THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST
SASKATOON AND EDMONTON
I
From Winnipeg, on the night of September 10th, we pushed steadily
northwest, and on the morning of Thursday, the 11th, we were in the
open prairie, a new land that is being opened up by the settler.
We were travelling too late to see the land under wheat--one of the
finest sights in the world, we were told; but all the grain was not in,
and we saw threshing operations in progress and big areas covered with
the strangely small stocks, the result of the Canadian system of
cutting the standing stalk rather high up. In the early night, by
Portage la Prairie, we had seen big fires burning in the distance.
They were not, as we at first thought, prairie fires, but the
homesteader getting rid of the great mounds of stalk left by the
threshing, the usual method.
In the early morning mist we came upon the big, flat expanse of Horn
Lake, near Wynyard, over which flew lines of militaristic duck in wedge
formation. The prairies lay about us in a great expanse, dun-brown and
rolling. It is a monotonous landscape, and there were few if any trees
until we got farther north and west.
The little prairie towns appear on the horizon a great distance away,
thanks to the big grain elevators alongside the track. The grain
elevators in these plains are what churches are in Europe; they have,
indeed, the look of being basilicas of a new, materialistic
dispensation.
The little towns under the elevators seem palpably to be struggling
with the inert force of the prairie about them. Prairie seems to be
flowing into them on every side, and only by a brave effort do houses
and streets raise themselves above the encroaching sea of grass. Yet
all the towns have a modern air, too. All have excellent electric
light services in houses and streets, and all have "movie" theatres.
At the stations crowds were gathered. At Wynyard all the young of the
district appeared to have collected before going to school. Catching
the word that the Prince "lived" in the last car, they swarmed round
it. Some one told them the Prince was still in bed, and with the
utmost cheerfulness they began to chant: "Sleepy head! Sleepy head!"
At Lanigan, the next station, a crowd of the same cheery temper also
raised a clamour for the Prince. As a rule he never disappointed them,
and would leave whatever he was doing to go on to the observation
platform at the first hint of cheers. But at Lanigan there were
difficulties. The crowd cheered. Some one looked out of the car, made
a gesture of negation, and went back. The crowd cheered a good deal
more. There was a pause; more cheering. Then a discreet member of the
Staff came out and said the Prince was awfully sorry, but--but, well,
he was in his bath!
"That's all the better," called a cheerful girl from the heart of the
crowd. "_We_ don't mind."
The member of the Staff vanished in a new gust of cheering, probably to
hide his blushes. Need I say the Prince did _not_ appear?
At Colonsay there was a stop of five minutes only, but the people of
the town made the most of it. They had a pretty Britannia to the fore,
and all the school-children grouped about her and singing when the
train steamed in. And when it stopped, a delightful and tiny miss came
forward and gave the Prince a bunch of sweet peas.
These incidents were a few only of a characteristic day's run. Every
day the same sort of thing happened, so that though the Prince had a
more strenuous time in the bigger cities, his "free times" were
actually made up of series of smaller functions in the smaller ones.
II
Saskatoon, the distributing city for the middle of Saskatchewan, was to
give the Prince a memorable day. It was here that he obtained his
first insight into the life and excitements of the cowboy. Saskatoon,
in addition to the usual reception functions, showed him a "Stampede,"
which is a cowboy sports meeting.
The Prince arrived in the town at noon, and drove through the streets
to the Park and University grounds for the reception ceremonies. It is
a keen, bright place, seeming, indeed, of sparkling newness in the
wonderful clarified sunlight of the prairie.
It is new. Saskatoon is only now beginning its own history. It is
still sorting itself out from the plain which its elevators, business
blocks and delightful residential districts are yet occupied in
thrusting back. It is a characteristic town on the uplift. It snubs
and encroaches upon the illimitable fields with its fine American
architecture, and its stone university buildings. It has new suburbs
full of houses of symmetrical Western comeliness in a tract wearing the
air of Buffalo Bill.
It grows so fast that you can almost see it doing it. It has grown so
fast that it has outstripped the guide-book makers. They talk of it in
two lines as a village of a few hundred inhabitants, but put not your
trust in guide-books when coming to Canada, for the village you come
out to see turns out, like Saskatoon, to be a bustling city full of
"pep," as they say, and possessing 20,000 inhabitants.
