Continuing our eastward journey from Detroit, the river is crossed to
the Canada shore by means of the ferry, and the transhipment of the
train is an operation of much interest to one who observes it for the
first time. The mammoth transfer boat, capable of holding, in several
sections, the long passenger train, is securely fastened to the dock,
and the cars are run on, with their load of passengers and baggage. The
powerful machinery of the boat is set in motion, and in a few moments
the train is again made up at Windsor, on the Canada side, ready to
proceed on its way.
WINDSOR, the western terminus of the Canada division of the Michigan
Central Railroad, is a flourishing town of about eight thousand
inhabitants directly across the river from Detroit. The town of
Sandwich, two miles below, has some celebrity as a summer resort on
account of its mineral springs.
The chief interest of the American tourist in regard to Canada, however,
is in getting through it. While there are many things worthy of note in
connection with the homes of our cousins over the border, they are best
appreciated by a longer tarry than can be afforded by the excursionist
who makes a flying trip between the West and the East. The prejudice of
the native American, so frequently manifested against everything
Canadian, is often as unfounded as it is unreasonable. To be sure, the
difference between Canada and the States in habits and customs is
sometimes quite marked, but frequently not more so than that existing
between different sections of our own country. The railroad is doing
much toward the annihilation of all these differences, by facilitating
intercourse and the comingling of the people of all sections.