Sandford Fleming

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.