to the proposed Georgian Bay Ship Canal, and shaping a course
North-starward from historic environs once traversed by intrepid
Frenchmen, the Ontario Government’s Railway Commission began in 1902
the construction of a colonization line from the City of North Bay,
(lying 226 miles above Toronto), to the region known as the “Clay
Belt” of Northern Ontario. With the discovery of silver on the “LaRose”
property in 1903, the output of which during the subsequent thirteen
years amounted to $135,809,222 in silver value from the camp, together
with $4,000,000 from arsenic, cobalt and nickel, the building of the
Temiskaming & Northern Ontario Railway was promptly extended until
it reached 253 miles into the interior, making easily accessible a
restful, inspiring panorama of diversified lake and landscape. Here it
is that Uncle Sam’s sweltering Southerners and their Northern cousins
migrate with the birds in ever increasing numbers to fish the virgin
streams, to sense exhaling aromatic fragrance and be soothed by the
solitude and majesty of the wilderness which appeals more and more to
each contemplative one who would elude the madding crowd as he jogs
adown the irregular pathway of life.
If the waters of silent Lake Nipissing could speak as they flow along,
what whisperings from wigwam, of tribal feuds and exploring missionary
priests would they not bequeath to posterity. But now, into this region
of log cabin, birch bark and bittern those great civilizers, the twin
ribbons of steel, have intruded; sleeping cars mosaic tiled and ornate,
traveling via the Grand Trunk Railway from Toronto, Canadian Pacific
Railway from Montreal and “U.S.A.” at Buffalo, are delivered daily to
the Temiskaming & Northern Ontario Railway and circumventing space, lay
bare to their prying, adventurous occupants, many of the secrets of
nature in the north.
[Illustration: ANDREW C. KELLOGG,
A “Great Western” Graduate. Dean of G.T.R. Dining Car Conductors.
Favorably known to patrons of the “Cobalt Special.”]
As you bowl along past thicket, lake and narrow ledge to the regular
accompaniment of that peculiar circus wagon “cluck, cluck”, emitted
in winter by the twelve wheelers, you unconsciously wonder if it were
mink, otter, lynx or fox whose softly falling pads made the trail
which bisects the otherwise unruffled white mantle covering the frozen
surface yonder. Meanwhile, the telltale tracks of the early morning
prowlers vanish abruptly where the waters frozen boundary gives way to
battalions of balsam, spruce and jack pine silently guarding the ascent
to rising ground. The view begets reflection: when casually discussing
the autumn hunt with a deer slayer who annually roams that region,
nimrod complacently informed me that he had left the train at mileage
“22” from North Bay, and before the locomotive whistled on a nearby
hill his first buck was bagged. At this juncture an Indian guide from
out the forest setting surrounding Lady Evelyn Lake came aboard at
Temagami’s commodious, artistically conceived depot of split hardheads,
and grinning broadly, substantiated the boaster’s declaration with such
terseness and force that a group of globe trotting mine prospectors
and sportsmen grew interested. Rifles, fish, fur and game laws
started every mother’s son of them talking, and the jolly wiseacres
continued their conversazione crossing Net Lake, past Rib Lake and
its woodie approaches, and on to where Jack Frost had transferred Bay
Lake, Wind Lake, Moose Lake and Red Pine Lakes, into cubes of crystal
transparence. They did not desist until permitted a glimpse through
car window of the Montreal River’s splashing, rapids tossed waters at
Latchford and the developing timber possibilities at this ford, which
are often duplicated along the 360 miles of this stream’s course.
These gentlemen were a cosmopolitan assemblage recruited from several
and diverse regions, but all were heading towards Lake Temagami,
Cobalt, Lorrain and Porcupine City’s newer, veiled enticements. Gnarled
and seasoned, a veteran campaigner on “many a foreign strand” sat
silently observant beside a sturdy novice, self-possessed and hopeful,
encased in flannel shirt, regulation shooting boots laced high and a
cow boy hat, who had yet to know hunger and the thrill of a “strike”.
