Winnipeg a City of Live Wires—Three Outstanding
Figures—Rivalry Between Donald A. and Dr.
Schultz—Early Political Leaders—When Winnipeg
was Putting on its First Pants—Pioneer
Hotels—The Trials of a Reporter—Not Exactly
an Angelic City—The First Iron
Horse—Opening of the Pembina Branch—Profanity
by Proxy—The Republic
of Manitoba—The Plot to Secede.
Winnipeg is a live wire city. That does not have to be proven. Almost
any one of its progressive business men will admit that, if cornered,
but it is doubtful if in its couple of hundred thousand or so of people
it holds as many distinguished “live wires” as did the muddy, generally
disreputable village that in, say, 1873, with a thousand or perhaps
fifteen hundred people, straggled along Main Street from Portage Avenue
to Brown’s Bridge, near the present site of the City Hall, and sprawled
between Main Street and the river. It was without sidewalk or pavements;
it had neither waterworks, sewerage nor street lights. The nearest
railroad was at Moorhead on the Red River, 222 miles away. Its
connection with the outer world was one, or possibly two, steamers on
the Red River in the summer, and by weekly stage in winter. It boasted
telegraph connection with the United States and Eastern Canada by way of
St. Paul, during the intervals when the line was working. Although
essentially Canadian it was practically cut off from direct connection
with Canada. The Dawson route to Port Arthur could be travelled with
great labor, pains and cost; but did not admit of the transportation of
supplies. All freight came by Northern Pacific Railway to Moorhead; then
by steamer, flat boat or freight team to Winnipeg.
But the Winnipeg of that day was recognized to be then, as it is now,
the gateway to the Canadian Prairie West where lay the hope of Canada’s
future greatness. The transfer of governmental authority over Rupert’s
Land from the Hudson’s Bay Company to Canada had taken place in 1869;
Canadian authority had been established by the first Red River
expedition of 1870; a transcontinental railway was to be built at an
early date that would displace the primitive conditions then existing.
The doors of vast opportunity lay wide open and Canada’s adventurous
sons flocked to Winnipeg to have a part in the great expansion—the
building of a newer and greater Canadian West. They were big men, come
together with big purpose. Their ideas were big, and they fought for the
realization of them. They struggled for place and power and advantage,
not with regard to the little, isolated village which was the field of
their activities and endeavors; but always with an eye to the city that
now is and to the great plains as they now are.
They saw what was coming; they were there to bring it. Yet those who
lived to see their visions realized, as they are to-day, are few and far
between. The boom of 1881 seemed to promise that realization, while the
pioneers of the early ’70’s were still to the fore. But the promise of
the boom was not fulfilled—then. It was only a mirage, and when it
passed it left the majority of the pioneers blown off the map
financially and otherwise. And few ever “came back”. Since the boom of
1882, the soul of Winnipeg has never been what it was before. The later
Winnipeg may be a better city. It was a short life from ’71 to ’82, but
while it lasted, it was life with a “tang” to it—a “tang” born of
conditions that cannot be repeated and therefore cannot be reproduced.
The Live Wires of the Seventies
Who were those live wires of the ’70’s? I shall just mention a few whose
reputations have been established before the world by after events. No
one will deny the outstanding ability and commanding position in
national, imperial and even world affairs, achieved by the late Lord
Strathcona. In Winnipeg in those early ’70’s he was chief commissioner
of the Hudson’s Bay Company, resident in Winnipeg, and took an active
part in all that concerned the business or politics of the country.
“Jim” Hill flatboated down the Red River from Abercrombie and Moorhead
to Winnipeg in ’70, ’71 and ’72. In ’73 he was the chief member of the
firm of Hill, Griggs & Co., owning and operating the small steamer
Selkirk on the Red River in opposition to the “Kittson Line” (really the
H.B.C.) steamer _International_. Alex. Griggs was captain of the
_Selkirk_, and Hill rustled business and was general manager. How small
that day of small things was may be judged by the fact that these two
stern wheel steamboats on the Red River transported all supplies of all
kinds used in the trade of the vast Northwest; and at that the
_International_ was laid up in the fall for lack of business. Of course
they had to meet the competition of flat boats. In any case Hill was
squeezed out of the transportation business on the Red River. The
_Selkirk_ passed into the service of the “Kittson Line” and Hill
entirely withdrew his interest in the development of the Canadian West.
