OFF TO THE NORTH-WEST—NIAGARA—LAKE SUPERIOR—THE CANADIAN PACIFIC
RAILWAY—AT WINNIPEG.
As in duty bound, I have reached Niagara Falls, and from motives equally
conscientious forbear to trouble you with either poetry or prose on the
scene that now meets my eye. In seeing them I have an advantage—that in
this early season of the year I am alone and free from the crowd of
visitors that sometimes infest the spot. As it is, there is quite enough
of modern civilization there to disturb the poetry of the place; and the
scream of the steam-engine sadly interferes with the enjoyment of that
everlasting roar which rises as the vast body of waters tumbles over the
falls—raising up majestic mountains of mist—and then sweeps grandly to
the rapids, in the raging whirlpools of which poor Captain Webb lost his
life, or, in plainer words, committed suicide. Then there are the
cabmen, who will not give you a moment’s peace, and affect not to
understand you when you intimate that you prefer to walk rather than to
ride; and a grand walk it is, about a mile from the station on the
Canadian side. Far, far below is the river—a chasm in a mass of old dark
rock—into which you peer with wondering eyes till the brain is almost
dizzy. Words fail to convey the impressions, as passing cloud and
fleeting sunshine add to the marvellous beauty of the spot. I scrambled
down to where the ferry-boat is, and drank in all the charm of the place,
not caring to be ferried across, quite satisfied with watching the
eternal fall of water as I sat there—a mere human speck in that
mysterious grandeur. The white man has come and made the place his own.
He has now thrown three bridges across it, and on the American side has
built a brewery, whose ‘Niagara ales’ are famous all over the American
Continent. I am glad to say that it is only on the Canadian side that
you have a good view of the Falls; but on neither side is there what
there ought to be, a wilderness. On each side there are houses and
hotels, and churches, all the way; and I was offered Guinness’s Dublin
Stout and Bass’s Pale Ale, just as if I were dining in a Fleet Street
restaurant. On my return I met a funeral procession. Death had come
into one of the wooden houses on the side, and the friends and relatives
had ridden in their buggies and country carts to pay the last tribute of
respect to the deceased. Yes; death is lord of life—in the New World as
well as in the Old.
I went then by way of Hamilton, through a district as fertile and as
well-farmed as any in England, looking far more civilized than any part I
have yet seen. There are no stumps of trees in the ground, as there are
elsewhere, and the houses look as if they had been built long enough to
allow of home comforts; and, as Hamilton is the place to which many of
our poor lads are sent, I was glad to feel that in such a district they
would have few hardships to encounter, and would have every chance of
getting on. Here at one time there were bears and wolves; but they have
long since disappeared before the march of their master, man. It is not
so long since there was quail shooting on the very site of the city of
Toronto, and hawks would carry off the chickens the earlier emigrants
were attempting painfully to rear, and the Indians were also unwelcome
guests. I have heard of an old Scotch settler who, as his last resort,
invoked the aid of bagpipes, wherewith to frighten his unwelcome guests;
but even that did not frighten the Indians, who carried off the contents
of his potato ground, undisturbed by a musical performance which would
have struck terror into the stoutest English heart. Well, all that wild
forest region is now the home of peace and plenty, and distant be the day
when Professor Goldwin Smith’s idea will be realized, and it has been
peacefully annexed by the United States. Out in Canada that idea finds
little favour. Why should it? It is a favourite boast with Americans
that Canada will ultimately be theirs. I am sure that is not a favourite
idea of the Canadians themselves. Great Britain, it is to be hoped, will
be as loyal to Canada as Canada is to her.
The thing is not to be settled quite so easily as Professor Goldwin Smith
anticipates. In Quebec Province we have a million of French Canadians,
who make no secret of their preference to a French rather than an English
alliance, and who are quite prepared to act accordingly, as soon as
British authority shall have become relaxed. Then we have the Acadians
of Nova Scotia, who would probably follow the lead of French Canada; nor
could the few Britishers of New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island escape
the same fate. France is quite prepared to increase her influence in
this part of the world. Indeed, at the present moment there is talk of
her buying the island of Anticosti, which, as you may be aware, though
almost uninhabited now—save in the summer, when the fishermen go
there—makes a very respectable appearance in the river St. Lawrence.
Then we come to Ontario, which, placed as she is, could not withstand an
attack from the United States.
