated on one of the heads of the Bay of Fundy.
Truro, however, was not always so clean and cheerful looking as it
is to-day. At one time it was conspicuous for its dark and dingy
appearance, and it has to thank the visit of the Prince of Wales,
nearly a quarter of a century back, for the change. The Prince had
landed at Halifax, and was expected to pass through Truro in a few
days. Meetings were held to devise means to do honour to the Royal
visitor. I think it was Mr. Hiram Hyde who said that “evergreen arches
would be out of place unless the town presented a clean face.” He moved
a resolution, which was unanimously adopted, that a schooner load of
lime lying in the bay should be secured, and every one be obliged to
turn out with whitewash brushes. In forty-eight hours Truro was so
metamorphosed as not to seem the same place, and so well satisfied were
the inhabitants that they have kept its face clean ever since.
To continue. We are at the Truro refreshment room. One never criticizes
railway meals too severely, at least those who are much accustomed to
travel. The golden rule on such occasions is to open your mouth, shut
your eyes, and take what is placed before you. If things are to your
liking, then you can “give them the painted flourish of your praise.”
Our route passes over the Cobequid Mountains, and at Amherst, on
another inlet of the Bay of Fundy, you may have further refreshments
at ten o’clock. Then comes the night’s rest in the Pullman. To the
denizens of this continent the Pullman is a necessity. In a country of
narrow geographical limit nothing is more pleasant than a few hours
in an ordinary first class English carriage. But we do not count our
trips by hours on the western continent. Often we do so by days.
Sitting up all night in one of the old carriages, which many yet from
circumstances are obliged to do, was one of the small miseries of life.
The want of rest, the cramped position, the foul air, the banging of
doors, frequently the crowd of passengers, had all to be endured; and
who of that date cannot remember the extreme discomfort to which the
traveller was compelled to submit as best he could. With a Pullman you
have comparative quiet, and with well-mannered and competent officials,
who keep the car heated only to an endurable temperature and properly
ventilated, you have all the auxiliaries of comfort. What dream is
there in the Arabian Nights equal to the realization of finding
yourself in a comfortable bed, with all the accessories of home,
travelling at the rate of forty miles an hour?
Soon after leaving Amherst we crossed the Missiquash, the river
which separates Nova Scotia from New Brunswick. It has some historic
import of which I will speak hereafter. Our course is now through New
Brunswick to the River Restigouche, on the north side of which lies
the Province of Quebec. The whole distance through the three Provinces
embraces a variety of scenes of great interest to me, as many years of
my life were passed in the construction of the Intercolonial Railway.
It was not until after the American Revolution that New Brunswick was
looked upon as a colony. Five thousand of the United Empire Loyalists
arrived at St. John in the British fleet in 1783, one hundred years
ago. It became a Province in 1786. No little of its history is in
connection with its terrible fires. That of Miramichi in 1825; of St.
John in 1837, when, in the heart of a rigorous winter, nearly the whole
business part of the city was destroyed; and again of St. John in 1877,
when, in the short space of nine hours, 200 acres of buildings were
levelled to the ground, and fully two-thirds of the entire city laid in
ashes. During the night the train passes through the scene of the first
disaster, which left some 6,000 square miles in a state of devastation.
The summer had been unusually hot and dry. On the first day of October,
1825, the inhabitants of the valley of the Miramichi were disturbed by
immense forest fires in the neighbourhood of the settlements. The smoke
with great heat continued for seven days, when the fire extended to the
settlements, defying all efforts to extinguish it, and sweeping away
all that lay before it. The town of Newcastle was consumed, as also
Douglastown with all the smaller outlying settlements. The devastation
continued along the northern side of the river for one hundred miles.
Hundreds of settlers and thousands of cattle were lost. The number of
wild animals which were burned was also very great. Even the salmon
perished in the smaller streams, owing to the intense heat. To this
date the trace of the fire is distinctly seen in the character of
the trees which have grown upon the burnt district. A gale increased
the violence of the fire, so that its fury was uncontrollable. In
many cases the inhabitants, not looking for such a calamity, were
suddenly awakened in their beds by the alarm of danger. A few minutes’
delay would have led to their destruction. Many were unable to save
themselves. Not a few owed their preservation to the fact that their
farms were near the river, in which they threw themselves, and escaped
by clinging to logs. The loss of life to those at a distance from the
river, where escape was impossible, must have been serious. Many of the
survivors were dreadfully mutilated, and in the distant settlements few
escaped to tell their dreadful experience.
In the morning we reached Campbellton, on the Restigouche, at the head
of the Bay Chaleur, and we have a royal breakfast of salmon fresh from
the nets. Some of our friends on the train are enthusiastic fishermen.
Col. Chalmers, recently from India, and the Rev. Mr. Townend, Garrison
Chaplain at Halifax, are among the number. They are bound for the
fishing pools on the Restigouche, and are in high spirits. They learn
here that the run of salmon up the river is unprecedentedly large, and
their excitement is intense. My sympathies are with them, for fishing
to me is a most pleasant recreation. If I am not a skillful, I am at
least a devout, disciple of Isaac Walton.
At the station I met some of my old Micmac Indian friends, some of whom
I have known for twenty years, and who accompanied me in my various
wanderings in the wilds of New Brunswick. I have a strong and kindly
feeling for these children of the forest. Personally I have found their
simplicity of character not the sham which many claim it to be. There
are exceptions, but, as a rule, in their relations to me, they have
proved honest and faithful. Although perfectly undemonstrative, they
never forget a kind act or word. Such is my experience, and I have had
much to do with Indians of nearly every tribe between the Atlantic and
the Pacific. It has been my invariable good fortune to come in contact
with those among them to whom I could at any time have trusted my life.
We shook hands all round. Breakfast, however, has only left time for a
few words. The train starts, and as it leaves the station I receive
from my dusky friends a hearty _bò jou! bò jou!_
We are still in New Brunswick, but in half an hour we cross the
Restigouche and enter the Province of Quebec near the Metapedia
station. Here our friends of the rod leave us with our best wishes for
their success. The Railway now follows the River Metapedia, and the run
up the valley is all we could wish. The day was fine; no morning could
be more bright. The curves in the track are frequent but unavoidable,
and how few who whirl over them ever think of the labour bestowed in
order to reduce them to a minimum! In the Metapedia many splendid
salmon pools are found. Mr. George Stephen, President of the Canadian
Pacific Railway Company, has the most pleasant of fishing boxes here,
pleasantly situated within sight of the passing train at Causapscal.
H. R. H. Princess Louise and Prince Leopold remained for some weeks
here three years ago. Mr. Stephen is himself a keen sportsman, and
never lets a season pass without spending a holiday at Causapscal. He
had arrived the day previous with a party of friends.
In the middle of the afternoon we reached Rimouski, where we left
the train and placed ourselves in the hands of Madame Lepage, who
keeps a comfortable _pension_ at this place. This landlady’s untiring
devotion to the comforts of her guests is on a par with the glow of
her sparkling black eyes. She is the mother of a large family, some
of whom are grown up, yet she retains all her youthful vivacity and
_naiveté_.
Rimouski is a large straggling French Canadian town, the last of
any importance in the Province of Quebec to the east, if we except
the thriving village of Matane. It is chiefly remarkable for its
ecclesiastical and educational institutions. There is another
peculiarity; the largeness of the family in many households. It is no
uncommon matter to find a family of from fifteen to twenty children.
Not long ago I heard of a case of a family of eighteen, and there was
a question of an orphan to be taken, for whose nurture nothing was to
be paid, its parents having died under circumstances of privation and
poverty. “Let it come and take its chance with our children,” said this
excellent French Canadian mother, and it was so resolved.
Travellers to Europe, like ourselves, have their letters and telegrams
directed to Rimouski in case of more or less last words being
necessary. I was very glad to find good news in those I received. I
went to the station to meet the train for the south. There I found more
fishermen bound for the Restigouche, New Yorkers, who now come yearly
to our waters, a class who do not fish for the pot, but are sportsmen.
Among them were Mr. Dean Sage and Mr. Worden, with a party of friends.
At 10 o’clock p.m., the mail train having arrived, we took the tender
for the steamer, which lay off in the stream. Sir Alex. Galt was on
the train, on his way back from Halifax, where he had taken part in
a public banquet given to his successor as High Commissioner for
Canada in London; Sir Charles Tupper. I was in hopes that he, too, was
starting for England, but to my disappointment he continued his journey
to Montreal.
We reach the wharf on the branch railway, where the tender is lying.
The arrangements are not quite perfect. The wharf itself is of unusual
length, but it only reaches shallow water at low tide. In consequence
the capacity of the tender is limited, and, although strongly built, it
rolls disagreeably in rough weather, to the discomfort of passengers
who are indifferent sailors.
We embarked on the “Parisian,” and at once found our way to the cabins
allotted to us. A friend had previously consoled us by saying that
they were the worst in the ship. They were directly under the scuppers
used for pouring the ashes overboard, the disagreeable noise of which
operation we were expecting to hear every hour in the night. We did
not, however, experience much inconvenience on this score, as for the
greater part of the voyage, our cabin was on the windward side, which
is never used at sea for the discharge of refuse.
The passenger list placed in our hands contained several familiar
names. There were Canadian Cabinet Ministers and Montreal merchants,
with their wives and families, and there were friends whom we expected
to meet, some of them we found in the saloon before retiring for the
night.
Trips by ocean steamers have much the same features, and, while
the changes and vicissitudes of fog, rain and fine weather are all
important in the little floating community, they have little concern
for the outer world. To sufferers from sea-sickness, an ocean trip is a
terror. Medical men say, in a general way, that the infliction should
be welcomed, for it brings health, but I have seen those prostrated by
it who have been so depressed that I can not but think that if this
theory be true the improvement to health will be dearly purchased by
the penalty. Such, however, are the exceptions. With most people one
or two days’ depression is generally the extent of the infliction.
Personally I cannot complain. Nature has made me an excellent sailor.
With no remarkable appetite, I have never missed a meal on board ship,
nor ever found the call to dinner unwelcome.
Our first morning commenced with fog, but it cleared away as we coasted
along the somewhat bold shore of Gaspé in smooth water. There is always
divine service on these vessels on Sunday. The Church of England form
is as a rule adhered to, which is read by the captain or doctor if no
clergyman be present. If a clergyman be found among the passengers he
is generally invited to conduct divine service, and any Protestant form
is admitted. On the present occasion the Rev. C. Hall, Presbyterian
minister of Brooklyn, N. Y., officiated. The service was simple and
appropriate, and the sermon admirable. The day turned out fine, and the
water so smooth that in the afternoon every passenger was on deck. Our
course being to the south of the Island of Newfoundland, we passed the
Magdalen Islands and the Bird Rocks, and we think of the vast number of
ships which have ploughed these waters on their way to and from Quebec
and Montreal. It is now fifty years since “The Royal William” steamed
homewards on the same course we are now following. Much interest begins
to centre in “The Royal William.” It is claimed that she was one of the
pioneers of steamers, if not the very first steamer which crossed the
Atlantic under steam the whole distance. She was built in Canada. She
left Quebec on the 18th August, 1833, coaled at Pictou, in Nova Scotia,
and arrived at Gravesend on the 11th September. She did not return to
Canada, as she was sold by her owners to the Spanish Government. Her
model is preserved by the Historical Society of Quebec. Some of these
particulars I had from the lips of one of the officers of “The Royal
William,” who died a quarter of a century ago.
There is but one counter claim to the distinction. A ship named the
“Savannah” crossed the Atlantic from the port of that name in the
Southern United States to Liverpool in 1819. She had machinery for
propulsion of a somewhat rude description, which seemed to be attached
as an auxiliary power to be used when the wind failed. There is nothing
to show that it was continuously employed. I have recently heard from
a friend in Savannah on the subject, and I quote from his letter: “She
was 18 days on the voyage. She resembled very much in mould an old
United States war frigate. The hull was surmounted with a stack and
three masts--fore, main and mizzen--and was provided with side wheels
of a primitive pattern, left wholly exposed to view, and so arranged
that they could at any time be unshipped and the vessel navigated by
sails only.”
On Monday before 2 a.m. we pass out of the Gulf by the Strait of St.
Paul into the open Atlantic, and still the water continues perfectly
smooth. There is a slight fog, which passes away, and we behold nothing
but the world of waters around us. The moon appears, and we have an
evening on deck long to be remembered. Everything stands out clear and
distinct, but the shadows are dark and heavy. The moon casts its line
of rippling light across the waves, and the ship glides onward, almost
weird-like in its motion.
One of the pleasures, as well as penalties, of travelling is to be
asked to make one at whist. It is a pleasure to take part in a single
rubber if played without stakes, but to one indifferent to cards, who
does not want to win his friend’s money or lose his own, to join such a
party is often no little of a sacrifice. Your reply when asked to play
may take the conventional form, “With pleasure,” and in a way you feel
pleasure, for you like to oblige people you care for, and you may be
in an extra genial mood; but how often I have wished some other victim
could have been found at such times. On this occasion I left the deck
when I would have willingly remained, and took my seat at the card
table.
The fog returned, and the ship went at half speed for the night. When
next day came there was no fog, but there was some little rocking,
which, to me, during the previous night, was but a pleasant incentive
to sleep, for I did not once hear the fog whistle in its periodic
roar--no pleasant sound--nor was I sensible of the dreaded rattling of
the ashes emptied overboard, a nightly and unavoidable duty, and by no
means a musical lullaby.
I find that several ladies are absent from breakfast this morning. A
breeze springs up; a sail is hoisted; and occasionally we have fog, and
now and then a cold blast, with alternations of damp and moist air.
Such is the general experience in crossing the Banks. As one passenger
remarked, “It is hungry weather.” The breakfast in most cases had been
sparing, an enforced necessity in some instances, but the general
feeling is one of being ravenous for lunch. The day passes pleasantly,
possibly idly, and in the evening the whist table has its votaries. We
leave the fog behind us, but the next day is cloudy. There is a light
wind, and the sea is a little disturbed. Most of the passengers keep
the deck. We fancy we see a whale. There is too much cloud for the
moon to penetrate, so the passengers generally leave the deck to enjoy
themselves quietly in the saloon. We have a bright midsummer day this
21st June after a glorious morning, and we advance eastward with all
sail set. The spirits of all on board seem to rise, the sky is so blue,
and the sea so bright. There is but slight motion, with which, most of
the passengers are becoming familiar.
We are now half way across. We begin to calculate when we shall arrive,
and what trains we shall take at Liverpool. I have many times crossed
the Atlantic, but I never could understand the restlessness with
which so many look for the termination of the voyage. If there were
some urgent necessity for immediate action on the part of those who
are travelling this impatience could be accounted for. The majority,
however, are tourists for pleasure or for health, and, as for business
or professional men, I never could see how a few hours one way or the
other could influence their operations. To some the voyage is simply
imprisonment; the condition of being at sea is a penalty they pay at
the sacrifice of health and comfort. These are the exceptions. There
are a large number who feel as I do, and for my part, while it would be
affectation to profess to be fond of storm and tempest, a sea voyage
in ordinary fine weather is one of the most pleasurable experiences of
my life. I have good digestion and good spirits, and I am satisfied
with the pleasant change from a life on shore. I can generally read,
and I can always remain on deck, and I always have a certain feeling
of regret when I think that the voyage is soon coming to an end. We
are all well cared for, we form pleasant associations, and anyone who
can study human nature finds no little opportunity for doing so on
shipboard.
Our library, it is true, is somewhat limited, but it has a few good
books. I was somewhat struck on reading during this voyage almost
the last words of the celebrated Mary Somerville, who, after a most
distinguished career in science, died eleven years ago at Naples. These
words appear more striking to me when read on board ship. “The blue
peter has long been flying at my foremast, and, now that I am in my
92nd year, I may soon expect the signal for sailing.”
We discuss our progress on all occasions. There is a general
thankfulness as we advance. Towards evening the motion of the ship has
increased, but we can all walk the deck. On the following day we put
on more canvas, for the breeze has increased and is more favorable,
and our progress is much greater. There is now considerable motion,
but we have all got familiar with it, and, as sailors say, we have our
sea-legs. The wind is at north-west; the day clear and bright, with a
warm-looking sky, speckled with fleecy clouds. The decks are dry. We
appear to be achieving wonders in speed, and we are entering into all
sorts of calculations as to what extent we shall make up the seven
hours’ detention by fog on the Banks of Newfoundland. Our run yesterday
was 342 miles in 23½ hours. Reckoning by observed time, we lose half an
hour daily by the advance made easterly. During the afternoon we have
a fair breeze, with all sail set, followed by the same pleasant and
agreeable evening. The passengers talk of leaving with much readiness.
Well is it said that much of the pleasure of life is retrospective. “We
are approaching land” is now the cry, and we commence early the next
morning calculating when we shall reach Moville. Saturday afternoon
is delightful. Bright gleams of sunshine appear in the intervals of
occasional showers. In the evening there is a concert with readings
from eight to ten. The collection is for the “Sailors’ Orphanage” at
Liverpool. On account of the concert our lights are allowed to burn
until midnight, and many of us remain on deck nearly to that hour. The
moon is three-quarters full; we have all sail set, and we can see the
reflected light of the sun in the northern sky at midnight. To me
there is a strange fascination in a scene of this character, with all
its accompaniments. There is a movement in the sea and a freshness in
the air which give a tingle to the blood, and we seem to walk up and
down the deck with an elasticity we cannot explain to ourselves.
