In the Heart of the Rocky Mountains.—Struggle in a Thunder-Storm.—Grand
Scenery.—Snow-Capped Mountains and Glaciers.—Banff Hot Springs.—The
Canadian Park.—Eastern Gate of the Rockies.—Calgary.—Natural Gas.—Cree
and Blackfeet Indians.—Regina.—Farming on a Big Scale.—Port Arthur.—
North Side of Lake Superior.—A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Rogers’ Pass, at an altitude of four thousand two hundred and
seventy-five feet above the sea, is situated between two ranges of
snow-clad peaks, whence a dozen glaciers may be seen in various
directions, frigid and ponderous.
As we came through this remarkable pass, in the afternoon, dark clouds
rapidly spread themselves over the sky, reinforced by others more dense
and threatening, engulfing us suddenly in darkness. Then the artillery
of the heavens rang out in such deafening reports as to stifle all
attempts at speech. The discharges and echoes among the gloomy gulches
and tall peaks mingled so rapidly that it was impossible to separate
cause and effect. The rain was like a cloud-burst. The sharp flashes of
lightning were so incessant and blinding that one sat with closed eyes
and bated breath. The great locomotive could barely make way on the
steep up-grade, the wheels having so much less hold upon the track when
thus submerged. Passengers looked into each other’s pale faces in fear
and amazement. Still the slow, regular _throb_, _throb_, of the iron
horse was heard through the din of the thunder and the roar of rushing
waters. We did move forward,—barely moved. To stop would be destruction;
backward impetus would instantly follow, and no brakes are powerful
enough to stop the train from a dash downward towards the plain if once
it started in that direction. But stay. Soon there came a faint glimmer
of light from out of the sky, gradually this increased, the dark pall of
the heavens was slowly removed, and the afternoon sun burst forth with
soft, ineffable beauty. The thunder sounded farther and farther away,
the echoes ceased, and the _throb_, _throb_ of the ponderous engine
steadily held the long train and forced the great load onward.
At Field station, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, we begin an
ascent of twelve hundred and fifty feet with two powerful engines, where
the roadway is cut out of the sides of nearly perpendicular cliffs to
which it seems to cling with iron grasp, overhanging the roaring torrent
of the Kicking Horse River, which flows at a fabulous depth below. Here
we cross now and again trestle bridges, three hundred feet above some
frightful gorge, or pass over a viaduct of great span. The highest point
of the road is reached at fifty-three hundred feet above the level of
the sea, or say just one vertical mile. This extreme elevation is about
five hundred miles from Vancouver.
The scenery at this point is grand beyond description, thrilling the
whole nervous system while we gaze at it and vainly strive to comprehend
its vastness. The very excess of emotion makes one dumb. The most
experienced traveler watches the changing scene with a vivid interest.
So wild, so comprehensive, and so startling a natural panorama is rarely
met with in any land. A longing comes over the observer to divide the
ecstasy of the moment with the loved ones left behind. No joy is
complete which is not shared; it is no hermit quality, but was born a
twin. Mountains, valleys, glacier-bound peaks, domes, spires, and
snow-capped pyramids are seen in all directions, brought out in minute
detail by the singular clearness of the atmosphere. Tall forests are
spread out far, far below our feet, the mammoth trees looking no larger
than pen handles, while the river winds like a broad silver belt through
the green sward of the valley. Thus the Canadian Pacific Railway passes
for hundreds of miles along glacial streams in full sight of the frozen
rivers which feed them.
By and by we come in view of Castle Mountain, five thousand feet in
height, which, with a little help of the imagination, becomes a giant’s
keep, turreted, bastioned, and battlemented. At another point of view it
presents a remarkable resemblance to the grand Indian Temple of Tanjore.
A short distance farther and we reach Banff, where a couple of days were
most agreeably passed by the author. The railway station here is in the
midst of sky-piercing heights, whose first impression upon the traveler
is both solemn and lonely. To the northward stands Cascade Mountain,
nearly ten thousand feet in height; eastward is Mount Inglismaldie,
beyond which looms up the sharp cone of Mount Peechee, reaching more
than ten thousand feet into the blue ether. Close at hand rises the
thickly wooded ridge of Squaw Mountain, in whose shadow lie the
beautiful Vermilion Lakes, the home of myriads of wild geese and ducks.