Once upon a time the Yankees did make an attempt of the kind—that was in
1837—an attempt which the loyal men of Canada helped Sir Francis Head to
put down. Toronto escaped, though she had the enemy at her very gates.
I must say that all the Canadians with whom I have spoken have no wish to
become Americans. For one thing, they say they can’t afford it.
Government is more costly in America than in Canada. I admit as much as
anyone the right of the people to decide their fate. If the Canadians
prefer to live under the star-spangled banner, it is vain for us to
attempt to retain them. But the danger is the indifference of the
English public as to the value of such a colony as that of Canada, a
country bigger than all Europe, and at present with a sparse population
only equalling that of London. A few brief facts will show the
importance of the North-West to the English, not merely as a field for
emigration, but for other reasons as well.
From Liverpool to Winnipeg, _viâ_ Hudson’s Bay, the distance is less by
1,100 miles than by way of the St. Lawrence, and they are now talking of
making a railway along that route. From Liverpool to China and Japan,
_viâ_ the northern route, the distance is 1,000 miles shorter than by any
other line. It is really 2,000 miles shorter than by San Francisco and
New York. How immense, then, will be the power which the possession of
Hudson’s Bay, and of the railway route through to the Pacific, must
confer upon Great Britain, so long as she holds it under safe
control!—and where is the nation that can prevent her so holding it, as
long as her fleets command the North Atlantic? It is utterly
inconceivable that English statesmen would be found so mad or so
unpatriotic as thus to throw away the key of the world’s commerce, by
neglecting or surrendering British interests in the North-West. Our
great cities would not sanction such a policy for an instant. England
could better afford to give up the Suez Canal, or be rid of her South
African colonies. The interests of the two countries are inseparable.
We require the North-West to send us grain. She requires us as her best
customer. Manitoba has her natural market in Great Britain, and in the
near future Great Britain will have her best customers in Manitoba and
the North-Western Provinces.
It is to the credit of the Canadians—that is, if figures may be
trusted—that they spend less on drink, and more on education, than we do
in the Old Country.
Party feeling runs high; but it is difficult to an outsider to understand
what is the line of separation between the ins and the outs. An English
writer tells us that she once asked a member of the Greek Opposition in
Parliament, what was the difference between them and the Government.
‘Why,’ was his reply, ‘it is this. If M. Tricoupi says we want
railroads, we say, “No; we want canals.” If he says a thing must be done
by horses, we say, “No; it must be done by oxen.”’ It is just the same
here. What one party proposes the other opposes. The present rulers
rode into power on the wings of Protection. They are Tories; but it is
to be feared the Liberals would have done the same, had they had a
chance. It is the fashion to use very bad language, and to imply the
worst of motives to your opponents; and it is in this easy way the
Canadian newspapers fill up their columns when they are not—and this
seems their great mission—quarrelling with one another.
The country farmers, who are much keener men of business than their
fellow farmers in the Old Country, care little about politics. At the
last election a friend of mine said to a farmer, ‘Have you voted?’ ‘Oh
yes!’ was the reply. ‘Well, for which party?’ Ah, that was a question
he could not answer. He had voted as his neighbour told him; and he knew
that his neighbour was a real good man, and that he would not give him
bad advice. So long as voters are thus simple, elections will be a
mockery and a sham.
I have left Toronto behind, and here I am on Lake Superior, the largest
body of fresh water in the world—so large is it, that if you immerse in
it Great Britain and Ireland, and add the Isle of Man and the Isle of
Wight, there would still be a respectable amount of water to
spare—enough, at any rate, to make a river as long as the Thames, which
we in England hold to be a very decent sort of river indeed. As I came
up the St. Lawrence, some of the Canadians, who are, as they may well be,
proud of their grand river, asked me what I thought of it. My reply was
that for a colony so young, it was a very tidy sort of river indeed; and
I may say the same of the enormous body of water on which I am now
floating. It is a big thing indeed—as might be expected, where both
Canada and the United States contribute to its bigness. We are in the
middle of the lake, having Michigan on one side. Already we have stopped
twice—once to take a pilot, and then again at Le Sault, where we had to
stay while we waited our turn to enter the canal which connects the
Georgian Bay to Lake Superior. There, indeed, we were made conscious of
the fact that we were within the United States, as the banner of the
stars and stripes floated proudly on each side of us, and there were a
few soldiers in blue regimentals standing on the wharf, to say nothing of
loafers, and boys and girls and half-breeds, to welcome our arrival.