Next morning was Sunday. I was on deck half an hour before breakfast.
The land on the west coast of Ireland was in sight. The morning was
most fair, and it seemed to give additional zest to the excitement
produced by the approaching termination of the voyage. We learn that
we shall be at Moville at 2 o’clock. We have again divine worship. A
Methodist minister read the Church of England service and delivered an
admirable sermon. We reach Moville, and find we have been seven days
and ten hours making the run from Rimouski. I took the opportunity
here to send a cablegram home; it consisted of one word, but that word
contained a page of family meaning.
We passed the Giant’s Causeway, at which the passengers intently
looked. We could also see Islay and the Mull of Kintyre.
In the evening we have a second service. Our eloquent friend from
Brooklyn satisfied us so well the previous Sunday that we begged of him
to give us another sermon. He complied with our wishes, and with equal
success.
It is our last night on board; to-morrow we are to separate. Many
of us on this voyage have met for the first time, and in all human
probability few of us will again come side by side. There is always
a feeling of sadness in thinking you do something for the last time.
I can fancy even a convict leaving his cell where he has passed some
years pausing upon the threshold while a rush of the old recollections,
the long, sad hours cheered by gleams of hope, crowd upon him, when he
will feel some strange sentiment of regret that it is the last time he
looks upon the place. The feeling may last but a second, but it is an
impulse of our nature which is uncontrollable.
On board ship, with a certainty of gaining port to-morrow, the last
hours are passed in packing up and preparing to leave, and a feeling of
regret creeps in that now so many pleasant associations are to end, and
in spite of yourself some of the good qualities of those who are set
down as disagreeable people come to the surface in your memory. Some
few friendships are formed at sea which are perpetuated, but generally
the pleasantest of our relations terminate with the voyage. It is too
often the case, as in the voyage of life, that those we have learned to
esteem are seen no more.
We had to lose no time in order to pass the troublesome bar at the
mouth of Liverpool harbour. With vessels of the draught of the American
steamers it can only be crossed at high water. The officers generally
calculate what can be done from the hour they leave Moville, and
regulate their speed accordingly, so as to approach it at the right
moment.
No one knows better than the occupants of the cabin corresponding with
our own on the opposite side of the vessel that a great many tons of
ashes have been thrown overboard during the voyage: we all know that
a large volume of smoke has passed out of the funnel, a proof of the
great weight of fuel which has been expended in keeping the screw
revolving. The draught of the ship is consequently considerably less
than when we left the St. Lawrence.
There is now no fog; the weather is fine; there is everything to
encourage the attempt to run in, and it proves successful. On this
occasion, had we been twenty minutes later, we should have had to
remain outside until another tide. The lights of Galloway and the
Isle of Man were passed before the most of us retired last night. We
all awoke early; at a quarter to five we had crossed the bar; the
“Parisian” was in the Mersey; the tender came alongside the ship, and
very soon afterwards I stood again on English ground.
CHAPTER III.
_ENGLAND._
Willie Gordon--Custom House Annoyances--Cable Telegram--Post
Office Annoyances--London--Spurgeon’s Tabernacle--An Ancestral
Home--English and United States Hotels--English Reserve--A
Railway Accident--The Land’s End--A Deaf Guest.
As I stood on the landing stage at Liverpool awaiting patiently and
with resignation for the Customs officers to allow the removal of our
luggage, a host of recollections ran through my mind. My thoughts went
back twenty years to another occasion when I landed from an ocean
steamer at an hour equally early. My memory has been aided by one of
those works which appear so frequently from the New York press, so
fertile in this species of encyclopædiac literature, endeavouring to
embrace in a few pages the truths learned only by a life’s experience.
The small volume tells you what not to do, and it sententiously sets
forth its philosophy in a series of paragraphs. There are ninety-five
pages of this philanthropic effort, with about four hundred negative
injunctions. The title of the book is “Don’t.” The injunction that
struck my eye most forcibly may be taken as no bad type of the teaching
of the book. It runs, “Don’t” is the first word of every sentence.
“Don’t go with your boots unpolished, but don’t have the polishing done
in the public highways.” These words met my eye as I was engaged in
these pages, and they brought back the feelings which passed through my
mind on the morning I left the “Parisian.”
My thoughts reverted to my visit to the Mother Country after eighteen
years’ absence; the first made by me since I left home in 1845. I was
a passenger on the “United Kingdom,” due at Glasgow. She had passed
up the Clyde during the night, and arrived opposite the Broomielaw in
the early morning. The night previous the passengers were in the best
of humour, and the stewards had been kept up late attending to us. We
were all in high spirits, and without exception delighted at returning
to Scotland. I was particularly impatient to get ashore, to touch the
sacred ground of my native land. I arose that morning one of the first
of the passengers, before the stewards were visible. The ship was
in the stream off the Broomielaw. A boat came to the side. I jumped
into her and went ashore. I strolled along the quay. My foot was not
literally on “my native heath,” but I enjoyed intensely the pleasure we
all feel in revisiting our native shores, and in being near the scenes
from which we have been long absent. Everything seemed so fresh and
charming. I had no definite purpose in my wandering, but I was at home;
it was Scotland. In my semi-reverie I was interrupted by a young voice
in the purest Clydesdale Doric saying “hae yer butes brushed?” I looked
down mechanically at my feet, and found that the cabin bootblack of our
vessel had neglected this duty, probably owing to the irregular hours
of the last night on board. Moreover, it was the first word addressed
to myself, and I should have felt bound to accept the offer if it had
been unnecessary in the fullest sense. I commenced conversation with
the boy. He was very young. I summoned to my aid my best Scotch for the
occasion. His name was Willie Gordon, and he told me his widowed mother
was a washerwoman, that he had a number of brothers and sisters younger
than himself, that his earnings amounted to about half a crown a week,
and that between him and his mother they managed to earn ten shillings
in that time. “And how do you live, Willie?” “Reel weel,” replied the
boy, with the cheeriest of voices. “And now, Willie,” I said, when
I had paid him his fee, “it is many years since I have been here. I
want to see the places of greatest interest in Glasgow.” “Ou, sir,”
he promptly said, “ye shuld gang ta see Corbett’s eatin hoose.” “Do
you know the way there?” I asked. “Fine, sir. I ken the way vary weel.
I’ll gang wi ye tae the door,” and his face looked even happier than
before. I accepted his guidance, and, if my recollection is correct,
the place was in Jamaica street. The boy walked by my side carrying his
brushes and box, and chatted gaily of himself and his life. Apparently
no prince could be happier. We reached the renowned establishment he
had named. It was a species of home which a benevolent citizen had
instituted, on the same principle on which the coffee taverns are now
established: to furnish an early hot cup of tea or coffee to men going
to work, to offer some other refreshment than whiskey and beer, to give
a meal at cost price with all the comfort possible with cleanliness
good cheer and airy rooms, warm in winter. After some hesitation, and
persuasion on my part, Willie shyly entered with me. The _menu_ was on
the wall. Porridge and milk one penny, large cup of coffee one penny,
bread and butter, thick, one penny, eggs and toast one penny, &c.,
&c.; everything, one penny. I cannot say that I give a precise account
of what appeared, but it was essentially as I describe it. We were a
little early even for that establishment, so Willie and I sat down.
The buxom matron gave us some account of the place and its doings. The
Duke of Argyle had dined with her a few days before. She told us the
establishment was well patronized and prosperous. The time soon came
for our order, for we were the first to be served. I set forth what I
required for myself, and that was no light breakfast, as I had a sea
appetite, sharpened by the early morning walk. I directed the attendant
to bring the same order in double proportions for the boy, so that we
had a splendid _déjeuner_. My little companion was in ecstasies. Never
was hospitality bestowed on a more grateful recipient. He would not
leave me, and he seemed bound to make a morning of it, and from time to
time graciously volunteered, “I’ll tak ye ony gait, Sir.” His customers
were forgotten, but I trust he did not suffer from his devotion to
me, for I did my best to remedy his neglect of professional duty. He
followed me from place to place, carrying the implements of his day’s
work, and he seemed anxious to do something for the trifling kindness I
had shown him and the few pence I had paid for his breakfast. But I was
more than compensated by the pleasure I myself received. I listened to
all he said with fresh interest, for he was open, earnest, honest and
simple-minded. He was deeply attached to his mother, and was evidently
proud to be able to add to her slender earnings, which were just enough
to keep her and her family from want. He certainly seemed determined
to do all in his power to make her comfortable. He never lost sight of
me till I left by the eleven o’clock train, and my last remembrance,
on my departure from Glasgow on that occasion as the train moved out,
was seeing Willie waving his brushes and boot-box enthusiastically in
the air. I often wonder what Willie’s fate is. He appeared to me to be
of the material to succeed in life. In Canada he certainly would have
worked his way up. I never heard of him again, but I certainly shall
not be greatly astonished to hear of Sir William Gordon, distinguished
Lord Provost of Glasgow.
One of the nuisances of travelling throughout the world is the ordeal
of passing the Custom House. Frequently the traveller from Canada
thinks the infliction at Liverpool is pushed a little further than is
requisite. What can we smuggle from Canada? I know quite well that
there is generally a very loose conscience as to the contents of a
lady’s trunk, considered under the aspect of its fiscal obligations,
but surely some form of declaration might be drawn up by means of which
honourable men and women would be spared this grievous and irritating
delay. Apart from the delay, it is no agreeable matter to open out your
carefully packed portmanteau. To ladies it is particularly offensive to
have their dresses turned over and the contents of their trunks handled
by strangers. Canadians, while crossing their own frontier, find the
Custom House officers of the United States, as a rule, particularly
courteous, and, on giving a straightforward declaration that they have
nothing dutiable, they are generally allowed to pass at once. Liverpool
may not be alone in strictly exacting all that the law allows, but is
this course at all necessary or wise? It cannot increase the revenue,
for the additional expense of collection must more than absorb the
trifling receipts. And one is not kindly impressed with this reception,
especially when we feel that it is totally unnecessary. We cross the
ocean from Canada with peculiar feelings of pride and sentiment to
visit our Mother Land, and it is somewhat of a severe wrench to be
treated as foreigners by the Customs authorities on our arrival; I will
not say uncivilly or wrongfully, but as if we were adventurers going
to England on some plundering tour. It is certainly no petty annoyance
to Canadians, when they make their entry into a land they are taught
to call “home,” to have their sense of common honesty thus challenged
at the threshold. Anything which is brought from Canada can only be
some trifling present, such as Indian work, to some relative in the Old
Country; and if, possibly, a few pounds be lost to the exchequer, it is
made up a thousandfold by the good will arising from being courteously
treated on the first landing on English soil. Would it not suffice if
every ordinary passenger were required to make a declaration in some
such form as the following?: “I am a Canadian subject. I declare upon
my honour that my baggage contains nothing whatever for sale. I have
with me my personal effects for my own use only.” Or it may be added,
“I have a few gifts for old friends, of little or no commercial value.”
Perhaps some British statesman might not think these suggestions
beneath his notice. Let him send a competent agent to examine and
report upon this subject. He will probably discover that the whole
nuisance can be swept away without inflicting the slightest injury
on the national exchequer. It would form no discreditable sentence
in a statesman’s epitaph to read that “he did away with the needless
and offensive restrictions imposed on British subjects from the outer
empire visiting the Imperial centre.”
Having at last passed the Custom House, I drove to Rock Ferry, one
of the most pleasant suburbs of Liverpool, to visit a family I was
acquainted with, and with them I passed a most enjoyable day. The
greeting I received was most cordial and gratifying. In the afternoon I
started for London, leaving my daughter behind me, and I found myself
once more whirling through the green meadows and cultivated fields
of England. I was alone, but I did not feel solitary. How charming
everything looked! The air was fresh with passing showers, and the
rain played for some quarter of an hour on the landscape only to make
it look fresher and fairer, and, when the sun came out, more full of
poetry. Why, we are at Harrow-on-the-Hill! Has time gone so quickly?
There is so much to think about, so many fresh scenes to gaze upon, and
so many events seem to crowd into the hours that the traveller, in his
bewilderment, loses count of time.
I am again in London, at Batt’s hotel, Dover street, and I walk to the
Empire Club to learn if there are any letters for me. I am disappointed
to find there is no cablegram. I despatched one from Moville, and one
word in reply would have told me if all was well. I recollect well the
depression I experienced at the time at not receiving news. It was an
inexplicable feeling; not exactly one of impatience or disappointment,
but rather of keen anxiety. “Why should there be silence,” I murmur,
when everything points to the necessity for a reply.
Next day my business took me to the city, and I returned as rapidly
as I could. In the afternoon, to relieve my suspense, I went to the
Geological Society’s rooms, and mechanically looked over the books
and specimens. I wandered into the rooms of the Royal Society, and
found before me the well known features of Mary Somerville as they
are preserved in her bust. I then strolled into the parks and down to
the Club, and still no cablegram. These facts are of no interest to
any but the writer, but possibly they may suggest, not simply to the
transmitter of telegrams but to the officials who pass them through
their hands, how much often depends upon their care and attention,
and that there is something more required than simply receiving
and recording a message. There is the duty of seeing to its proper
delivery, and it was precisely on this ground that my trouble took its
root.
I was three days in London when I received a telegram from Mr. George
Stephen, President of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, stating
that he was desirous that I should proceed to British Columbia as soon
as possible. It was my acceptance of this proposition which has led
to the production of these pages, but at that hour I felt that Mr.
Stephen’s communication only increased my bewilderment. My telegraphic
address was properly registered at the General Post Office in London,
and it had been used over and over again during my annual visits to
England. The cablegram I had just received bore the registered address,
and yet I had received no message from my family in Halifax. I have
often sent cablegrams, and never more than twenty-four hours elapsed
before receiving a reply. Consequently I again telegraphed, plainly
stating my anxiety, and then wandered out to call on some friends.
Later in the evening I at last found an answer, and, in order that it
might not again miscarry, the sender put on my address five additional
words, held as quite unnecessary, at two shillings each, making ten
shillings extra to pay. On my return to Canada I learned that no less
than three cablegrams had been sent to me, each one of which remains
to this day undelivered. Two of the despatches were sent before,
one subsequently to, the message last mentioned. All were properly
addressed. I felt it a public duty to write to the Secretary of the
Post Office Department in London, but no satisfactory explanation has
yet been given. Life is a mass of trifles, as a rule. The exceptions
are our griefs and our sufferings, our triumphs and joys; the latter,
as a French writer says, “counting by minutes, the former by epochs.”
I passed three particularly unpleasant days during this period, my own
personal affair, of course, and one in which the world may seem to have
no interest. But the public has really a deep interest in having a more
perfect system of Atlantic telegraphy than we now possess, and the
facts I have described, have their moral. At least it is to be hoped
that the authorities may remember that anyone separated by the ocean
from his correspondents is not content that telegrams should be delayed
for days, and still less content not to have them delivered at all.
I was a month in England, chiefly in London, remaining until the 26th
of July. I must say that when in London I often thought of, although
I can not fully endorse, the words of that enthusiastic Londoner who
held that it was the “best place in the world for nine months in the
year, and he did not know a better for the other three.” In London you
can gratify nearly every taste, and although it always takes money
to secure the necessaries and luxuries of life, especially in great
cities, still, if one can content himself with living modestly, it
does not require a wonderfully large income to enjoy the legitimate
excitements and amusements of London. In this respect it is a marked
contrast to New York, where, generally speaking, a large income must be
at your command for even a moderate degree of respectable comfort.
In London, to those who cannot afford a carriage, there is a cab, and
those who have no such aspirations as a “hansom” can take the omnibus.
It is not necessary to go to the orchestra stalls to see a performance,
nor are you obliged to pay six guineas per week for your lodgings or
one pound for your dinner. The reading room of the British Museum is
open to every respectable, well-ordered person. You can look at some of
the best pictures in the world for nothing, and, if you are a student
of history and literature, there are localities within the ancient
boundaries of the city which you cannot regard without emotion. You
have two of the noblest cathedrals in the world; Westminster Abbey,
with its six centuries of history, and with its tombs and monuments,
setting forth tangibly the evidences of the past national life. Then
you have Wren’s classical masterpiece St. Paul’s, one of the most
perfect and commanding edifices ever erected anywhere. Its interior has
never been completed. Will it ever be so? Yet, as Wren’s epitaph tells
us, if you wish to see his monument “look around you.”
Again, in London, by way of recreation, you have public parks,
river-side resorts, and by the river itself and underground railway you
can easily reach many pleasant haunts about the suburbs. Indeed, by
the aid of the steamboat or rail you can take the most charming outings
any person can desire to have. London may be said to be inexhaustible.
As one of the directors of the Hudson Bay Company I had often to
visit the city, and some very pleasant relationships grew out of my
attendance at the various board meetings. I was constantly meeting
Canadians, and certainly we hold together in a peculiar way when away
from the Dominion. It is a strong link we are all bound by, and yet we
would find it hard to explain why. Even men who are not particularly
civil to one another in Canada will cross each other’s path with
pleasure when from home, and intimacies never anticipated are formed,
and associations entered upon once thought impossible.