Some years afterwards he joined forces with his late opposition on the
Red River in organizing and pushing what became the Great Northern
railway system of to-day.
Amongst the men of the ’70’s, or indeed before the ’70’s, was James H.
Ashdown, one of the many who entered in the business race, and one of
the few who has realized to the full the success for which he hoped and
planned. Mr. Ashdown was in Winnipeg before the transfer to Canada—no
doubt in expectation of the event. As a Canadian he opposed the
ambitions of Louis Riel and was imprisoned by Riel during his short
reign. A careful but enterprising business man, the boom of 1882, that
destroyed so many of his business colleagues and competitors, left him
unshaken. His business has steadily expanded since that time. To-day Mr.
Ashdown belongs to his business. In the ’70’s he was a fighting force
for progress. In the struggle for competition and lower freight rates on
the Red River he took a leading part, and was the means of establishing
the “Merchants Line”, consisting of the _Minnesota_ and the _Manitoba_.
The _Manitoba_ was sunk on her first trip by a collision with the
“Kittson Line” _International_. While that seemed to put the “Merchants
Line” out of business, the course of the subsequent damage litigation
was such that a favorable arrangement towards Winnipeg merchants was
made by the “Kittson Line”; and this bridged over the river freight
conditions until the arrival of the railways. In later days when
financial difficulties seemed likely to overcome the big city, Mr.
Ashdown became mayor and admittedly put the city on its feet. No one
to-day will deny Mr. Ashdown the attribute of being a live wire.
Another old-timer of the early ’70’s to establish his title to rank with
the best of them under modern conditions was “Sandy” Macdonald. Mr.
Macdonald was a resident of Winnipeg in the ’70’s but did not go into
business for himself until after the boom. However, he soon made up for
lost time. During the slow moving decades that followed the boom, Mr.
Macdonald expanded his wholesale grocery business until it spread all
over the west from Winnipeg to the Coast. Some years ago he sold out to
a then recently organized company for several millions. But his
activities did not cease. With a new organization he is doing as much
and as widespread a business as ever, following his own original lines
as to cash sales and co-operative employment. Mr. Macdonald is
essentially a progressive along all lines and has served the modern city
both as alderman and mayor.
[Illustration: THE NEW AND THE OLD C.P.R. STATIONS IN WINNIPEG.]
But a city must have other interests than commerce and transportation if
it is to be a real city. Education is of paramount importance. Now that
there is a Manitoba University and a number of colleges given to higher
education along all accepted modern lines, representing an expenditure
of millions, it is in order to recall that the first Manitoba college
was established through the single-minded purpose and almost
single-handed efforts of Rev. Dr. Bryce, of the Presbyterian Church, who
still occupies a high place amongst the educationists of the West.
Manitoba College was begun, like almost all else in those early ’70’s,
on faith in the future and a determination to be ready for it when it
came. The chief trade of the city was in buffalo robes from the plains;
production from the farms, limited as it was at best, had been paralyzed
for several successive seasons by the grasshopper plague. The
immigrants, who were arriving, needed almost everything more than they
did education. And yet Dr. Bryce, having the future in mind, worked on.
It is a long road from the Manitoba College of 1873 to the University
and College of 1921. But Dr. Bryce has been pushing the cause through
every change and has the satisfaction of seeing to-day the realization
of the hopes with which he entered on the work.
Lord Strathcona and “Jim” Hill have passed from the scene of their
efforts and triumphs. Messrs. Ashdown and Macdonald and Rev. Dr. Bryce
are still here to answer for themselves. It is not to be supposed that
these names exhaust the list of outstanding figures who held the stage
in those early years. They are merely mentioned as examples that prove
beyond argument the live wire character of the early population.