The guide-book makers are not to blame. Somewhere about 1903 there
were no more than 150 people within its boundaries. Now, from the look
of it, it could provide ten motor-cars for each of these oldest
inhabitants, and have about 500 over for new-comers--in fact, that is
about the figure; there are 2,000 cars on the Saskatoon registers.
Saskatoon was full of cars neatly lined up along the Prince's route
during every period of his stay.
The great function of the visit was the "Stampede." This sports
meeting took place on a big racing ground before a grand-stand that
held many thousand more people than Saskatoon boasted. The many cars
that brought them in from all over the country were parked in huge
wedges in and about the ground.
Passing off the wild dirt roads, the Prince headed a procession of cars
round the course before entering a special pavilion erected facing the
grandstand. His coming was the signal for the Stampede to commence.
It was a new thrill to Britishers, an affair of excitement, and a real
breath of Western life. They told us that the cattle kings are moving
away from this area to the more spacious and lonely lands of the North;
but the exhibition the Prince witnessed showed that the daring and
skilful spirit of the cowboys has not moved on yet.
We were also told that this Stampede was something in the nature of a
circus that toured the country, and that men and animals played their
parts mechanically as oft-tried turns in a show. But even if that was
so, the thing was unique to British eyes, and the exhibition of all the
tricks of the cattleman's calling was for those who looked on a new
sensation.
Cattlemen rode before the Prince on bucking horses that, loosed from
wooden cages, came along the track like things compact of India-rubber
and violence, as they strove to throw the leechlike men in furry,
riding chaps, loose shirts, sweat-rags and high felt hats, who rode
them.
Some of the men rode what seemed a more difficult proposition--an angry
bull, that bunched itself up and down and lowed vindictively, as it
tried to buck its rider off.
From the end of the race-track a steer was loosed, and a cowboy on a
small lithe broncho rode after it at top speed. Round the head of this
man the lariat whirled like a live snake. In a flash the noose was
tight about the steer's horns, the brilliant little horse had overtaken
the beast, and in an action when man and horse seemed to combine as
one, the tightened rope was swung against the steer's legs. It was
thrown heavily. Like lightning the cowboy was off the horse, was on
top of the half-stunned steer, and had its legs hobbled in a rope.
One man of the many who competed in this trial of skill performed the
whole operation in twenty-eight seconds from the time the steer was
loosed to the time its legs were secured.
A more daring feat is "bull-dogging."
The steer is loosed as before, and the cattleman rides after it, but
instead of lassoing it, he leaps straight out of his saddle and plunges
on to the horns of the beast. Gripping these long and cruel-looking
weapons, he twists the bull's neck until the animal comes down, and
there, with his body in the hollow of the neck and shoulder, he holds
it until his companions run up and release him.
There is a real thrill of danger in this.
One man, a cowboy millionaire, caught his steer well, but in the crash
in which the animal came down it rolled right over him. For a moment
man and beast were lost in a confusion of tossing legs and dust. Then
the man, with shirt torn to ribbons and his back scraped in an ugly
manner, rose up gamely and limped away. The only thing about him that
had escaped universal dusting was his white double-linen collar, the
strangest article of clothing any "bull-dogger" might wear.
The Prince called this plucky fellow, as well as others of the outfit,
into the pavilion, and talked with them some time on the risk and
adventures of their business, as well as congratulating them on their
skill.
Two comely cowgirls, in fringed leather dresses, high boots, bright
blouses and broad sombreros, also caught his eye. He spoke to a
"movie" man, who had already added to the gaiety of nations by leaping
round in a circle (heavy camera and all) while a big, bucking broncho
had leaped round after him, telling him that the girls formed a fit
subject for the lens.
"I'm waiting until I can get you with them, sir," said the "movie" man.
"Oh, you'll get me all right," the Prince laughed. "There's no chance
of my escaping you."
The "movie" man got Prince and cowgirls presently, when the Prince had
invited them into the pavilion to chat for a few minutes. They were
fine, free and independent girls, who enjoyed the naturalness and
easiness of the interview.
