_KAMLOOPS TO THE COAST._
Lake Kamloops--Savona’s Ferry--Irrigation--Chinese Navvies--Chinese
Servants--Lytton--The Fraser River Canyon--Old Engineering
Friends--Sunday at Yale--Paddling Down the Fraser--An English Fog
at New Westminster.
The district into which we have entered, in its physical character,
is directly the opposite of that which we have traversed. We have no
mosses to tell the story of excessive humidity. We are now in a country
where the leading feature is extreme aridity. I can compare the dark
powdered earth to nothing to which it bears more resemblance ground
pepper. On all sides the indications show that this condition of soil
and climate extends over a wide district. The surface is covered by
a tufted vegetation known as bunch grass. There is only one remedy
to make it productive of farm crops: a system of irrigation on an
extensive scale. As yet no steps have been taken for its introduction
in this neighbourhood. Nowhere is the eye relieved by a flower garden
or by the familiar charm of cultivated ground. The small town of
Kamloops at present can boast of no such advantages, but there is
nothing to lead to the belief that they are not attainable.
We are indebted for a temporary home to the hospitable factor of the
Hudson’s Bay Company. Naturally one of our first acts is to report our
arrival to our friends in the east. Unfortunately the telegraph line
is down and the operator absent repairing it. Deeming it of importance
that no time should be lost we despatch an Indian courier with messages
to the next station, Savona’s Ferry, thirty miles distant.
We all feel that after our tramp we are entitled to a few hours’
additional rest. It is true that for the most part we have slept
soundly every night of our journey; indeed, if men could not sleep
after serious work like ours, it would be hard to say when they could
do so. But we had not indulged in the luxury of late hours. We were
always up at day-break, and I never heard the complaint that any of
us had slept too long. One satisfaction we had, we can thankfully say
that we were generally spared the penalty of loss of sleep. Last night,
however, was an exception. In my own case the wounds on my hands,
swollen by the poison of the devil’s club, made sleep impossible. We
resolved accordingly to pass the afternoon quietly at the Hudson’s Bay
post, and retire early to bed; in this case not a figure of speech, for
under this roof we had all the comforts of civilization.
We were up in good time next morning. I paid what bills we owed, bade
farewell to our Kamloops friends, said good-bye to Mr. McLean and his
Indians, and prepared to proceed westward. A steamer had been engaged
to take us to Savona’s Ferry. We started about nine o’clock, skirting
along the north shore of Lake Kamloops by Battle Bluff. We returned by
the south side, examining the ground adjoining Cherry Bluff. The day
was fine, so the trip was pleasant. The sky was as clear and the air as
pure and balmy as on an Italian lake. The steamer touched at a place
called Tranquille, where the land has been irrigated. In this instance
the experiment has been in all respects satisfactory. The result is
shown in a good garden with excellent fruit and vegetables.
At Savona’s Ferry I received messages by telegraph, and I was
reminded of being once more within the circle of artificial wants and
requirements. For the last thirty days we have been out of the world,
knowing nothing beyond the experience of our daily life. Our leading
thoughts were of the difficulties which lay in our path and of the
labour necessary to overcome them. There was nothing vicarious in our
position; there was no transfer of care or labour to others. Each one
had to accept what lay before him, and our world for the time was in
our little circle. Now we are reminded that we are again in another
condition of being. There is scarcely anything more powerful to recall
the attention to this change than the receipt of a telegram sent across
a continent to remove anxieties as to home and family.
I had much pleasure in meeting Mr. Hamlin, an old Intercolonial friend,
the Resident Engineer of the section under contract west of Savona’s
Ferry. I had telegraphed to him the previous evening, and he had
taken the trouble to come seventeen miles to meet me. We took dinner
at Savona; and the fact recalled to my mind that eleven years ago I
had stopped at this same place. Mrs. Whorn was then our hostess, whom
I perfectly recollected, but the poor lady had been dead for twelve
months, and is buried not far distant.
Dr. Grant and my son started in a waggon for Cache Creek. I had
professional business with Mr. Hamlin. We proceeded by the banks of
the River Thompson, and reached his quarters about sunset, to receive
from his wife and mother the most kindly of Irish welcomes. We passed
a pleasant evening and spoke much of old days, going back to the time
when we were working in the valley of the Metapedia, in Quebec.