Other mountains are in view, but in the memorable tableau which we
recall the grand peaks we have mentioned are the most prominent.
This is the station for the Rocky Mountain Park, the altitude being
forty-five hundred feet above the sea. At this point the Canadian
government has established a national reservation after the plan of our
Yellowstone Park, between which and this place lies five hundred miles
of the wildest sort of country. There is no comparison between the two
parks, either in size, importance, or natural wonders. This reservation
is twenty-six miles long by ten in width, embracing portions of three
rivers, with two considerable lakes, cascades, and waterfalls. The
scenery could not be otherwise than bold, being in the midst of such a
mountain range and surrounded by such monarch elevations. Money is to be
freely expended in making good paths, together with convenient avenues
and bridges.
The Pacific Railway Hotel at Banff is a large, admirably situated, and
picturesque establishment, designed to accommodate from two to three
hundred guests at a time, and is especially patronized by Canadian
bridal parties. The view from it is superb, commanding the winding
course of the Bow River and valley for miles, with the many adjacent
mountains. The river pours swiftly down from its sources among the snow
fields, and plunges seventy feet over rock and precipice close beside
the hotel, passing almost beneath our feet as we stand upon the broad
piazza, gazing in admiration at the grand scenic carnival, and listening
to the thrilling anthem of the rushing waters, while breathing the soft
aroma of the Douglas pine and cedar forests which cover the surrounding
slopes. The region in proximity to the hotel will give the lover of
fishing ample sport. Trout of large size abound in Devil’s Lake near at
hand. A guest brought in forty pounds of this gamey fish, caught in two
hours’ time in the lake, while the author was at Banff. Wild sheep and
mountain goats abound in the neighboring hills, while bears are more
numerous than is desirable. Wildcats, mountain lions, deer, and caribou
are also frequently shot by the hunters. The restriction as to use of
firearms which is established in the Yellowstone Park does not apply in
this region. Sportsmen roam where they please and freely hunt the wild
animals which roam in this section of the country. Good roads and bridle
paths take one in all directions among some of the finest scenery of the
Rocky Mountains, where we watch the morning sun dispel the mist which
floats upward and away, disclosing the snow-decked peaks in their virgin
whiteness blushing roseate tints at the ardor of the sun.
This is called the eastern gateway to the Rocky Mountains, through which
the grand Bow River flows on its diversified journey of fifteen hundred
miles to Hudson Bay.
There are extensive hot springs on the eastern slope of what is known as
the Sulphur Range, some six thousand feet above the sea level. They are
at different elevations, and have good bathing-houses erected over them,
in charge of courteous attendants. One of the springs is inside of a
dome-roofed cave, which is a favorite resort of visitors to Banff. The
medicinal character of these springs is considered so important that an
iron pipe two miles in length conducts their heated waters for use at
the hotel, the normal temperature being sustained by metallic coils of
superheated steam. It rains much and often in this region. The weeping
clouds make one feel rather gloomy, purely out of sympathy for their
ceaseless tears, but when the sun finally asserts his power and lifts
the misty veil, then come forth in hold contrast silvery, sparkling,
sky-reaching mountains, covered with their frosty mantles, together with
richly wooded valleys and river-threaded cañons, opening views of
unrivaled sublimity and grandeur.
At Anthracite, five hundred and seventy miles from Vancouver, we are
forty-three hundred and fifty feet above the sea. Here are the
remarkable coal mines located in the Fairholme Range, a true anthracite
of excellent quality and of great importance to the railway. The pass
through which the road takes us is four miles wide, great masses of
serrated rocks rising on either side, back of which mountains tower
above each other as far as the eye can reach, forming long vistas of
lofty elevations so numerous as not to bear individual names.
At Calgary, about a hundred miles farther eastward, we are still
thirty-four hundred feet above the sea. This is a particularly handsome
and thriving young town, scarcely four years old, but containing three
thousand inhabitants. It is pleasantly situated on a hill-girt plateau,
in full view of the jagged peaks of the Rockies, thirty or forty miles
away, and which, as we look back upon them, form a vast blue and white
crescent extending around the western horizon. Two placid rivers, the
Bow and Elbow, wind through the broad green valley, adding a charming
feature as they mingle with the tall waving grass. Here cattle and sheep
ranches abound, extending westward to the very foot-hills of the great
mountain range, and stretching far away to the southward a hundred and
fifty miles to the United States boundary line. We were told that the
cattle and horses ranging over this space would aggregate two hundred
thousand head.