During the meeting all the arts of the cowboys were exhibited. The
lariat expert lassoed men and horses in bunches of five as easily as he
lassoed one, and danced in and turned somersaults through his
ever-whirling loop. There were some fine exhibitions of horse-riding,
and there was some Amazonian racing by girls in jockey garb.
The human interlude was also there. A daring woman photographer in the
grand-stand held up a cowboy. Disregarding her long skirts, she
climbed the fence of the course and calmly mounted behind the horseman.
Riding thus, she passed across the front of the cheering grand-stand
and came to the steps of the Prince's pavilion. Unconcerned by the joy
of the great crowd, she asked permission to take a snapshot, and
received it, going her way unruffled and entirely Canadian.
The very thrilling afternoon was closed by the Prince himself. Walking
over to the crowd of cattlemen, he stood talking with them and
examining their horses. Presently, on the invitation of the leader, he
mounted a broncho, and, leading the bunch of cowboys and cowgirls,
swept down the track and past the stand. The people, delighted at this
unexpected act, vented themselves in the usual way--that is, with
extraordinary enthusiasm.
III
Edmonton, the capital of Alberta, was the Prince's farthest north. He
arrived there on Friday, September 12th, to receive the unstinted
welcome which, long since, we had come to know was Canada's natural
attitude towards him. As we crossed the broad main street to the
station, the sight of the vast human flower-bed that filled the road
below the railway bridge made one tingle at the thoroughness with which
these towns gathered to express themselves.
Canada, as I may have hinted already, has a way of leading strangers
astray concerning herself. In Eastern Canada we were told that we
would find the West "different." From what was said to us, there was
some reason for expecting to find an entirely new race on the Pacific
side of Winnipeg. It would be a race further removed from the British
tradition, a race not so easy to get on with, a race not moved by the
impulses and enthusiasms that stirred the East.
And in the West? Well, all I can say is that quite a number of Western
men shook me by the hand and told me how thankful I must be now that I
had left the cold and rigid East for the more generous warmth of the
spacious West. And hadn't I found the East a strange place, inhabited
by people not easy to get on with, and removed from the British
tradition--and so on...?
This singular state of things may seem queer to the Briton, but I think
it is easily explainable. In the first place, Canada is so vast that
her people, even though they be on the same continent, are as removed
from immediate intimacy as the Kentish man is from the man in a Russian
province. And not only does great distance make for lack of knowledge,
but the fact that each province is self-contained and feeds upon
itself, so to speak, in the matter of news and so on, makes the citizen
in Ontario, or Quebec, or New Brunswick, regard the people of the West
as living in a distant and strange land.
The Canadian, too, is intensely loyal to Canada; that means he is
intensely jealous for her reputation. He warned us against all
possibilities, I think, so that we should be ready for any
disappointment.
There was not the slightest need for warning. Whether East or West,
Canada was solid in its welcome, and, as far as I am able to judge,
there is no difference at all in the texture of human habit and mind
East or West. There is the same fine, sturdy quality of loyalty and
hospitality over the whole Dominion. Canada is Canada all through.
Edmonton is a fine, lusty place. It is the prairie town in its teens.
It has not yet put off its coltish air. It is Winnipeg just leaving
school, and has the wonderful precocity of these eager towns of the
West. It is running almost before it has learnt to walk.
While full-blooded Indians still move in its streets, it is putting up
buildings worthy of a European metropolis. It has opened big
up-to-date stores and public offices by the side of streets that are
yet the mere stamped earth of the untutored plain.
Along its main boulevard, Jasper Avenue, slip the astonishing excess of
automobiles one has learnt to expect in Canadian towns. A brisk
electric tram service weaves the mass of street movement together, and
at night over all shines an exuberance of electric light.
That main street is tingling with modernity. Its stores, its
music-halls, its "movie" theatres, and its hotels glitter with the
nervous intensity of a spirit avid of the latest ideas.
Fringing the canyon of the brown North Saskatchewan River is a
beautiful automobile road, winding among pretty residential plots and
comely enough for any town.