The Rivalry Between Smith and Schultz
An instance of the rivalry of those early giants was that between Donald
A. Smith and Dr. Schultz. Mr. Smith was commissioner of the Hudson’s Bay
Company, by far the most powerful commercial organization in the west,
which also controlled the only inlet and outlet of trade or travel by
its “Kittson Line” of steamers on the Red River. He was active in civic,
provincial and federal politics and was considered by the new Canadian
influx to be anti-Canadian and non-progressive. Dr. Schultz was a
Canadian physician from Windsor, Ontario, who had come to the Red River
settlement and established himself in medical practice before the
transfer of 1869. He had championed the Canadian cause both before and
during the Riel rebellion, and escaped Riel’s vengeance by leaving the
country in the middle of winter; but his property was confiscated by the
rebels. When he returned in the wake of the first expedition he was of
course in strong favor with the constantly increasing Canadian element
of the population. At the same time in his practice as a physician he
acquired the confidence of many of the native Red River settlers, so
that he was in a strong position to contest the claims of Mr. Smith’s
political support. He had some aptitude for trade as well as for
medicine, politics and real estate, and there is no doubt that his
vision of the future was as far reaching and on much the same lines as
that of Mr. Smith, who was the first representative from Manitoba in the
Canadian Parliament.
Both were men of boundless energy and ambition. They were in opposition
to each other on all points and at all times. While Dr. Schultz helped
to ultimately defeat Mr. Smith for parliament, the latter finally
carried away the prize of railway construction and control that had been
the great dream of Dr. Schultz. Although the doctor was finally
distanced in the race by his great rival he nevertheless achieved a
large measure of distinction. He sat in the Commons and afterwards in
the Senate. He was made a knight and for years was lieutenant-governor
of Manitoba. Had his health not broken down, his death following, there
is no saying how far he might ultimately have gone. These facts are
mentioned not to revive ancient animosities but to prove that the men
who achieved success did not do so because they had the field to
themselves. They had to fight every inch of the way; then as much as now
or possibly then more than now.
The Political Leaders
Generally speaking, the politicians of Manitoba in the ’70’s were of
higher calibre than is generally found in new countries. Head and
shoulders above all was Hon. John Norquay, a native, who became Premier
after the retirement of Hon. A. R. Davis, a very shrewd politician. Mr.
Norquay, who personally resembled Sir James Carroll, the Maori-Irishman
or Irish-Maorian of New Zealand, was a high minded statesman, eloquent
beyond ordinary and his honesty and motives were never questioned,
except by the cheap agitating politicians. His sudden death was a loss
to Canada, for had he lived he would have left his mark at Ottawa. Hon.
Thomas Greenway was his sturdy opponent and they were great bosom
friends. There were others like John Winram, William and Robert
Bathgate, the former starting the first gas company in the city, Col.
McMillan, H. M. Howell, Tom Scott, W. F. McCreary, A. W. Ross, Hugh
Sutherland, Gilbert McMicken, Stewart Mulvey, Kenneth Mackenzie, Hon.
Joseph Royal, C. P. Brown, D. M. Walker, Tom Daly, Hon. A. A. C.
Lariviere, D. B. Woodworth, Isaac Campbell, W. F. Luxton, Joseph Ryan,
Dr. O’Donnell, E. P. Leacock, Charlie Mickle, Fred Wade, John Macbeth,
Alex. M. Sutherland, E. H. G. Hay, with whom at later date were
associated Hon. Joseph Martin, Clifford Sifton, Dr. Harrison, Dr.
Wilson, Sir R. P. Roblin, Sir James Aiken, Somerset Aiken, L. M. Jones,
J. D. Cameron, Joshua Callaway and Charlie Sharpe, Amos Rowe, Tom Kelly,
the big contractor, Hugh John Macdonald, T. W. Taylor, W. B. Scarth,
Hon. Robt. Rogers, J. H. D. Munson, Geo. Wallace, now M.P.; Sir Stewart
and Willie Tupper, J. P. Curran and Tommy Metcalfe, who now ornament the
bench; Heber Archibald was also a prominent figure, and many others, all
of whom played their part in the development of the country.
I Strike Winnipeg
When I struck Winnipeg, the embryo city was just putting on its first
pants. The route from eastern Canada was made in summer by the Great
Lakes to Duluth or by rail through Minnesota to Fargo or Moorhead—just
across the river from each other—the one being in Minnesota and the
other in Dakota; and then by boat to the future western metropolis. I
went up the Great Lakes to Thunder Bay, walked across the ice and rowed
up the Kaministiquia River to Fort William on May 24th, 1875. Then I
drove over to Port Arthur, where at Julius Sommer’s tavern, I sat down
to a table covered with a checkered red and white table cloth for the
first time in my life. The food was good enough—what there was of
it—and plenty of it such as it was. After a short stay, I took the
steamer for Duluth and the Northern Pacific to Moorhead. My seat-mate on
the train from Duluth to Moorhead was Billy Bell—now Col. William G.