As we passed through the Province of Alberta at night, occasionally jets
of flaming natural gas, which finds vent through the soil from
reservoirs located at unknown depths, were burning brightly to light us
on the way. This gas, so liberally supplied by nature free of cost, is
utilized to create a motive power at Langevin, where it pumps water for
the use of the railway. Representatives of the aboriginal Cree and
Blackfeet tribes form picturesque groups along the railway line,
composed of barbarous, uncleanly looking squaws and bucks, the latter
only kept from the warpath by the presence of the efficient mounted
police.
The contrast presented in emerging from the mountain ranges on to the
level country is very remarkable. For hundreds of miles we pass through
an almost uninhabited, treeless country, a long, long reach of prairie
as boundless as the sea, and where no more of human life is seen than on
the ocean. There are no hills, scarcely any undulations; the sun rises
apparently out of the ground in the early gray of the morning, and sets
in the endless level of the prairie at night. Small stations, twenty or
thirty miles apart, have been built by the Canadian Pacific Railway
Company, consisting of a dwelling-house and a water-tank for the
necessary supply of its engines, but the line is thus characterized
through a thousand miles, where there is no way travel, and no local
business, outside of its own necessities. The inference is plain that it
crosses this distance at extraordinary expense, which must be supported
by the terminal business on the Pacific and Atlantic ends of the road.
The Cree and Blackfeet tribes are said to have no religion and few
superstitions, being a restless, dangerous race, ranking very low in
point of intelligence, even as savages. The efforts of the missionaries,
we were told, have entirely failed to civilize or even permanently to
improve the condition of the two tribes we have named. The women are
hideously ugly, smeared with vermilion, and weighed down with cheap
brass rings and bracelets of the same metal. The one article of sale
offered to the traveler by these tribes is the polished horns of the
buffalo, picked up upon the vast prairies of this region where they have
been bleaching for many years. These are colored black by some process,
and when highly polished are mounted in pairs, as they are placed by
nature on the animal’s head.
At Regina, eleven hundred miles from Vancouver, we are still two
thousand feet above the sea. This is the capital of the Province of
Assiniboia, situated in the centre of an almost boundless plain. Here
are the headquarters of the Northwestern Mounted Police, a very
necessary military organization of a thousand men, distributed over this
region to look after the Indians, who are ever ready to commit
depredations when they feel they can do so with impunity, and also to
preserve good order generally among the several frontier communities. It
was at Regina that Louis Riel, the principal promoter of the late
rebellion against the Dominion government, was tried and hanged not long
since. It is called here the “half-breed rebellion.” Over the
far-reaching, trackless, arid prairies, as lonely as an Egyptian desert,
the cloud effects towards the day’s close are noticeably very fine,
while the twilight lingers to the very verge of night. At times we pass
through a broad tract of land ten miles or more square, from which a
whole forest has been swept by conflagration, probably started by an
unfortunate spark from a passing locomotive, or, quite as likely, by the
carelessness of some camping party of sportsmen. These large spaces,
which would otherwise be intensely dreary, are already carpeted with a
fresh green undergrowth, with which nature always hastens to obliterate
the devastation caused by the ruthless flames.
As our train stopped briefly at Regina a group of mounted Blackfeet
Indians dashed across the prairie and drew up near the station. A wild,
weird score of semi-savages, very picturesque in their garments of many
colors and their decorations of quills, beads, and feathers, with a
scalp hanging from the waist here and there among them. Their long,
unkempt black hair flowed all about their necks and features, which were
more or less besmeared with vermilion. Their leggings of deer-hide were
fringed on the outer side, and their leather moccasins were lashed with
deerskin thongs up the ankles. Some had stirrups, but most of them had
none, their limbs hanging free and a blanket serving for a saddle. Their
little wiry ponies were under complete control, and the riders were good
horsemen. It seemed to be some gala occasion with these Blackfeet, but
of what purport it was impossible to discover. They were evidently under
a certain degree of discipline, for at a sharp, sudden command from one
of their number they all dismounted together and stood with one arm over
their horses’ necks like so many stone statues. At that moment a lady
passenger in our car aimed her “kodak” at them, and, presto! they were
photographed in the twinkling of an eye, which, considering their
aversion to the process, was quite an achievement on the lady’s part.