Yet swing out in a motor for a few miles, and one is in a land where
the roads--if any--are but the merest trails, where the silent and
brooding prairie (hereabouts blessed with trees) stretches emptily for
miles by the thousand.
Turn the car north, and it heads for "The Great Lone Land," that
expands about the reticent stretches of the Great Slave country, or
follows the Peace River and the Athabasca beyond the cold line of the
Arctic Circle.
To get to these rich and isolated lands--and one thinks this out in the
lounge of an hotel worthy of the Strand--the traveller must take
devious and disconnected ways. Railways tap great tracts of the
country, going up to Fort McMurray and the Peace River, and these
connect up with river and lake steamers that ply at intervals. But
travel here is yet mainly in the speculative stage, and long waits and
guides and canoes and a camping outfit are necessary.
In winter, if the traveller is adventurous and tough, he can progress
more swiftly. He can go up by automobile and run along the courses of
the rivers on the thick ice, and, on the ice, cross the big lakes.
Though the land is within the Arctic Circle, it is rich. I talked with
a traveller who had just returned from this area, and he spoke of the
superb tall crops of grain he had seen on his journey. It will be
magnificent land when it is opened up, and can accommodate the
population of a kingdom. The growing season, of course, is shorter,
but this is somewhat balanced by the longer northern days and the
intense sunlight that is proper to them. The drawbacks are the very
long winters, loneliness and the difficulties of transport.
Edmonton, sitting across the gorge of the Saskatchewan, feeds these
districts and reflects them. Because of this it is a city of
anachronisms. High up on the cliff, its site chosen with the usual
appositness of Canada, is the Capitol building, a bright and soaring
structure done in the latest manner. Right under that decisively
modern pile is a group of rough wooden houses. They are the original
stores of the Hudson Bay Company, standing exactly as they did when
they formed an outpost point of civilization in the Northwest.
It is obviously a town in a young land, pushing ahead, as the Prince
indicated in his speech to the Provincial Government, with all the
intensity and zest of youth, having all the sense of freedom and
possibility that the rich and great farming, furbearing and
timber-growing tracts give it.
IV
The keen spirit of the city was reflected in the welcome it gave the
Prince. It was a wet, grey day, but the whole town was out to line the
streets and to gather at the ceremonial points. And it was a musical
greeting. Edmonton is prone to melody. Brass bands appear to flourish
here. There was one at every street corner. And not only did they
play as the Prince in the midst of his red-tuniced "Mountie" escort
passed by, but they played all day, so that the city was given over to
a non-stop carnival of popular airs.
At the Parliament Buildings the crowds were as dense as ever. They
showed the same spirit in listening to addresses and reply, and the
same hustling sense of "getting there" when entering the building to
take part in the public reception. The addresses of welcome were a
novelty. Engrossed on vellum, it had been sewn on the purple silk
lining of a yellow-furred coyote skin, a local touch that interested
the Prince. There was another such touch after the reception. A body
of Stony Indians were presented to His Royal Highness. These Indians
had travelled from a distance in the hope of seeing the son of the
Great White Chief, and they not only saw him but were presented to him.
He talked with particular sympathy to one chief whose son had been a
comrade-in-arms in the Canadian ranks during the war and who had been
killed in the fighting.
The opening of a war memorial hall, a big and dazzling dance at the
Government House, and other functions, fulfilled the usual round. And,
last but not least, the Prince became a player and a "fan" in a ball
game.
There was a match (I hope "match" is right) between the local team, and
one of its passionate rivals, and the Prince went to the ground to take
part. Walking to the "diamond" (I'm sure that is right), he equipped
himself in authentic manner, with floppy, jockey-peaked cap and a
ruthless glance, took his stance as a "pitcher" and delivered two
balls. I don't know whether they were stingers or swizzers, or
whatever the syncopated phraseology of the great game dubs them, but
they were matters of great admiration.
Having led to the undoing (I hope, for that was his task) of some one,
the Prince then joined the audience. He chose not the best seats, but
the popular ones, for he sat on the grass among the "bleachers," and
when one has sat out of the shade in the hot prairie sun one knows what
"bleachers" means.
This sporting little interlude was immensely popular, and the Prince
left Edmonton with the reputation of being a true "fan" and "a real
good feller."