I had another excellent night’s sleep and was up early. At six Mr.
Hamlin and myself started. The morning air was cold. We arrived at
Cache Creek about half-past seven, and found Dr. Grant and my son
under canvas. The hotel was so unpromising that they preferred their
tent to the cheerless entertainment it suggested. Albert and Mr.
Hunter soon join us, and the four took the stage to Spence’s bridge.
Mr. Hamlin was good enough to drive me there with his own horses.
We took some refreshment at Ashcroft, seven miles from Cache Creek.
The country residence of the Lieutenant-Governor of British Columbia
is at Ashcroft, and I felt it my duty to pay him my respects. Mr.
Cornwall, himself, was absent; the ladies, however, received us with
much kindness, and our conversation turned to a previous occasion
when I passed an evening in their society under the same roof, some
years back, of which I retained the most pleasing recollection. In
fact, I may remark that, as they say in Paris, this was my _visite de
digestion_ after the pleasant dinner which I then had with the family.
As we proceed the sun shines upon us with unusual heat for the time
of year. Small fields of irrigated land are seen here and there and
present a promising appearance. The ground generally is dry, for there
is little rainfall in this district. From the indications I fear no
crop can thrive without irrigation, and it appears to me it is the main
consideration for the residents to entertain.
We descend by the westerly bank of the River Thompson, and obtain a
good view of the railway work on the opposite bank. We reached Spence’s
Bridge about three o’clock, where Mr. H. F. Macleod greeted me with
a warm welcome and invited the whole party to his house. Mr. Hamlin
returned to his own place. Dr. Grant, my son and myself availed
ourselves of Mr. Macleod’s hospitality. Mr. Macleod is another old
friend and fellow worker on the Intercolonial Railway. Spence’s Bridge
has a canvas town of about one thousand Chinamen, engaged on the
railway works. I presume the Chinese population will disappear as the
railway is completed. The place contains a good hotel, with a garden of
some size, producing apples, grapes and excellent vegetables; in itself
showing what can be accomplished with irrigation, effort and skill.
No fact is more patent than that irrigation is indispensable in this
district.
Mr. Macleod kindly drove us over the works. We follow the deep gorge
through which the Thompson forces its way. Mr. Macleod’s house is
situated at Drynoch, so called from his relationship to the Macleods
of Skye. It is scarcely necessary to say that at Drynoch we received a
cordial and graceful Highland welcome. We were particularly struck with
the appearance of the Chinaman waiting at table. His loose dress was of
spotless white, and with his thick soft-soled shoes he moved so quietly
as to be scarcely audible. He had always a smile on his face, and his
mistress gave him the best of characters for intelligence, industry
and good manners. We passed a delightful evening in this oasis in the
mountains.
In the morning Mr. Macleod accompanied us to Lytton, where the Thompson
falls into the Fraser. Lytton has not greatly improved since I saw it
last year. It is still a wretchedly dilapidated place. The dingy wooden
buildings were marked by a striking absence of paint, and evidently the
summary course applied at Truro, in Nova Scotia, on the occasion of
the Prince of Wales’ visit, could with benefit be introduced here. At
Lytton I said good-bye to Mr. Macleod, heartily thanking him for his
hospitality. Mr. Hannington, another of my old assistants, from Ottawa,
now received me.
Mr. Hannington drove me to his place, three miles beyond Lytton, and
we proceeded eight miles further to the site of the railway bridge to
cross the River Fraser. The bridge, a massive structure of stone and
iron, is in progress. Here we met Mr. George Keefer, the Engineer in
charge of this section, another of my old staff. Mr. Keefer took me to
his quarters, seventeen miles below Lytton, being thirty-three miles
from Drynoch. Mr. Keefer’s house is on the railway line on the western
bank of the Fraser. So we crossed the river in a canoe and floated down
the boiling, seething current to a convenient landing place. Ascending
the bank about two hundred feet nearly vertically, we reached Mr.
Keefer’s present house, where we remained for the night. Mrs. Keefer
and her children were absent on a visit at Victoria, but he himself
left no effort untried to entertain us. I was delighted again to see my
old friend so pleasantly circumstanced, and we were all indebted to
him for his hospitality.