One of my visits was to Spurgeon’s Tabernacle. The name is familiar to
everyone, and as I had been many times in London without hearing this
celebrated preacher, I was anxious not to return to Canada without
making the attempt. I was told to be in good time, and, acting on the
suggestion, I obtained a good seat, and formed, I should suppose, one
of four thousand people. Just in front of me, strange to say, I beheld
a familiar form, which I recollected last to have seen at Queen’s
College convocation, Kingston: the Premier of Ontario! Mr. Oliver Mowat
was the gentleman who was seated two pews in front of me. He was the
last person I expected to meet in such a place, as I did not even
know he was in England. He was the only one in that vast assemblage I
recognized. Spurgeon is, undoubtedly, worthy of his great reputation,
and on this particular Sunday his sermon was forcible, marked by
rare good sense, and perfectly adapted to his auditory. I felt fully
rewarded for my effort to be present. When the service was over I had
a few words with Mr. Mowat, but our interview was but short, for I had
an engagement, and it was necessary for me to hurry to the Waterloo
Station to take the train for Guildford, in order to reach ---- Park,
in its neighbourhood.
This was a most agreeable visit to me. I do not think there is any
country but England where scenes and associations are known such as I
there witnessed. At the station a carriage met us, for I found myself
in company with a gentleman going to the same hospitable mansion. He
was an Irish M. P. On our entering the grounds we passed amidst grand
old elms, along a noble avenue, and through walks beautiful with roses,
ivy and laurel. My welcome was most courteous and graceful. There were
several guests, but it was my privilege to sleep in the haunted room.
The walls were hung with tapestry; the floor was of oak; the fireplace
was a huge structure of sculptured stone from floor to ceiling. No
ghost disturbed my slumbers, and, in the words of Macbeth, “I slept in
spite of thunder.” I awoke at dawn, and drew back the heavy curtains
to admit the light. It was about sunrise. Shall I ever forget that
magnificent view from the old windows, with their quaint transoms and
quarterings, and circular heads! the sight of those fine old trees,
stately beeches, tall ancient elms, venerable blue beech, and many a
noble oak of from two to three centuries’ growth! It was one of those
old ancestral domains, with glades, avenues and forest, which seem to
take you out of the present world and back in thought to one altogether
different, in many of its conditions, from the life of to-day. The
most carefully developed homestead of old Boston, or one of the finest
mansions on the Hudson, with the outline of mountain scenery, and its
associate stream; any one of the well built halls south of the Potomac,
elaborated with all the wealth of the planter; or even one of our
own palatial Canadian residences; all appear a thing of yesterday as
compared with that stately edifice, with its delightful lawns, walks
and avenues, which bear the ancient impress of their date and of their
early greatness. No doubt these paths were trod by men in the troublous
times of Henry VIII. and his three children, men who then may have
debated mooted points of history in this very neighbourhood. There
is a tradition also that the virgin Queen has looked upon this same
landscape “in maiden meditation fancy free.”
The morning was peculiarly fine, and as I opened the window to admit
the pure, fresh air I really breathed again to enjoy it, and inhale the
perfume of foliage and of the garden flowers; flowers whose ancestors
may have traced three centuries of life, at least the early known
plants indigenous to English soil; while those of foreign origin could
boast of sires, perhaps, the first of their genus brought from the
Continent. The air was vocal with music; the trees seemed peopled with
scores of blackbirds and mavis, and there was many a proverbial “early
bird” busy with the yet earlier worm, who had gained so little by his
rising. All nature seemed teeming with life and gladness. I can only
here acknowledge the courtesy I received from my host and hostess. The
hours passed away unclouded by the slightest shadow, and I know no more
pleasant memory than that of my visit to this English ancestral home.
I was highly pleased, on my return to Batt’s Hotel, to receive
intimation that my daughter was shortly to join me in London. There is
a certain solitude in a London hotel, which is much the opposite of
the continental life, and entirely distinct from the _table d’hote_
system of this continent. In England the desire is to secure extreme
quiet and privacy, while on this side of the Atlantic every auxiliary
is provided for publicity and freedom of movement. This is especially
the case in the United States. In Canada it may be said that a middle
course is taken. In many large hotels on this continent, in addition
to the drawing and breakfast rooms, parlours and halls and writing
and news rooms are open, where papers are furnished and sold, seats
at the theatre obtained, telegrams sent, books, especially cheap
editions of novels, purchased, with photographs of the professional
beauties, leading politicians and other celebrated people. All of
these places are marked by busy, bustling life. The dining room, from
its opening in the morning till a late hour at night, is one scene
of animation, be the meal what it may. Some of the _beau sexe_ even
visit the breakfast room with elaborate toilets, and many a pair of
earrings glitter in the sun’s early rays. A walk up and down the
wide passage or hall at any hour is proper and regular, and it is
stated that it is often the only exercise indulged in by many living
in the great hotels of the United States, the street car furnishing
the invariable means of locomotion. In the large cities the hotels
are situated, as a rule, on the main streets. There are always rooms
where one may from the windows look upon the crowds passing and
repassing. Thus a drama of ever-changing life can be comfortably
witnessed from an armchair placed at the right point of observation.
There is no such thing as loneliness. Almost everyone is ready, more
than ready, to converse with you. If you yourself are courteous and
civil you will probably find those around you equally so, whether
they be guests or belong to the establishment. With a little tact
and judgment you can always obtain useful information. My experience
likewise is that the information is invariably correct: for there
never seems to be any hesitation in a negative reply when those you
address are not acquainted with the particular point of inquiry. The
gentleman who presides over the cigars, the controller of the papers
and the photographs and the official of the bar, an important field
of action in a high class hotel, each and all make it a point of
duty impressively to patronize your local ignorance when you ask for
information. In an English hotel the general rule is for no one person
to speak to another. If you do venture on the proceeding, Heaven only
knows what reply you may receive. In the class divisions of the Mother
Country there may be social danger in not observing the lines defined
by etiquette. There are always men of good address and appearance who
are not unknown to the police, and whose photographs may be destined
at no distant period to figure in the Rogues’ Gallery. But such men
are to be found in all countries. Whatever necessity there may be for
prudence and circumspection, it has struck me that there is really no
ground for that absolute uncompromising offensiveness of manner which
often well-meaning men in England feel bound to show to any person
who addresses them, as the joke goes, “to whom they have not been
introduced.”
If you are quite alone very little experience in the English hotel is
enough to throw you back on yourself, and to depress even a gay and
blithsome nature. You walk with a listless air through the corridors,
you take your meals with a sort of mechanical impassiveness which you
cannot help feeling, and you seem to drop into the crowd of reserved,
self-contained individuals, who act as if they thought that courtesy
to a stranger was a national crime. I do not speak of the clubs,
where, if you are a member, you can always meet some acquaintance.
But comparatively few Canadians visit England who are club men. I
know no solitude so dreary, nor any atmosphere so wearying, as that
of the London hotel in a first class lateral street when you have
nobody to speak to, where you can see scarcely a living soul out of the
window, where the only noise is the distant rumble of vehicles in the
neighbouring thoroughfare, and where, when you are tired with reading
or writing, you have no recourse but to put on your hat and sally out
into the street.
A circumstance crosses my mind as I am writing which gives some
insight into English life and character. It happened to a friend, now
no more, with whom I had crossed the Atlantic. He was travelling
from Liverpool to London, and took his place in the railway carriage,
sitting on the back middle seat, while opposite in the corner seats
were two gentlemen, each with a newspaper. The train had been an hour
on its journey, but the silence was unbroken. At last my friend spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am L---- D----. I have come from ----”, and
he named a city in the Dominion. “I have been a merchant for fifty
years, and now I am living in ease. I am eighty-three years of age,
and, like the large majority of Canadians, I have two eyes and one
tongue, and, like a great many of my countrymen, I feel a pleasure in
using them. My eyes feel the period of time they have done me service.
I cannot read from the motion, but I can take part in a conversation.
My business in Britain is to see my daughters. One is married to an
officer quartered at the Royal barracks in Dublin. I am just returning
from a visit to her, and I am on my way to see my second daughter,
whose husband is stationed at Woolwich. Having now introduced myself, I
trust, gentlemen, you will not look upon me as a pickpocket or anything
of that sort.” One of the gentlemen carefully drew out his card-case
and gave his card. This example was followed by his opposite neighbour.
“What, gentlemen,” my friend said, looking at the cards through his
spectacles, which he deliberately put on, “you do not seem to know
one another; let me introduce you.” At the same moment he crossed
his arms and presented the card of the one to the other. The curtest
and least definable bow was given. One query followed another, and
my friend had a great deal to say and much to enquire about. He had
occupied the highest position in the city he came from, and had mixed
a good deal with the men of his world. The three or four hours which
followed were most pleasing to the trio. My friend’s fellow travellers
were county men, and he was cordially invited to spend a week with each
of them. The invitations were accepted, the acquaintance renewed, he
met with the most cordial English welcome, and the visits proved to be
particularly agreeable to all parties.
In my experience, and in that of others who come under the name of
Canadians, whose fortunes now lie in the Dominion, whatever our place
of birth, all that the Englishman wants to know regarding us is that
we are Canadians; in other words, that we are not dubious members of
an uncertain phase of English society. We then at once receive the
most genial courtesy and kindness; real, true, honest, hospitable
kindness. I reason from this that we must be outside the circle in
which this frigid intercourse is observed as a protection. We are in
England for a brief time; then we pass from the scene, and there is
no fear entertained on the part of our English neighbours of forming
an unpleasant and unprofitable, that is scarcely the word, an
embarrassing, relationship. I have heard the explanation given for this
peculiarity that its very defects spring from the loyalty of character
which marks the high-bred Englishman. The theory is that, if he knows
you once, he is always to know you. He wishes to run no risk of being
placed in a false position, and hence avoids any intercourse which,
although in a way agreeable to him, he will not accept at the cost of
his own self-respect. And there are men who in no way incur blame for
want of courtesy in a railway carriage, but they will pass their fellow
traveller after a week’s interval as if they had never seen him. It
may be urged that those who live in the state of society which obtains
in England are the best able to understand its conditions and the
wisdom of its laws. It is quite possible that this mode of treatment
of a stranger may be commended by experience. There are many examples
where the opposite course has led to trouble, but prudence and good
sense would surely avoid annoyance, and they are requisite under all
circumstances. But is it not also advisable to avoid the extraordinary
discourtesy with which sometimes a remark from a stranger is received,
as if it were designed to serve some deliberate scheme of wrong, or to
lead up to some act of swindling and imposture. Surely we may always be
able to detect any attempt of this kind and protect ourselves; and in
all conditions of life good manners cost little and entail no risk.
In one of my excursions from London I was travelling by the Great
Western Railway. A lady and gentleman were in the same compartment.
I made the third. Shortly after leaving Paddington the lady suffered
from a spark in her eye, certainly a most painful annoyance. Her fellow
passenger appeared much troubled and as much bewildered. Neither seemed
to know what to do, and the lady did not conceal how much she suffered.
I ventured to address the gentleman, and said, as was the case, that
I had frequently experienced this unfortunate accident, and that if
the eye was kept moist the pain would be lessened. He barely answered
me. The lady continued in pain. The train stopped for three minutes
at Swindon. I took my flask, made a rush to the refreshment room,
carefully washed the cup, filled it with water, and brought it to the
carriage. I offered it, I believe with ordinary good manners, to the
gentleman, and suggested that a handkerchief moistened with cold water
should be applied to the eye. My offer was curtly declined! There was
nothing more to be done. I threw the water out of the window, replaced
my flask in my travelling bag, and turned to my book. I did not forget
the incident during my trip, nor, indeed, have I ever done so.
I continued on my journey, and proceeded to visit some friends in the
West of England, after which I found my way to the Land’s End, which
I felt a great desire to see. I went to Torquay, and the sight of so
many invalids in Bath chairs made me melancholy; to Dartmouth, at
the entrance of the River Dart, near the birthplace of the great Sir
Walter Raleigh; to Totness, to Davenport and to Penzance; thence to
the treeless, bleak-looking district of the Land’s End, to look at a
landscape which I shall always remember.
At a little inn on the most westerly point of England I found I could
get a chop and a glass of ale. Having ordered luncheon, I strolled out
in the meantime to have a look at the blue water and the wide expanse
of ocean. The place is certainly solitary enough, but in its way the
boldness of the landscape and the never-ceasing roar of the waves
elevated it from dreariness. I returned to the room of the inn and
found a gentleman seated at the table. I had a perfect recollection of
my experience in the railway carriage a few days previously. But it
seemed to me to meet a stranger at this spot, seldom visited, gave a
guarantee of a certain similarity of tastes, and that it might possibly
be agreeable to both to exchange a few words. Indeed, I thought it
would be perfect folly for us to remain together in silence for about
half an hour as if ignorant of the presence of each other. I therefore
made up my mind that, at any rate, the fault should not be mine,
and that I would make bold to break the ice. We were certainly not
introduced, but at all risks I would make an effort to begin by saying
some ordinary words about the weather. The sky was cloudy and the air
cold, but I raised my voice to a cheerful tone and said, “It is rather
raw to-day, sir.” The gentleman addressed took not the slightest notice
of what I had said! And how ridiculous and embarrassing it did seem to
me at the time to think that two rational beings should be lunching
together at a little round table in the last house in England in solemn
silence! I fear that not a few disagreeable thoughts passed through
my mind, but I could do nothing. In due time I was ready to return to
Penzance. I entered the vehicle which had brought me hither, and at no
great distance away from the inn we passed the individual I had lunched
with, walking by himself. I took the opportunity, when out of hearing,
of asking the driver if he knew who he was. I received the reply that
he was a deaf and dumb gentleman who lived in the neighbourhood!
CHAPTER IV.
_ENGLAND_--(_Continued_).
Marquis of Salisbury--Classical studies--Henley Regatta--Red Lion--
London Dinner to Lord Dufferin--His Speech--Greenwich--Fisheries
Exhibition--Bray--The Vicar--The Thames--Minehead--The Polynesian.
I was exceedingly glad to be joined by my daughter in London, because
much depended on her arrival. We had many places to see together, and
she was to accompany me on a visit to some friends in the country, who
had extended to us a very warm invitation. During this visit we met all
the kindness we could have even fancied, at one of those English homes,
standing among old trees, with ivy-covered walls, and gardens full of
roses of all colours and in the greatest perfection.
We returned to London, as I had matters to attend to at the offices of
the Hudson Bay Company, the Colonial Office, and the office of the High
Commissioner for Canada.
Shortly after my arrival the Marquis of Salisbury distributed the
prizes at King’s College, and his remarks on the occasion struck me
forcibly. Owing to my connection with Queen’s University, Kingston,
it had become my duty, however imperfectly I might have performed it,
to approach the same question: the extent to which classical studies
should form the basis of education. Lord Salisbury pointed out, with
all the polish which marks his utterances, that intellectual capacity
is as varied as any other of God’s creations; that many minds have
little inclination for study: and that to devote the best years of life
to the acquisition of an imperfect acquaintance with Greek and Latin
was most unwise and barren of good results. Lord Salisbury proceeded to
say:
“I cannot but feel, in reading this list, how singularly privileged
the present generation is in the studies they are invited to
pursue. In my time, and before my time, for I was just at the
end of the darker period, there were only two possible lines of
study--classics and mathematics. Mathematics was looked upon in
many quarters with considerable jealousy and doubt. Classics was
the one food tendered to all appetites and all stomachs. I do not
wish to say a word in depreciation of classics. It would be as
sensible to speak in depreciation of wheat and oats because wheat
will not grow in the North of Scotland and oats will not grow at
the equator. But people are coming gradually, if they have not
come fully, to the conclusion that the intellectual capacity is
as various as any other of nature’s creations, and that there are
as many different kinds of minds, open to as many different kinds
of treatment, as there are soils on the surface of the earth;
and that it is as reasonable to try to force all minds to grow
classics, or to grow mathematics, or to grow history, as it would
be to force all soils to grow fruit, or grass, or corn. This is
an enormous gain to the present generation. For what happened
in the last generation, or two generations ago, was this, that
those minds which were fitted for education in classics received
full development, while those minds not fitted for that treatment
were stunted and turned from intellectual pursuits altogether.
There is no greater privilege of the present generation than the
full conception at which we have arrived of the fact that almost
every intellect is, if it be properly treated, capable of high
development. But whether that development be reached or not depends
upon the judgment with which its capacities are nurtured and its
early efforts encouraged. Now, in this list I am very glad to see
that modern history and the English language and literature occupy
a very distinguished position.
“I have the greatest possible respect for the educational
establishments in which I was brought up, but I never look back
without a feeling of some bitterness to the many hours during
which I was compelled to produce the most execrable Latin verse
in the world. I believe that if a commission of distinguished men
were appointed to discover what is the most perfectly useless
accomplishment to which the human mind can be turned a large
majority would agree that versification in the dead languages was
that accomplishment. On that account, I suppose, we were compelled
in the last generation, whether we were fitted or not, to devote a
considerable time to it, and, if it is any compensation to you for
the severe examination you have to undergo, think of the agonies of
unpoetical minds set to compose poetical effusions, which you are
happily spared.”