These Indians are now peaceable enough, and no one fears to go among
them, but we are inclined to think, with “Buffalo Bill,” that they will
make one more desperate fight, in both Canada and the States, before
they finally give up the struggle with the white man.
Forty miles eastward from Regina we come to Indian Head, which is about
three hundred miles west of Winnipeg, where the road passes through the
famous Bell Farm, an extremely interesting and successful agricultural
enterprise. It is managed by Major Bell, an ex-army officer of marked
executive ability, and covers an area measuring one hundred square
miles, being probably the largest arable farm in the world. Major Bell
carries on the business for an incorporated company, and devotes the
rich prairie loam, of which the soil is composed, mostly to the raising
of wheat, employing in the various departments over two hundred men. The
announced object of the company is first to bring the whole of the land
under good cultivation, at the rate of five thousand acres or more
annually, and when this is accomplished to divide the whole into two
hundred and fifty farms to be sold to the employees, each provided with
suitable dwelling-houses and buildings, all to be paid for by the
purchasers in easy annual installments; a most beneficial purpose, and
if it is fairly and honorably carried out it will be one which is
deserving of all praise. It must inevitably build up a responsible and
self-respecting community, by uniting proprietorship and domestic
relations of the most desirable character, connected with steady and
remunerative occupation.
The country lying between Indian Head and Winnipeg is mostly of a
prairie character, rich in agricultural resources but of no special
interest otherwise. Winnipeg, the capital of Manitoba, is very nearly
midway between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. It has some twenty-three
thousand inhabitants, who live upon a site which was fifteen years ago
known as Fort Garry, only a fur-trading station, said to be hundreds of
miles from anywhere. To-day it has long, broad streets of public
buildings, fine dwelling-houses, hotels, stores, banks, and theatres,
besides large manufactories in various branches of trade. It is the
Chicago of Canada. Situated where the forests end and the prairies
begin, with river navigation in all directions, and with railways
radiating from it towards all points of the compass, everything tends to
make Winnipeg the commercial metropolis of the British possessions in
the Northwest. Main Street, Winnipeg, is a fine boulevard one hundred
feet wide and two miles long, lined from end to end with attractive
buildings. One practice observed here recalled the native city of
Jeypoor, India, namely, the driving of single oxen to harness between
the shafts of light carts, the animal being guided by rope reins
attached to the horns.
From Winnipeg to Port Arthur, which is beautifully situated on the north
side of Lake Superior, the route is through a country characterized by a
maze of forests, lakes, and rivers; a region more than half wilderness.
Few evidences of civilization are found hereabouts; the primeval forest
is full of game, the streams abound in fish, and the ponds are covered
with wild fowl. Occasionally a group of Indian wigwams is seen, or a
lone native Chippeway paddling his birch canoe. Now and again a hunter’s
camp is passed, whose occupants come down to the railway to see the
passing train, and who eagerly seize upon any current newspaper which
thoughtful passengers toss to them from the car windows, a courtesy they
gratefully acknowledge cap in hand.
Port Arthur, just one thousand miles from Montreal, is admirably
situated on Thunder Bay, where the view is striking and beautiful,
overlooked by the bold headland known as Thunder Cape, which rises
fourteen hundred feet above the surface of the lake. Just upon the edge
of the horizon is seen Silver Islet, which has heretofore proven to be
one of the richest silver mines known to our times; but the mine is now
hopelessly submerged, its tunnels and shafts flooded beyond relief by
the waters of Lake Superior. These broad waters are dotted with white
sails, and streaked with the long black lines of smoke trailing after
huge steamers.
From here, for more than one hundred miles, the sharp curves of the
great lake on its northern shore are closely followed by the Canadian
Pacific Railway, and here the engineer’s skill has been wonderfully
displayed in surmounting apparent impossibilities. We were told that it
cost more per mile to build this portion of the road than it did to lay
the rails through an equal distance in the difficult passes of the Rocky
Mountains. The roadway is sometimes cut through solid rock, and
sometimes an abrupt cliff is tunneled, from whence we emerge to leap
across a deep ravine upon a wooden trestle of frightful curve and great
elevation. And so we rush onward through unbroken forests and scenery of
wildest aspect among barren rocks, scorched trees, and dense thickets of
scrub on our homeward way.