I was awakened in the morning by a Chinaman appearing with a bath, a
luxury more appreciated after my late experience, and one among the
first benefits of civilization, which we hasten to enjoy. We are forty
miles from Yale, in that huge cleft in the Cascade Range through which
the Fraser impetuously continues its course. The rails are laid from
Yale to a point two miles above where we now are. We can accordingly
reach Yale by a locomotive in little more than an hour, but it is my
desire to pass leisurely over the line, in order somewhat to examine
it. It has therefore been arranged that we proceed on our journey by
hand-car. A dense fog fills up the valley but the sun soon comes out
and the fog is dispelled. As we approached Mr. Keefer’s quarters last
night we had to pass over the long ascent of Jackass mountain, a name
familiar to British Columbians from the day of the discovery of gold
in Cariboo. The road leading to the gold mines passes over it. The
frame of a house on a small terrace some nine hundred feet above the
river, was pointed out as the resting place for the night of Lord and
Lady Dufferin when in British Columbia. It affords a magnificent view
of Fraser river and the great mountains which flank the valley on both
sides.
The hand-car came, bringing with it my old friend Mr. H. J. Cambie. He
had left his home this morning at Spuzzem, twenty miles distant. We
again start. To Dr. Grant the hand-car was almost a revelation; it was
certainly a new mode of travelling which he was about to experience.
Mr. Keefer follows on a railway velocipede. This machine has its two
main wheels on one rail, with a third wheel to steady it, gauged to the
opposite rail. It is kept in motion by a crank, worked by the rider’s
feet. I am sorry to say that on this expedition Mr. Keefer’s velocipede
was crushed by a gravel train backing, owing to a mistake of orders,
and Mr. Keefer had only just time enough to extricate himself to avoid
a similar fate.
Our course followed the railway down the western bank of the great
canyon of the Fraser. The Cariboo waggon road runs on the opposite bank
as far as the Alexandria Bridge. We had an opportunity of observing the
lofty cliffs and the precipitous ledges it passes over, and from the
really slight character and dangerous appearance of the staging upon
which man and horse have so long risked their lives, I could not but
think that the railway would not be open for traffic an hour too soon.
I presume that when that result comes to pass the waggon road will
fall into disuse. The construction of the railway has been exceedingly
difficult and costly within the twenty-eight mile section in charge of
Mr. Cambie. The work is extremely heavy, including thirteen tunnels.
We reach Spuzzem in the afternoon, having travelled leisurely. We
proposed making another start, but Mr. Cambie would not hear of our
passing his house, and despatched the hand-car to Yale for our letters,
the place where they had been ordered to be addressed. In a couple of
hours I had received the bag containing my month’s correspondence,
including letters from home of the latest date.
I was under no apprehension of any bad news, for the telegram which I
had sent from Savona’s Ferry had been answered to the effect that all
was well; but with what delight, when we have been for weeks cut off
from those dear to us, do we read in their own words that everything is
precisely as it should be.
Every onward step, every hour, was bringing us more into the world’s
usages. I had not been long at Spuzzem when I was invited to attend
a telephone conference. On taking my place, at once I recognized the
voice addressing me, although at twelve miles distance, and I had not
heard it for two years. It was that of Mr. Onderdonk, giving the party
a cordial invitation to make his house our home during our stay in Yale.
Under Mr. Cambie’s roof we had another delightful evening, as might
be supposed from my many years pleasant intercourse with him. It is
twenty years since he entered my staff on the first explorations on
the Intercolonial Railway in 1863, and I am glad to say our relations
have been untinged by the least unpleasantness. I cannot but express
the satisfaction I felt in meeting so many of my old associates in
my journey from Kamloops. I was no longer the Chief Engineer of the
Railway: I was simply a wayfarer. Nevertheless I felt no little
satisfaction to find the works originally planned by me so well
advanced and in such good hands. Nothing could have given me more
pleasure than the cordial way in which the members of my old staff
received me. There is always a perfunctory mode of paying a civility
which it is somewhat embarrassing not to offer, and it is generally
well understood on both sides what such attentions amount to. But
in the case of my old friends I was received by a hearty, natural,
unmistakeable kindness, and I feel confident that it will not be
unwelcome to them to learn that I was much affected by it.
