_WINNIPEG TO CALGARY._
Winnipeg--Great Storm--Portage-la-Prairie--Brandon--Moose Jaw--Old
Wives’ Lakes--The Indians--Maple Creek--Medicine Hat--Rocky
Mountains.
The rain continued to fall in torrents the whole night of our arrival
in Winnipeg, and the gale increased in violence. The streets were next
to impassable. Roadways, without paving or metal, in the newest of
cities, formed only on the deep, black, vegetable soil of the locality,
are the least fitted to undergo an ordeal such as that of the last
fifteen hours. The storm increased in strength to the time when the
services commenced, so on this Sunday the city clergymen preached to
pews almost empty. It was not until late in the afternoon that its
violence passed away. But its traces were everywhere visible. Trees
recently planted had been torn up by their roots; buildings had been
unroofed and many injured; frame-work in course of construction had
been destroyed, and a church steeple was completely thrown down. As
daylight was waning it became possible to walk on the plank sidewalk
without danger of being mastered by the wind. The roads were in a
terrible condition, and where no plank had been laid down, the foot
sank deep into the tenacious mud.
I had arranged to start by the eight o’clock train on the Monday.
Our baggage had been all collected, and we breakfasted early. The
cabman anticipated the appointed hour, bearing in mind the condition
of the streets through which his horses had to toil. The roads were,
indeed, in a wretched state. I could only compare the thoroughly
saturated, deep, black, vegetable soil to treacle, and the horses
had to do their utmost to draw the load through it. The wheels were
often axle deep, and the vehicle cracked, from time to time, as if
it was going to pieces. The platform of the station was crowded. The
last look was given to the bags, blankets and waterproofs, and to the
saddles, bridles, tents and our whole outfit, to see that they were all
collected and that nothing was left behind. As it would be impossible
to supply a missing necessary after we had left the railway, the
inspection had to be made with care.
During my stay in Winnipeg I saw the Chief Commissioner of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, and discussed with him the possibility of having supplies
sent from the Company’s establishment in British Columbia to meet us at
a point east of Kamloops. It would scarcely be possible to carry with
us from this side sufficient food for the whole distance. It seemed
practicable, however, to make this arrangement, and he kindly undertook
to telegraph and also explicitly instruct his agent in British Columbia
to carry it out. Before leaving the station it was definitely agreed
that such supplies should reach the Columbia River, opposite the
Eagle Pass, by the 8th or 10th of September. If on our arrival at
Calgary circumstances compelled us to abandon the attempt to cross the
mountains, the fact would be telegraphed both to himself and to British
Columbia.
The distance across from Calgary to Kamloops is possibly over 400
miles. Leaving the railway at the former place, we must carry our
provisions with us, limiting our supply to the bare quantity necessary
to reach the point agreed upon. To make a good start is one of the
first elements of success, and it was my endeavour to avoid all ground
for self-reproach whatever might hereafter happen.
As the train moved out of the station many of our old friends kindly
bade us farewell. The railway company had kindly placed at my disposal
a private car, attached to the rear of the four ordinary cars, which,
with the baggage and post office cars, constituted the train. My small
party was now joined by Dr. Grant, who had accompanied me on a similar
expedition across the continent eleven years back.
There is no great extent of farming to be seen immediately in the
neighbourhood of Winnipeg. The land, I believe, is generally held
by speculators; probably as the “boom” has lost somewhat of its
force, this fallow land may once more be considered of value to the
agriculturist. During the past two years the locality has generally
been regarded as given up to speculation. As we proceed, however, we
come upon fields of oats and wheat, and much to the surprise of all of
us the grain stands up undamaged by the recent storm.
The line runs, I will not say in the Valley of the Assiniboine, for
such an expression will scarcely convey the meaning in this prairie
country, but its direction follows generally the course of the river
to Portage-la-Prairie, from which point the route is almost due west.
Ten years ago Portage-la-Prairie had little more than the name by which
it was known by the _voyageur_; it is now a thriving town with many
streets and buildings extended over possibly a square mile. Two large
elevators are constructed on the railway line for the storage of wheat,
and there is a brisk, lively tone about the station, which, I am told,
is characteristic of the place. The town is on the northern bank of the
Assiniboine, directly to the south of Lake Winnipeg. A branch railway
has been established north-westerly to Gladstone. The next station is
Burnside, an improvement on Rat Creek, as it was once called. The new
name has not unlikely been suggested by some recollection of McGill
College, Montreal; the Burnside estate being the property on which that
University is built, and which furnished the means of its endowment.
