Lakes Smith and Howard--Lovely Lake Scenery--Long Lake--The Little
American--"Wait till you see our Minnetaunka!"--Minneanopolis--Villa
Hotels--A Holiday Town--The Great Flour-mills--St. Paul's--Our American
Cousins--The French Canadian's Story--Kind-hearted Fellow-passengers--A
New Way of Travelling together--The Mississippi--Milwaukee, the Prettiest
Town in Michigan--School-houses--A Peep at Chicago--Market
Prices--Pigs!--The Fairy Tales of Progress--Scotch Incredulity--Detroit
Ferry--Hamilton--Good-bye to my Readers.
On leaving Lichfield our road lay through some beautiful, slightly
undulating country. Between lofty bluffs, the train emerged along the
shores of a lovely lake, and before its beauties had disappeared, another
and another followed in rapid succession. The first two, Smith and
Howard, are very much alike. Then we passed through two or three pretty
little villages, their streets avenues of trees, the roads as well kept
as the drive of an English park, the houses and gardens marvels of
neatness, and glorious with flowers, and the orchards laden with ripe
fruit. As we passed Long Lake, a narrow sheet of water that called forth
expressions of admiration from us all, a bright little American child,
with whom we had made friends, said shyly--
"You think that pretty. Wait till you see our lake--our Minnetaunka: they
call it Wayzata now!" she added sadly.
We did see it about noon, and its beauties justified the preference.
Minnetaunka--let us keep the old name which the child seemed to love so
well--about twenty-five miles long, is full of islands kept in perfect
order. Their natural beauties are developed with the taste and skill that
characterize the American nation, by the inhabitants of the beautiful
villas scattered along its shores. Tiny yachts and skiffs lay at anchor,
or, with all sails set, skimmed the glistening water, bearing, no doubt,
pleasure-parties from the pretty villa hotels, which could only be
distinguished from private houses by the numerous chairs and
newspaper-readers on their verandahs. A little steam-yacht lay at the
wharf, while a merry party of young people, laden with picnic baskets,
embarked. When the train sped on, and we had strained our eyes for the
last peep, the child, watching our faces, asked--
"It _is_ beautiful, isn't it?"
We had no words to tell her how lovely we thought it. Cedar Lake, which
we passed before reaching Minneanopolis, could not bear the comparison.
An old man, pointing out some large flour-mills near the road, told us of
a terrible explosion there in 1877, when many lives were lost. The
machinery and mills were shattered to pieces, and thousands of pounds'
worth of damage was done; yet in 1878 they were again in full working
order, and as celebrated as ever for the fineness of their flour.
At St. Paul's we changed trains, and said good-bye to the charming
Americans who had been the pleasantest of travelling companions.
On the Chicago and Milwaukee line which we now took, we saw more of the
American element, and felt Uncle Sam's land a greater reality. Every man
was a colonel or general; every woman was neat and pretty, but painfully
slight. All were perfectly at home; no matter how long the journey, they
did not get so tossed and travel-stained as we Canadians.
Before the train left St. Paul's we heard the story of a poor little
French Canadian woman. She was returning to Quebec from Fort McLeod,
eleven hundred miles from Winnipeg, in the North-west territories. She
had gone there to settle, but a terrible home-sickness for her own people
had impelled her to spend nearly her last shilling in the payment of her
passage back. Now she came in great distress to tell of the loss of her
pocket-book, containing her tickets, and all she had to buy food and
lodging on the way. A generous compatriot said he would see that she was
provided for; and the railway officials offering to give her a through
ticket for less than half-price, the money was soon collected from
amongst the passengers, the Yankees being the most liberal. The poor
thing, drying her eyes, acknowledged her gratitude with all the
expressive gesticulation of her race.
Comedy and tragedy jostle each other in life. At St. Paul's, also, our
sleepy Frenchman and a friend, who had left Winnipeg together to be
travelling companions to Ottawa, discovered that their tickets were for
different routes, and they had to separate. They met again at Chicago,
only to say good-bye once more, their routes still not agreeing. At
Toronto they again encountered, to separate at Brockville. One went by
the "Canada Central," and the other the "St. Lawrence and Ottawa" at
Prescott; so each entered Ottawa at opposite ends. And, as one of them
said, "The best of the fun is, my baggage goes with T----, and I travel
_sans_ everything."