It was nearly ten the next morning before we started, continuing our
journey on the hand-car. The works we pass still continue very heavy.
We are in the heart of the Cascades, and many of the rocky masses which
rise up perpendicularly from the foaming torrent must be pierced by
tunnels as the only means of passage through them.
We make our halt at Mr. Onderdonk’s gate at Yale, to meet with a
hearty welcome from his family. I continue my journey some twenty
miles further, but I return to Mr. Onderdonk’s house before dark, for
it is Saturday night and I had accepted his kind invitation to pass
the Sunday with him. We now sleep in beds in the true meaning of the
word, and how we enjoy our night’s rest! We learn that there is but one
church in Yale, a small wooden building of the Church of England, and
we readily accept the offer to attend the service. _En route_ Mr. and
Mrs. Cambie joined us, increasing our number to nine. When we entered
the building we really formed the major part of the congregation. As
the service proceeded other parties arrived at irregular intervals.
There were twenty-four in all, including five children. Two clergymen
officiated, evidently educated men, but with “advanced” views. To
me even the Lessons, the only part of the service not chanted, were
far from being read in a natural tone of voice. Intoning the service
may be proper enough in some circumstances, but it certainly seemed
out of place in Yale. There are possibly at this time eight hundred
or a thousand people, white people, Christians statistically at
least, within half a mile of the spot where the church was situated,
nevertheless the congregation was little more than half as large as the
number assembled for worship the previous Sunday, at the invitation
of Dr. Grant, in the Eagle Pass. As we walked home we saw not a few
loitering about the streets, and especially around the taverns. One
would think that with all the teaching which the Church of England has
received since the days of Wesley, the wants of those to whom the
clergy have to minister would be better understood. I asked myself
could these clergymen know the character and habits of the men who
have been brought together to perform the work of the railway. No
class of men are so peculiar. They are not perfect in many respects.
Some are sensual, brutal and self-indulgent. But they are not all of
this character. If the mass of them have any trait which is at all in
prominence, it is their respect for straightforward dealing and regard
of what is natural. They can understand what is plain and free from
pretension and affectation, but the least shade of what is artificial
and strained repels them. This very conclusion was again forced upon me
from the appearance of the congregation. I doubt if a single man of the
six or eight hundred workmen in Yale on that Sunday were present in the
Anglican Chapel, the only church open for worship. If the workmen were
not attracted by the service, the merest handful of ordinary citizens
were present. It was painful to observe so small an attendance. The
character of the service may not have been the wholly repelling cause
which existed; but I venture the remark that in my humble judgment
in circumstances of this character the simpler the worship the more
consideration it will obtain. What is wanted on railway works is the
active, simple effort of the missionary who will seek men out in
their houses and penetrate within their daily lives and conduct.
Such ministers of religion bring men within their influence by the
genuineness of the sympathy which they show and by an appeal to the
best feelings of their listeners. Ritualism on the Fraser was obviously
not a success. I am strongly of the opinion that such men as the army
chaplain whom we had on board the “Polynesian” would have found a fine
field in Yale, and would have attracted crowds of willing worshippers
to his services.
We pass a quiet afternoon in Mr. Onderdonk’s shady verandah, around
which the hop vines luxuriantly grew. In the evening, as the lights
appeared in the windows, Yale had a pleasant and picturesque
appearance. It is built on a bend of the river at the head of steamboat
navigation, and at night, with the reflected lights in the stream, it
assumes an importance which by day one would not concede to it. As a
landscape the mountains are too lofty, too near, too precipitous and
crowded to be remarkable for beauty. There is a total absence of all
distance in the picture. One sees only a maze of rugged, towering
rocks, for the most part covered with a stunted vegetation.
Monday came and with it our determination to start by the steamer for
New Westminster. We gratefully said good-bye to our polished host
and hostess, whose kindness reminded me of what I had heard of the
hospitality of the old Knickerbocker families. During our stay at Yale
it was hard to believe that we were not in some hospitable mansion on
the banks of the Hudson. We take with us a dug-out canoe and a crew of
Indians to paddle us on our journey when we deem it advisable to leave
the boat. My purpose is to proceed by steamer to the point which on
Saturday night I reached by hand-car and then take to the canoe. I will
thus be enabled fully to examine the whole line in the valley of the
Fraser. The steamer is by no means of little account on these waters,
to judge by the passengers that she carries and the places she stops
at. Our landings are frequent, to receive or discharge freight, cattle
and passengers.