Lord Salisbury dwelt upon the number of examinations to which everybody
in the military and civil services is subjected, and instanced one
official who had passed through thirty-six examinations. In his own
able way he declared his opposition to the system of cramming, by which
the mere surface of knowledge is floated over with facts, cunningly
grouped together, soon to be forgotten and never of true value.
Hot weather is sometimes experienced in London, but it is a different
heat from that of Canada, and by no means to be compared with it in
temperature. Few people dress to meet the summer in England, and in
winter the sole addition is the great coat. A fur cap is unknown. The
round silk hat, so much abused, holds its own, summer and winter,
against all attempts to banish it. Although the days are hot, the
nights are generally cool. Any extraordinarily hot weather is
exceedingly oppressive to the Londoner.
It was during the warm days that I went to Henley, to join a party who
had engaged to be present at the regatta. With a Canadian friend I took
the train to Maidenhead, thence by the branch railway to Henley, one of
the most striking landscapes in the valley of the Thames, remarkable
for its many beauties. The river here is broad, and runs between
undulating hills covered with foliage. We cross the old stone bridge
at Henley in order to find our friends among the many carriages. No
more pleasant spectacle could have been seen. It presented only the
sunny and holiday side of life. It was as different from the mixed mass
of human beings of all classes and conditions you meet at the Derby
or the other horse races near the metropolis as can be imagined. All
was order, quietude and irreproachable respectability. There were no
drinking booths, no gambling, no shrieking out the “odds,” none of
the professional rough element in search of a “good thing.” We were
among the most elaborate toilets. No one but looked her best. Probably
nowhere do we see more thoroughly this one phase of English life than
at the Henley regatta. The scenery is English, the people are English;
we have the theoretical English staidness and propriety. The amusement
is English. What struck me was the absence of all excitement. This
indifference appeared to me remarkable. Indeed, the only exhibition of
interest was that shown by the oarsmen, who were young men in perfect
condition, with muscles well trained and developed, and who bent
enthusiastically to their work. I did not hear a single cheer. I never
before nor since beheld such an orderly crowd, if I may apply that word
to an assemblage of so many distinguished people. I noticed that those
who came under my observation were generally light-haired or brown,
with fair complexions. It seemed to me, judging from appearances, as
if the regatta was looked upon as a very ordinary affair in itself,
and that it was more an occasion for the well-dressed mass of people
to meet together. There evidently was a theory that some one boat must
come in first, and, as it generally happened that there was a foregone
conclusion as to who the winner would be, there was nothing to call for
enthusiasm. Certainly none was shown.
We did not find our friends, although we searched diligently for them
on both sides of the river. After giving up the attempt reluctantly,
we resolved to take luncheon at the renowned old hostelry, the “Red
Lion,” celebrated as the inn where Shenstone wrote his lines in praise
of an inn, perhaps his only lines now generally remembered. The “Red
Lion” did not belie its ancient reputation. There is always a pleasure
in visiting these haunts of a former generation. There is little of
modern finery and frippery about them, but you find the actual comforts
of life above criticism. Nowhere can be seen a whiter cloth, brighter
glass, finer bread, sweeter butter, juicier meat or a more royal
tankard of English ale, whose praises Chaucer might have sung.
We took the 6.10 evening train to Maidenhead, and then walked to our
friends’ place. We found that they had driven to Henley, excepting
those who kindly received us. The party, however, came back in
good time, having heard of us through a common friend, recently an
Aide-de-camp on the General’s staff in Halifax. We had met him at the
regatta, and asked intelligence of the party. He had succeeded where we
had failed, and had found those of whom we were in search.
We returned to London. Finding we had now about a fortnight to remain,
we mapped out our plans in order to see what we could do in that time.
We saw all the public sights which our engagements enabled us to do.
I cannot say that I was greatly impressed with the pictures of the
Royal Academy. Several were good, but I did not find a large number
of surpassing excellence, I was much struck by a water-colour drawing
of mountain scenery, with a bridge and stream, Kirbrücher Stadden
in Switzerland, by Arthur Croft. We went to the theatre, and saw
Irving in “The Bells” and “Impulse” at the St. James; to a promenade
concert at the Botanical Gardens, Regent’s Park and to Wimbledon.
Through the courtesy of Col. Otter, in command of the Canadian camp,
we were invited to an at home given by him, where we saw a great many
Canadian friends. We also met some distinguished military people. We
were gratified to learn all about the success of our marksmen. The
rain, however, was exceptionally heavy during the whole day, and most
unfortunately there was no going beyond the shelter of the canvas
tents.
One event of no ordinary importance which we witnessed was the
banquet to Lord Dufferin at the Empire Club. Lord Bury presided. Sir
Charles Tupper and the Honourable Alexander Mackenzie both spoke
very effectively. It struck me that in each case their speeches were
admirable. Neither of them occupied more than ten or fifteen minutes,
and what they said had the impress of careful consideration and finish,
for it was dignified, concise and appropriate. I have no recollection
of having heard either of those well known public men speak to better
advantage, and it was a matter of great regret to all of us that their
speeches were not reported. The dining room of the club is not large;
it can hold no more than sixty at most, so the number who could attend
was limited, much to the disappointment of many. We were all of us glad
to see Lord Dufferin. He was quite unchanged. He had the same high-bred
charm of manner, and that polished courtesy which becomes him so well
and is never out of place. We did not sit down to dinner until 8.30, so
it was late when we separated. There was something in Lord Dufferin’s
speech which made it more than a mere after-dinner address, something
so striking, so statesmanlike, that I deem it my duty to include it in
these chapters:
My Lords and Gentlemen,--If there is one thing more embarrassing
than another to a person on commencing a public speech it is to
find his oratorical ground suddenly cut away from beneath his
feet. I had fully intended to claim your indulgence on the grounds
so eloquently referred to by my noble friend, and I can assure you
that that indulgence is as much needed as I have ever experienced
it, for, however easy it may be to speak with an empty head, it
is very difficult to do so with a full heart. In rising, however,
to return my warmest thanks for the kind manner in which you have
drunk my health, I cannot help asking myself with some anxiety
what title I possess to the good-will of my entertainers. Your
chairman has been pleased to refer in very flattering terms to my
public services: but I fear that the reason of your cordiality is
further to seek than anything which can be found in the indulgent
observation, I hope, on the present occasion, of the members of the
Empire Club, and I think I am not wrong in conjecturing that I am
indebted for the signal honour which you have conferred upon me,
not so much to my individual merits, as to the fact that for the
last twelve years of my life I have been unremittingly occupied
in promoting and maintaining the Imperial, as distinguished from
the domestic, interests of our common country. In Canada, at St.
Petersburg, at Constantinople and in Egypt, I can conscientiously
say that home politics, with all their irritating associations,
have faded from my view, and that my one thought by day and night
has been to safeguard, to protect and to extend the honour,
the influence and the commerce of England with the foreign
Governments or else to draw still more closely together those
ties of affectionate regard by which she is united to one of her
most powerful, most loyal and most devoted colonies. Well, then,
gentlemen, under these circumstances, I think I may be pardoned if
I have come to look at England, this sceptred isle, this earth
of majesty, this other Eden-beaming paradise, this happy breed of
men, this precious stone set in a silver sea; not as she displays
herself in the recriminatory warfare of parliamentary strife, or
in the polemical declamation of the platform, but in an aspect
softened by distance and regarded as the happy home of a noble
and united people, whom it is an honour to serve, and for whose
sake it would be a privilege to make the greatest sacrifices. I
do not say this in any spirit of selfish and vulgar “Jingoism,”
although I must admit that by their profession ambassadors and
colonial governors are bound to be a little “jingo.” I have come
to regard England in the same light as she is regarded by those
great communities who are carrying her laws, her liberties, her
constitutional institutions and her language into every portion of
the world, many of whose most distinguished representatives are
present here to-night, and to whom it is the especial function of
this club to extend the right hand of brotherhood and affection.
Gentlemen, I am well aware that many of our most influential
thinkers are almost disposed to stand aghast at the accumulative
responsibility and increasing calls upon our resources, and
the ever-widening vulnerability entailed by England’s imperial
position. Certainly, the outlook counsels both prudence and, above
all, preparation. After all, the life of nations and individuals
in many respects resemble each other, and each of us is aware that
his daily burden of care, anxiety and responsibility gathers weight
and strength in proportion to the expansion of his faculties, the
accumulation of his wealth, the energy of his endeavours and the
extension of his influence. Why, gentlemen, even the children
that people our homes are so many hostages given to fortune; and
the wives of our bosoms--I say this beneath my breath--are very
apt each of them to open a startling chapter of accidents; but
what man of spirit has ever turned his back upon the opportunity,
or refused to enter upon the tender obligations of a love-lit
fireside for fear of increasing his responsibilities, entailed by
a fuller, ampler and more perfect existence? But, my lords and
gentlemen, even did she desire it, I believe that the time is
too late for England to seek to disinherit herself of that noble
destiny with which I firmly believe she has been endowed. The
same hidden hand which planted the tree of constitutional liberty
within her borders, and thus called upon her to become the mother
of parliaments, has sent forth her children to possess and fructify
the waste places of the earth. How a desert in every direction has
been turned into a paradise of plenty those who are present can
best tell. I believe that, great as have been the changes which
have already occurred, our children are destined to see even still
more glorious accomplishments. One of the greatest statisticians of
modern times, a man of singularly sober judgment, has calculated
that ere the next century has reached its close the English
speaking population of the globe will have already exceeded one
hundred millions of human beings. Of these, in all probability,
forty millions will be found in Canada alone, and an equal
proportion along the coast of Africa and in our great Australian
possessions. If these great communities are united in a common bond
of interest, if they are co-ordinated and impelled by a common
interest, what an enormous influence, as compared with that of any
other nationality, whether for good or evil, whether considered
from a moral or material point of view, are they destined to
exercise! But, gentlemen, that they will remain Englishmen who
can doubt! The chops and changes on an accelerated momentum of
human progress forbid all accurate prediction. These enormous
forces, operating over such a large space, defy all prescience and
human wisdom to direct the current of events; but one thing, at
all events, is certain, and that is that these great communities
will be deeply impressed by English ideas, by English literature,
by English institutions and by English habits of thought. That
this shall long continue to be the case is, I am sure, the earnest
wish of those whom I am addressing. It is their desire that our
statesmen should so conduct the relations of this country with
their colonial dependencies as to cherish and maintain those
affectionate ties by which they are so remarkably and distinctly
bound to the Mother Country. One thing, at all events, is certain:
that the people of England will never again allow their Government
to repeat the error which resulted in the separation of the United
States. Whatever may be our present relations with the great
transatlantic republic, it is certain that, had it not been for the
violent disruption that occurred, those relations would now have
been even more mutually advantageous. The catastrophe, unhappily,
was brought about by the Ministry of the day being incapable of
appreciating and understanding the force and direction of colonial
sentiment. Now, my lords and gentlemen, I believe that statesmen
can make no greater mistake than not accurately to comprehend
the enormous part which sentiment plays in human affairs. By far
the greater number of the wars which have devastated the globe
have been produced and generated by outraged sentiment rather
than by the pursuit of material advantages. Even commerce itself,
the most unsentimental and matter-of-fact of interests, is
wont for long periods of time to follow in the track of custom,
habit and sentiment. This was a fact which for a long time the
English people failed to comprehend. They failed to comprehend the
desire which the colonies had to have their kinship recognised.
Happily, however, the increased facilities of communication and
the necessities and exigencies of trade have changed all this,
and I believe that now there is not a man in England who does not
understand, and to whose imagination it has not been forcibly
brought home, that beyond the circuit of the narrow seas which
confine this island are vast territories, inhabited by powerful
communities who are actuated by ideas similar to our own, who are
proud to own allegiance to Queen Victoria, whose material resources
are greater than those possessed by his own country, and whose
ultimate power may, perhaps, exceed the power of Great Britain. And
yet these great communities of noble, high-spirited, industrious
Englishmen, if only they are properly dealt with, and if only
their feelings and just exigencies are duly considered, will never
have a higher ambition than to be allowed to continue as co-heirs
with England in her illustrious career, associated with her in
her gigantic empire, and sharers in her fortunes, whether they be
for good or evil, until the end of time. Gentlemen, such are the
sentiments and opinions which I believe this club has been founded
to encourage and propagate, and I felt that in rising to return
thanks for the great and signal honour which you have done me, and
for which really I cannot find words sufficient to thank you, I
could not do so in a more acceptable manner than by telling you
with what enthusiasm and with what sincerity of conviction I myself
subscribe to these sentiments.
One of my pleasantest recollections of London dates about ten days
before my departure for Canada. When the heat was tempered by a fresh
breeze, a party of us met by appointment on one of the wharves near
London Bridge. We owed the invitation to a Canadian who, like myself,
was from the north of the Tweed. He introduced me to our host, one of
his oldest friends, a friendship which had lasted from boyhood. Our
host had engaged a steamer to take his guests down the river to the
large establishment of which he is the leading mind. I believe I am
safe in saying that thousands of people are employed in these works.
We went through the various departments, and to do so took some hours.
Some of the ladies of the party thought they had accomplished miles
of pedestrianism. They were greatly interested in what they saw, and
before they left were delighted, for our host, who has a heart as large
as the business he controls, presented from the factory to each of our
party a substantial mark of his regard.
We returned to Greenwich, the very name is redolent of fish dinners and
whitebait to the Londoner, and twenty-one of us sat down at the great
round table in the bow window of the “Ship Hotel.” We were not in a
mood to criticise our entertainment. Had we been so, we could only have
found something additional to praise. We had good appetites, were in
the best of humour, and felt prepared to do justice to the profusion
of dainties set before us. Our host had visited Canada nearly half a
century ago, and he spoke of his experience in what is now a highly
cultivated district, but was then very thinly populated. His youthful
days came back to him, and he referred to a pair of bright eyes he
encountered at a picnic on the shores of Lake Simcoe which very nearly
made him a Canadian. I do not know what prominent position amongst us
he might not now have occupied had the possessor of the bright eyes
affirmed her conquest.
We are not, in Canada, a people particularly demonstrative in our
own land, but away from home, when those of us who are bound by
friendly associations come side by side, no meeting can be more gay or
pleasant. It was especially so on this occasion, and our host had the
satisfaction of seeing all his good cheer thoroughly appreciated by his
guests. It was ten o’clock before we separated, and found our way back
to London.
The Fisheries Exhibition was then the event of the season. In London or
Paris there is always something going on which everybody feels bound to
see, and not to have the privilege or opportunity of seeing places you,
in an undefined way, in such a secondary position that you appear to be
excluded. The question is not always if the spectacle or exhibition, or
other notoriety of the moment, will repay the time and attention given
to witnessing it. The leading consideration is that it is something to
be seen, and it is never of any use running counter to the tide of the
community in which you live and move. Very often a good deal of trouble
is taken, and frequently no small amount of money expended, to pass
through some ordeal of this character, which brings no addition to our
information and but little satisfaction.
The Fisheries Exhibition, however, was not of this character. Many must
have been surprised at the part played in it by Canada, and at the
richness and variety of her exhibits. Scarcely anything could have been
designed to set forth better to the London world the vastness of the
resources of the Dominion than this exhibition, and to bring before the
English people an idea of the extensive fishing grounds it possesses.
Many would then learn for the first time that our fisheries are not
confined to the St. Lawrence and the lakes. Canada has an immense
extent of sea coast in the Maritime Provinces frequented by shoals of
fish, for which these waters have been famous since the first discovery
of America. The almost virgin waters of British Columbia swarm with
fish of the finest description, and Canada possesses the whole of
Hudson Bay and the northern coast of America in which to develop her
enterprise and industry. What country in the world can boast of such
great and prolific fish fields on three oceans, all open to enterprise.
One of the agreeable associations connected with the exhibition was
the _fête_ in aid of the English Church at Berlin, and in commemoration
of the silver wedding of the Crown Princess of Germany, Her Majesty’s
eldest daughter. It seemed to me that there was a constant rush of
visitors till midnight. The spectacle was a brilliant one, as much on
account of the great crowd of people who were there as from the light
and glitter of the scene itself. The newspapers mentioned the number
present as 6,000, and they truly described it as a fairy scene. The
whole place was bright with many-coloured lamps, Chinese lanterns and
electric lights. One of the striking features was the tea party of the
Chinese court, where a veritable Chinese grandee presided with her
daughter. The Marchioness Tseng seemed to me a type of liberality.
It could scarcely be political exigency which led this lady and her
family to intervene in aid of an Anglican Church in the heart of a
Lutheran population. The Duke and Duchess of Albany assisted her. Fans
were sold here, the recommendation of which was that they had been
specially painted by the Chinese Minister himself and embroidered and
worked by the Marchioness and her daughter. It struck me that if this
display be typical of the industry of the Chinese family our western
civilization is much behind in the path of productive labour. There
were to be seen also an English refreshment room, and an “American”
bar, under the direction of Mrs. Lowell, attended by all the United
States beauties in London, whose personal charms, supplemented by New
York taste in dress, not a little influenced the price of what was
served. The Countess of Dufferin was there. She seemed quite in her
element, doing her best to promote the general gaiety and brightness
of the scene. A distinguished naval officer, whose name has penetrated
wherever the English language is spoken, Lord Charles Beresford,
assisted Lady Dufferin. It was their duty to preside over the fish
pond, where the small charge of five shillings was paid for the use
of the rod and line. There seemed to be an unlimited supply of fish.