Eleven years ago I camped at this place, not far from the last house
on the prairies, no settlers having ventured west of where we stood.
The country around is now well cultivated, large fields of waving grain
stretch far back from the railway on both sides; and one might easily
fancy he was looking at a champagne country, developed by a century of
agriculture. Archbishop Taché was on the train, and did me the favour
to join us in our car. It need scarcely be said that our comfort and
convenience had been much increased by the possession of this private
car. Accommodation, in respect to meals, on many parts of the line is
not fully completed. We had a kitchen and a cook and a well provided
larder. We had bedrooms and couches, chairs and tables in perfect
arrangement. Meals were served regularly whether the train was standing
or moving. Our dinner with the Archbishop was very pleasant. He was in
excellent spirits, and we thoroughly enjoyed his conversation. We were
fortunate in respect to our cook, an artist in his way, and he did his
utmost to develop the many resources kindly provided for our use.
Before reaching Brandon we passed through the luxuriant rolling prairie
in the neighbourhood of Carberry. It is diversified by groves of
trees, and it is an easy effort of thought to imagine that you are in
a suburban park of some large city. The soil is good and warm. Large
crops of grain are visible, and in no way have they been affected by
the storm of yesterday.
We arrived at Brandon, where the passengers dine. We are now 130
miles from Winnipeg. The progress at Brandon in so short a time is
remarkable. The streets are well formed, and, owing to the gravelly
nature of the soil, I could not but think, in a much better condition
than those we had left behind in Winnipeg. The town is advantageously
situated on a slope rising from the River Assiniboine, and commands
a good view of the surrounding landscape. It has become a busy and
important place. I was here a year ago, and then a cluster of canvas
tents constituted the town. The prairie in all directions in the
neighbourhood has a warm subsoil of sandy or gravelly loam, differing
from the deep, black, vegetable mould of the level banks of Red River.
Settlers’ houses and huts are seen in all directions, and I learn
that a great extent of the country has been taken up for farming.
As we advance westward the prairie appears in all respects suited
for settlement, and we see indications on all sides that the land is
occupied.
We pass Virden, a station and village which have sprung into existence
in a year. About forty good wooden houses have replaced the one
tent of twelve months back. Carpenters are at work on an elevator,
on the summit of which their hammers resound, and which will soon be
completed. The streets of the village are also in course of formation;
and one feels that there is here great promise of a prosperous future.
We have now reached the spot on the line where the reservation of the
mile belt along the railway begins, so the farms cease to come within
our immediate view. Stations succeed each other at every eight or ten
miles. To a greater or less extent a village is springing up around
each station. Passing one of these places our attention was drawn
to a pile of lumber destined, we were told, for the erection of a
Presbyterian Church. With some complacency we are asked to accept it
as an evidence that there are farmers, not far distant, to attend the
church, and that it is an evidence of their piety. It is a material
proof of the confidence of those furnishing the money to build it, that
there is every inducement to remain where they have settled, and that
their future is one of assured confidence.
Moosomin is the place where the train halts for supper. It has a life
of six months and now counts several buildings. Meals, however, are
still given in a canvas tent. Broadview, twenty miles further, is a
place of more importance. Here an engine stable has been constructed,
and we obtain a fresh locomotive. As it is nine o’clock when we
arrive, a Pullman sleeper is attached to the train. It has been raining
and the night is dark; between ten and eleven the moon comes out to
some extent. We can see by its light the country around us, but all of
us had risen early and we were not sorry to seek our beds.
During the night we have passed fourteen or fifteen embryo towns.
We even failed to see Regina, the capital of Assiniboine. I cannot,
therefore, speak of its Government buildings, its terraces, its avenues
and its parks. Possibly it may be described as being a place of as much
importance as Winnipeg was ten or twelve years ago.