We reach the spot where, with my son, I go on board the canoe. We
arrive at Harrison River at half-past three. I was met at this point
by Mr. Brophy, also an old Intercolonial friend. Mr. Wilmot, who has
hitherto kindly accompanied us, goes on shore. We ourselves continue
our descent of the Fraser. The three Indians paddle at a good pace down
the Nicomen Slough to a point off Sumas. It is after six and twilight
is coming on, so we find our way through a cross channel to the main
river. We believe that any other course would be hazardous, so we
follow the stream to the point where Dr. Grant was to leave the steamer
and where we expect to meet him. The Fraser is wide at this spot and
the current swift but we keep the centre of the river. The Indians
continue to paddle briskly. We float down the current very rapidly.
The air is much warmer than we have yet experienced it, both when we
were in the mountains and since we reached Kamloops. Night comes on,
and although there is no moon the sky is without a cloud and the stars
shine brightly, giving us enough light to guide our canoe. We still
keep to the middle of the river where the stream is the strongest.
About eight o’clock we see a light on the shore towards which we
paddle, and as we approach we hear the well known voice of Dr. Grant.
We find supper waiting for us for which we are indebted to Mrs.
Perkins, who keeps a workman’s boarding house. But we had a mile
further to paddle to the engineers’ camp, where we are to find
beds. They receive us as hospitably as engineers always receive men
accredited to them. They insist on me taking the one stretcher they
have; the rest of the party find rest on the floor.
We were up early, for although we had come sixty miles yesterday we
were anxious to continue our journey. A heavy fog made it impossible
to leave before nine. We paddle for an hour and a half until we reach
Stave River, where we land. There is a fine view of Mount Baker, forty
miles distant, when the weather is clear, but there is too much mist in
the air to-day for us to see it.
We again land three miles above Maple ridge, and walk that distance
over the half-constructed railway, crossing Kanaka bridge. We owed our
dinner at Maple Ridge to Mrs. Sinclair’s culinary art.
We come to the site of the land slide of four years back. A surface
of twenty-four acres was carried into the river, bearing along with
it the forest trees with which it was covered. A large extent of the
mass was thrown across the River Fraser, fully a quarter of a mile on
to the opposite shore, uprooting many acres of forest and for a time
damming back the stream. Its traces are still visible, to show what the
consequences are of these minor convulsions of nature which on a great
scale effect such wonderful changes.
We are again in the canoe. The water of this great river is as calm as
a canal in Venice, and our quiet progress partakes no little of the
motion of the gondola. The air conveys the idea that it is full of
smoke, while the temperature recalls the season of Indian summer. The
banks of the river, even at a short distance, are scarcely discernible.
We now reach the tidal waters of the Pacific. There is no great rise
where we now are, and the water is still fresh for some distance, but
at flood there is no current and the surface looks like a placid lake.
The air is pleasant. The three Indians keep paddling with marvellous
regularity. Two sit in front, side by side, and the third is at the
stern steering as he paddles. The men work as if they were pieces of
mechanism, in perfect silence; not a word is spoken.
We leave the main stream at the mouth of Pitt River, where we paddle
up to the new railway bridge, spanning 1850 feet of a deep inlet, at
one spot sixty feet below high water. We return to the Fraser, where we
were about thirty-four miles from the starting point of the morning.
We pass on our right the mouth of the River Coquitlum and on the left
is the salmon cannery of that name, consisting of a large number of
scattered buildings, the centre of one of the chief industries of the
Province. We meet a number of boats manned by Indians, drawing in or
laying down salmon nets. The river is nearly half a mile wide with deep
water. The Fraser is a noble stream, but it is only at intervals, as
the fog lifts, that you can see the opposite shore. So thick is the
fog that the sun itself is obscured, and it was in weather of this
character, bringing back to my mind the November fogs of the world’s
emporium on the banks of the Thames, that we made our landing at New
Westminster, on the Pacific ocean.