Bell, a prominent citizen of Winnipeg. There were no sleeping cars then.
At Aitken, Minnesota, a lumbering centre, one of those wild-eyed
lumber-jacks with his red shirt sleeves rolled up and his trousers stuck
in his top boots, leaped on the car, and, furiously brandishing a
revolver, swaggered down the aisle.
“Who am I?” was his constant cry to the half-scared occupants of the
coach. “Say, who am I? blankety, blankety, blank my blankety blank eyes,
who am I?”
As he approached our seat, his voice became if possible a little louder
and the revolver was flourished a little more frantically. It peeved me.
So I grabbed Billy by the arm, and looking the disturber in the eye,
sharply remarked:
“Billy, tell the gentleman who he is!”
That’s all there is to the story, for the bully subsided and vamoosed by
the rear door amidst the sighs of relief and hearty laughter of the
passengers.
The boat trip from Moorhead to Winnipeg occupied a couple of days and
nights. There was keen competition between the old Kittson Line and the
Merchants Line. I was a passenger on the _International_, which left
first for the north. The _Manitoba_ passed us some distance down the
river, reached Winnipeg, and on its return south-bound trip was at
Lemay’s Point, about five miles from Winnipeg, during the night. In
rounding the bend, the _International_, doubtless not unintentionally,
made a straight run for her, struck her under the guards, and she
partially sank. I was unceremoniously thrown out of my berth, and rushed
to the cabin, which was the scene of wild confusion and uproar. One
scared fellow-passenger loudly shouted that the boat was sinking, and
just then the mate came along, and, hitting him a wallop on the ear,
which knocked him down, said: “You’re a dom liar. It’s the other boat
that’s sinking.”
Something About Hotels
Winnipeg warmly welcomed the new-comer, and made him feel at home. The
old Davis House on Main Street had been the only hotel in town, but, as
population increased, Ed. Roberts’ Grand Central and the International
were its rivals, and afterwards the Queen’s—the palace hotel of the
Northwest, as it was ostentatiously advertised—was built, and with it
the Merchants.
Later came the Revere, Leland, Winnipeg, Golden, Grand Union, Imperial,
Johnny Haverty’s C. P. R. Hotel at the south end of the city, Duncan
Sinclair’s Exchange, Scotty Mclntyre’s, Taff’s, Pat O’Connor’s St.
Nicholas, George Velie’s Gault House, Denny Lennon’s, Billy O’Connor’s,
John Baird’s, Johnny Gurns’, Bob Arthur’s, the Potter House, the Brouse
House, Montgomery Brothers’ Winnipeg, John Poyntz’, the Clarendon and
many more to fill in the immediate wants, until the Manitoba, an
offspring of the Northern Pacific was erected, only to be shortly after
destroyed by fire. Now the city has the Royal Alexandra and Fort Garry,
which rank amongst the finest hotels on the continent, and a host of
smaller but very comfortable places. Winnipeg during and ever since the
boom has never lacked splendid restaurants. Clougher’s, Bob Cronn’s, Jim
Naismith’s and the Woodbine were the leading ones, but that old veteran,
Donald McCaskill, had a mania for opening and closing eating places with
astounding regularity. Chad’s place at Silver Heights was a pleasant and
well-run resort, but one can’t play ball all winter and so other games
were played in some of which what are called chips were substituted to
the satisfaction of all concerned, except perhaps the losers.
All of this reminds me that one of the north-end hotels was called the
California, and its proprietor was Old Man Wheeler. When in the late
’70’s it was determined to form a Conservative Association, the
California was chosen as the place for the gathering of the faithful in
that locality. Hon. D. M. Walker, afterwards appointed to a judgeship,
and myself were in charge of the meeting. We arrived early to see that
all necessary arrangements had been completed. Sitting in an upper room
the Judge asked me if I knew what Wheeler’s politics were and I said I
didn’t, but would ascertain. So I stamped on the floor, which was the
usual signal that someone was wanted. Old Man Wheeler quickly appeared
on the scene, and the Judge asked:
“Wheeler, what are your politics?”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he replied, “I’ll take a little Scotch.”