That composite character from the cities, merchant-miner-speculator
evolved from the silver excitement, was there with his pigeon blood
cravat pin and nonchalant demeanor, exchanging deductions with a
facing stranger. Some one drew cork and with a mild libation all round
the smoker, tongue cords loosed and a Kentuckian garbed in Mackinaw
cloth knee breeches, heavy black stockings and Jaeger cap, narrated
pleasantly tales of the diggings in Australia, California, Cripple
Creek. A man who had been in Johannesburg talked knowingly of John
Hays Hammond and the conductor tarried a moment on his rounds. Now and
then, from out the babel you pieced together, “It sold this morning
for--”, “Commercial arsenic”, “Rock drills”, “For stealing whiskey I
smashed him on the--”, “Three and one half a share, five dollars par”,
and much more in the vernacular. They were encumbered with the latest,
likewise the most ancient caper in portmanteaux: they carried fire
arms, hatchets, and snow shoes, coats of fewer colors than Joseph’s,
but of patterns innumerable, and pack sacks stuffed like the bundles
Tony shoulders when hurrying to the base of grim Vesuvius. Withal, they
were a merry and optimistic company off to re-discover Champlain’s own
territory, to learn that cobalt is a pinkish chemical by-product found
beside silver, that single carload shipments of silver concentrates
mined here have netted $142,231.00, that the camp’s dividends from
silver and gold for 14 years realized $81,320,625, that rolling stock
of railways all over America help to brighten “T. & N.O.” rails,
that the town of Cobalt is outlandishly picturesque and unique with
cartwheel, Bostonlike thoroughfares where Madame promenades in the
velvet so recently au fait on Pall Mall and Broadway, while an Indian
girl in moccasins stares across the divide through the window of
the Golden Moon in the hope of discerning her lethargic beau. Vein
sampling engineers, grubstakers, rock-worms, mine captains, prospectors
and agents in coats of “astrachan goose”, fur lined or skin covered
shooting jackets and everything else but tarpaulins, strut about and
add to their kit, each man jack of them probably thinking he has “a
nose for ore” and inside information. The oriental ear pendant also
abounds, gracing the lobes of sundry vivacious French lassies at the
cinematograph: dog trains await, Jacques the habitant, in capot, sash
and pipe in mouth “Bon jeurs” along the even tenor of his way, while
Poles, Finns and Cockney ’arry do not deliberately jostle you off the
lumpy little board walk to the nearby excavation. Stalwart, brass
buttoned Ontario and Dominion police are everywhere. Cobalt’s roots
spread far below the surface. Underground detonations indicate that
compressed air drills day and night slowly blast a mammoth sewerway for
this hustling town. Not every one knows that beneath the “T. & N.O.R.”
highway and handsome modern station building the Right of Way Mining
Company tunnels for ore. A few hundred yards beyond and under the
bottom of frozen Cobalt Lake, over which the dutiful citizen crosses on
Sabbath and holyday to Father Forget’s cleanly, white painted church,
the Cobalt Lake Mining Company is extending drives, crosscuts and leads
seeking material that produces mineral which pleases magnates and sets
the stock market operators by the ears. $1,085,000 was paid to the
Government for this right. Thus does the south lag behind the north.
[Illustration: A Slump in Cobalt Lake. Former well known waterway now
no more.]