The successful anglers generally brought up something which excited
shouts of laughter. One fisherman would land a nightcap, another a toy
of some sort, and so on. The Prince and Princess of Wales came about
eleven o’clock, which added in no little degree to the excitement of
the scene. What must strike strangers on British soil is the admirable
order which prevails during an exhibition of this kind. It is seldom
that any unpleasantness occurs. We did not remain until the close, but
it was late before we reached home.
It was my good fortune to spend some pleasant days with my friends
at their charming and hospitable house within four miles of Windsor.
A few hours in the country is always a congenial change even to the
inveterate London-loving resident of the capital. It was equally so
with myself. I awoke at my friend’s pleasant home one bright Sunday
morning. Some of the family started for the old church at Bray, and
invited me to accompany them. We pass along a winding road, between
hedges of hawthorn, with here and there fine old trees, some of them
with trunks as much as five and six feet in diameter, relics of Windsor
Forest. The country is somewhat flat, but it is rendered peculiarly
attractive by its fertility and the richness of the foliage. Windsor
Castle stands out boldly in the landscape, and to-day the Imperial
Standard on the Round Tower shows that Her Majesty is at her ancient
home.
We reached the cross roads, with a finger post directing us to Windsor
and to Bray. Following the road to the latter, we came upon “Jesus
Hospital,” founded, we read on the inscription over the gateway
in quaint old English characters, by William Goddard in 1627. His
statue over the entrance looks upon a plot of garden flowers. On the
inscription we further learn that “he hath provided for forty poor
people forever.” Then we are told that there is no admission for
vagrants, or unlicensed hawkers, or dogs.
We attended service at Bray Church, an old edifice dating, in some
parts, from the beginning or middle of the fifteenth century. The
square tower tells a story of a later date.
Who has not heard of Simon Aleyn, the Vicar? His memory is still as
fresh as it was three centuries back, when he died. He lived from
the time of Henry VIII. to that of Elizabeth, and was an Anglican, a
Presbyterian or a Papist as was expedient. It does no harm to repeat
old Fuller’s words, although they appear in the guide book: “He had
seen some martyrs burned at Windsor, and found this too hot for his
tender temper. This Vicar being taxed by one with being a turncoat
and an inconsistent changling, ‘Not so,’ said he, ‘for I have always
kept my principle, which is to live and die Vicar of Bray.’” After the
service we walked through the churchyard, and, Scotchman-like, I looked
among the tombstones to see if there were any Dugalds, Donalds or Macs.
There were none. I never before felt so much being in the heart of
England. There was not a record of one Scotchman having died here, and
I thought they had penetrated everywhere. I can well recollect making
a trip to the west coast a few years back. It was during the period
when the Honourable A. Mackenzie was Premier of Canada. I was then an
officer of the Canadian Government on leave. I visited Truro, the most
southern city in England, and on entering the principal business street
the first sign I saw was that of Alexander Mackenzie & Co. I certainly
thought then I was a long way from Scotland, and still further from all
Canadian associations. I have been in many strange and remote corners
of the globe on both continents, but I was never before in a place
where there was no trace of the ubiquitous, enterprising and energetic
north-country man. And yet it was a Vicar of the church which I had
just attended who curtly refused to pay a bill of James the First at
Maidenhead. That monarch, on a certain occasion, having outrode his
hunting escort, and being hungry, begged leave to join the Vicar and
curate at dinner. His Majesty seems to have been in excellent humour.
He told so many stories that the two listeners, who did not know their
Royal guest, laughed as they seldom did. The bill came, the King had
no money, and asked his companions to pay for him. The Vicar declined,
it would seem, somewhat irately. The curate was more kindly disposed,
and paid the bill. In the meantime the retinue arrived, and with it
recognition of the Royal person. The Vicar threw himself on his knees,
and asked pardon for his harshness. James told him he should not
disturb him in his vicarage, but that he should always remain Vicar of
Bray. The genial curate he would make a Canon of Windsor, so that he
would look down on both him and his vicarage.
On returning from the church we strolled by the river, which, from
Oxford to London, is renowned as boating water, and we saw many skiffs
and pleasure boats upon it. It is here that Monkey Island is situated,
so often visited from Windsor and Eton. The houses in the neighbourhood
are all suggestive of comfort; they are surrounded with abundance
of flowers, and have all a look of cleanliness, and an aspect both
cheerful and inviting.
We return home by another route. Our walk is a good mile and a half,
in the course of which we are caught in the rain and take shelter in a
cottage. Some one remembers that it is St. Swithin’s Day, the 15th of
July, and according to the tradition, if it rains on that day, it will
rain for forty days. We revert in thought to those ancient historians,
the most sceptical of whom, while they very summarily got rid of the
portents and miracles of their own time, hesitated to reject the
traditions of their ancestors. However there is a break in the clouds
and we reach the house.
Even with the dread of the realization of the prophecy, we take an
afternoon walk and return at five, just in time to escape another St.
Swithin shower. In the evening we go again to church. I experience that
which is not always the case in the Anglican service. The lessons are
remarkably well read, the words properly and distinctly pronounced,
the sentences not dropped in tone at the end and run into one another,
and above all with an entire absence of affectation. I learn that the
reader is Mr. Wallace, who has lately taken high honours at Oxford.
The weather at this time turned exceedingly cold, and the Londoner may
recollect this exceptional wave of low temperature. The newspapers
declared that the thermometer fell to a degree lower than it read
on Christmas day. I never heard any explanation of this abnormal
depression in July, but last year was marked by remarkable phenomena.
The terrible earthquakes in the south of Europe and in the Indian
Ocean betokened the activity of extraordinary forces. We are, indeed,
fortunate in our experience throughout the British Empire that hitherto
no portion of it has suffered by such terrible convulsions, and that
the extent of them is limited to a fall of the temperature or an excess
of rainfall.
I again receive a telegram to know when I will leave for Canada and
proceed to British Columbia. I had already arranged to leave London by
the 20th, but I felt that my plans must be altered, and that I would be
obliged to give up the idea of spending a week in Scotland.
Previous to starting for Liverpool I had arranged to visit some friends
in Somersetshire. The route is by the Great Western Railway and the
branch line to Taunton. As I passed from Bristol to the latter place
the appearance of the country reminded me of the reclaimed marsh land
at the head of the Bay of Fundy; and the turbid water of the Bristol
Channel was very much the same in colour as that of the bay. The
country is admirably adapted for grazing, and large herds of beautiful
cattle; Herefords, Devons, and Shorthorns were to be seen along the
route.
We reached our destination at Minehead, and here our friends, who
were originally from Nova Scotia, gave us that warm welcome which
we everywhere received in England. Not the least of the pleasant
associations connected with this visit was the charming scenery
from the hills behind the town, which command a view of the Bristol
Channel east of Ilfracombe and the distant mountains of South Wales.
The foliage of the west of England is always particularly striking to
anyone from Canada. Trees and plants which, with us, can only be raised
under glass, are found in luxurious abundance. There is a profusion of
walnut, myrtle, wistaria, laurestina, bay, ivy, and roses, which give
a rich variety to the flora of the parks and gardens, leaving nothing
to be desired. The drives are unrivalled; often through narrow lanes;
with high hedgerows blooming with flowers such as, at least, I have
never seen out of England. One of our drives took us to Exmoor, the
only district of England, as I was informed, where stag-hunting is
still enjoyed yearly. At Exmoor I gathered a bunch of heather which,
on the higher levels, has an extensive growth. On Sunday there was
a christening at the church, in which we were all interested, and
through which one of the names born by the humble writer of these
pages may be remembered a few years after his own race is run. There
was an old church in the neighbourhood which we visited, as a north
country man would say, “in the gloaming.” There was, however, light
enough to see in the dusk a marble statue of Queen Anne near the altar,
which might easily pass for the Virgin. There is a chained Bible on
the stand as in the first days when the people were called to hear
it read. I could not say what the date of the Bible was; whether one
of Tyndall’s or Archbishop Cranmer’s, or one more modern. The pews
were separated from each other by high divisions, five or six feet in
height, so that those who desired to pray unseen could do so. Certainly
they were not favourable to the display of any finish in dress worn by
their occupants, and which now makes such a marked feature in what are
called, I borrow the phrase, fashionable churches.
On Monday we had to leave, and it is often hard to say good-bye under
such circumstances. Is it not one of the hardships of life that we have
to undergo these separations? But often our pleasantest memories are
crowded into the narrow space of such brief visits. Our destination
is Liverpool; we leave by the morning train at eight o’clock, and
reach Bristol to take the connecting train to Liverpool. We pass by
the world-renowned Stratford-on-Avon, by Burton, for which place the
unrivalled pale ale of Bass and Allsopp have obtained an almost equally
extended reputation. As we crossed the silvery Trent I wondered if any
calculation had ever been made as to the quantity of its water which
had found itself transferred to every clime in the shape of bitter
beer. We soon leave Birmingham behind and pass through the hills and
dales of Derbyshire; a district celebrated for its loveliness and
beauty. The panorama which is seen even from the carriage window is
worth the trip. It is, indeed, something to say you have looked upon
it. At half-past six we are again in Liverpool. Tuesday and Wednesday
we enjoy the society of some old friends, and on Thursday we embark
on the Allan line steamer “Polynesian,” and start on our way over the
western waters to Canada.
CHAPTER V.
_ENGLAND TO CANADA._
The Ocean Voyage--Its Comfort--Moville--Mail Coach Road of Old
Days--Impressive Service on Deck--Comfort on the Vessel--
Rimouski--Halifax.
We are off this Thursday, 26th July, and underway at three p.m. As
is usually the case we have a pleasant run down the Mersey to the
Irish Sea. With few exceptions the passengers are all strangers, one
to the other, and we remain on deck, no few of us speculating as to
“who is who?” We dine at four the first day. There is a printed list
of passengers on the plate of each as we take our seats at the tables
which have been assigned to us, perhaps in some cases by a little
pre-arrangement with the purser. In the evening we pass close to the
Isle of Man with its bold headlands and picturesque coast line, but
few of us appear to be inclined to stay up late. There is always an
excitement, and consequent rebound, in leaving the land where we
have passed some weeks, whatever the associations we have separated
from, and whatever future may lie before us. The first night at sea
is generally quiet; it is true you have always your inveterate whist
player who wants to get up a rubber as if it was the one duty of life
not to lose an opportunity of gaining the odd trick. And you have the
perpetual smoker who looks upon leisure as specially designed for the
enjoyment of the pipe or cigar, as if the sole charm of life lay in
tobacco!
The whole conditions of an ocean voyage have, of late years, been much
changed. A voyage in the modern steamship is more like a yacht trip.
Indeed, excepting the yachts of men of colossal fortunes, the yacht
suffers by comparison with the steamship. In the latter you have a
bed clean and comfortable, with all the auxiliaries of the toilet. On
nearly all the best ships you have hot and cold baths. Some vessels
carry a professional barber; and I have known a chiropodist to be
in attendance. If you want more bedding, or hot water, or any other
_et cetera_ you ask for and obtain it. You have a cabin as large and
comfortable as it is possible to have under the circumstances, and if
you chose to pay for it you can have it to yourself, and thus obtain
all the privacy of an anchorite. Your state-room, as it is called, is
cleaned daily, and it is open to you whenever you see fit to enter;
you have a large saloon in which you take your meals, sit, read, or
write, or play chess or whist; where ladies can group themselves in
order to carry on their embroidery, or to undertake less pretentious,
if more useful work. Generally there is a separate saloon, for ladies,
in an airy part of the ship, where, if they are not free from nausea
or depression, they can retire and be as private as they desire. You
have the best of food, thoroughly and carefully cooked, with the
most obsequious of attendants whom you are generally expected to
reward at the end of the voyage, and you feel yourself second to no
one in the world you are in. There are no troublesome experiences on
points of etiquette or ceremony; you never receive a lesson of your
insignificance, although if it be particularly sought for, it can be
obtained. You have fresh air, bright skies, and the ocean that
“Glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form
Glasses itself in tempests.”
is your constant monitor. All you seem to want is a sea-stomach and
firmness on your feet. As a rule, a few days, often a few hours,
will give you both. To those who are not sea-sick what life is more
pleasant? You have all sorts of people on board, and the sea seems to
act as a sort of leveller of individualism. Although there are men and
women who are known to have spoken to nobody, and who have walked up
and down during almost the whole voyage in perfect solitude, wrapped up
in themselves, as if no contact with others were permissible. On seeing
these people I have thought of Æsop’s mountain in labour, and pitied
the poor little mouse brought into the world with such effort.
There are storms at sea, naturally, but you have a crew in the highest
state of discipline; you have a ship as strong as money and iron
can make it; you have an engine of wondrous power and a marvel of
perfection in machinery. Competition, energy, and enterprise, have so
multiplied the means of travel that you may pass from one continent
to the other with comfort, and for not much more money than the sum
you pay for the same period of time at one of the high class hotels
in London or New York. You have no extras to pay for in the steamship
except wine or beer.
According to your feeling you can give a _douceur_ to the steward who
attends to your room, and if need be nurses you in sickness, and to the
steward who waits upon you at table. The only items you have to pay
extra for, as before stated, are beer and wine, if you choose to order
either. You are not remarkable either in avoiding or using them, for
never was there so unrestrained a matter of taste as in this respect at
the saloon table.
It is Friday: we have passed the first night at sea, and we take
an early tepid salt water bath. We are now steaming up Lough Foyle
to Moville, where the mails containing letters posted in London
on Thursday night, are put on board. Thus the clear business day
of Thursday is gained by English correspondents. The weather is
delightful. Some of the party go on shore as the steamer is seven hours
in advance of the train with the mails.
There is nothing specially attractive on this part of the Irish
coast it is true, still it is always pleasant to touch _terra firma_
as a change, and it is always a break during the hours that we are
lying at anchor. We remain at Moville until three o’clock, when the
“Polynesian” starts. The weather continues bright and clear, the
water smooth, all is pleasant on deck, where all the passengers are
present. The only spectacle to which I can compare the scene is a
garden party where everybody has but one thing to do, and that is to
amuse and be amused, and look as charming as each one can. We all know
that the best way to succeed in being genial and good-humoured is to
endeavour to be so, and where can a day be better enjoyed than at
sea? I am aware that tradition is against me. The poor sufferer from
sea-sickness may remember this trying time, as the most dreary of his
life, and this form of sickness is to many, even in a minor way, a
most serious ordeal, but, as a rule, it soon passes away. I believe
the best cure for those afflicted with this malady is to remain quiet,
to eat sparingly, and avoid everything greasy; if there be nausea to
take only toast and tea, and make the effort to get on deck. Looking
at the severities of the affliction in their strongest light they
are certainly by no means what they were in the old days of sailing
vessels of small tonnage, and with accommodation proportioned to the
craft. There were then many discomforts and privations now happily
unknown. Voyages were, at that period, counted by weeks instead of
days, and to one unaccustomed to the sea the Atlantic trip was no
little of a penalty. It is very much owing to the reminiscences of
this period that the dread of the sea now prevails. The discomforts
of land travelling in the past have now ceased to be even thought of.
The bad roads, the ricketty coaches, the foul air in the inside, and
the suffering from cold and wet on the outside of the coach, have all
passed out of mind. Even the modern novel does not dwell upon them.
All that is recorded is the cheery appearance of the old-time coach
on a fine evening, driving through a town, with the guard arrayed in
bright uniform, with his bouquet in his buttonhole, the cynosure of
all the servant girls; while the coachman handled the ribbons to the
admiration and envy of all the fast young gentlemen of the place. In
its way there was bitter suffering in bad weather in the course of
such a journey, but the ease and comfort of railway travelling have
destroyed all remembrance of it. What greater contrast can there be
between the torture felt in the inside of an old stage coach going
from Liverpool to London and the luxury of sitting in a Pullman car
travelling the same distance? What more striking difference can there
be between railway life as it is now in the journey from Brighton to
London, accomplished in an hour, and the same journey performed by the
old stage coaches? Railway travelling has so insensibly crept into our
system that the present generation does not think of the privations of
half a century ago.
One of the causes doubtless of the continuance of the prejudice against
ocean navigation is the poor and inefficient steamers still in use for
crossing the English Channel. There is frequently bad weather, indeed,
if all that is said be true, it seldom would appear to be otherwise,
and an immense percentage of those now passing to the continent
suffer the tortures of sea-sickness, much as was experienced on this
route half a century back. One of the channel steamers, on a fine day
when the run is made in calm weather, is a spectacle. Everybody is
good-tempered and in the best of humour; even the most high-minded
somewhat unbend and cease to be ungenial. They appear to feel that a
great penalty has been escaped, that they have passed unscathed through
what is generally considered a terrible ordeal.