The meeting was a huge success, after such an auspicious opening. The
Judge said it could not help but be.
The Trials of a Reporter
While Winnipeg in the ’70’s was in a sort of Happy Valley, with times
fairly good and pretty nearly everybody knowing everybody else or
knowing about them, the reporter’s position was not, at all times, a
very pleasant one, for on wintry days, when the mercury fell to forty
degrees below zero, and the telegraph wires were down, and there were no
mails and nothing startling doing locally, it was difficult to fill the
_Free Press_, then a comparatively small paper, with interesting live
matter. A half-dozen or so drunks at the police court only furnished a
few lines, nobody would commit murder or suicide, or even elope to
accommodate the press, and the city council only met once a week; but we
contrived to issue a sheet every day that was not altogether
uninteresting. Of course, when anything of consequence did happen, the
most was made of it. A. W. Burrows (Dad) was a great source of news, and
many an item he gave me. He was in the real estate business, and a
hustler but lived long before his time in Winnipeg.
The city council was an attraction to many citizens and spirited
encounters were frequent and popular with the assembled crowd. At one
meeting Ald. Frank Cornish called Ald. Alloway a puppy, and, when asked
by the mayor to apologize, did so by saying that when he came to think
of it, his brother alderman was not a puppy, but a full-grown dog. This
did not meet with the approval of his worship, whereupon Ald. Cornish
very humbly and penitently apologized to the entire canine race. Ald.
Wright and Ald. Banning had a regular set-to at another meeting, in
which both got the worst of it. “Them was the days.” It was said of Mr.
Cornish that when he was mayor of Winnipeg—he was the first—he hauled
himself up before himself on a charge of being, well, let’s say not too
sober, and fined himself $5.00 and costs. The attendants at the police
court loudly applauded this Spartan act, until they heard the mayor say
to himself:
“Cornish, is this your first offence?” and culprit Cornish blandly
informed Mayor Cornish that it was. Then his worship addressing himself
to himself, said:
“Well, if it’s your first offence, Cornish, I’ll remit your fine.” And
the laughter was resumed.
Not Exactly an Angelic City
It would be a mistake to imagine, that the Winnipeg of the early ’70’s
was a city of angels. It is a regrettable fact that some, if not many,
of its leading citizens may fairly be described as otherwise.
A difficulty in dealing with the more human and therefore more
interesting features of the progress of any community is that the events
of a half century ago cannot be fairly read in the light of to-day.
Custom is law in a large measure. What was allowable or even commendable
under the custom prevailing in one age may be neither allowable nor
commendable under the custom of half-a-century later. The reading public
do not make allowances. They are apt to judge the facts related of the
past by the standards of the present; they do not recognize the absolute
truth of the phrase, “Other times, other manners.”
Therefore many legitimately interesting episodes of the old days must go
unrecorded rather than that the men of enterprise, energy, foresight and
patriotism who put Winnipeg on the map in the years from ’71 to ’82
should be misunderstood.
The men who, so to speak, put the “Win” in Winnipeg deserve the best
that those who are the heirs of their efforts and successes, or even
failures, can say or think of them. The occasion was great, and they
were men of the occasion.
The First Iron Horse
The arrival of the first locomotive in Winnipeg was a red-letter day for
the whole Canadian West. It was on October 9, 1877. Brought down the Red
River on a barge, with six flat cars and a caboose, towed by the old
Kittson Line stern-wheeler, _Selkirk_, her voyage down stream was one
continuous triumphal progress from Pembina at the International boundary
to Winnipeg.
The _Free Press_ of that day, on whose staff I was city editor,
telegraph editor, news editor, reporter, proof reader and exchange
editor, gave the following account from its Pembina correspondent of the
eventful affair:
“The steamer _Selkirk_ arrived at Pembina yesterday (Sunday), with three
barges, having on board a locomotive and tender, a caboose and six
platform cars, in charge of Mr. Joseph Whitehead, contractor on the
C.P.R. As this is the pioneer locomotive making its way down the Red
River Valley, the steamer was hailed by the settlers with the wildest
excitement and greatest enthusiasm, especially as Mr. Whitehead had
steam up on his engine, and notified the inhabitants that the iron horse
was coming by the most frantic shrieks and snortings. On passing Fort
Pembina the flotilla was saluted by the guns of the (U.S.) artillery,
and upon arrival at Pembina it was met by Captain McNaught, commanding
at Fort Pembina, and his officers, Hon. J. Frankenfield, N. E. Nelson,
and his associates in the U. S. customs, and the population _en masse_.