From Lorrain’s remote locality comes to Cobalt mines the compressed air
and electric current generated with unique machinery from the waters
impetuousity at Ragged Chutes on the Montreal River, at Hound Chute
also, and at the Matabitchouan River, and not afar off the cottage
in which it is said Doctor Drummond’s sympathetic spirit forsook its
mortal tabernacle, keeps solitary vigil on a slope overlooking Kerr
Lake. His inimitable habitant patois verse survives however, and is
kept green in memory when interpreted by the nimble tongues of M. Giles
or an Olive Pouze. Occasionally grazing the brink of a declivity when
touring the camp, one meets wheeling or gliding past on sled behind
good horses, miner’s wife from Montana or a courier in shoe packs and
cold weather rig astride a sturdy, sure-footed pony. Jogging along
after him the next is a native on a mustang. Similarly mounted a
rangy, vigorous individual clad in seamy corduroys, jacket, ear flaps
and the inevitable “larrigans” lopes by. This personage proves to
be unintentionally traveling incog, as he is a big mine manager, an
English expert doting on tetrahedrite crystals, heading to town for a
constitutional and the morning mail.
As recently as midnight of August 19th, 1912, an undignified and
profane pilgrimage to the shrine of the goddess of fortune occurred
in Temiskaming. At the stroke of twelve a ziz-zagging procession of
flickering lights born by all manner of men, stretching from Cobalt
three miles to the famous, now naked Gillies Timber Limit, broke
into motion at the double quick. Ahead of them were twelve square
miles--4,000 acres--or twenty acres of undiagnosed area of rock each
for the lucky two hundred eager, excited prospectors and adventurers
who might stake, find ore and register for $10 at Haileybury first, and
thus perchance, stumble on a king’s ransom. Ordinarily, the journey
on steam coach costs Ten Cents. This night one bold spirit chartered
a special train for $50.00 hoping to outstrip the throng afoot and
horseback, in autos and on bicycles, armed as they were with a Five
Dollar mining license and panting for place. For an hour or two the
nervous strain was intense and the schemes and ruses resorted to for
advantage were numerous and crafty. Sweating relay horses clattered at
top speed all night between the new diggings and the district seat,
positions held in person or proxy in the line-up waiting for dawn
reminded one of the nocturnal vigil and struggle for tickets to behold
the late Sir Henry Irving, while rumor and conjecture were rife. One
energetic but luckless individual, with boundary stakes in earth, had
them uprooted and tossed aside by a speculator’s hireling the moment he
headed to the registry office; another collapsed from exhaustion and
laid prone in the bush as the strong trod over his body and aspirations
and still a third poor devil lost a pronounced advantage by falling,
horse and rider, into a quagmire at the roadside, and all because there
lies side by side beneath the earth’s surface silver sidewalks and
blighted hopes.
[Illustration: JACOB LEWIS ENGLEHART,
Chairman, Temiskaming & Northern Ontario Railway Commission]
Do not conclude that the term “rough diamonds” would fitly describe
the mining body of to-day nor opine that they always talk gold at
$20 the ounce, assay furnaces, vanners and recording tachometers.
Their personnel includes a mighty spry collection of thoroughbreds of
advanced education from everywhere. They are men fond of horse-flesh
and saddle; men who aim straight at billiard ball or bob cat and a
percentage can coax sweet strains from piano or at odd moments resort
to the not violent and refining pleasure of gardening. I have seldom
seen a gaudier conglomeration of old-fashioned bloom than the flowers
before the bungalow of the Temiskaming Mine. In their offices and
apartments several enjoy club comforts and trophies and articles of
_virtu_ adorn the walls of highly polished logs. They can “diagnose the
field” for a close corporation and by theory and experience prophecy
what may be found under the crust away east to Des Joachins (des swish
aw) Falls, Lake St. John and Chibougamou. The gentleman who cheerfully
volunteered, flashlight in hand, to pilot the writer to where drillers
pierced rock at mine bottom, wore riding breeches, jacket and English
spring leggings of the most approved design and a stunning waistcoat
encircled his athletic proportions. He proved to be a raconteur with
reminisences of “Ole Lunnon” and the Riviera, but swore fealty to
Ireland’s joyous effervescence.
The legacy of this untrodden expanse is unlimited productiveness of
soil, waterways and forest. The solitary explorer with pack horse and
canoe spyed out a winding trail which the railways’ impedimenta of
progress has speedily straightened and made easy for the quasi pioneer.
