_TORONTO TO LAKE SUPERIOR._
Toronto--Collingwood--Georgian Bay--The Sault St. Mary--Navigation
of the Great Lakes--Manitoulin Islands--Lake Huron--Arrival at
the Sault.
Arriving safely at Toronto I was welcomed by my son Sandford, who
accompanies me on my journey. For the first time I am presented to a
still younger descendant, who confers upon me a new claim to family
respect, and whom I meet with much pleasure.
It was the civic holiday in Toronto. It has been a custom on this
Continent, in the large cities and more important towns, for one
day in the year to be set apart, when, by common consent, business
ceases. All sorts of excursions are organized by railway and steamboat
companies, and to crown the whole with additional dignity, the purport
of the day is officially declared by proclamation by His Worship the
Mayor. Every possible auxiliary is called in aid to give effect to the
occasion. In the city there are various performances at the theatres,
morning and evening. The neighbouring small towns contribute their
sympathizing crowds. There are cricket matches, lacrosse matches,
with other meetings of every character of pleasurable association.
There is the best of good eating and drinking for all who require it
and are willing to pay for it. This Toronto holiday was in no way
wanting in the general characteristics which such a day brings with
it. Crowds of good-looking, good-humoured, holiday-dressed personages
filled the streets, and there was a gaiety of manner and an atmosphere
of amusement in the main thoroughfares which even the indifferent
spectators could with difficulty resist.
If Montreal may be said to be the admitted commercial capital of
Canada, Toronto is battling hard to dispute its supremacy. The capital
of Ontario, it is what Montreal is not. It is a political centre of
great activity, where much is originated to influence both Dominion and
local politics. It justly claims, too, a higher tone of intellectual
life. On the whole, it may be said that there is a more assured type
of culture and urban refinement by the shores of Lake Ontario than
on the Island of Montreal. The city contains two Universities: one,
Toronto University, without religious test, supported by the Province;
the second, Trinity, supported by the Church of England. Besides
which there are a Presbyterian College and Theological Halls of other
denominations. The Canadian Institute also has a reputation. It
numbers among its members some of the leading minds of the country, and
for many years it has been distinguished as a centre for the exchange
of thought on scientific and literary topics; it has greatly aided
the collection of information respecting the economic resources of
the Dominion and in the determination of problems which have a direct
influence upon its future. There has been always a marked polish of
manner, blended with a sympathy with intellectual power, which has
distinguished Toronto society. The leading members of the professions
have, as a rule, obtained greater social recognition, and generally the
horizon of education is much more extended than in the larger eastern
city.
The surrounding country is of little interest beyond what is
artificially obtained, but the large sheltered sheet of water in front
of the city, locally designated “the Bay,” and protected from the lake
by a long sandy island about a mile from the shore, will always give
it value as a harbour, and afford excellent boating water for the
members of the Yacht Club. The more distant environs are particularly
striking. In four hours, steamboats take you to Niagara. On excursion
days they are crowded with passengers. Niagara is one of those sights
which the more you behold the more you are astonished. I have met those
who have expressed disappointment at their first view of the Falls.
It is difficult to explain how this feeling is entertained, except by
some previous extravagant misconception of their extent and appearance.
Their character and beauty have deservedly included them in the wonders
of the world. Necessarily they have become a show place, and to some
extent one experiences the unpleasant influences which the tourist has
to contend with at such resorts. The locality is the scene of many
a small extortion into which the unwary occasionally stumble. There
cannot be a doubt that the Falls of Niagara, with the scenery above
and below them, and the masses of rushing water in all its various
aspects and circumstances, present a sight to dwarf into insignificance
everything of the kind generally beheld. At all seasons of the year
they attract crowds of visitors to the neighbourhood, and scarcely any
one visiting the Continent fails to look upon them.
I spent a pleasant day at Collingwood with my dear old mother, 83 years
of age, looking fresh and hearty, without one physical ache or pain; at
the same time her mind retains its marked natural acuteness.
At four in the afternoon on Tuesday, the 14th August, with my son, I
went on board the steamer “Campana” in the best of spirits. She is
a staunch iron vessel, built in England and registered in London.
There was an unusual crowd of passengers, but I had telegraphed and
secured state-rooms, as the cabins are called, so I had not to content
myself with a mattrass on the floor, the fate of many. The water was
perfectly smooth. As the steamer left the dock the outline of the town
of Collingwood, with the blue mountains in the background, appeared to
me more picturesque than ever. What a change has taken place at this
spot in the last thirty years, since the day when my men cut the first
trees on the first examination of the ground on which this important
town now stands. It was then in a state of nature with the primeval
forest to the water’s edge. It is to-day a scene of busy active life,
with wharves, streets, churches, schools and many a pleasant residence.
The ground on which the dry dock is constructed I recollect as the spot
where I have watched for deer when I had seen their foot tracks fresh
on the sand beach. Where are the men who were busy at their work in
those days? Who remain of the directors, engineers, contractors, and
what the newspapers called “influential personages,” who, on a bright
winter morning in 1851 gathered near the shore and on the ice, breaking
a bottle of wine, named the future City of Collingwood. The familiar
features of Sheriff Smith, Judge Orton, Captain Hancock, Messrs. Isaac
Gilmour, Geo. H. Cheney, Angus Morrison, John McWatt, De Grassey and
Stephens are yet kindly remembered by many, and especially by myself.