The flotilla was handsomely decorated with flags and bunting, proud of
the high distinction of carrying the first locomotive destined to create
a new era for travel and traffic in the great northwest.”
The _Free Press_ said in part on October 9th:
“At an early hour this morning, wild, unearthly shrieks from the river
announced the coming of the steamer _Selkirk_, with the first locomotive
ever brought into Manitoba; and about 9 o’clock the boat steamed past
the Assiniboine. A large crowd of people collected upon the river banks,
and, as the steamer swept past the city, mill whistles blew furiously,
and bells rang out to welcome the iron horse. By this time the concourse
had assembled at No. 6 warehouse (at foot of Lombard street) where the
boat landed, and in the crowd were to be noticed people of many
different nationalities represented in the prairie provinces.
“The _Selkirk_ was handsomely decorated for the occasion with Union
Jacks, Stars and Stripes, banners with the familiar ‘C.P.R.’ and her own
bunting; and with the barge conveying the locomotive and cars ahead of
her, also gaily decorated with flags and evergreens and a barge laden
with railway ties on each side presented a novel spectacle. The whistles
of the locomotive and the boat continued shrieking, the mill whistles
joined in the chorus, the bells clanged—a young lady, Miss Racine,
pulling manfully at the ropes—and the continuous noise and din
proclaimed loudly that the iron horse had arrived at last. Shortly after
landing three cheers were given for Mr. Joseph Whitehead, and in a few
minutes a crowd swarmed on board and examined the engine most minutely.
The caboose and flat cars, which also came in for their share of
attention, each bearing the name ‘Canadian Pacific’ in white letters.
After remaining a couple of hours, during which she was visited by many
hundreds, the _Selkirk_ steamed to a point below Point Douglas ferry,
where a track had been laid to the water’s edge, on which it was
intended to run the engine this afternoon.
“It is a somewhat singular coincidence as mentioned by Mr. Rowan (C.P.R.
engineer in charge then) on a recent public occasion, that Mr.
Whitehead, who now introduces the first locomotive into this young
country, should have operated as fireman to the engine which drew the
first train that ran on the very first railway in England—the historic
line built in Yorkshire between Stockton-on-Tees and Darlington. Surely
the event of to-day is not one whit less important to Canadians in
Manitoba than was that in which Mr. Whitehead figured so many years ago
to Englishmen, in Yorkshire. It is no wonder that the settlers on the
banks of the Red River went almost wild with excitement in witnessing
the arrival of the ‘iron-horse.’ ”
A lone blanketed Indian standing on the upper bank of the river looked
down rather disdainfully upon the strange iron thing and the interested
crowd of spectators who hailed its coming. He evinced no enthusiasm, but
stoically gazed at the novel scene. What did it portend? To him it might
be the dread thought of the passing of the old life of his race, the
alienation of the stamping grounds of his forefathers, the early
extinction of their great God-given provider, the buffalo, which for
generations past had furnished the red man with all the necessities of
life—shelter, food, clothing, shaganappy—a necessity for his cart or
travois—and even fuel. The untutored mind may have dimly pictured the
paleface usurping his rights to an hitherto unquestioned freedom of the
plains, and the driving back of the red man by the overwhelming march of
civilization. Whatever he may have thought, this iron horse actually
meant that the wild, free, unrestrained life of the Indian was nearing
its end, and that the buffalo, with its life-giving gifts and its trails
and wallows, would disappear, to be replaced by immense tracts of golden
grain fields which would, in years to come, make this fair land the
granary of the world. Buffalo and agriculture are an impossibility
together, and the law of the survival of the fittest is unfailing. And
so it was in this case, when the first locomotive was the _avant
courier_ of thousands to come.