The rolling ground and gentle slopes in the vicinity of Haileybury are
pleasant to see. Here the clay belt and husbandman replaces rock and
miner and the view from this town and farmer’s mecca--which boasts
the unique feature of a floating market place--out and over Lake
Temiskaming and across to where the mists conceal a quaint French
settlement, Villa Marie, is indeed charming. On learning that the
mission bells pealed and a convent dwelt within the borders of Quebec
just over that moonlit expanse of inland sea, I confess my conception
of interprovincial geography seemed out of alignment. Englehart, a
divisional point, bears the name of the Railway Commission’s astute,
public spirited Chairman, Jacob L. Englehart, formerly of Cleveland,
Ohio, who made his Canadian debut in the Petrolia oil belt, and some
forty years ago supported Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt when he was
married in the Tecumseh Hotel, London, Canada, to the beautiful Mrs.
Crawford of Baton Rouge, La. Jacob Englehart inaugurated the system
of greenhouses which flourish in those leagues of loam and clay but
the plants which predominate in that “neck of the woods”, however, are
those that grow into thousands of cords of coveted pulpwood, cut in
certain districts by private owners and on reserves with Government
sanction. As this commodity underlies in a vital way the immense paper
and publishing interests of America and Europe the supply, method of
treatment, market and duty tax has become a burning topic in factory
and forum both sides of the international boundary.
[Illustration: Over the Trail where the Railways are not]
Those wind tossed forest monarchs and old pines on the hill tops
that once beheld naught save the Redskin stalking an hundred animate
creatures of the wild, will if spared, witness a mighty trek northward.
The caravan of the white man of every clime and craft shall push
past haunts of black bear, moose and trapper, portaging enroute near
Cochrane beside Frederick House River. At this spot an incident at
Barbers Bay in the semi-savage days of the old trading posts of the
north country, has become a fearsome tradition among the indians of
the Abitibi. Many years ago when the Hudson Bay Company were extending
trading posts southward from Moose Factory, Frederick Barber with
Indians and voyageurs established a store beside a bay perpetuating
his name, at Frederick House Lake. One Christmas eve Macdougall, a
halfbreed, and two companions reached the post to trade their autumn
catch. Together with gifts Barber unfortunately dispensed rum. When
refused more liquor the trappers murdered all hands and seized the
fort. Fearing discovery and punishment of their crime, the drunken
half-breeds killed every Indian who came to the post with furs. Growing
anxious, several squaws who had not accompanied their braves on the
midwinter journey, snow-shoed to Barbers Bay and were imprisoned by
Macdougall. One woman escaped and organized an avenging party which did
not arrive in time to prevent the massacre of the remaining squaws
nor the flight of the halfbreed scoundrels. Then began a long chase
down the Black and Abitibi Rivers. Macdougall who was tobagganing
loot from the fort, was nearly overtaken in camp. He saw the trackers
coming and started across Lake Abitibi, disappearing during a brief
snow storm and was never seen after. The Indians gave evil spirits the
credit when he vanished and they suppose the half-breed’s ghost still
lingers over the lakes. It is across these trackless fastnesses, under
whispering Northern Lights, that the newest national highway, the
National Trans-continental & Grand Trunk Pacific Systems, dreamt of by
the patriot the Right Honorable Sir Wilfrid Laurier, gradually assumed
reality and now hasten communication westward with tidings from the
east.
Yea, the crusade will not cease until little old Ontario is linked
with the Aurora Borealis and the venturesome commoner at Frisco, New
Orleans and Toronto may side step the soaring bovine market, and after
an all-rail journey, harpoon his own walrus meat in James and Hudson’s
Bays.
❦ ❦ ❦
MONSIEUR WILLIAM P. DUPEROW
General Passenger Agent, Grand Trunk Pacific and Canadian Government
Railways
Text of an address presented to him at Toronto on the occasion of his
transfer May, 1910, to “Grand Trunk Pacific” service at Vancouver, B.C.