To such as these, whose experience has been gained in this school of
travel, the escape from sea-sickness may appear impossible. They will
be exceedingly surprised to learn that many make an ordinary voyage
across the Atlantic without any sea-sickness at all. Some may, it is
true, have a slight qualm; but half a day’s retirement and careful
diet, are all that is necessary to bring back health, good spirits, and
vivacity, and possibly a wonderful increase of appetite.
Such was the experience on Friday afternoon; all were pleasant and
agreeable, and many, as they retired that night to rest, on the
Atlantic Ocean, felt that the voyage was a delightful reality and that
there was every prospect of their proving excellent sailors.
Saturday is equally pleasant, happy, and bright. The portholes are
opened, and, as usual, many begin the day with a salt water bath.
We pass the “Oregon,” which left Liverpool at the same time we did,
but our visit to Moville enabled her to sail onward as we entered
Lough Foyle. A light breeze springs up, and the swell of the ocean
gives movement to the vessel which causes more or less sea-sickness
and depression. Many are walking about with comfort and ease, and a
few are miserable. There is dinner at 6.30; one of those sumptuous,
well-served dinners which no wise man will face every day of his life,
even if he can manage to obtain it. There are one hundred and fourteen
saloon passengers and five children on board, but only seventeen are
at table, one of them a lady, Mrs. D., of Toronto. A great contrast to
yesterday’s experience. The deck is wet and uncomfortable, the rain is
falling and there is a heavy fog. The planks are slippery, and with the
unsteady motion of the ship, there is little to tempt one to abandon
the shelter of the warm, cheery, well-lighted saloon.
On Saturday night there was a head wind, but on Sunday morning the ship
was somewhat quieter, the decks were dry, and motion was practicable.
There are on board two clergymen of the Anglican Church, so service
is held in the saloon. We have also with us Bishop Rogers, the Roman
Catholic Bishop of Chatham, New Brunswick, who holds a service in
another part of the ship. We pass through a school of whales, some six
of which rise above the water not far from the vessel. The majority
of the ladies make an effort to appear on deck, and either sit on
chairs or recline on couches extemporised with cushions, wraps and
shawls; some few even attempt a promenade. Well does Shakespeare tell
us that “Courage mounteth with occasion.” There are those who shake
their heads at the prediction of their immediate recovery. Some few
achieve wonders and attend dinner. The evening turns out fine, the air
is warm, so the Rev. H. Huleatt conducts a service on deck. He is an
old army chaplain, and over his white surplice wears three medals for
service in the Crimea, China and Abyssinia. I was bred in, and adhere
to, the Presbyterian Church, in which the forms of the Anglican Church
are certainly not taught, and by many of us not favourably regarded.
The persecution of the Covenanters in the seventeenth century, having
in view the establishment of Anglicanism, produced results which
its projectors did not conceive possible. It cannot be said that
persecution always fails in its purpose, for history furnishes painful
examples to the contrary. But there are few instances of its failure
more remarkable than this attempt to force on the people of Scotland
a form of worship which they did not favour. With certain classes
and individuals the feelings which the attempt left have long since
died out, but the memory of them remained for many a year. I am not
one who has been trained to regard the ceremonies of the English
Church with marked reverence, especially when they turn towards the
“high” development. With men like myself I venture the remark that
the Church of England is never so strong as when she adheres to her
simplest teaching. Her ritual is never so impressive as when stripped
of strained formality; it is then that, in spite of ourselves, we must
feel and admire all the strength and beauty of her liturgy. It is not
easy to comprehend how thoughtful men can advocate the introduction
of extreme ceremonies, which even many Anglicans themselves regard
as theatrical accessories. It has been my good fortune to attend the
English Church service in some of the noblest cathedrals in England;
at Westminster, Canterbury, Chester and St. Paul’s, unrivalled in its
classic excellence: and I have at such times felt how decorous and
impressive it can be made when the ritual is not encumbered with
the observances which a strong party in the Church of England regard
as unseemly, and which, with my feelings, I hold to be unnecessary.
With this limitation this form of prayer, in my humble view, appears
peculiarly adapted to the English mind and character. For more
gorgeous ceremonial, I have witnessed the Mass at St. Peter’s, one
of the grandest temples erected by man for the worship of his Maker.
Never in any church was I ever present at a scene and service more
memorable than the evening prayer on the deck of the “Polynesian.”
The military chaplain, in his white surplice, appeared with the three
medals on his breast and his Bible and prayerbook in his hand, walking
slowly once or twice up and down the deck, by way, as he afterwards
explained, “of ringing the bell.” In this manner the passengers
generally were collected into picturesque groups. He took an elevated
position; his white dress and his long white hair moving in the breeze,
formed a striking contrast to the dark funnel, masts and spars in the
background. He repeated the simple words of the Anglican liturgy in
a clear, natural voice. He spoke briefly and forcibly, as possibly
he had often done on the eve of battle. He conducted the singing of
some of those touching hymns common to all branches of the Christian
Church. The congregation, consisting of all sects and beliefs, was
unaffectedly serious and devout, and many voices joined in earnest
praise.
We occupied the centre of the ocean, that marked emblem of the
Everlasting. Above and around us the blue vault of heaven was frescoed
with fleecy clouds, radiant with the rich hues of the evening sun. On
every side the rolling waters added solemnity to the scene. There were
few who did not feel the spectacle itself to be a sermon not soon to be
forgotten. It spoke to us all against our littleness and selfishness.
As we looked beyond the bulwarks of our ship, a point in God’s endless
creation, we could feel how imperfect was the teaching of sects and
creeds, in view of the higher and nobler views we should aspire to: the
faith which widens our sympathies as the warmth of summer expands the
buds of our northern forests.
Monday again is a beautiful morning, and we are all on deck enjoying
the fresh, healthful breeze and the sun, whose bright beams glitter on
the face of the rolling waters, the blue sky above us with its passing
clouds, and the sea in ceaseless motion all around us, wave chasing
wave, chequered with varying light and shade. We are all so full of
life that the afternoon is given over to games which, on shore, many
of us might think somewhat undignified. At dinner the table is full.
And what appetites most of us have! Some achieve perfect wonders as
trencher men and women, and often in memory many of the passengers
will revert to their powers in this respect. Wholly undisturbed by
fears of dyspepsia, they ate with the best of appetites. The evening
passed pleasantly with most of us in the saloon, which presented
a scene of quiet comfort and amusement. The next morning is also
enjoyable. We find we are now half way across, and we talk of making
the Straits of Belleisle by Thursday. Our run at noon is 332 knots.
There is a little fog, and the air is somewhat cold. The theory is
expressed that we are near Greenland; that a cold blast may come from
across its “icy mountains,” told of by Bishop Heber in the hymn we have
heard so often.
All the passengers, without exception, are now accustomed to the motion
of the ship. Every one appears at home. The forenoon passes quickly,
and we can hardly believe that the dinner hour is near. When we all
sit down at the long and well-provided tables one can hardly conceive
that he is not on shore at some famed hotel in Montreal or Toronto. I
am aware that I run the risk of being charged with exaggeration, but I
express the result of my convictions. I am sure that my remarks will be
borne out by all who have made several trips across the Atlantic. There
are stormy and particularly unpleasant voyages, I know. Such I have
myself experienced, but they are generally in winter; in summer they
are the exception.
The evening passes in the usual pleasant way, and we all separate
reluctantly when bed-time comes.
We have again another fine day, and the forenoon is marked by sunshine.
During the night we passed the steamer “Parisian,” homeward bound. At
noon we learn the run is 332 miles, the same as yesterday, and our
chart shows us that we are due at the Straits of Belleisle at midnight.
During the afternoon, at intervals, fog arises and disappears to return
again, and when the fog is on the water we prudently go at half speed.
We pass some icebergs, and they seem to have affected the temperature,
for the air is cold. The passengers are in high spirits. The prospect
of seeing land gives an impetus to the general hilarity. We expect to
enter the northern passage to the St. Lawrence before morning. The
trip so far has been most agreeable. The time has passed pleasantly.
The group to which I was more particularly attached was always full of
life and animation. One gentleman, who had retired from the army, and
was going out to Canada on a sporting tour, proved to be an excellent
artist, and made many amusing sketches. To another member of our group
we owe particular acknowledgments for the life he inspired around him,
and, if he cheered us by his unfailing good temper and charm of manner,
we owe also no little to his brilliant and ready wit.
The evening was spent in asking riddles and playing card tricks. One
effort led to another. Some of them were worth perpetuating. Indeed, a
very interesting volume of a moderate size could be written descriptive
of our trip, which would be read with no small amount of pleasure, and
I have no doubt would lead to the removal of many prejudices regarding
sea voyages.
We are now in the straits of Belleisle, having passed the light at
five a.m. During the forenoon the weather is a little foggy, so we go
at half speed. In the afternoon the fog clears away to be replaced by
pleasant sunshine. There is to be an amateur concert this evening in
aid of the funds of the Sailor’s Orphanage at Liverpool. Those who are
directors in this matter are particularly earnest. In the meanwhile
some of us write letters to post at Rimouski. I take it into my head
to count how many trips I have made across the Atlantic Ocean since I
left Glasgow in April, 1845. I have crossed in every kind of vessel,
from a sailing ship up to the “Great Eastern,” and this present voyage
I find to be my nineteenth, so I think I can speak with some confidence
of what life on an ocean steamship truly is. My shortest passage was
by the “Alaska,” in October, 1882, from Sandy Hook, New York, to
Liverpool, in seven days and five hours, but on this occasion we were
detained inside the bar in the harbour of New York for two days, owing
to fog. My longest voyage was by the ship “Brilliant,” it occupied
nearly six weeks.
The concert was, as usual, a success, at least everybody was pleased.
Thirteen pounds sterling were collected. Those who ventured on supper
partook of all the usual delicacies in vogue on these occasions, and
the disciple of the pipe and cigar indulged himself for some time on
deck. By half-past eleven the last of us had turned in.
It was wet the following day; we were steaming up the St. Lawrence as
we took breakfast. Those who were to leave at Rimouski, of whom I was
one, point out that it is the last time we may take this meal together,
for we may arrive at Rimouski by night. In the afternoon we have fog,
showers, and fine weather alternately. We overtake the “Hanoverian.”
She had passed us during the five hours we had lost in the fog. Night
comes on, and at ten o’clock we run into a dense fog. Prudence dictates
that we advance “dead slow,” so I throw myself on my bed without
undressing, to catch some little sleep in the interval before we are
met by the Rimouski tender.
We are called at three o’clock on Saturday morning; we take a cup of
coffee in the saloon, and I receive a batch of letters from my family
and other correspondents. We enter the tender and arrive at the long
Rimouski wharf just as dawn is breaking. My daughter and myself go
southward to Halifax with three others, amongst them the venerable
Bishop Rogers, of Chatham.
However pleasant the trip across the ocean has been, and although
many of us found its associations most agreeable and we separate from
them only by necessity, nevertheless all of us reach the shore with
no little satisfaction. The fact is we are subjected to a new set of
influences. We revive old associations. We see well-known scenes,
and meet familiar faces. There is a change from our life of the last
nine days to a new series of events and excitements. One of the first
Canadians to give us a welcome was the young son of Madam Lepage, who
had seen us off by the tender on 17th June.
The train carries us over the familiar Inter-Colonial Railway, nearly
every spot along the line having a special claim on my recollection.
The landscape is always striking in the neighbourhood of the Metapedia
and Restigouche. There has been much rain and the vegetation is
luxuriant. Bishop Rogers and myself revert to fifteen years ago when we
crossed the Atlantic together. Then, as now, he was returning from a
visit to the Holy Father at Rome. The Bishop insisted on acting as host
at breakfast at Campbelton: he held that we had now entered his diocese
and that he must consider us his guests. It would have pained the good
old Bishop had we declined his courtesy.
We learn that the fishing on the Restigouche this season has been
excellent. As usual, we have the best of fresh salmon for breakfast. We
say good-bye to the Bishop, who leaves us at Newcastle, and we proceed
on our journey, arriving late at night safely at our home in Halifax.
We are now in Nova Scotia, where I am delayed a few days before
starting on the long land journey over the western continent.
CHAPTER VI.
_NOVA SCOTIA._
Early Colonization--De Monts--Champlain--Sir William Alexander--
Capture of Quebec--The Treaties--The Acadian Evangeline--
Louisbourg--First Capture--Peace of Aix la Chapelle--Boundary
Disputes--The Final Struggle--Deportation of the Acadians--
Nova Scotia constituted a Province.
The first attempt at the colonization of Nova Scotia which was made
from France was singularly unfortunate. In 1598, we read, the Marquis
de la Roche left Saint Malo with a crew, almost entirely composed of
convicts. He landed forty of them at Sable Island until he could select
a place fit for settlement, when a westerly storm drove his ship back
to France. These settlers, if they can be so called, remained unnoticed
for seven years, and when they were found twelve only remained. Had it
not been for De Lery, who placed some live stock here in 1518, which
in the interval had greatly multiplied, they must have starved. Their
houses were built of the timbers of wrecked vessels, and it would
seem no little of the fuel was derived from the same source. There
is a letter from one John Butt to Henry VIII., which states that in
1527, seventy years previously, he met fifteen vessels in the harbour
of Newfoundland, and there is every ground to warrant the belief
that individual enterprise led to constant communication between the
maritime nations of Europe and America from the early days of the
discovery of Newfoundland, and that very many vessels penetrated to
the shores of Nova Scotia and to the St. Lawrence before the days of
Verazzano and Cartier. The object being alone that of trade with the
Indians, and to obtain fish, no settlement followed, and doubtless many
a wreck lay on the dreary shores of the exposed island where these
unfortunate men had been landed.
The first well-considered attempt at European colonization occurred
under the leadership of De Monts in 1604; in which we of Canada feel
the greater interest, as the founder of Canada, the illustrious
Champlain, took part in it. He has himself recorded the voyage,
and Lescarbot, the first chronicler of the northern portion of the
continent has fully related its history. It is mentioned that when De
Monts arrived, he found a free trader in one of the bays whose name
is preserved, Rossignol, a marked proof which I venture to adduce as
showing the frequent intercourse between the two hemispheres at that
date. De Monts entered the Bay of Fundy and passed up St. Mary’s Bay,
whence he proceeded to what is now known as Annapolis. Poutrincourt
was of the party, and he commenced his chequered career by obtaining
a grant of Port Royal from De Monts, founding a settlement there and
giving it the name it bore for upwards of a century. De Monts himself
passed over to Saint John whence he descended to Passamaquoddy Bay,
where he built the Fort of Saint Croix. His crew suffered from scurvy
during the winter. Hence he formed the opinion that the settlement
was unhealthy, and accordingly he went as far south as the Penobscot.
Finding the Indians unfriendly at this place, he returned to Port
Royal. Here he met Pontgravé, known as the friend and associate of
Champlain, who at this date first appears on the scene.
The leaders returned to France where strong influences were exercised
against them. But they reappeared in 1606 and commenced in earnest
to cultivate the land. A mill was constructed, and in the height of
their efforts the following year notice was received from France that
the monopoly of the trade in peltry given to De Monts was revoked. De
Monts’ future scene of labour was the Saint Lawrence, but Poutrincourt
obtained the confirmation of De Monts’ concession to him of Port Royal,
accompanied by the condition that it should maintain a Jesuit Mission.
The influence which sustained this addition was all powerful, so the
two Jesuits, Biard and Masse, arrived at Port Royal.[A] The Jesuits
could not agree with the commander of the settlement and they departed
to found a colony on the Penobscot River. But in 1613, Captain Samuel
Argall, from James River, in Virginia, where a settlement had been
established since 1606, sailed to fish for cod in the more northern
waters. His pretensions were higher than that of a fisherman, for he
carried fourteen guns and a crew of sixty men. Some Indians in perfect
good faith set him on the track of the new settlements, which he at
once attacked and destroyed.
No attempt was made to form a settlement from the Mother Country until
1621, when what in modern language are called the Maritime Provinces
were granted to Sir William Alexander. A vessel with emigrants sailed
in 1622, but owing to storms, was driven to Newfoundland. James I. died
in 1625, and his death led to the complications which followed on this
continent. Charles I. had determined to assist the French Protestants
then besieged in Rochelle, and as a portion of his operations, Kirke’s
celebrated expedition against Canada, took place in 1628. Quebec was
taken. The French settlements still continued with small increments in
what is known as Acadia: at Port Royal, Annapolis, to the country round
Minas Bay, or the Basin of Minas from Chignecto to Cobequid, and south
to Windsor and Cornwallis. There were some small settlements at Cape
Sable, Cape la Have and at Canso. Fifty years after this date the total
population was but little over 800, so settlement could only have taken
place slowly and at intervals.