We reached Moose Jaw before breakfast, and received a copy of the
_Moose Jaw News_. Amongst its advertisements we learn that pianos are
offered for sale, and that these luxuries can be had side by side with
buckboards, stoves, and, what is of first importance in that country,
lumber. The paper, we learn, is published every Friday morning in the
city of Moose Jaw. There can be no doubt of its journalistic loyalty
to the interests advocated. The city is declared to be in all respects
a better, larger and more promising city than its rival, Regina, and
it is authoritatively claimed that the _News_ has an infinitely larger
list of subscribers than the _Leader_, published at the Capital. On
leaving this ambitious place, four hundred miles from Winnipeg, and
the editor and his readers have our best wishes for the future of
their city, our cook gives us a breakfast which would satisfy the most
critical _gourmet_. The line now follows Thunder Creek, gradually
ascending the grand Coteau of the Missouri. It may be said that we have
been passing over classic ground. According to common belief, it was
this route which the sons of De la Verendrye followed when they first
saw the Rocky Mountains. Leaving the Red River by the Assiniboine, they
turned into its tributary, the Souris, which they traced to its source,
not far to the south of us, and then passed over to the Missouri.
The herbage is light but the soil, when turned over to form the
embankment, is warm, friable clay. I cannot but believe that if the
rainfall be sufficient, almost any crop will thrive upon such a soil.
The summers are undoubtedly dry in this section, if we may judge from
the flora; all grain, it seems to me, should be sowed in the first days
of spring to profit by the moisture of that season and to obtain early
strength. There is an utter absence of trees on these rolling plains,
and it would be well to encourage plantation for many reasons, not the
least important being the improvement of the climate. It is not by
spasmodic efforts at plantation that any appreciable change will be
effected. It is only by constant and persevering labour that the face
of the country can be changed and the climate rendered less arid.
Secretan is the name of the station on the summit and we descend
westerly, passing through cuttings which expose fine beds of gravel,
excellent for ballast and road work.
At some of the stations there are groups of Indians, men and women.
We enter into conversation with them through an interpreter on the
platform. Pie-à-Pot, the great Indian chief, we are told, has gone on a
mission to the Lieutenant-Governor at Regina to complain of the smoke
of the locomotive, which he considers to be an evil medicine to ruin
the health of his people.
We pass a group of three salt water lakes, the “Old Wives’ Lakes.”
Together they extend fifty miles in length and from six to ten miles
broad. They abound in wild duck. Chaplin Station is in the vicinity.
Buffalo skulls and bones strew the ground, telling of the past, and
buffalo tracks are distinctly traceable in all directions.
We had been led to expect, from much that we have heard, that this part
of the country was perfectly barren. I can entertain no such opinion.
The soil is light and variable. In seasons not too dry good crops may
be raised in the district we have passed over. In crossing the Coteau
des Missouri we have traversed a great grassy region, the surface of
which has the appearance of the ocean subsiding into a calm after a
great tempest. There are countless undulations of varied extent and
outline, and as the train passes along they look as if they themselves
were in motion; as if they were masses of water rolling into quietness
with the calm swell, so often experienced in mid-ocean after a gale has
passed away.
We arrive at Swift Current, ten degrees of longitude west of
Winnipeg. This station is not far from the southern bend of the South
Saskatchewan, where that river makes a _detour_ before proceeding
northward to Carlton. A large engine house has been erected at Swift
Current. Dinner is provided for the passengers and we remain an hour
and a half at the station. Several Indians are lounging about. We
make an effort to converse with them, but as we have no means of
understanding each other the attempt is not successful. What will
be the fate of the Indian as the plains are filled up? Is he to be
engulfed in the common field of industry? Is he to become civilized
and labour with the rest of us at the prosaic occupations of every day
life? Is he to be uncared for and left to his fate, or be clothed and
fed in idleness? The problem is not an easy one to unravel. I learned
from one of the passengers, who seems to speak with authority, that
at present some ten thousand Indians receive an allowance of rations.
It may be said that the Indian territory has been appropriated in the
interest of the community, and that it is a consequent duty to care
for the Red man. If it be possible the course to follow is to train
the coming generation to habits of industry and self-reliance. Is it
possible?
As a rule we take our meals when the train is in motion, so that we can
utilize the various halts to obtain information from those we may meet
at the stations. There is a change to be made in the composition of the
train at this point. The sleeping car goes no further, and a number of
cars loaded with material for construction purposes are appended. We
are really from this point half a construction train. There is only one
ordinary passenger car, with the private car occupied by our party. Our
speed, too, is reduced. It seemed to me somewhat churlish to retain
to ourselves all the comfort and accommodation the directors had so
liberally extended to me and mine, when there were others I knew on the
train not so fortunately circumstanced. I was therefore glad to be of
use to some of my fellow passengers. Our party became thus increased
by the Baron de Longueuil, Dr. Grant the younger, of Ottawa, and other
gentlemen.