The Pembina Branch
In the early days of December, 1878, the last spike of the Pembina
Branch of the C.P.R., connecting St. Boniface and St. Vincent,
Minnesota, where connection was made with the St. Paul & Pacific road to
St. Paul, was driven. There were no palatial sleepers or high-toned
parlor cars in those days on the road, and the primitive train consisted
of several not very comfortable flat cars and a box car in which were
some rude benches, a lot of straw carpeting, and a small wood-burning
heater. It was called “Joe Upper’s private parlor car”. There were a
great many of the first families of Winnipeg aboard, many of the
excursionists being of the gentler sex. The ceremony of driving the last
spike took place at Rosseau River. There was a dispute as to which lady
should have the honor of doing the driving, and to settle the
controversy, U. S. Consul Taylor diplomatically suggested that they all
take a whack at it. And they did—gently tapping the spike with a heavy
sledge hammer, but not driving it very far into the tie. After all had
had their turn, and the spike was still in painful evidence, the consul
called upon Mary Sullivan, the big strong buxom daughter of the boss
section man, who with one mighty blow drove the spike home amidst the
loud cheers of the assembled multitude.
Jack McGinn, now with the Canada Carbide Company, of Shawinigan Falls,
Que., was the first paymaster of the road, which was the first completed
link of the C.P.R. system, and its first connection with any other
railway, and it gave Manitoba and the Northwest their first rail
connection with the outside world. The contractors were Upper & Willis,
Joe being a Kingston (Ont.) boy. Immediately after, a primitive
passenger service was inaugurated. On the first train, on which was a
first-class car borrowed from the St. P. & P., were half a dozen or so
passengers, and the conductor asked Jack for instructions as to their
tickets, of which there weren’t any. Jack was equal to the emergency and
wrote on an ordinary sheet of foolscap paper:
Ticket, No. 1, Trip No. 1, St. Boniface to St. Vincent. Passenger—S.
Orson Shorey, December 2, 1878. J. St. L. McGinn.
To add to its value as a souvenir, Jack had it pretty well covered,
front and back, with signatures, including: Frederick Hayward,
conductor; J. Vannaman, driver; R. R. McLennan, road master; R. S.
McGinn, master of stores. Big Rory McLennan was afterwards member of
Parliament for Cornwall in the House of Commons, and the world’s
champion for tossing the caber and throwing the hammer.
The following summer the Pembina Branch was taken over by the Government
and was operated by T. J. Lynskey in charge until it passed into the
hands of the present Canadian Pacific Railway Company. Mr. Shorey was
very proud of his souvenir ticket which he kept carefully framed. Jack
McGinn was not only paymaster, but the first superintendent of the
C.P.R., then under the control of the contractor.
Lord Strathcona—and Profanity
In the general election of 1878, the then constituency of Lisgar, which
included Winnipeg and the country around it, was contested by the then
Hon. Donald A. Smith and the Hon. Alex. Morris, who was previously
Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba. It was a very closely contested
election and Donald A. (as the afterwards Lord Strathcona was generally
alluded to) won by the narrow majority of 9. For some hours on the night
of the election, the result was in grave doubt, owing to the returns
from St. Charles not being received. The general impression was that Mr.
Morris was elected. There was deep consternation in the Smith camp and
while Mr. Smith himself was not at all a profane man, circumstances
caused him to swear by proxy, so to speak. Bob Woods was his right hand
man, and when things looked decidedly sombre Bob gave vent to his
pent-up feelings and burst forth into language in which he did not
usually indulge. Trying to console his chief, he very forcibly remarked:
“Oh, blank, the blank sons of guns, they’re a lot of low-down dirty
blankety, blank traitors and scoundrels.”
And the supposed defeated candidate, clasping his hands and rubbing them
as if washing them in invisible water—a peculiarity of
his—acquiescently replied:
“Are they not, Mr. Woods, are they not?”
“Yes, and they are a miserable black-livered lot of blankety, blank
pirates and political prostitutes.”
“Are they not, Mr. Woods, are they not?” Mr. Smith enquiringly
coincided.
“Judas Iscariot was a Simon Pure white angel, compared with these
blankety, blank blackguards and cut-throats.”
And Mr. Smith again agreed by:
“Was he not, Mr. Woods, was he not?”
“And they can all go to h——” (not heaven) hotly thundered Bob.
“Can they not, Mr. Woods, can they not?” sympathetically came Mr.
Smith’s reply.
And this conversation unceasingly kept up, until the missing returns
came in, and showed that the expected defeat had been turned into
victory.
And that was the nearest that the future Lord Strathcona was ever known
to indulge in profanity.