In 1632 all that is now known as British America, which lies beyond
the valley of the St. Lawrence, was given over to the French by
treaty. But Oliver Cromwell became Protector of England, and seized
the forts of St. John and Port Royal, and, what is more, in the treaty
of Westminster of 1655 held Nova Scotia as a possession. In 1658 the
great Englishman died, and the discreditable days of the restoration
followed. In 1662 the French Ambassador received instructions to
demand restitution of the country. The English King, the pensioner
of France, had no resource but compliance, although the people of
Massachusetts, hearing of the proposition, sent a remonstrance against
the proceeding. Its only effect was to lead to delay, for in 1667 a
discreditable surrender was made by the treaty of Breda. The Governor
was ordered to hand over Nova Scotia to French rule. The accession
of William III. led to war, and in 1690 an expedition against Port
Royal ended in its capture. But by the Peace of Ryswick, 1697, Nova
Scotia was again transferred to France. Port Royal was occupied and
placed in a condition of defence, and it was among the grievances
of the New Englanders that it was the resort of pirates who preyed
on Massachusetts commerce. War again broke out in 1702. The early
attempts to capture Port Royal were not successful. Had the Governor,
Subercase, been sustained from France, the conquest might have been
perhaps stayed. But the support he asked was not extended, and in 1710
the place was again taken. The English Government had learned some
terrible lessons on the necessity of holding the territory in this
direction. The massacres at York and Oyster River in 1694 and the
attempt to destroy Wells must have taught her rulers that the English
colonies required some firmly seated support against such attempts. The
effort of France was to connect Canada by a series of outposts with
the Atlantic. A fort was built on the St. John, opposite Fredericton,
Naxouat, and at the Jemseg to the south. The thinly-peopled northern
parts of Maine and Massachusetts were thus constantly exposed to
attack, and it was manifestly necessary to the protection of New
England that a garrison of sufficient strength should be established
in a locality where it would be available to meet an excursion from
Canada, if French encroachments were to be resisted. It was thus
that attention was directed to Port Royal, which had been taken in
the expedition under Nicholson in 1710, and now received the name of
Annapolis, from the reigning Queen. Halifax was then unknown, and the
whole settlement of Nova Scotia consisted in what went under the name
of Acadia, which did not contain 1,000 souls. It was resolved, however,
to hold Nova Scotia permanently, and a garrison was left at Annapolis.
It was not until 1755, forty-five years after this date, that the
deportation of the Acadians took place, and what follows in the history
of Nova Scotia must be remembered in connection with the relentless
policy of Governor Lawrence, which enforced their banishment.
Many have formed their idea of that measure by Mr. Longfellow’s well
known poem of “_Evangeline_,” but it must be judged in a far wider
view than what is suggested by those polished hexameters. Few can
deny that the measure was one bringing much suffering with it, and
that many innocent persons underwent tribulation, and that there is
a hard, unbending purpose running through the proceeding to cause
feelings of horror and pain. This cannot be denied. But what is all
war but an unvarying scene of individual misery and wrong? A private
execution of the most notorious malefactor makes an appeal to one’s
more merciful feelings. The real question to be considered is; was this
step a merciless, treacherous, unnecessary brutality like the massacre
of Glencoe, inflicting uncalled for suffering on a defenceless
people, taken unawares, who had no chance given them to avoid such a
fate; or was it an act of necessary policy entailed by most pressing
circumstances, by consideration for the safety of a community, which
the sufferers could have avoided, without the slightest sacrifice
of principle, feeling or of individual right. The fact must be
clearly stated. The Acadians, as a conquered people, obtained every
consideration and kindness, and for years they were called upon
earnestly to be loyal and to abstain from injury to those who were now
their masters. No one ever received the slightest individual injury.
They were treated with justice, with forbearance, with mercy. They
were assured the practice of their religion, the maintenance of their
property and their personal liberty. All they were asked to do was to
give a solemn assurance, to become in fact and by their lives, subjects
of their conquerors. Not to side with their foes, but to defend the
land on which they held their property, against its enemies, and above
all to abstain from encouragement of the savage Indian, whose theory of
warfare was stealthy assassination. I return to the date 1710.
Port Royal was conquered, and its conquerors clearly shewed that they
intended to retain it as a possession. The inhabitants never ceased
from hostility in all its forms. Parties sent out to cut wood were
assassinated. Travelling beyond the fort was dangerous; for the
individual it was death. The enmity of the people was kept up by the
missionaries with the assurance that the fort would be attacked and
retaken at the first opportunity, and that British continued possession
was an impossibility. War was closed by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713,
when Nova Scotia remained a British possession. The French retained
the sovereignty of the Island of Cape Breton,[B] which with the Port
of Louisbourg, remained an eternal threat to Nova Scotia. The Acadians
were pressed by the French governor, to remove to Cape Breton. By the
14th Article of the Treaty, they had one year in which they could
leave Nova Scotia. But they would not do so. At the same time, they
declared to the French of Cape Breton their intention of remaining
subjects of France, and that they never would take the oath of
allegiance to England under any circumstances.
In 1714 Nicholson was appointed Governor of Nova Scotia, then a
recognized Province. No steps appear to have been taken for some years
with regard to the Acadians. The oath had been tendered and refused. It
was not enforced, and they remained in this unsatisfactory condition
for thirty years, when war broke out again in 1743. It was well known
that, in the event of war, every Acadian would be an enemy to British
rule. Mascarene was then Governor. Descended from Huguenot French,
he was a man of rare ability and power. A French force attacked the
fort. The attack was to have been made in connection with a French
squadron. The latter not arriving, the force retired, having shewn
little enterprise. The Acadians did not join the attacking army. There
was a body of Indians from the main land, friendly to the English, who
were sufficient to counterbalance the Nova Scotian Micmacs, and the
determined defence was a guarantee against any pronounced aid from
within.
If Nova Scotia was to be retained with a population ever ready to rise
at the first gleam of success of the enemies of Great Britain and its
religion, Louisbourg, it was evident could not be allowed to continue,
a constant omen of danger and loss. Whoever first proposed the attack,
and I think it must have been a necessity everywhere understood, it was
Shirley, then Governor of Massachusetts, who prepared the organization
by which the first taking of Louisbourg was effected, and whose
energy and ability led to the expedition of 1745. William Pepperel
was appointed its commander. Few such expeditions have been marked
by such signal organization and completeness, a striking contrast to
the contemptible result of Phipp’s expedition against Quebec in 1690,
and Walker’s miserable failure in 1711. Admiral Warren commanded the
naval forces. Louisbourg fell. The booty was immense, and to increase
it the French flag was kept flying so that vessels from France entered
the harbour to become the spoil of the conqueror. A lesson not
forgotten when Boston was evacuated by the British in 1776, by the
incompetent General Gage and his equally inefficient lieutenants. For
the British flag, still flying on the fort, invited the English vessels
unhesitatingly to sail in, if combatants, to become prisoners of war
and for the stores and merchandise to be sequestrated. It is said that
at Louisbourg the share of a seaman before the mast was eight hundred
guineas. The efforts on the part of France to revenge this reverse were
futile. The design was even to destroy Boston, but the expedition was
one of the most impotent on record.
Port Royal, Annapolis seemed more easy of attainment. The commandant
knowing the weakness of his garrison applied for reinforcements. On the
arrival of 420 men, they were sent to Minas. A French fort was then at
Chignecto. An attack was at once determined. The English troops took
no precaution, as if they were in full security. Led by Acadian guides
to the exact locality where the men were quartered, the French arrived
at 2 o’clock in the morning on 23rd January, 1747. Snow was falling
so the advance was not seen until close on the sentries. The troops,
attacked in bed, made a desperate resistance, but they were defeated
and capitulated. Such a result would have been impossible without the
assistance of the Acadians, who led the troops precisely to the points
to be attacked and withheld all knowledge of the expedition.
The disgraceful peace of Aix-la-Chapelle was made in 1748. It is hard
to believe that Louisbourg and Cape Breton were given back to the
French under the vague clause that no conquest since the commencement
of the war should be held. England, therefore, retained Nova Scotia
and France Cape Breton, for the tragedy of Louisbourg to be repeated
ten years later. We all recollect the toast of Blucher that the
diplomatist may not lose by the pen what the soldier has gained by the
sword. On this continent we have much to remind us how a few words in a
treaty, indistinct and indefinite in their purport, have ignored many
years of national effort, courage and determination, at the same time
sacrificing remorselessly a multiplicity of private interests.
But the time had come when the quarrel between France and England
should be fought out, and both powers felt that this chronic condition
of war could no longer continue. In ten years the struggle had ceased.
One by one the strongholds of France passed from her hands, and in ten
years her flag had ceased to be a type of power on the continent. Both
countries accordingly put forth their whole strength in this period: a
fact of importance when the question of the treatment of the Acadians
is judged. One of the first steps was the foundation of Halifax in 1749
under Cornwallis. It was done with rare organization, with perfect
success. Without delay Cornwallis called upon the Acadians to take
the oath of allegiance. They declined. For six years was this request
avoided with ill-concealed hostility. “In fact,” said Governor Hopson
in July, 1753, “what we call an Indian war is no other than a pretence
for the French to commit hostilities upon His Majesty’s subjects.” The
French, moreover, while recognizing the provisions of the Treaty of
Aix-la-Chapelle, drew an arbitrary boundary of Nova Scotia: that of
Missiquash River, now the boundary of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia;
and La Jonquière, then Governor of Canada, sent a force under La Corne
to erect a chain of forts from the Bay of Fundy to Bay Verte. They
constructed Fort Beauséjour. The Governor of Nova Scotia established
Fort Lawrence, near the settlement of Beauséjour. In 1755 it was
resolved to drive the French from their position. As was looked for,
the Acadians were there on the French side, but the fort was taken and
called Fort Cumberland. It was these very encroachments of the French
against Nova Scotia which led to the declaration of war in May of 1756.
What followed I need but cursorily mention. Louisbourg again fell in
1758; Quebec in 1759. In 1760 Louisbourg was demolished, for no other
port than Halifax was needed. In six months this monument of French
power, which it had taken twenty-five years to raise, was levelled
to the ground. All of value was transported to Halifax, many of the
boucharded stones, even, having been taken there. In this year Montreal
capitulated, and De Vaudreuil signed the capitulation which gave the
continent to British rule.
All these facts require to be stated when the deportation of the
Acadians has to be considered. What else could be done with them in
this crisis? From the period when Cornwallis first arrived, in 1749,
it was the one question: how to act with a body of men disloyal to the
country as it was governed. Too weak to obtain a national standing,
but constantly intriguing to injure the authority they lived under
but would not recognize; refusing all efforts of conciliation; and,
with the guarantee of possessing personal liberty, the free practice of
their religion, the enjoyment of their property, they still declined
to give the slightest assurance of good behaviour or fidelity. They
refused even to furnish supplies to the British garrison, and they
ranged themselves actually on the side of the French expeditions. They
encouraged the savage to rob, and to plunder, and to murder. They
complacently looked on while a vessel was looted under their eyes,
and at the same time they were subject to no direct tax and had every
privilege a loyal subject could ask. European writers who have alluded
to this proceeding have dwelt much on the peaceful lives and the quiet,
primitive habits of most of those who suffered. That fact has never
been disputed. But poetry has endeavoured to sublimate their virtues
to a height they never reached. The Acadians lived in rude plenty,
unmarked by the least culture. Their prejudices were only developed
among themselves. They were litigious and grasping, and French writers
of that date complain that the specie which they received never left
their possession, for they held it back for the hour of difficulty,
which would have been in no way unwelcome if it ended in driving from
their midst those who, with all the exaggeration on the subject, could
not be called their oppressors. In September, 1755, a considerable
number of the most troublesome were seized, arbitrarily, undoubtedly,
and banished from the country. What the number was which were thus
scattered and shipped in transports it is hard to state. Many were left
behind, as the despatches of subsequent Governors clearly establish.
In Grand Pré 1,925 were collected. At Annapolis and Cumberland many
took to the woods. I cannot form any other opinion than that the number
5,000 is an exaggeration. Among the papers at the Colonial Office or
at Halifax the true state of the case may be found. I am quite unable,
from what I can learn, to give any estimate, but the evidence leads me
to think that probably less than 3,000 were so deported. A melancholy
fate of suffering, sorrow and privation; for these poor creatures
were sent, homeless and destitute, to other States; but there was no
unnecessary hardship and cruelty shown, and their condition was not
worse than that of the immigrant who in old days sought our shores.
Undoubtedly it is a chapter of human misery, this enforced exodus, but
those who suffered by it could have avoided it by a line of conduct
marked by no one act in any way unworthy or humiliating. All that was
called for was the acceptance of an unavoidable condition of events,
beyond their control, irremediable. They refused to become friends
of those who made the offer of peace and conciliation in the hour of
danger and difficulty. They showed themselves to be avowed enemies.
For upwards of forty years they destroyed the peace of the colony, and
had at length to pay the penalty their conduct exacted, which was only
with reluctance adopted as a necessity which self-preservation demanded.
It is not until 1714 that Nova Scotia ranks as a British Province.
There were many mutations before it took this definite form, and in
connection with its history there is the record common to most of the
communities of this continent: that of misapprehension and a failure to
understand its importance as an American possession.
For the hundred and seventy years which Nova Scotia has continued
under British rule its population has steadily increased from various
sources, and as a maritime people they have placed themselves in the
highest rank. Nova Scotia thus possesses the distinction of being the
oldest British Province of the Dominion.
CHAPTER VII.
_HALIFAX TO QUEBEC._
Home in Halifax--Start for the Pacific--The Intercolonial Railway--
Major Robinson--Old Companions--The Ashburton Blunder--Quebec--The
Provincial Legislature--Champlain--The Iroquois.
Arrived at my Halifax home, I made the few preparations necessary for
the journey before me. In the interval, I rambled through the Dingle
with my children and paddled over the north-western arm, a sheet of
water of much beauty. There is always unusual pleasure in such quiet
occupations, exacting neither labour, nor thought, nor any great strain
upon the attention. We float along or stroll idly, as it were following
the bent of our inclinations, now and then considering what lies before
us, or reverting in memory to that which once has happened. Then I
visited my old friends, who gave me the proverbial Halifax welcome. Two
vessels of the fleet were in port, the “Northampton” and the “Canada,”
the latter attracting some attention from the fact that Prince George,
the second son of the Prince of Wales, was on board, performing the
duties of a midshipman, as any other youngster in that position and as
efficiently. A new Commander of the Forces had arrived, Lord Alexander
Russell, formerly known in Canada as commanding one of the battalions
of the Rifle Brigade, and the conversation of the garrison was the
changes in discipline and general economy introduced, as is frequently
the case by new administrators. All my friends were well and in good
spirits. I had the additional pleasure of finding that the kindness of
former days was unimpaired, and my whole visit was one of pleasantness.
I was four days in Halifax, and on the ninth of August, I started
alone. Dr. Grant who accompanied me on my first trip to the Pacific
eleven years ago, had accepted the invitation to accompany me across
the Rocky Mountains, and it was arranged that he should join me in
Winnipeg. My second son was also to be of the party. He was to meet me
in Toronto.
My family went with me to the station. There was an unusual effort to
say good-bye in starting on this long journey, but that matter has no
interest here.
It is only on alternate nights that the Pullman car runs through from
Halifax to Montreal. On this occasion I had to leave Halifax by the
Pullman which went no further than Moncton Junction, and with the
other western passengers I had to wait there for the train to arrive
from St. John. We reached Moncton at two o’clock in the morning, an
hour not the most convenient for effecting the change. It is among
the minor miseries of travelling to be obliged to turn out at such an
hour for a coming train. But the fault was my own. Had I curtailed my
brief sojourn in Halifax a few hours, or had my arrangements admitted
of delay for another day, I would have had the advantage of a through
Pullman without the inconvenience of a break at this place. Moncton is
in New Brunswick, at the junction of the lines from Halifax and St.
John, whence a common course is followed to the St. Lawrence.
As I was sitting on the platform in the cool summer air before dawn,
I could not but recollect that the 10th of August was one of the red
letter days of my life. Thirty-one years back, on that day my railway
career in Canada commenced. I was appointed as an Assistant-engineer
on what was then known as the Ontario, Simcoe and Huron Railway,
afterwards developed into the Northern Railway of Canada, and of which
I remained chief engineer for a number of years. The Montreal and
Portland Railway was under construction. The Grand Trunk Railway had
just been commenced, and with the exception of some small lengths of
line, such as the Lachine, the La Prairie, and the Carillon Railways,
it may be said that, at that date, railways had no working existence in
Canada.
The station ground at Moncton was illuminated by an electric light;
to escape its piercing rays, I turned away to a seat which they
did not reach. As I was thus sitting apart, my recollection went
back over the last thirty-one years and to the many events which the
spot suggested. The night was dark, and, excepting in the immediate
neighbourhood, it seemed to be rendered darker by the light which
flickered and glared directly above me. I cannot say that the dazzling
“Brush” light is agreeable to me at any time, or on that occasion that
my tone of thought was affected by it; but in spite of myself my mind
ran over much of the past, and brought vividly before me many events
long forgotten. I remembered the frequent mention of Moncton by Major
Robinson in his well known report, and I felt how much I owed to his
labours and to those of his efficient assistant Captain, now Sir Edmund
Henderson. I thought of poor Major Pipon, who was drowned in one of
the streams while gallantly striving to save the life of an Indian
boy. Prominent among the actors I reverted to my friend Mr. Light,
who constructed the line from Moncton to St. John, whose labours were
continued on the Intercolonial Railway until its completion, and who is
still actively engaged in his profession. Naturally, in connection with
these memories, the whole staff of engineers who worked with me on the
Intercolonial Railway passed before me, from the first long snow-shoe
tramps through the forest and across the mountains in 1864 to the
completion of the line in 1876. Some are no more; those who remain are
scattered over this continent doing their work as manfully as they did
it here, wherever their field of duty.