[Illustration: WILLIAM P. DUPEROW,
General Passenger Agent, Grand Trunk Pacific and Canadian Government
Railways, Winnipeg, Man.]
Mr. Gladstone declared “A book that will move many people of different
temperaments, and different degrees of intelligence, must have
power.” So it is with the individual: and because your friends in the
complacent East think you undoubtedly possess the magnetic current and
a warm heart, we are loth to separate from so much animated sunshine.
Colleagues, small and great, recount your generosity and regret
departure, while those distressed mortals who knew your kindly
assistance pour full the measure of credit.
If the public, and this galaxy of happy-go-lucky railroaders who
foregather have imperfectly recited how they will miss you at quilting
bees, it is not because they are hostile, but they lack Chantecler’s
brazen crow.
As a scout of broad gauge calibre, tracking business to its lair,
reconnoitering Indian bands or negotiating with sinner, saint and
suffragette, you have been all things to all men, and along the
tortuous trail they do say your sang froid, ingratiating manner and
elegance of diction ranked not as common garden varieties.
The King’s currency, bestowed in embarrassing quantities, is apt to
jolt one’s system into repudiating labor’s noble avocations; hence
the modest proportions of this accompanying bag of francs, which your
confreres--elderly, youthful, handsome--unhesitatingly tender you with
earnest protests of regard.
You are now at the Hemisphere’s portal, where you can, without
obstruction, behold the Fates unfolding your future; where old Sol,
with blushing countenance, sinks in the “Pacific” without his bathing
suit, and all supplicate you not to trip o’er the guy ropes when gazing
at comets with the astronomers.
We trust the doors to preferment, now open, will disclose to you and
yours the uneven highway of life growing smoother and wider, and may
the blessing of good health crown all.
The Committee:--R. S. Lewis, L.V.R.; A. J. Taylor, C. M. & St.P.R.; J.
J. Rose, C.P.R.; J. A. Richardson, Wabash Railroad; B. H. Bennett, C. &
N.W.R.; C. E. Horning, G.T.R.
[Illustration:
W. J. MOFFATT JOHN J. ROSE
_Passport Photograph Collection loaned by_
W. J. MOFFATT City Passenger Agent, G.T.R. Toronto
JOHN J. ROSE General Agent, Union Pacific Railway Toronto
Read from left to right--
W. ADAMSON T.F.A., N.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
S. A. BAKER G.A., C.G.W.R. Toronto, Ont.
B. H. BENNETT G.A., C. & N.W.R. Toronto, Ont.
F. BOWMAN C.F.A., C.P.R. Hamilton, Ont.
J. J. BRIGNALL T.P.A., Robert Reford Co. Toronto, Ont.
J. H. CALLAHAN Passenger Conductor, G.T.R. Goderich, Ont.
F. R. CALDWELL Manager, Cluett, Peabody Co. Toronto, Ont.
S. CROSSLEY Dining Car Conductor, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. CORBETT T.P.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
E. J. DOWNEY Inspector, C. C. S. Bureau Toronto, Ont.
G. EASSON T.F.A., C.N.R. Toronto, Ont.
T. EVANS G.A., M.C.R. London, Ont.
F. C. FOY C.P.A., N.Y.C. & H.R.R. Toronto, Ont.
J. GRAY (late) Agent, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. A. GRAY C.F.A., D.L. & W.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. GRUNDY Depot, T.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