For one thing I felt proud of my country. The Americans have nothing
here equal to the _Algoma_, a crack steamer built on the Clyde for the
Canadian Pacific Railway, and to which, at this present moment, are
entrusted Cæsar and his fortunes. It is only the second trip the
_Algoma_ has made, as for the greater season of the year this immense
water-way, incredible as it seems to us, is a solid block of ice, and we
have it all around us still. I boarded the _Algoma_ on Saturday
afternoon, after a rapid run by rail from Toronto, which city we left in
the morning at half-past eleven, and I assure you I was glad the journey
was safely over, as once or twice it seemed to me, at one or two of the
curves, the cars were very near leaving the rails; and the boy—they are
all boys here—who had to attend to the brake, gave me a grin, as if he
thought that we had much to be thankful for that we kept the track at
all. I presume I shall get used to that sort of thing, but at present
the sensation experienced in rounding some of the curves is more novel
than agreeable.
We are a very miscellaneous company on board, chiefly Toronto traders and
stalwart boys from Manitoba, who have been enjoying a holiday in Upper
Canada, and emigrants. Gloves are unknown, likewise hats and
shirt-collars are the exception rather than the rule. As to having one’s
boots blackened, that is rather an expensive luxury, when you recollect
the charge is fivepence a pair, and no one on board apparently has had
his boots blackened for the last week or two; and I question much whether
I shall require any of Day and Martin till I get back to Toronto again—an
event which will take place apparently about the time of the Greek
kalends. Hitherto I have managed the blacking difficulty most
effectively. As far as Toronto I travelled with my London friend, who,
aware of the custom of the country, had provided himself with the needful
materials for the fitting amount of polish, and who generously permitted
me to reap the benefit of his superior knowledge. My first attempt, I
fear, was a failure. In my bedroom at the hotel I set to work, and soon
acquired the requisite amount of polish; but, alas! I had forgotten the
effect of blacking on clean sheets, and to my horror I discovered the
bed-linen was, at any rate, as plentifully covered with blacking as ‘them
precious boots.’ However, I did not regret the catastrophe, as I hoped
it might teach the landlord it would be cheaper to get the boots of his
guests blackened in an efficient manner, than to leave such unskilful
amateurs as myself to do it on their own account.
Life on board the _Algoma_ is as agreeable as can well be imagined. We
have three good meals a day. I am writing in a magnificent saloon,
nearly three hundred feet long, and if the nights are cold, as they
always are on the lakes, I have a cabin all to myself, and by heaping the
bed-clothes for two berths on my bed, and throwing a heavy great-coat
over them, I manage to keep myself warm for the night. The scenery by
day is magnificent, as we sail in and out among a thousand isles, all
richly wooded to the water’s edge, with here and there a little village,
or small settlement, where the woodmen ply their calling—the results of
which may be seen now in a raft being towed by a tug, to be shipped lower
down to Liverpool or Glasgow, or in stacks of planks along the shore.
Further behind is the mainland, with rock and wood in endless succession.
At Sault St. Marie, the river is celebrated for its fish, and as you pass
through the canal, you have plenty of Indian canoes paddling about, with
a man at the stern to seize the fish by a hand-net: the white fish of
Lake Superior is held to be a great delicacy. After a day and night, we
get into the open lake, out of sight of land, and then we land at Port
Arthur, whence we take the train to Winnipeg, where I hope to hear a
scrap of English news.
I have but one complaint to make, and that is, on the Sunday we had no
service of any kind. I am not, nor ever was, a stickler for forms; but
there are times, especially as many now on board may be planted far away
from any religious observance, when it seems to me a simple service might
be the means of strengthening old impressions, and perhaps planting new
ones. One thinks of that fine old hymn of Andrew Marvel’s:
‘What can we do but sing His praise,
Who guides us through the watery maze?’
And an hour or so thus spent, surely may be quite as helpful to the
higher life we all dream of, at any rate, as the favourite occupation of
the majority—smoking and spitting, or the study of the maps of the
district to which we are all rapidly approaching. I had a queer chat
this morning with an old Canadian farmer who landed at Le Sault. He was
pleased to hear that I had been at Yarmouth in Norfolk. His mother was a
Clarke of Yarmouth. Did I know any of the Clarkes of Yarmouth? I
replied that I had not that pleasure, but that I knew many of the
Clarkes, and that they were a highly-respectable family indeed.