There were others present whom I do not so well recollect. How many
of these voices are mute, which then joined in the cheers given as the
heralds of our good wishes! Few of the actors in that scene remain but
myself.
The direct course of the “Campana” was along the coast of Georgian
Bay, skirting Craigleith and Thornbury. We touch at the bustling town
of Meaford, where our well-filled passenger list receives additions,
certainly by no means desirable. But the new-comers crowd on board,
and the steamer moves off to round Cape Rich, to enter the bay of
Owen Sound. It was one of those pleasant, moonlight, calm evenings so
enjoyable in Canada. There was not a ripple on the water. The air was
cool and pleasant, the moon three-quarters full, and its reflection
seemed to dance over the whole surface of the bay. The steamer is of
iron, and we move onward with little noise and without vibration. We
enter the narrow harbour at Owen Sound, a town surrounded by low hills,
through the gorges of which the River Sydenham penetrates, passing over
some falls of great beauty a mile from the town. As we are moving up
to the wharf we hear the arrival of the train from Toronto, with more
passengers for the boat. The latter have come on board, the vessel has
started, when all at once the cry is heard, “A man overboard!” He is
soon rescued, but he has lost his hat, and the air of suffering with
which he regards this misfortune would lead us almost to think that he
held life of little account that it had been preserved at this serious
cost. Such an event is by no means uncommon on these lakes. Generally
it happens that some one is late for the steamer. Passengers have often
to drive long distances; nevertheless they loiter to chat over an
evening dram, and lose their time in gossip, or they fail to recollect
the length of the distance they have to pass over. Be that as it may,
punctuality seems to have been imperfectly learned in these latitudes.
It is remembered that the steamer itself is often late, and there is
ever present the good natured friend to suggest that “there is no
hurry.” At last the moment comes. The dawdler is made aware that there
is no time to spare. The steamer’s last whistle has sounded. There is a
rush to get on board, under unfavourable circumstances, and sometimes
the experiment is dearly paid for. It is not always the hat that is
lost. Sometimes it is the fate of the unhappy wearer never again to
require one.
We have recovered from this adventure. We are starting, and have
actually left the wharf, but suddenly the signal is given to stop the
engine, and the voice of the captain is heard shrieking out, “Sam!
there is a letter left at the office by two young ladies.” Sam takes no
short time to find the letter, but at last we get under way, and our
captain is benignity itself. Our next landing place is Sault St. Mary,
which we will not reach for thirty hours.
The arrangements for the steamer leaving Collingwood to touch at Owen
Sound cannot be accounted for by any doctrine of necessity. It would
appear as if the owners were anxious to act with perfect impartiality
to the two railway companies, which, if they cannot be called
opposition lines, have few interests in common. The Northern line runs
to Collingwood; the Toronto, Grey & Bruce to Owen Sound; both from
Toronto. As a rule, passengers by the steamer are for the North-West.
Generally Port Arthur, on Lake Superior, is their destination. But we
lost some twelve hours coasting around from Collingwood, and I could
not see with one single advantage. This profitless waste of time will
in all probability cease when the boats of the Canadian Pacific run
between Port Arthur and Algoma, on the north shore of Lake Huron,
connecting at that point with the railways now under construction.
The new route will give to eastern passengers what they never yet
possessed: a direct connection with Lake Superior without loss of time.
From Toronto, passengers will probably continue to be carried for some
time as at present.
Having passed three succeeding nights on the railway train on my
journey from Halifax, I willingly sought my berth. The breakfast hour
is seven, but I had had some experience of the preceding evening’s
supper. Appetite must possess to many a somewhat tyrannical mastery,
if we are to judge by the demonstrative determination to obtain
seats at a steamboat table. With us there were four relays of supper,
and it was an effort to find a seat at any one of them. Who has not
noticed, under such circumstances, the rows of men and women who place
themselves, with suppressed impatience, behind the seats, standing in
the most prosaic of attitudes, in expectation for the word that the
meal is ready. I was myself content to take my place at the fourth
table, so that I could eat what I required with deliberation. With this
experience, I was in no hurry to rise, so it was about nine o’clock
when I entered the long saloon. There were a few stragglers like
myself present, probably influenced by the same philosophy, who were
seated here and there at a table on which lay the scattered remains of
the fourth breakfast. On these lake boats the attendants are called
“waiters,” not “stewards,” as on ocean steamers, and if there be a
difference of nomenclature, there is certainly no identity of manner.