We pass Gull Lake and Cypress Stations, 554 miles from Winnipeg, north
of the Cypress Hills. Not a tree or shrub is to be seen; the lofty
ground to the south of us is perfectly bare; the country is dry, the
herbage scanty. On the other hand there are plain indications that
the country is not barren and worthless. It has been described by
some people as a semi-desert. So far as my memory will admit the
comparison, the soil resembles in colour and character that of the
Carse of Gowrie in Perthshire. Those who remember that section of
Scotland will perceive the force of the comparison. The ditches and
excavations expose a fine fertile clay soil, not only on the surface
but to the whole depth of the cuttings. On the recently formed
road-bed, in the bottoms of ditches, there are tufts of green oats
growing vigorously twenty-four inches high, each plant with twelve to
twenty strong stalks sticking out from a single root. This scattered
growth, so luxuriant in itself, has arisen from the seed dropped from
trains or the horse’s feed, during construction, without any attempt
at cultivation. It is true that the herbage is brown and dried up, but
not more so than I have frequently seen it in Ontario at this season.
I cannot speak of the country from Moose Jaw to Qu’Appelle, for it was
night when we passed through it, but from what I heard at the various
stations the land is good; and generally it may be affirmed that in the
five hundred and fifty miles of territory between Swift Current and
Winnipeg the waste and worthless land is scarcely appreciable.
We reach Maple Creek, 596 miles from Winnipeg. The country continues
to be of the character I have described. I had some conversation with
a Dumfries man who had passed twenty years in the County of Bruce, in
Ontario. He had a comrade with him and both were fully satisfied with
their new home. There is evidently nothing whatever in their experience
to lead to a regret that they have left Ontario. Last November there
was not a single house at Maple Creek; this evening I counted more
than two dozen. The surface water is reported not to be the best. It
is slightly alkaline; but good, pure water has been obtained from
wells at no great depth. The snow does not appear until the end of
December. Last year ploughing took place on the 11th March.[D] Some
two inches of snow fell after this date, but it soon disappeared. This
year potatoes have been obtained from the virgin soil. I was informed
by these parties that all the land is fair to Medicine Hat, the country
being of the character of that which we have passed through. They are
decidedly of opinion that fall ploughing and early sowing will never
fail to produce good crops; they consider the country is excellent for
stock raising, as the winter is short and but little snow falls. The
water required can be obtained from wells pumped by wind-mills, and the
climate is in all respects healthy. It is men of this stamp who are of
the right build to force their way in a new country. They make light
of difficulties and are fertile in expedients. They know that their
success depends upon their skill and labour; they have no yearning for
continual holidays, nor do they affect an exaggerated love of sport to
take precedence of all duty. If they have some hardship for the moment
they put aside every thought regarding it, for they feel that their
reward is assured and that they are laying up a safe provision for
those who are to follow them. Hence their cheerfulness is unfailing.
Their romance lies in the future: numerous herds and flocks, with rich
harvests of grain, and men busy gathering them in. The small wooden
house they have put up is one day to give place to a more imposing
building of stone or brick, with verandahs and blinds and plenty of
room for occasional friends. The piano may come, too, bye and bye,
from Moose Jaw or some nearer place. Crowds of settlers will succeed,
with weddings and births. There will also be the churchyard, where, in
future generations, some Canadian Gray may write his “Elegy” over the
graves of the village Hampdens and Cromwells, whose force of character
has led their memory to be handed down as the pioneers of the district
they reclaimed from the wilderness.
It was dark when we left Maple Creek. Observation in the dim light was
not possible. Our eyes were fatigued by reading, so recourse was had
to that universal panacea when time hangs heavy, the whist table. Our
rubber caused no regret on the part of the loser, for the winner had
nothing to receive.
I was called early the following morning, for I was desirous of seeing
the station at Medicine Hat and of observing the course of the South
Saskatchewan. We had crossed the river when I rose. I learned that the
stream is spanned by a temporary structure of timber trestles on piles,
some thirty feet above the water level, to be replaced by an iron
bridge before next spring.
There has been a hard frost during the night, and the air is cool.
I am writing on the 22nd August. We start as the sun rises and we
soon experience the heat of his rays. We have, as usual, an excellent
breakfast, and our cook proportionately rises in our esteem. Several
people joined the train at Medicine Hat. We discuss the character of
the country with them, for I desire to obtain as many independent
opinions as possible. I learn that the land between Maple Creek and
Medicine Hat, passed over during the night, is of the character of the
country to the east and west of it, which I have described.