Well, I have now done with Ontario, and you ask me what I think of it? I
reply that it is a beautiful country, and that it has room for any amount
of farm labourers and servant girls. I have been talking with a
gentleman this morning, who tells me that he pays his groom about £6 a
month, and that he boards him as well. He tells me of a Scotch labourer
who came out without £1 in his pocket, and who has just died worth
£12,000.
At Ottawa I saw a large lumber-yard worth many thousand pounds, which was
the property of one who came from England as a working man. As to
mechanics, I fear the case is different. In Ontario, in all the towns,
the mechanics have strong unions, and they do all they can to keep out
emigrants of that class, fearing that their own wages will be reduced.
This dog-in-the-manger policy prevails everywhere, and many mechanics,
directly they land, are thus frightened by them, and want to get back to
England at once. There are two sides to every question. All I can say
is, that while a mechanic’s representative, at Montreal, was telling me
that there was no room for mechanics, and was doing all he could to
induce those who came out with me to return to England at once, I saw an
advertisement with my own eyes in a local paper (I am sorry I have
forgotten the name) for five hundred mechanics, who were immediately
wanted. A man who has got a good situation in England would be a fool to
give it up and come out; but I believe a mechanic who has a head on his
shoulders—who is young and in good health, and knows how to take
advantage of his situation—may find a living even in Ontario. This is my
deliberate conviction, after all I have seen and heard, and with the full
knowledge that in Montreal, and Ottawa, and Toronto, there is a pauper
class as badly off as any of the denizens of our London slums. The
people I most pity are the young fellows who in England have had the
training of gentlemen, and who are sadly out of place in Canada, and whom
the Canadian mothers dread, fearing that they may corrupt the native
youth. Many of them, however, are decent fellows; but nevertheless,
there is no room for them, unless they go out to Manitoba, and get some
farmer to give them board and lodging for their work. I parted with
quite a pang with one such on Friday, at Toronto. He was the nephew of a
well-known noble lord, and really seemed a very decent sort of fellow.
‘What can you do?’ I said to him. ‘Oh, I can row and play cricket,’ was
his reply. Unfortunately, Canada is not much of a country for
cricket—the summer season is too short; and I felt that my young friend,
unless he could turn his hand to something more useful or lucrative, had
better have remained at home.
The pleasant steamship journey ended, I landed at Port Arthur—a town
situated in one of the loveliest bays I have yet seen, almost surrounded
by weird and fantastic rocks—with a view to run by the Canadian Pacific
as far as Winnipeg. As I landed a bill met my eye: ‘Wanted, a hundred
rock-men and fifty labourers;’ and that seemed to me an indication that
emigrants need not go begging for work in that particular locality. Port
Arthur, which stands near the ancient Hudson Bay Company’s station of
Fort William, was in a state of intense activity. Every one was building
wooden houses and shops who could do so. According to all appearances,
it is certainly a busy place; but architecturally I cannot say that it is
of much account. The main street opens on to the railway, along which
the engines, ringing a doleful bell in order to bid passengers keep out
of the way, pass every few minutes. Then there are wooden shops and
wooden hotels, and the usual concourse of rough, unwashed, half-dressed
loafers in the streets. Behind them is the forest and in front the bay,
with its waters almost as clear as those of the Baltic, and almost as
blue as those of Naples. Yet I certainly got very heartily tired of Port
Arthur, and so, I am sure, did all my travelling companions, who sat on
the planks or on the wooden pavement, which, being raised above the road,
made passable seats, or on the bits of rock which the railway builders
had been too busy to remove, wondering at what hour the train would
start. I pitied the poor emigrants, with their children, and their beds,
and their household furniture, as they sat there, hour after hour, in
that hot and sandy street. We landed at eleven, having made the whole
distance from Toronto—a run of about eight hundred miles—in exactly two
days and two nights—not quite so long as Jonah was in the whale’s belly,
but we certainly got over more ground than he did. When were we to
start? No one knew. It takes a long time to get out £4,000 worth of
freight and passengers’ luggage, and that is what the _Algoma_ had on
board. The worst of railway travelling in Canada is that there is no one
of whom you can ask a question. There may be a station-master, there may
be a whole herd of officials, there may be an army of porters, but
Canadians in one respect resemble the Americans—and that is, that they
