“In 1881 the company contracted with the Government to finish the road within ten years – for which undertaking they received twenty-five million dollars, twenty-five million acres of agricultural land, and the railroad itself when complete.”
“Whew!” whistled Tom. “Say, Ran, let’s go to railroading.”
“The end of the third year,” continued the genial conductor, “found them at the summit of the Rocky Mountains; the fourth in the Selkirks, a thousand miles beyond Winnipeg. Sometimes they advanced five or six miles a day, armies of men attacking the mountains with thousands of tons of dynamite. On a certain wet morning – the seventh of November, 1885 – the last spike was driven on the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway.”
Mr. Houghton’s eloquent peroration was followed by a round of applause, and all hands turned to the car windows once more, with new interest in this great triumph of mind over the forces of nature.
The boys were informed by Mr. Houghton in conclusion, that the country all around the lake was one of the greatest hunting districts on the continent. The forest abounded, he said, in moose, bear and caribou – all of which was extremely tantalizing to these young gentlemen, though the gentler members of the party took little interest in the conductor’s description of the sport.
We must pass rapidly over the next day or two. Soon after breakfast on Wednesday morning, our travelers found themselves on the shores of Lake Superior, and all day the train kept close beside it, the road curving, rising, descending, around great promontories of red rock, at the base of high cliffs, and across broad tributaries that came sweeping down from far Northern wastes. At times there was a heavy fog, through which the passengers could see the slow waves breaking on the rocks below. Then it would lift, showing new beauties close at hand, and bright, wooded islands in the misty distance. Beside the track grew strange flowers, and against the northern sky was outlined the notched edge of the boundless evergreen forest that stretched away to the Arctic solitudes.
At the little settlement of Peninsula, Selborne called the rest to see a fine, sturdy dog with the Esquimaux showing plainly in his pointed nose and ears, and thick soft fur.
“Doesn’t he look like the pictures in Dr. Kane?” whispered Pet, leaning over Kittie’s shoulder.
Jackfish proved to be a picturesque hamlet of log huts, clustering on a rocky point of land that jutted into the lake.
The train stopped at Schreiber long enough to allow the party to dash up into the town, and make a laughable variety of purchases at the principal store. Postal cards, buttons, candy and fancy pins disappeared in the pockets of the tourists, to the delight of the proprietor, who had not had such a run of custom for many a long day. Captain Bess bought several yards of the brightest scarlet ribbon she could find – for what purpose it will be seen hereafter.
Near the station at Nepigon was seen the first encampment of Indians – Chippewas they were; half-amused, half-indignant at the curious crowd they attracted.
Port Arthur was the terminus of the Eastern Division of the “C. P. R.,” a thousand miles from Montreal, and watches were all set back one hour to meet “Central Time.” Little girls crowded up to the passengers, selling milk in broken mugs, from small pails with which they darted hither and thither along the platform. I should hardly venture to say how many mugfuls the boys bought and drank, in the kindness of their hearts.
That evening a number of new friends from the “Missanabie” and “Calgary” came back to the “Kamloops,” by special invitation, and the united chorus sang over and over all the songs they did – and did not – know. “Little Annie Rooney,” then a reigning favorite in the East, was the most popular number in the programme.
I wish I could show the gay little party to you, as I see them now, photographed so clearly upon my memory: the older people in the rear, looking on with smiles, and occasionally joining in a familiar chorus; Kittie and Pet, their faces all aglow; Randolph, Fred and Mr. Selborne singing sturdily along, or pausing when they did not know the tune; Tom, singing at the top of his voice, whether he knew the tune or not, and beating time with a vigor that would have put Carl Zerrahn to shame – ah! how it all comes before me as I write; with one dear, kindly face that was merry and thoughtful by turns, but always tender and loving and good, as the songs rang out; the face I shall see no more until I reach the end of the longest journey of all – the journey of Life!
At breakfast on the following morning, Tom, who had taken upon himself to provide the girls with nosegays on the whole trip, marched into the dining-car with a neat little breast-knot of “squirrel-tail grass” which he had picked at Rat Portage, for each young lady. It was very pretty, but before long the objectionable feature of the grass asserted itself; that is, its clinging qualities, which made it impossible for the wearers to wholly rid themselves of the tiny barbed spires for two days afterward.
Winnipeg was reached at noon. Nearly all the passengers “went ashore,” and the empty cars were trundled away for a thorough cleaning, English fashion.
In twos and threes our friends wandered off through this strange young city, the capital of Manitoba. Twenty years ago its population numbered one hundred; now it passes thirty thousand!
In the midst of all the progress and modern ideas of bustling Winnipeg, it was curious to notice many rude carts drawn by oxen, which were harnessed like horses.
At the station the “newsboys” were little girls, who plied their trade modestly and successfully.
Mr. Percival took his daughters and Pet to drive for an hour through the city and its suburbs. The only drawback to their enjoyment was the intense heat, and the abundance of grasshoppers who would get tangled up in Bessie’s hair, much to that young lady’s displeasure.
“Clouds and clouds of them,” she commented indignantly; “and the Winnipeggers don’t seem to mind them a bit!”
Next morning Tom was the first “on deck,” as usual, and out of the cars at the first stop, which was made to water the engine. Prairie, prairie, prairie, as far as the eye could reach. Tom gathered handfuls of flowers and threw them into expectant laps, only to rush out again and gather more. The short grass was starred with blossoms of every color. Harebells, like those on Mt. Willard, grew in abundance beside the track. Then there were queer, scarlet “painted cups,” nodding yellow ox-eyes, asters, dandelions, and others.
What is that little creature, that looks something like a very large gray squirrel with no tail? Why, a “gopher,” to be sure; an animal resembling a prairie-dog, only smaller. They live in burrows all along these sandy embankments. See that little fellow! He sits up on his hind legs and hops along like a diminutive kangaroo, pulling down heads of grass with his tiny forepaws, and nibbling the seeds.
On and on, over the rolling prairie, rattled the hot, dusty train. They were in Indian country now, and at every station a dozen or more dark-faced Crees crouched on the platform, offering buffalo horns for sale.
And this reminds me that I have not mentioned one very important portion of Tom’s outfit. It was a fine No. 4 Kodak, of which he was very proud, and which he “snapped” mercilessly at all sorts of persons and things on the journey. There were other amateur photographers on the Excursion – a dozen or more in all – and great was the good-natured rivalry in securing good views. Indians were bribed, soldiers flattered and precipices scaled in this fascinating pursuit. As to the hundred travelers, the photographers snapped at them and one another with hardly an apology; and as the subject usually looked up and smiled broadly at the critical moment, the general result must have been a collection of portraits of the most marvelously and uniformly merry company that ever boarded a C. P. R. train, or kodaked a Siwash canoe.
Each wielder of this terrible weapon had a different way of holding the camera and doing the deed. Mr. Selborne focused from under his right arm, that embraced the instrument firmly. Pet, who had a little No. 1, always winked hard, and occasionally jumped when she “pressed the button”; thereby, as she afterward discovered, giving her characters a peculiar misty effect, which she declared was enchanting. One indefatigable lady from Kalamazoo invariably held her kodak