The Republic of Manitoba
A well-known if not very prominent resident of Winnipeg was Mr. Thomas
Spence, who arrived in the ’60’s. He was well educated and possessed of
the average amount of brains, but he was not by any means in the first
or second rank of statesmen, capitalists or commercial magnates. And yet
Tom, as he was familiarly called, was the first and only president of a
Canadian republic that ever existed. When the authority of the Hudson’s
Bay Company was nearing an end, Tom hied himself to Portage la Prairie,
then little more than a hamlet, and founded the Republic of Manitoba,
which was to be altogether self-supporting and to be separate and
distinct from the Hudson’s Bay Company, in fact a government on its own
hook. Tom surrounded himself with a committee of five and immediately
proceeded to provide for the levying of taxes, the erection of public
buildings, the making of Indian treaties, the construction of roads and
other public works, all of which he set forth in a letter to the
Secretary of State for the Colonies. In a little over four months after
the dispatch of his letter, President Spence received a body blow in the
shape of an acknowledgement from the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, in
which he was plainly told that his “so-called self-supporting government
had no force in law” and “no authority to create or organize a
government without reference to the Hudson’s Bay Company or the Crown,”
and he was officially warned that he and his coadjutors were acting
illegally and incurring grave responsibilities. The republic then
collapsed—long before it had reached its first birthday. It was an
inglorious ending, and Tom’s roseate dreams of a proud presidential
career were rudely shattered. The ex-president returned to Winnipeg, and
became satisfied with a fairly good position in the local Government
service, but he always insisted that, if he had been given a chance, the
Republic of Manitoba would have been one of the greatest and most
prosperous countries in the universe—at any rate it would have been
larger than the Principality of Monaco, more fertile than Greenland, not
so torrid as Florida nor as mountainous as Mexico, and would have had as
big a navy as Switzerland.
[Illustration: HOW OUR EARLY SETTLERS ARRIVED IN WINNIPEG.]
The Plot to Secede
One of the most exciting of the episodes in which I figured was the
secession meeting held in the third storey of a big building immediately
opposite the city hall. Mack Howse, Charles Stewart and some other
disgruntled people called the meeting to pass resolutions that Manitoba
should secede from the Dominion. T. J. Lynskey, of the Government
Railway, learning this, resolved to head off the disloyal gathering.
Obtaining a card of admission, a few hundred imitation ones were printed
and distributed where they would do the most good. When the meeting
opened with Mr. Stewart in the chair, the hall was packed—but not with
faces familiar to many of the organization. Mr. Stewart, who was an
Englishman and perfectly sincere in his views, seeing before him what
might be a hostile audience, discreetly gave a moderate address, and
when the secession resolution was read, there were calls for Mr. Wilson,
father of Charlie and Herb Wilson, the lawyers, and himself a barrister
of high standing. He was a staunch Liberal and also a staunch Canadian,
and the merciless tongue-lashing he gave the seceders in a twenty minute
speech would have done credit to Sir Richard Cartwright himself. His
peroration, if not grand, was effective. Turning to the chairman, he
shouted at him:
“And now, sir, if it were not for your gray hairs and your advanced age
I would——”
And he glanced significantly at the open window near him.
There were calls for me and I was trying to keep the young men around me
in leash. I simply told them that I had not come to speak, but to
listen, but if it would facilitate matters at all, I would move that the
chairman be a committee of one to secede. This fully met the views of
the great majority of the meeting and when Johnny Gurn, who kept a
restaurant which was not run altogether on temperance principles, rose
and said: “I seconds the motion,” pandemonium broke loose and the
meeting broke up. In descending the long flights of stairs some attempts
were made by too enthusiastic individuals to interfere with the
malcontents but there were enough of us to safeguard them.
At four o’clock next morning my doorbell rang—I lived in Fort Rouge
then—and on going to the door who should be there but Charlie Stewart.
Inviting him in, and offering him and myself some liquid refreshments,
he began to explain about the meeting. What I wanted to know was who
were the real instigators of the affair, but say what I would, he would
not betray his friends. All I got out of him as he left the house at
daybreak was:
“But I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Ham, there’ll be no more meetings for
me on a third storey. Ground floors for me every time after this.”
And thus ended an important chapter in the history of Manitoba, for if
the secession motion had found its way into the American and European
press, as it was intended it should, the results might have been
serious.