think it inconsistent with their manly dignity to wear any kind of garb
which can in any possible way distinguish them from the crowd of
lookers-on, always to be met with in a railway station, so that the
railway traveller is always in a perplexity. When we got on shore we
were told that we should start in half an hour. Then came word that we
were to be off at half-past one, and so, as soon as the cars were made
up, we joyfully climbed into them—and the steps are in many cases so high
that it is hard work climbing into them; but still we were no further on
our way, and it was not till a little before four that, after many false
starts, we could fairly believe that we were off. Oh, it was wearisome
work, but then it may be asked, Whoever travels on a railway for
pleasure? It is true these big American cars have certain advantages
ours lack. You can change your position; you can talk without breaking a
blood-vessel; and you can see more of the country, especially as they do
not go the pace we are accustomed to at home; but there is such a
confusion of persons in them, that to one accustomed to the society to be
met with in an English first-class carriage, the result is anything but
pleasing. In the Canadian first-class carriage Jack and his master ride
side by side, unless the latter takes a berth in a sleeping car, for
which he has to pay extra. As I did not feel inclined to give three
dollars for a night’s unquiet rest, I took my chance with the first-class
car company, and I can assure you that by the time the dim grey of
morning glimmered on the horizon, I had heartily repented of my decision.
The night was so cold that everything in the way of ventilation was
stopped up. The car was quite full, and few of my fellow travellers
seemed to have had much regard for soap and water. It is true there was
a lavatory attached to the car, but there was neither water nor soap nor
towels, and the neatness of the lavatory in other respects only seemed to
me to make matters worse. I must say that the car, which was built in
Canada, was a remarkably handsome one, with its dark wood panels
beautifully carved, and its seats all lined with red velvet; yet when I
left it in the morning it was in a filthy state. I also found in it
agreeable society, but there were many who could not truthfully be
included in such a category—rough men and women with whom in England you
would not care to travel in a third-class carriage: but I am an
Englishman, and may be pardoned for not knowing any better. It is to the
same defect, perhaps, that I may trace the disappointment I felt at the
refreshment sheds, in which we were permitted to snatch a hasty meal,
waited on by a man in shirt-sleeves. Certainly we do that part of our
business better at home. The Canadian Pacific have a dining-room of
their own at Winnipeg, and there, if possible, the traveller should
endeavour to secure a meal.
But oh, that ride! I shall never forget it. Burns tells us that Nature
tried her ’prentice hand on man
‘And then she made the lassies, oh!’
I think Nature must have made that part of Canada which lies between Port
Arthur and Winnipeg before she tried her hand on Great Britain and
Ireland. It is true some part of it has an exquisite combination of wood
and water and rock, but the greater part was either forest or gigantic
plains or valleys of stone—which seemed to shut all hope from the
spectator. In Canada—that is, along the railway lines—there is little
life in the forest, few flowers display their loveliness, and no
song-birds warble in the trees. All is still—or would be, were it not
for the peculiar croaking of the frogs, to be heard like so many hoarse
whistles from afar. You go miles and miles without seeing a farm or even
a log-hut. In one place I saw an Indian wigwam, much resembling a
gipsy’s tent, and a large canoe; but dwellings of any kind are the
exception, not the rule. The train every now and then stops, but you see
no station, and why we stop is only known to the engine-driver. We take
no passengers up, and we set none down, or hardly ever. The people who
get in at Port Arthur only want to be taken to Winnipeg. There is no
traffic along the line, because there are no inhabitants along the line,
and for the greater part of the way it is not only a solitary ride, but a
rough one as well. As you get nearer Winnipeg, the road is easier, and
the pace is more rapid. You leave behind you rocks and forests, and
reach an open plain on which you see, perhaps, a dozen cows, where
millions might fatten and feed. A good deal of this land, I am told,
belongs to the half-breeds. In time it is to be hoped that they may
utilize it more than they seem to do now.
A great change is impending over this part of the world. Even that stony
district of which I wrote, and which seemed to me as the abomination of
desolation, is, I hear, full of mineral wealth, which will be brought to
light as soon as a certain boundary difficulty is settled—Ontario and
Manitoba at present are each contending for the prize—and the decision of
the question must shortly take place.
