It is probable that Clark's invasion of the State of Michigan made more
impression on the people of St. Marys than any other of his activities,
even though it came in the midst of great undertakings. Here was the
definite impression of a central power that stretched octopus arms from
out of their own town. Even Manson, who was recognized as the champion
pessimist, seemed impressed. But St. Marys remained for the most part
still inactive. The people looked on, admired the works, discussed
each new development, read much about their home town in outside
papers, and that was in a general way about all. They saw in Clark a
constantly more arresting and suggestive figure. They had nodded
approvingly when he secured a private car for the use of himself, his
directors and shareholders, and considered it a natural thing when it
was announced that he was building upon the hill a large and expensive
residence. The blockhouse, they pointed out, had long since become too
small to accommodate his many and important visitors.
St. Marys had physically changed. Old streets were paved with asphalt
and new ones opened. The car line that ran up to the works branched
out across the railway into ground that a few years before was solid
bush, but was now covered with substantial houses, occupied by a new
population. Parts of old St. Marys were left in the lurch because the
owners refused to sell, Dibbott amongst them, and Worden, whose broad
river-fronting lawn was surrounded by the commercial section of the
rejuvenated town. Filmer's store had been enlarged twice, and so
complete was the popularity of the mayor that, with his sound business
instinct, it still held place as the local emporium.
At the terminus of the car line a new town had sprung up. In Ironville
dwelt the brawn and bone of the works. The place was not restful like
St. Marys, but a heterogeneous collection of sprawling cabins, corner
saloons and grocery stores where the food was piled on sidewalk stands
and gathered to itself the smoke and grime of the works when the wind
came up from the south. Here were the Poles and Hungarians and Swedes,
with large and constantly increasing families, and to them the sun rose
and set in pulp mills and machine shops, blast furnaces and the like.
They were mostly big men and strong, who sweated all day and came back,
grimy, to eat and then spend the long evenings at the corner saloons or
fishing in the upper bay, or sometimes taking the car down to St.
Marys, and walking about surveying the comfortable old houses and
carefully kept lawns. And of Ironville, St. Marys did not think very
much, save that it was dirty and unattractive and, unfortunately, quite
a necessary evil.
Back in the country new farms were cleared on heavily timbered land and
the farmers found instant market for all they could raise. But the
bush still stretched unbroken a little further to the north, and while
Clark's engineers spent millions to harness the mighty flow of
Superior, the beaver were building their dams in a tamarac swamp not
five miles from the works.
All this was indissolubly linked with Philadelphia. Parties of
shareholders, large and small, came up in special cars to inspect the
plant. These visits were well organized. They found everything going
at full blast, everything was explained by the magnetic Clark and there
followed banquets at the new hotel, when both shareholders and
directors spoke and Filmer voiced the sentiments and pride of the town,
and the shareholders went away a little staggered by the size and
potentiality of their business but determined to back Clark to the
limit and carrying away with them ineffaceable impressions of his
strong and hypnotic personality. It was, after all, as they said, a
one man show.
Interest grew in Philadelphia, and thousands, swayed as though by the
compelling voice of the rapids, plunged deeper. The discovery of iron
was but one of the inviting incentives which, from time to time,
stimulated support. Million after million was subscribed and sent to
this man who inspired such abounding faith in himself and his gigantic
plans. It may be that in one of those moments of profound insight
which Clark periodically experienced, he became finally convinced that
life was short and there must be, in his case at any rate, compressed
into it the maximum of human effort ere the day ran out. His brain
oscillated between the actual work itself and those extraneous affairs
which might at some time affect it.
Amongst those to whom his attention turned was Semple, member of the
provincial parliament, in whom he recognized the official voice of the
district in certain regions of authority. As the works grew in size
and their importance increased, Semple found himself more and more the
subject of attention. It flattered him, as well it might, for at this
time the Consolidated Company was the largest single undertaking in the
country. It did Semple good to refer to "my constituency" with the
reflection that in the midst of that wilderness was an undertaking
whose capital surpassed that of the greatest railway in the Dominion.
In the house of parliament he was listened to attentively, and in St.
Marys his office took on a new significance. It was on one of his
informal visits to the works that Clark expressed pleasure at the way
in which the community was represented.
"I'm all right as far as this company is concerned," said Semple, "but
you know the Liberal majority in Ontario is mighty slim--and I'm a
Liberal. It's here to-day and gone to-morrow."
"Not for you," answered Clark impressively, "and you haven't had much
trouble in getting what we wanted."
"No," grinned Semple, "our majority is too small. The Premier couldn't
very well refuse. But," he added with a little hesitation, "opinions
differ down there."
"About the works?"
Semple nodded. "Yes, and about you--they're not true believers by any
means, you must understand."