As we proceed we can see, undoubtedly, by the herbage, that the climate
is dry, but the excavation shows the friable soil necessary to the
growth and nourishment of cereals. There are probably seasons of
drought when ordinary root crops will not be generally successful.
We continue through a genuine prairie without tree or shrub. Our point
of vision is really and truly the centre of one vast, grassy plain,
the circumference of which lies defined in the horizon. As we look
from the rear, the two lines of rails gradually come closer till they
are lost, seemingly, in one line; the row of telegraph poles recedes
with the distance to a point. I should estimate the horizon to be
removed from us from six to eight miles. The sky, without a cloud,
forms a blue vault above us; nothing around is visible but the prairie
on all sides gently swelling and undulating, with the railway forming
a defined diameter across the circle. Looking along the track in the
distance there is a small cloud of vapour discernible, indicating that
an engine is following us. The train itself is not visible. There is
certainly no little monotony in a railway journey over the prairie.
The landscape is unvaried: a solitude, in which the only sign of life
is the motion of the train. To obtain some change in this oneness of
view, I obtain permission to take a seat in the cab of the locomotive.
I discover that the engine driver is from Truro in Nova Scotia, Mr.
Charles Wright. I learn from him that he began his railway life under
me on the Intercolonial Railway. I need not say that the look-out from
the locomotive was no new sensation to me, but I was impressed with
different feelings to those which affected me when looking rearward
from the train. I do not think I ever was more conscious of the power
of the locomotive, or in so marked a way had I ever been so capable
of grasping its wonderful capacity to change the whole condition of
our lives. I felt as if I was borne along on the shoulders of some
gigantic winged monster, moving onward with lightning speed, skimming
the surface of the ground, and setting time and distance equally at
defiance.
We are now on a broad plateau between Bow River and the Red Deer River.
The outline of the eroded valley of the former is visible away on the
southern horizon; the latter is too far distant to be traceable. We
expect soon to be able to see the Rocky Mountains. The soil improves as
we advance, and the prairie has long, gentle ascents, with occasional
heavy gradients. At the “Blackfoot Crossing” there is a large Indian
reserve, and at the station opposite we see many red men and women
still clinging to the life of their past, wrapped in the white or red
blanket, with fringed leather leggings. Some of the younger men have
their faces painted a brilliant scarlet, and, mounted on Indian ponies,
do their utmost to keep up with the train, the women and children
partaking in the excitement of the effort. They all looked so cheerful
and contented that they made no appeal to our sympathies on any ground
of suffering or discontent.
We gradually ascend to the summit of the rolling plain, and now for
the first time the peaks of the Rocky Mountains appear in view. They
are possibly one hundred miles distant; nevertheless they stand out
clear and defined in the horizon, their snow-clad tops glistening in
the afternoon sun. They give a marked relief to the landscape after
the monotony of the prairie. They look like a huge rampart stretched
from north to south to impede all progress beyond them. Their features
slowly change as the sun sinks to the western ocean, but as long as
daylight lasts we never tire looking upon them, and in watching the
varying colours of the atmosphere reflected by their lofty summits.
Our train has become heavy by constant additions. There are now twenty
loaded cars, and it is as much as the engine can do to take them up
the heavy grades. We experience, therefore, some delay in the last ten
miles to Calgary. It is after dark when we cross Bow River and enter
the outer valley. At last we arrive at Calgary, having reached the
114th meridian, 840 miles west of Winnipeg.
When I crossed the continent eleven years ago, before Winnipeg as a
city had even a name, I left Fort Garry on the 2nd August, and did
not arrive in sight of the mountains until the 7th September. In that
journey we did not spare ourselves or our horses, for we made over the
prairies an average of over forty miles a day. On the present occasion
we left Winnipeg on Monday morning, to come within sight of the
mountains on Wednesday afternoon. The first journey occupied thirty-six
days, and the last about fifty-six hours!
It was eleven o’clock when we stopped on a siding. We were anxious
to acquire the positive information which we were to obtain here.
Our further advance depended on the facts which we hoped to learn
respecting the country we were desirous of passing over. For it was
yet a question if it was possible to cross the Selkirk Range to
the Columbia; and it was not a matter of certainty that either the
Kicking-Horse or the Eagle Pass could be followed. But those who could
throw any light on the subject had long retired, so we could do nothing
better at that late hour than follow their example.