Perhaps the one thing that has most struck me with admiration is the
pluck which has given birth to the Canadian Pacific Railway, by means of
which the emigrant is taken from his landing in Quebec to his destination
on the slopes of the Pacific, without ever leaving the Canadian soil. It
is a patriotic enterprise, for under the former system the emigrant who
intended to settle in Canada, and who, in reality, was wanted there, was
often tempted to change his mind and to settle in the United States. It
was a bold enterprise, for the cost was enormous, and Canada is not a
wealthy country. It was an enterprise which was made the subject of
party conflict. Appalling difficulties have had to be surmounted by the
engineers. Yet all have been vanquished, and in a few months this grand
scheme will be an accomplished fact, and you will be carried direct from
one side of this enormous continent to the other. I think Sir John
Macdonald is to be congratulated for the courage and tenacity he has
displayed on the subject, through good or bad report, and too much praise
cannot be awarded to Mr. George Stephens, who has been the ruling spirit
and life of the undertaking from the first, and I am sure that such
railway officials as those I have met, such as Mr. Van Horne, have proved
loyal coadjutors, evincing a similar wide grasp of mind and readiness of
resource for which Sir John himself is distinguished.
In England they are well represented by Mr. Begg, who, as he knows the
district well, can speak of it with a confidence and certainty possessed
by no one else. It is to him the credit must be given of the Manitoba
farm in the Forestry Exhibition at Edinburgh last autumn, which was
visited with much interest by the Prince of Wales and Mr. Gladstone, and
to which I was glad to see, for I was there several days, the Scotch
farmers and agriculturists paid particular attention. Such men are an
honour to Canada, and may be ranked amongst its best friends. It is to
them that Canada owes her present proud position and ability to find
happy homes for the tens of thousands of England and the Continent, whom
she has rescued from starvation, and whom she has placed in the way to
insure wealth and health and happiness. I find even poor persecuted Jews
driven from Russia on this fertile land, who, under these favouring
skies, have learned to become prosperous farmers. One may well be proud
of Canada, and be proud to think Canada belongs to us. When Bret Harte
asks,
‘Is our civilization a failure,
Is the Caucasian played out?’
I answer in Canada with an emphatic No! Canada is redolent of industrial
success. The very air of the place is full of hope.
[Picture: Second Year on a Prairie Farm, Canadian North-West]
Not only has the Canadian Pacific Railway opened up the country, but it
has established experimental farms in different parts, in order to test
the capabilities of the soil and the advantages or disadvantages of the
climate. It is said, and extensively believed, that the soil between
Moose Jaw and Calgary is made up of desert and alkali lands, and entirely
unfit for cultivation. With a view to correct that idea, ten farms were
established at the following stations: 1, Secretan; 2, Rush Lake; 3,
Swift Current; 4, Gull Lake; 5, Maple Creek; 6, Forres; 7, Dunmore; 8,
Stair (these two being the nearest stations east and west of Medicine Hat
at the crossing of the Saskatchewan River); 9, Tilley, and 10, Gleichen,
the last being within view of the Rocky Mountains. The breaking
throughout was found to be easy, the soil in every case good and in most
instances excellent, ranking with the choicest lands in the Company’s
more eastern belt: wherever the rating of the soil is lowered, according
to the Company’s standard, owing to its being of a lighter grade, the
inferiority will be compensated for by the certainty of the grain
maturing more rapidly.
[Picture: Calico Island, Saskatchewan River, Canadian North-West]
In a pamphlet just issued it is stated that the average from all the
farms was as follows:
‘Wheat 21½ bushels; oats, 44¼; barley, 23¼; peas, 12½.
‘The above yields were ascertained by accurately chaining the ground
and weighing the grain, this work being done by a qualified Dominion
Land Surveyor, and the results, both favourable and otherwise, have
been fully given.
‘At each farm about one acre of spring wheat and oats were sown and
harrowed in in the fall when breaking was done. Much of this grain
germinated during the mild weather of November and December, at which
time it showed green above the ground, and as a consequence it was
nearly all killed during the winter, and the ground had to be resown
in spring. Some small pieces of wheat which were not entirely killed
out were left; and, though the straw showed a rank growth, with heads
and grain much larger than that sown in spring, the crop ripened very
unevenly and much later. Fall sowing of spring wheat, which has
proved successful in Manitoba, is not likely to be a success in the
western country, as the winter is much more mild and open, and the
grain liable to germinate and be killed. Fall wheat has not, as far
as we are aware, been tried, and there seems no reason why it should
not prove successful.