M. M. HAGARTY Advertising Department, C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
J. C. HEATON Manager, Time Table Distribution Co. Toronto, Ont.
L. HOWE Traffic Department, Board of Trade Toronto, Ont.
D. M. JOHNSON Agent, G.T.R. Preston, Ont.
R. J. KEARNS New York Life Toronto, Ont.
J. W. MCGUIRE T.F.A., C.P.R. Hamilton, Ont.
S. J. MURPHY T.P.A., Canada S.S. Lines Toronto, Ont.
F. A. NANCEKIVELL Traffic Manager, Ford Motor Co. Ford, Ont.
A. E. PERNFUSS C.P. & T.A., G.T.R. Kitchener, Ont.
T. SYMINGTON Superintendent, Shedden Co. Toronto, Ont.
H. E. WATKINS G.E.C.A., G.N.R. Toronto, Ont.
G. C. WILSON T.F.A., Soo Line Buffalo, N.Y.
D. H. WAY Agent, T. & N.O.R. Cobalt, Ont.
H. E. UTTLEY Assistant Traffic Manager, Imperial
Oil Co. Toronto, Ont.
]
[Illustration:
_Passport Photograph Collection loaned by Messrs W. J. Moffatt and J.
J. Rose._
Read from left to right--
A. M. ADAMS Agent, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. J. BURR S.P.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
F. R. CLARKE S.F.A., G.T.R., Import Department Toronto, Ont.
J. M. COPELAND T.F. & P.A., C. & N.W.R. Toronto, Ont.
E. S. DAVIES Advertising Manager, C.N.R. Toronto, Ont.
H. T. DUFFY D.P.A., Soo Line Duluth, Minn.
W. FULTON Assistant Dist. Passenger Agent,
C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
R. A. GILL T.P.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
L. L. GRABILL General Baggage Agent, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
T. J. HENNESSY T.F.A., L.V.R. Chicago, Ill.
F. V. HIGGINBOTTOM C.P. & T.A., C.N.R. Toronto, Ont.
C. E. HILLIKER D.F. & P.A., C.M. & St. P.R. Des Moines, Ia.
H. B. HOLLAWAY C.A., Adams Express Co. Toronto, Ont.
J. JOLLY S.F.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
S. R. JOYCE T.P.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
C. M. KNOWLES C.T.A., N.Y.C. & H.R.R. Toronto, Ont.
R. A. LENNOX S.F.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
A. J. LETCH Inspector, C.C.S. Bureau Toronto, Ont.
C. H. LOWN Traffic Mgr., Imperial Oil Co. Toronto, Ont.
D. A. MCCALL T.F.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
R. MCRAE Accountant, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
R. G. MCCRAW Inspector, C.F. Association Toronto, Ont.
M. MACDONALD Assistant Inspector of Weighing,
G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. MCILROY C.C., D.P.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
T. MULLINS C.P.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
L. R. MULHOLLAND Kent, McLean Co. Winnipeg, Man.
G. G. O’FLAHERTY C. C., Sup’t Transportation, G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. H. POLLEY C.T.A., C.P.R. Toronto, Ont.
J. H. ROBERTS C.C., C.T.A., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
W. J. RYAN Inspector of Trade-marks Toronto, Ont.
C. P. SARGENT T.P.A., White Star Line Toronto, Ont.
H. SCOTT T.C., C.O., G.T.R. Toronto, Ont.
F. H. TERRY T.A., G.N.R. Toronto, Ont.
G. M. THOMAS T.A., Canadian Government Railways Toronto, Ont.
E. F. WALKER Manager, Old Country Tours Toronto, Ont.
J. A. YORICK C.F. & P.A., C.B. & Q.R. Toronto, Ont.
]
THOSE UNDIGNIFIED BOX CARS
Some methods of the men who control their movements
When Mademoiselle Susanna Vere de Vere, haughty and capricious,
talcumed and beflounced, rides east at 10:00 a.m., ensconsced in green
plushed parlor car comfort, think you she recognizes as she rolls
along, the significance of the irregular hedge that flanks for miles
her chosen pathway? Can she see in that jagged sky line of uneven box
car roofs, so unlike the matched uniformity of the coral beads in her
necklace--the source of the revenue which purchased the ornament?
Probably not. Does Oliver Opulence across the isle, with fattening
jowls and the latest periodical, attribute his golfing privileges and
bank balance to the agency of the lowly freight car? No, not in the
fullest measure.