Having thus brought the patient reader so nearly back to the
starting-point, and among scenes so familiar, we leave him to finish the
journey to Boston by way of Ottawa and Montreal.
The distance traveled in making this round trip to Alaska and back, over
the course pursued by the author, is something over ten thousand miles,
but when successfully consummated it is difficult to realize that such a
long route has been passed over. Great are the modern facilities for
travel, and great are the inducements. It is the only royal road to
learning, the kindergarten of ripened intelligence, so to speak. We
recall nothing of the fatigue or the inevitable mishaps of the journey.
It is the charming experiences alone which become indelible. We behold
again the many populous cities through which the route has taken us, and
see once more in imagination the active villages, peculiar races of
people, grazing herds, rushing cascades, sombre gorges, mysterious
geysers, snowy mountain ranges, uncouth totem-poles, myriads of
icebergs, and mammoth glaciers. To look back upon the experiences of the
journey as a whole is like recalling a midsummer night’s dream, replete
with delightful scenery and crowded with wonderful phenomena.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Due North. By Maturin M. Ballou. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
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A Journey in Brazil. By Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz.
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The New Eldorado. A Summer Journey to Alaska. By Maturin M. Ballou.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.
One Year Abroad. By Blanche Willis Howard. 18mo, $1.25.
On the Track of Ulysses. Together with an Excursion in quest of the
so-called Venus of Melos. Two Studies in Archæology, made during a
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Quarto, $4.00.
Our Hundred Days in Europe. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Crown 8vo,
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Outre-Mer. By H. W. Longfellow. 16mo, $1.50. _Popular Edition._
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On Horseback. A Tour in Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee,
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Peoples and Countries visited in a Winding Journey Round the World.
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Pictures of Travel; In Sweden, among the Hartz Mountains, and in
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Picturesque Alaska. A Journal of a Tour among the Mountains, Seas,
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A Poet’s Bazaar. By Hans Christian Andersen. A Tour in Germany,
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Portraits of Places. By Henry James. 12mo, $1.50.
Red-Letter Days Abroad. By John L. Stoddard, author of “The Stoddard
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Reminiscences of European Travel. By Andrew P. Peabody. 16mo, $1.50.
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Russian Central Asia. Including Kuldja, Bokhara, Khiva, and Merv. By
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A Russian Journey. By Edna Dean Proctor. Illustrated. _Holiday
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A Satchel Guide for the Vacation Tourist in Europe. Annual edition,
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United States and European Moneys, a Traveler’s Calendar of
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Saunterings. By Charles Dudley Warner. European Travel Sketches.
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South Sea Sketches. By Madeleine Vinton Dahlgren. 12mo, $1.50.
To Cuba and Back. A Vacation Voyage. By Richard H. Dana, Jr. 16mo,
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Transatlantic Sketches. By Henry James. 12mo, $2.00.
Two Years Before the Mast. By Richard H. Dana, Jr. New _Popular
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Under the Rays of the Aurora Borealis: In the Land of the Laps and
Kvæns. By Sophus Tromholt. With Map, 150 Illustrations, Portraits,
etc. 2 vols. 8vo, $7.50.
Under the Southern Cross. Travels in Australasia. By Maturin M.
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The Voyage of the Jeannette. The Ship and Ice Journals of
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Long. With a steel Portrait, Maps, Illustrations, and Facsimile. 2
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Narrative of the “Jeannette.” North of Siberia. By Lieutenant J. W.
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Well-Worn Roads of Spain, Holland, and Italy; Traveled by a Painter
in search of the Picturesque. Containing sixteen full-page Phototype
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sketches, etc. By F. Hopkinson Smith. With twelve chapters of
description by the artist. Folio, full gilt, $15.00.
_Popular Edition._ The Text of the above, including some of the
Illustrations reduced. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
A White Umbrella in Mexico. By F. Hopkinson Smith. Illustrated.
16mo, $1.50.
⁂ _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price
by the Publishers_,
_Houghton, Mifflin & Company_,
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End of Project Gutenberg's The New Eldorado, by Maturin Murray Ballou