‘The results obtained, considering the manner in which the land was
treated, proved much more satisfactory than was anticipated, and
show—
‘1st—That for grain growing, the land in this section of country is
capable of giving as large a wheat yield per acre as the heavier
lands of Manitoba.
‘2nd—That a fair crop can be obtained the first year of settlement on
breaking.
‘3rd—That for fall seeding with spring grain on the western plains, a
satisfactory result cannot be looked for with any degree of
certainty.
‘4th—That cereals, roots, and garden produce can be successfully
raised at an elevation of 3,000 feet above the sea-level.
‘5th—That seeding can be done sufficiently early to allow of all the
crop being harvested before the first of September.’
And I hear of many who have done well—some of whom came out without a
rap—and who enjoy a robust health unknown to them at home.
Perhaps nowhere has a village so suddenly sprung up into a city as at
Winnipeg, which first obtained notoriety by the advent of Lord Garnet
Wolseley, then a young man, who came to suppress the rebellion raised
there by a half-breed of the name of Riel, a daring young French
Canadian, wily as a savage, brilliant and energetic. In 1870 he appealed
to the prejudices and fears of the half-breeds, and in a few days had 400
men at his back. Owing to the clemency—perhaps mistaken—of his captors,
Riel escaped the punishment due to his crimes. In 1873 he was enrolled
as a member of Parliament, notwithstanding that at one time a reward of
5,000 dollars had been offered for his apprehension as a murderer.
The name of Winnipeg was then little known outside Manitoba. It was
built by traders, who wished to rival Fort Garrey, then the headquarters
of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and to carry on a free trade on their own
account. After the suppression of the rebellion, Manitoba had a local
Parliament, which met at Winnipeg, and also sent its representatives to
the Dominion Parliament. The place grew rapidly, though even at that
time Mr. Mackenzie, Sir John Macdonald’s political opponent, declared
that a cart track was good enough for Manitoba for many years to come.
In 1875 the total population was 3,031 assessed and 2,000 non-assessed,
which was a pretty respectable increase, considering that in 1869 there
were hardly a hundred settlers in the place. As late as 1876 the sport
of wolf-hunting was carried on by several of the inhabitants just outside
the city. Now it has churches, banks, schools, manufactures, and
mercantile men of great energy and high standing; and has become,
especially since the Pacific Railway Company has made it one of their
great stations, the gateway of the North-West. Settlers came crowding in
from all quarters, and in ten months, in 1878, 600,592 acres of land were
located. In 1879 Winnipeg boasted of a street extension of 83 miles, and
then came the bridge over the Red River to render the town easy of access
to all new-comers. Intoxicated with success, what the Americans call a
‘boom’ was created a year or two since, which seemed to have made
everyone lose his wits. There was no end to speculation in town lots;
merchants, tradesmen, professional men, could think of nothing else. The
bottom, however, soon fell out, and at this time Winnipeg is in rather a
depressed state; but it is clear, from its peculiar position, that this
depression can only be temporary. It is destined to be the great
distributing and railway centre of the vast North-West. The town has now
a population of 26,000, and three daily papers, besides weekly ones. Ten
years hence, it is predicted, she will be ten times her present size.
Her wharves will be lined with steamboats; her river-banks with
elevators; industries and manufactures will spring up in her midst, and
her streets will be fuller of life than they are to-day.
Winnipeg stands low, and at certain seasons—that is, when the thaw
commences—it is liable to floods; but the air is singularly pure and
bracing—while I write the sky is an azure blue—and the hottest days are
followed by cool nights. The inhabitants all seem to be in the
possession of good health. Then the water was said to be bad, whereas I
find it to be quite the reverse. The supply of gas is poor, and it seems
rarely used. The one great drawback is Winnipeg mud.
The streets, all of them, are as broad as Portland Place, only with
handsomer shops. I fear in wet weather they must be almost impassable.