The steward of the ocean steamer is the most benignant, courtly,
kindly, considerate person in the world, and, as a rule, his virtues in
this respect are sufficiently appreciated. On this boat I addressed one
of the waiters, I thought politely enough, and gave my orders. I was
met by the rugged reply, in the hardest of tones, “Ye cannot have hot
breakfasts if ye lie in bed.” The man’s axiom was certainly borne out
by fact. There was no breakfast, in the sense of the word, and what
there remained was not hot. But the coffee was exceptionally good, and
with a crust of bread I thought that I might have fared worse. Possibly
the owners of the new steamers to be placed on the lakes next summer
will introduce some improvement in the stewards’ department, which the
ordinary traveller, they may be assured, will duly appreciate.
We were passing through the chain of islands extending from Tobermory
to the Great Manitoulin. The water is perfectly smooth. The passengers
are lounging, smoking, or basking on deck. Others, proud of their
prowess, are relating their adventures and experiences, enlivened
with many an anecdote, to the amusement of knots of hearers. As we
were running through these waters they were so beautifully smooth and
the air so fresh and pleasant that my mind went back to the Adriatic
as you see it near Venice, or to the western coast of Italy from
Civita Vecchia to Genoa. What you miss is the deep, ultra-marine
blue of the Mediterranean. Although above you to-day there is a sky
not less cloudless, bright and blue than we see in Southern Europe,
the hue of the water is a deep slate colour, but in no way wanting
in transparency. We have a horizon only broken by the islands behind
us and the Great Manitoulin, dimly lying to our right. Like the
Mediterranean, this great inland sea does not always exhibit the
glassy surface it presents to-day. As in the Bay of Naples, the waters
of which all pictures depict in the brightest blue, the gale can
sometimes produce an angry, turbid sea, so on Lake Huron, especially
in the late autumn, we have many a storm, often to create the roughest
of weather. Some thirty years ago, while crossing in a Mackinaw boat,
those were not the days of steamers with four relays of meals, I was
caught in a nor’-wester, and driven to take refuge to the windward of
one of the smallest of the islands we are leaving behind us. We reached
the shore before sundown by the most strenuous exertions. All of us in
the boat were exhausted, and we slept soundly on the gravel beach until
the following day. The island was but a few acres in extent, but we
could not venture to leave it. To have done so would have been certain
death, for the water rolled in on the exposed beach in giant, swelling
breakers. All the subsistence the whole crew had for three days was a
solitary rabbit, which we managed to snare, and a few biscuits we had
in our pockets.
It seems as if the whole study of the hour on board the steamer is
to provide food for the passengers. It brings to recollection the
prosperous hotel manager, who related with great zest how many hundreds
he had been feeding in the last few days. It certainly required some
genius to feed the numerous passengers of the “Campana,” with such
limited accommodations. At noon dinner is provided. There are eighty
seats, and four times that number of people to fill them. But dinner,
like everything else, has its end. The passengers again form in knots
upon the deck: the lounger, the smoker and the man who delights in
euchre, the latter more within the scope of lake travel than the more
classic whist, are all seen at their occupation, and the _raconteur_,
with a fresh audience, is more than usually loquacious.
The moon is a day nearer the full; and when the sun sets, it does so
gloriously and more brightly than last night. We arrive at a landing
place and are moored to a wharf where we have to wait till morning. The
Neebish Rapids lie before us. They have been improved for the purpose
of navigation, but they are not yet lighted, and it is extremely
hazardous to attempt to run them in the dark. Until a few years ago,
when they were deepened and widened, they were positively dangerous.
Eleven propeller blades were picked up by the divers during their
operations. By daylight the Rapids can now be safely enough ascended,
but it is not simply the Neebish Rapids which are unnavigable without
daylight. An artificial channel through Lake George, made some years
ago by the United States authorities, follows a circular course, and
it is not possible to pass through it after dark without extraordinary
precaution. It is true that it can be effected by sending two boats
with lights following the course of the buoys on each side one by one,
but all this was a labour our captain had no instructions to undertake,
so we remained at the wharf. Had we not experienced the incident of
the man overboard, and the forgotten letter of the two damsels at Owen
Sound, we might have arrived in time to have ascended by daylight.
The next morning the boat left her moorings at dawn. It is a pleasant
sail through Lake George and the St. Mary’s River, with its Indian
settlements and the quiet locality known as Garden River. We had passed
all these places when I awoke. We were then moving through the canal
constructed on the Michigan side to overcome the Sault St. Mary. At the
“Sault” there are, on either side, the Canadian and United States town
bearing its name. Neither of them has much pretension, and neither of
them is deficient in picturesqueness. The United States town, on the
south side, is not without a certain commercial activity, and contains
some barracks, in which generally there are two or three companies of
the United States regular army.
The Sault is celebrated for its white-fish, and the passer-by will
frequently observe a number of Indian canoes at the foot of the rapids,
paddling about, with a man in the stern to seize the fish by a hand
net. The white fish is held to be a great delicacy. They appear on the
table first about Kingston, and are caught in all the lakes, but the
opinion seems to be that the further north you go the better they are,
those on Lake Superior being considered the best. We run out of the
canal, and continue through the stretch of the River St. Mary above
the Sault. There is little to attract the eye until we reach the lofty
heights standing as portals to Lake Superior, the last and largest of
the great sheets of water tributary to the St. Lawrence.