So far as the Intercolonial Railway appears before the public to-day,
those engineers who were for years engaged in its construction are
as if they never existed. I was struck with the similitude between
the life of the engineer and of the soldier. There is much which is
identical in the two professions. In both, privations and hardships
are endured. In both, self-sacrifice is called for. In both, special
qualities are demanded to gain desired results; and the possessors
of them for a time obtain prominence, to pass out of mind with the
necessity for their service, and to be forgotten and uncared for. It is
peculiarly during an hour of patient waiting in the advanced hours of
night that much of the past comes vividly before us. My mind reverted
to all the incidents connected with the history of this national
railway. I recalled many recollections of the Railway Commissioners
whom the Government appointed at that date, and I did my best to forget
many an unpleasantness. Differences of view were not unfrequent. They
seemed important enough at the time, but on looking back to them now,
how insignificant many of them appear. Those mistakes which permanently
affect the public interests are only to be deplored. The train had just
passed over the scene of one of the most glaring of these departures
from a wise policy. In order to serve purely local interests, the
railway was diverted many miles out of its true direction. The proper
location would have cost less; the line, when completed, would have
been better in an engineering point of view; the distance would
have been ten miles shorter. But the local interests, in themselves
insignificant, were sustained by political influence. Whatever
administration was in power, there was some one prominent politician to
advocate the location by the circuitous route. In this one point men on
opposite sides of the House could meet on common ground, and in spite
of all remonstrances[C] and regardless of the facts, their individual
interests prevailed.
Thus the country was saddled with an unnecessary expense of
construction of a needless increased length of line with its perpetual
maintenance, and every person, and every ton of goods, entering or
leaving Nova Scotia, has to pay a mileage charge of conveyance over
ten extra unnecessary miles: a tax on the travelling public and the
commerce of the country for ever! As I looked along the track into the
darkness, I remembered that some fifteen years had passed since the
troubles and unpleasantness of those days, and it came to my mind that
the prominent actors in the events are dead. I was struck with the
truth of our experience in the vanity of human wishes and the worse
than folly of sacrificing permanent public interests for matters of
passing moment.
The circumstances suggested another recollection of higher historical
importance and infinitely more consequence. Moncton itself,
geographically, is nearly due east of Montreal, but in order to reach
this point, the Intercolonial railway has to diverge northerly nearly
three degrees of latitude, through the narrow limit of territory
along the St. Lawrence. The extraordinary series of negotiations
which led to the establishment of the Maine boundary, is a chapter
in our history which the British nation equally with Canadians would
willingly forget. It is with pain and humiliation that we reflect on
the ignorance of the simplest facts of the case and of the deplorable
inattention to every national interest which marked the conduct of
the Imperial representative, Lord Ashburton, in the settlement of
that question. I had occasion, some years ago, carefully to examine
the whole subject, and I could never discover that the blame of
the discreditable settlement of the matter at issue is in any way
chargeable to the Washington Government, as many suppose, and as I
myself at one time had been taught to believe. The diplomacy of the
United States was perfectly straightforward throughout. Strange as it
may seem, the objectionable settlement, which leaves this painful blot
on the map of the Dominion, is due to the rejection of a proposition
which came from the Executive at Washington. Had the wise and just
proposal made and repeated by President Jackson been accepted, there
cannot be a doubt that the boundary would have been satisfactorily
established, in accordance with the true spirit of the treaty of 1783.
We would have been spared the bitter humiliation of the Ashburton
treaty; we would have saved ten millions of dollars in the first cost
of the Intercolonial railway, and Nova Scotia would have been, for all
practical purposes of trade and intercourse, two hundred miles nearer
the western provinces of the Dominion.
The yearly cost of maintaining and working this unnecessary length of
railway represents a large sum. The direct advantages of the shorter
line would have been incalculable. The transport of coal alone, at half
a cent per ton per mile, reckoned on 200 miles, would effect a saving
to the consumers in the Provinces of Quebec and Ontario of one dollar
per ton. Such a reduction in itself would have created great activity
in the mining industries of Nova Scotia, the coal fields of which are
inexhaustible, but which from their distance from market are subjected
to much unfavorable competition.
The train arrives in due time; a sleeping berth had been secured by
telegraph, and I proceed onwards. The following evening, the train
reaches the Chaudière Junction, opposite Quebec, having passed Rimouski
and Rivière du Loup in the afternoon. At the latter place, generally
so quiet and free from bustle, we saw an unusual number of people
assembled. It was the annual excursion of the Press Association, and
the members had been listening to an address from the Premier of the
Dominion.
There are three ways of reaching Montreal from Quebec. The traveller
may take the steamboat up the St. Lawrence, 180 miles. He may cross the
river and avail himself of the North Shore Railway, or he may remain on
the south side and proceed by the Grand Trunk Railway. It is now seven
in the evening and the train is about starting, so I continue on the
Grand Trunk route and have a second night to pass in the Pullman car.
In the morning at half-past six the train enters Montreal by the famed
Victoria Bridge.
To those who desire to pass a day at Quebec, the steamboat is a very
pleasurable mode of travelling. The steamers on the route are well
built. The accommodation is excellent, and they present a varied and
animated sight during the season from the number of passengers.
I have frequently visited Quebec, and I have passed many days among its
many pleasant associations. On this occasion, it was a mere point in my
travels. Those who visit Canada for the first time, will certainly not
hurry past this famous city as I was then doing.
Quebec will always be remarkable for its historical associations and
for the exquisite beauty of its scenery. The traveller, however far he
may have rambled, can not fail to recognize that the view from Durham
Terrace is one of the finest he has ever seen. Some contend that it
is unsurpassed. On one side is the citadel in all its strength and
grandeur. On the opposite bank of the river, Point Levis stands forth
with its coves and buildings and scenes of stirring life. Immediately
below us the majestic river itself flows in a great, placid stream
on its way to the ocean. To the north, rise the bold heights of the
Laurentian range, bearing evidences of life from their base far up on
the hill side. The whole scene furnishes a panorama rarely to be met.
In Quebec one feels that he is on a spot where every foot of space was
once of value, from the necessity of protecting the whole by works of
defence. We are taken back to the European life of insecurity of two
centuries ago, when every town was so protected, and yet was often
ravaged and despoiled. Quebec is the one memorial of that condition of
things on this continent. The city itself is built on an eminence which
admits of much variety of landscape. It is a spot of great attraction
which everybody visits with pleasure. The society has long been known
by the genial and kindly character of its hospitality. Although its
commerce is not relatively what it was in former years, it is still a
centre of much activity and possesses great wealth. The commencement of
a railway to the settlement at Lake St. John, to the north, entirely
by Quebec capital, is a proof that the spirit of enterprise yet remains.
The city is the seat of Provincial Government. During the sitting of
its Legislature it is much frequented by men busy in political life.
In summer the hotels are invariably full of tourists, chiefly from the
United States, hundreds often arriving daily to go over the ground of
its historic associations, to enjoy the beauty of the landscape, and
to observe what remains of the life of a past, of which in their own
country they are without a parallel. Much of the history of Canada
centres around Quebec. Many illustrious names are associated with the
ancient city. The most distinguished is its founder, Samuel Champlain.
Champlain’s career in Canada dates from 1608 to 1635. He founded
Quebec. He ascended the Richelieu and discovered Lake Champlain, which
bears his name. He ascended from Ticonderoga to Lake George, and
penetrated the valleys of the Hudson and the Mohawk. He ascended the
Ottawa, passed over the height of land, and by Lake Nipissing reached
Georgian Bay. He travelled the country overland from Lake Simcoe to
the Trent, and by the Bay of Quinté crossed the waters of Lake Ontario
to what is now the State of New York, and penetrated to one of the
lakes, believed to be Lake Canandaigua. He was the first to make a map
of Canada, and he published his memoirs and his travels. He, and he
only, is the founder of Canada. What he effected was wonderful. Few
men have been marked by such singular honesty of character. Few men
have possessed so well directed a spirit of adventure, controlled by an
unusually active and penetrating mind. His fortitude, his endurance,
his courage, his perseverance, his personal honour make him one of the
great characters of history.
Midway between Quebec and Montreal the City of Three Rivers is
situated. This place was early settled, a fort having been constructed
here in 1634. Its geographical position called for this protection. It
is at the foot of the St. Maurice, whose sources lie far to the north,
and west of Lake St. Peter, which in those days might be called an
Iroquois lake, from the frequent incursions of the Indians, who were
merciless in their warfare. For forty years the early French Canadian
settler never knew if he would be able to reap the harvest of the seed
he had sown. Indeed, it is not an exaggeration to say that it was
doubtful, when he left his home for his day’s labour, if he would not
be before night a scalped corpse. It was not until 1686 that Tracy
passed by the Richelieu and read the Iroquois a lesson by which peace
was obtained. Three Rivers was at an early day a settlement of some
importance. It even obtained a preference over Quebec, but the better
situation of Montreal eventually diverted the trade to that city. It
has long been a pleasant enough place, but, as the saying goes, one
through which everybody passes and where nobody stops.
CHAPTER VIII.
_QUEBEC, MONTREAL, OTTAWA._
Montreal--Ship Channel--Hon. John Young--St. Lawrence Canals--
Indifference of Quebec--Quebec Interests Sacrificed--Need of a
Bridge at Quebec--Montreal Trade in Early Times--Beauty of the
City--Canadian Pacific Railway--Ottawa--The Social Influence
of Government House--Kingston.
It is only within the last half century that the commercial advantages,
geographically, possessed by Montreal have been understood and
developed. It is not possible to enter into the history of the
remarkable works, extending east and west, which have secured to this
city its commercial success. They may, however, be briefly mentioned.
To the east a ship channel has been dredged through Lake St. Peter to a
depth of twenty-five feet, to admit of the passage of ocean steamers.
The original depth over the St. Peter flats was eleven feet. This
gigantic work, commenced in 1840, has been continued until the present
day. The excavation extends for a distance of seventeen miles, over
shoals irregular in depth. At this date the sum of $3,500,000 has been
expended in the work. The further deepening of this channel to admit
the depth of twenty-seven feet six inches is now in progress, and to
obtain this depth throughout above Quebec the shoals of the River St.
Lawrence itself above and below Lake St. Peter must likewise be dredged.
There is but one parallel to this work in the world: the improvement of
the Clyde, which has been continued for one hundred years. Originally
only vessels drawing three feet six inches could reach Glasgow. From
time to time this depth has been increased, until it may be said that
at this date ocean steamers of the largest draught are found at the
Broomielaw. Hence Glasgow, by artificial means, has become one of the
most important ports in the United Kingdom; and similarly Montreal,
although a thousand miles from the ocean, is now one of the chief
seaports of the Dominion, and, judged by the standard of Customs
receipts, must be held to be the first.
In connection with the improvement of the St. Lawrence, between
Montreal and Quebec, indeed with regard to much which has increased the
prosperity of Montreal, one name rises into marked prominence, that
of the Hon. John Young, so long and so honourably known in that city,
and still so well remembered. It was owing in a great degree to his
energy and capacity that the deepening of Lake St. Peter was completed
according to the original design. It may also be said that he was one
of the first to recognize the necessity of an increased sufficiency
of depth of channel above Quebec, if Montreal was to remain the
unquestioned port of the ocean steamer. A project which he advocated
to his death, and which until a great extent he was instrumental in
placing in its present satisfactory condition, so that in no great
number of years the depth will be attained.
To the west of Montreal several canals have been completed to overcome
the rapids of the St. Lawrence, the last of which is the renowned Falls
of Niagara, and which our grandsires held to be so insuperable as to
bar settlement on the upper lakes. These works are a marked feature
of Canadian enterprise, and in themselves an important chapter in the
history of canal construction. Nowhere in the world, on a line of
navigation, are such locks to be seen. Those of the Lachine Canal are
two hundred and seventy-five feet in length, forty-five feet wide,
with twelve feet of water in the sills, so constructed that, without
interruption to traffic, they may be increased to fourteen feet.
The enlargement of the whole navigation of the St. Lawrence, now in
progress, is on a similar scale. It is by the central and commanding
position which these works have created for Montreal that the city has
attained its present supremacy.
For a time Quebec enjoyed to the full extent the control of the ocean
shipping trade, but the day the channel was formed through the flats
of Lake St. Peter for the passage of seagoing vessels the monopoly was
broken and the trade diverted.
The City of Quebec has long complained that its commerce was
languishing, among other causes, from the persistent efforts of
Montreal to control it. The deepening of the channel between the two
cities has accomplished more than was even hoped for by its far-seeing
projectors, for most of the seagoing steamships steam past Quebec, to
find at Montreal the point of transfer for their western freight, and
the point where it is most convenient to receive a cargo. There is a
recorded saying of the Hon. John Neilson, a well known public man of
forty years back, that there are two advantages Montreal could not take
away from Quebec: the Citadel and the tide. Evidently meaning by the
former that tourists would always visit the city to see what only could
there be found, and that Quebec, by constructing tidal docks, had the
means of bringing to her harbour vessels which, from their draught,
could not ascend the river to Montreal. The persistent, well-directed
efforts of Montreal, however, have been to concede no such advantages.
What, in the meantime, has been the course of Quebec? It is well known
that at this hour great efforts are being put forth by Halifax public
men to establish Halifax as the winter shipping port of the Dominion.
It is contended that the Intercolonial Railway is a national work,
constructed with public money, and that it is precisely to meet an
emergency of this character, to prevent the diversion of the winter
freight to the United States ports, that one of the main causes of
its construction can be found. The City of Quebec, labouring under a
depression of its trade, gave its strongest support to the project of
the North Shore Railway, with its prolongation to Ottawa, and even
contributed $1,000,000 towards its establishment. In the eye of the
Quebec merchant it is a national work, the object of which is to extend
to Quebec, by railway, the same facilities for transhipment of freight
which is now possessed by Montreal. The Province had a plain policy
to follow. It was of paramount importance that she should retain full
control of the line to Montreal and Ottawa, and that it should offer,
at both points, perfect facilities for the transfer of traffic to
and from the competing railway lines: the Canadian Pacific and Grand
Trunk. The effect would have been to restore a share of the trade in
shipping freight which Quebec had previously enjoyed. Moreover, as
the navigation is confined to the summer months, it would appear to
be clearly the policy of Quebec to develop and complete her railway
connections to the east, so that the traffic in winter would flow
in a continuous stream over the North Shore line, and be carried
onward to the winter shipping port at Halifax. To carry out this
theory successfully the St. Lawrence would have to be bridged as near
Quebec as practicable. In the vicinity of the city, some few miles
south, there is a site adapted for such a bridge. The shores of the
river are high, and the deep-water channel can be crossed by a single
span, lofty enough for the tallest masts of a vessel to pass beneath.
Modern engineering has rendered the project not only possible but
comparatively easy, for it has reduced greatly the time and the cost
which some years back would have been held necessary to consummate the
project. The railway connections, equally of the City and Province of
Quebec, I may add of the Dominion, will always remain incomplete and
unsatisfactory without such a bridge. With this structure the whole
conditions of the problem would be changed. At all seasons of the year
it would facilitate the arrival and increase the number of tourists.
It would have the effect of augmenting traffic on both the North Shore
and Intercolonial Railways. It would extend provincial as well as local
advantages to commerce generally, and it would go far to establish
Halifax as the winter port of the Dominion. Moreover, it would affect
all this result without the sacrifice of one single Canadian interest.
There is much in the late policy of the Government of Quebec to
astonish and bewilder all who study the laws of trade. It has been
remarked that the City of Quebec felt its interests to be so deeply
concerned in the completion of the North Shore Railway that it voted
$1,000,000 to secure its establishment. Throughout the Province the
railway was advocated for many years; it was fostered and cherished,
and held to be the key to its future prosperity. Nevertheless the
Provincial Government has deliberately sold all its interest in the
work, and has passed over its control to a railway company whose
interests lie in an entirely different direction. They have thus
sacrificed the one chance of extending a fostering hand to local trade
and regaining the prestige of the Ancient City. Indeed, the Provincial
Government stands in relationship to this railway as if it had never
been constructed as a public work. As I am writing I read in the
newspapers that the present tariff of charges between Montreal and
Quebec, a distance of one hundred and eighty miles, on certain articles
of freight, is thirty-three per cent. higher than between Quebec and
Halifax, a distance of six hundred and eighty miles! Possibly an
extreme case; but can any fact bear stronger testimony to the sacrifice
which has been made of the interests of the City of Quebec? It is long
since there has been such an abandonment of a position from which
so much might have been hoped, and, strange to add, the sacrifice
has been made without a protest, without a remonstrance from those
most interested. It would seem that there is a failure to understand
the extent of the advantages which have been thrown away. If there
be any truth in the adage that misery likes company, it may be some
consolation to the people of Quebec to know that the shadow of this
unfortunate transaction has been equally cast over the fortunes of the
Intercolonial Railway and on the prosperity of the City of Halifax.
It seems to me that t
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