From St. Paul's our road lay along the banks of the most beautiful part
of the Mississippi river, which, shallow though it is, is also broad,
bright, and clear. The surrounding country was in the height of its
summer beauty. Charming villages nestled under the high banks; houses
were built on projecting shelves of rock, with so little space between
them, that it seemed as if a slight shove would precipitate them over the
edge. Every foot of ground was utilised, and there was none of the
_débris_ that hangs about the back yards and odd corners of Canadian
villages. At every wharf were numbers of small craft and river steamers,
seemingly plying a thriving trade.
We passed Milwaukee--the prettiest town in the State of Michigan--at
night, and could only see, through the misty darkness, its many light and
tidy streets. A noticeable feature in all the villages, however small,
was the size of the substantial buildings devoted to education. Many of
them were very handsome, with grounds prettily laid out and well kept,
while the surrounding hamlets are merely groups of neat little wooden
cottages.
We had only an hour in Chicago, and saw no more of the Western metropolis
than could be gleaned in a drive through to the station, or Great Western
depot. Here the remainder of our Winnipeg friends left us. Anxious to
telegraph to friends in Toronto, I with some questioning found my way
through a large luggage office, crowded with packages and porters, up a
rickety outside staircase to a small room in a blackened row of
buildings. My telegrams despatched, I wandered through some of the
neighbouring streets in search of a restaurant, whereat to replenish our
luncheon-basket. Out of mere curiosity I asked the price of the different
edibles displayed on the counter. A cold roast fowl, weighing, possibly,
a fraction over a pound, was three shillings (sixty cents), delicious
fresh rolls, sixpence (ten cents) a dozen, buttermilk on draught,
threepence (five cents) a glass; English ale, half a dollar (fifty cents)
a pint bottle; black pudding, a penny a pound; and as much cold roast
pork and beans, or boiled ham, as I liked for a shilling. The man smiled
at my ignorance in asking the price of pork in Chicago--the great
pork-packing centre of the West.
As our train left, we passed car-loads of fat hogs, lying two or three
deep, waiting to be unloaded at some one or other of the great
establishments, where, in but a few minutes, the pig is killed, dressed,
cut up, and packed ready for shipment again as pork. The public gardens
in the suburbs, surrounded with handsome private residences, are pretty,
but until we reached Detroit there was little to interest us in the
country. Inside we had the usual mixture of travelling companions. An
animated discussion arose between two old farmers, one returning to
Ontario from a short visit to a son in California, the other going to
Canada after an absence of over thirty years. The former called forth the
latter's expressions of wonder by recounting all the changes and
improvements he would find. More and more incredible they sounded. A city
where he had left a swamp; thriving farms and villages where he
remembered dense woods, traversed alone by wolves and bears; mills in the
midst of impassable rapids; bridges over falls no man dare cross in his
day; and when at last he was told that, instead of getting out and
entering boats at Detroit, the train, engine, and all ran on board the
iron ferry-boat, and was taken across intact, then carrying us through to
Hamilton, he bustled out of his seat in great indignation, exclaiming--
"Hoot, mon, I'll na believe ony mair o' yure lies; I'm na sic an ould
fule as ye tak' me for. The hale train on a boat, indeed!" and he
indignantly placed himself at the other end of the car, his informant
only rubbing his hands together in great glee at the fun.
The little black porter on the Pullman was very attentive, getting coffee
for us at the different stations, seeing our baggage through the
custom-house at Detroit, and when the train was on the boat, and it was
fairly under weigh, taking me down into the engine-rooms, where I could
look and wonder at the power propelling the boat, laden with two trains,
across the river. On deck, the lights from the numerous ships and buildings
enabled me to see an outline of the city and river; but I wished it had
been daylight, or even moonlight, for then I could have seen everything
to greater advantage. Returning to the car, I passed the incredulous
Scotchman standing open-mouthed near the machinery, and watched him as he
walked to the gangway muttering, "Ay, it is a boat, after a'. Weel, weel,
wonders wull never cease." On Canadian soil again, and speeding on to the
end of our journey, we stopped nowhere until we reached Hamilton, at
three o'clock in the morning of Wednesday, October 16th. There my brother
met us, and after spending the remainder of the night, or rather morning,
at the Royal Hotel, we went on to Toronto by the nine o'clock train,
reaching that place before noon. There, too, I will leave my readers,
asking their indulgence for this simple account of my trip to Manitoba.
THE END.