As it is, the sides are now dried up, as if they were ploughed, and
carriages seem to make their way with considerable difficulty; but there
is a magnificent broad wooden side walk to all the streets, while in the
middle sufficient smoothness has been attained for the due working of
street railways, which seem to be in a satisfactory condition. I have
also been agreeably disappointed with the hotels, which I was told were
all bad and all tremendously dear. On the contrary, I have found in the
new Douglas Hotel, in the main street, as good accommodation as I
require, and at a very reasonable rate; while the proprietor—Mr. Bennett,
a worthy Scotchman—does all he can for the comfort of his guests, having
introduced into this far distant land all the latest improvements, such
as heating the place by steam and the use of electric bells.
A walk in the city is amusing. Grand shops and well-built offices
everywhere attract the eye. Ladies in the latest fashion meet you one
minute, and the next you jostle a swarthy Indian, half civilized, and his
squaw, still less civilized than himself. Odd fur-skins are exposed for
sale, while a stuffed bear adorns the main street, up and down which run
all day long the newsboys with the latest telegrams from London, or
Paris, or New York. To-day I have seen a photograph of the original
fireman of the ‘Rocket,’ who lives here, and has made a large fortune by
contracts. Unfortunately, at this time he is absent from home, and I
fear I shall not have a chance of interviewing him. Religion flourishes
here. There are about fifteen churches and chapels in the city, and the
Young Men’s Christian Association is in a very successful condition. Of
Protestant bodies, the leading ones are the Presbyterians, the
Methodists, and the Episcopalians. In connection with the Cathedral of
St. Boniface, the oldest church in the city, it is interesting to note
that the bells came originally from Birmingham, by Hudson’s Bay, and that
after the destruction of the building the remains of the metal were
gathered up and sent to Birmingham, whence they have again come back
after an interval of three years. The city stands in the midst of a
fertile plain, adequate to the support of any amount of population. But
the land is far better further on. At Manitoba, for instance, the soil
is much finer. Manitoba is an Indian name denoting the Voice of God. It
seems that the rocks on the river are cavernous, and that at certain
seasons of the year the wind strikes them with such force as to produce a
singular reverberation, which the rude Indian, whose untutored mind
teaches him to see God in the cloud and hear Him in the wind, considered
to be no less than the utterance of the Deity Himself.
[Picture: Hunting scene on the Souris River, Manitoba]
Just now people are rather exercised with the Indians, who have been
placed in reserves where they cannot get a living, and who, besides, find
their location an unhealthy swamp. One of the Winnipeg journals is very
indignant, and says this is what may be expected from the Government.
From all I can learn, the Indians are sturdy maintainers of their rights,
and take care that the Government shall not easily overreach them; and
perhaps, on the whole, the Indians are better off under Canadian than
they would be under American government. Indeed, people say they are
very good fellows when uncorrupted by Englishmen. The emigrant in these
parts must not be surprised at the occasional appearance of an Indian;
and perhaps it is well that the farmer takes care of his horses. I am
sorry for the poor Indian, who is the original owner of the soil, and
whom, perhaps, one day Mr. Henry George may see fit to visit with a view
to the recovery of his rights and the redress of his wrongs. When that
is the case, the emigrant will have to pack up and return to his native
land. Till that is the case, however, he may safely cross the water, and
avail himself of the advantages offered him by the Dominion Government;
but to do that he must have at least £200, and then he can stock his farm
and keep himself till the return for his labours comes in.
[Picture: Souris Valley, Manitoba]
‘The worst of all our books on emigration,’ said the editor of one of the
dailies to me, ‘is that they give too glowing an estimate of the state of
affairs. They say a farmer will do well with £100. This is not
sufficient capital as a rule to start with. It is true there have been
instances where settlers have succeeded on this sum, but with such a sum
as £200, Manitoba offers the farmer advantages such as no other place
offers him.’ Here, also, the regular farm-hand is sure of his living. I
see an attempt is being made by a gentleman, now in Winnipeg, to plant
out a couple of hundred boys—and I hear there is room for them. But
there is little building going on in Winnipeg, and the mechanic need not
trouble himself to come here. All in this part are loud in condemnation
of emigration from the East-end of London. Those poor of the
East-end—alas! neither the Old World nor the New seems to know what to do
with them. Since this was written I see the Manitoba Mortgage and
Investment Company have declared a dividend of eight per cent., an
indication that at any rate in their part of the world money is being
made.