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REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 


GEORGE    H.    HAM. 
(From  a  recent  photograph) 


REMINISCENCES 

OF   A 

RACONTEUR 

Between  the  '40s  and   the  '20s 
BY 

GEORGE  H.  HAM 

Author  of  "The  New  West"  and  "The  Flitting  of  the  Gods" 


O 


x 


TORONTO 

THE  MUSSON   BOOK   COMPANY 

LIMITED 


Copyright,  Canada,  1921 
THE  MUSSON  BOOK  CO.,  LIMITED 
PUBLISHERS  TORONTO 


UVU  ALL  CANADIAN  PRODUCTION 


To 

RIGHT  HONOURABLE  LORD  SHAUGHNESSY,  K.C.V.O. 

of  Montreal,  Canada,  and  of  Ashford,  County 

Limerick,   Ireland, 

This  book  is  respectfully  dedicated 
in  grateful  remembrance  of  many 
kindnesses   in   the  vanishing  past. 


CONTENTS 


I.  Seventy  Years  Ago — My  Early  Days  in  Kingston  and 
Whitby — Boyhood  Friends — Unspared  Rods — Better 
Spellers  Then  than  Now — A  Cub  Reporter — Other 
Jobs  I  Didn't  Fill — Failure  to  Become  a  Merchant 
Prince — Put  Off  a  First  Train 1 

II  A  Momentous  Election — Meeting  Archie  McKellar — 
Go  on  the  Turf — A  Sailor  Bold — A  Close  Shave — 
Stories  of  Pets — An  Exaggerated  Report — Following 
Horace  Greeley's  Advice — And  Grow  Up  with  the 
Country 15 

III.  Winnipeg  a  City  of  Live  Wires — Three  Outstanding 
Figures — Rivalry  Between  Donald  A.  and  Dr.  Schultz 
Early  Political  Leaders — When  Winnipeg  was  Put- 
ting on  its  First  Pants  —  Pioneer  Hotels  —  The 
Trials  of  a  Reporter — Not  Exactly  an  Angelic  City — 
— The  First  Iron  Horse — Opening  of  the  Pembina 
Branch — Profanity  by  Proxy — The  Republic  of  Mani- 
toba— The  Plot  to  Secede    29 

IV.  The  Big  Winnipeg  Boom — Winnipeg  the  Wicked — A 
Few  Celebrated  Cases — Some  Prominent  Old-Timers — 
The  Inside  Story  of  a  Telegraph  Deal — When 
Trouble   Arose  and   Other   Incidents 51 

V.  The  Boys  are  Marching — The  Trent  Affair — The 
Fenian  Raid — The  Kiel  Rebellion — A  Dangerous 
Mission — Lost  on  the  Trail — The  First  and  Last 
Naval  Engagement  on  the  Saskatchewan — Rescue  of 
of  the  Maclean  Family — A  Church  Parade  in  the 
Wilderness — Indian    Signals 75 

VI.  Governors-General  I  Have  Met — Dufferins  and  the 
Icelanders — The  Marquis  of  Lorne  and  Wee  Jock 
McGregor — Unpleasantness  at  Rat  Portage — Kindness 
of  Princess  Louise — Lord  Lansdowne  at  the  Opening 
of  the  Galt  Rah  way  "My"  Excellent  Newspaper  Re- 


xii  CONTENTS 

chapter  page 

port — Talking  to  Aberdeen — Minto,  the  Great  Horse- 
man— Earl  Grey  a  Great  Social  Entertainer — The 
Grand  Old  Duke  and  Princess  Pat — The  Duke  of 
Devonshire 95 

VII.  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company — A  Tribute  to  its  Officers 
— Intrepid  Scotch  Voyageurs — Daily  Papers  a  Year 
Old — Royal  Hospitality  of  the  Factors — Lord  Strath- 
cona's  Foundation  for  His  Immense  Fortune — The 
First  Cat  in  the  Rockies — Indian  Humor  and  Imagery       109 

VIII.  Around  the  Banqueting  Board — My  Fdeist  Speech — At 
the  Ottawa  Press  Gallery  Dinners — A  Race  With 
Hon.  Frank  Oliver — A  Homelike  Family  Gathering 
— A  Scotch  Banquet — Banquets  in  Winnipeg — Bou- 
quets and  Brickbats — The  Mayor  of  New  York  and 
the  Queen  of  Belgium 117 

IX.  In  the  Land  of  Mystery — Planchette  and  Ouija — 
Necromancers  and  Hypnotists  and  Fortune  Tellers — 
Adventures  in  the  Occult — A  Spirit  Medium — Mental 
Telepathy — Fortune  Telling  by  Tea  Cups  and  Cards 
— Living  in  a  Haunted  House 131 

X.  Mark  Twain,  the  Great  Humorist — A  Delightful 
Speaker — A  Chicago  Cub  Reporter's  Experience — The 
Celebrated  Cronin  Case — W.  T.  Stead  and  Hinky 
Dink — When  the  Former  Wrote  "If  Christ  Came  to 
Chicago    142 

XI.  The  Canadian  Women's  Press  Club — How  It  Origi- 
nated^— With  "Kit"  of  the  Toronto  Mail  at  St.  Louis 
and  Elsewhere — The  Lamented  "Francoise"  Barry — 
Successful  Triennial  Gatherings — The  Girls  Visit 
Different  Parts  of  Canada — Threatened  Invasion  of 
the   Pacific   Coast 152 

XII.  When  Toronto  Was  Young — The  Local  Newspapers 
— The  Markham  Gang — Some  Chief  Magistrates  of 
the  City — Ned  Farrer,  the  Great  Journalist — Thea- 
trical Recollections — Old-Time  Bonifaces — And  Old- 
Time   Friends. — Toronto's  Pride 159 

XIII.  Scarlet  and  Gold — The  Rough  Rdders  of  the  Plains — 
The  Fourth  Semi-Military  Force  in  the  World — Its 
Wonderful  Work  in  the  Park — Why  the  Scarlet 
Tunic  Was  Chosen — Some  Curious  Indian  Names — 
Primitive    Western    Justice 182 


CONTENTS 


Xlll 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV.  In  the  Hospital — Averting  a  Shock — A  Substantial 
Breakfast — A  Gloomy  Afternoon — Down  in  Wash- 
ington— The  Gridiron  Dinners — A  Spanish-American 
War   Panic — A   Few   Stories — Canadian   Club    204 

XV.  Christmas  and  Its  Cheer — Will  Sell  Anything  for 
Gin  But  Children's  Christmas  Stockings  —  Santa 
Claus  No  Myth — Dreary  Christmas — Mr.  Perkins' 
Cutter — A  Lively  Christmas  Gathering — Tiny  Tim's 
Blessing   217 

XVI.  The  Mdiacle  Man  of  Montreal — Brother  Andre 
Whose  Great  Work  Has  Done  Great  Good — A  Youth 
With  a  Strange  Power — Authentic  Accounts  of  Some 
of  the  Miracles — All  Faiths  Benefited  by  Him 225 

XVII.  Political  Life  in  Canada — Its  Tragedies  and  Its  Pleas- 
antries— The  Great  Outstanding  Figures  of  the  Past 
— The  Social  Stoe  of  Parliament — Mixed  Metaphors 
and  Pfople  Who  Were  Not  Good  Mixers — A  Second 
Warwick — The    Wrong    Hat — And    Other    Incidents      232 

XVIII.  The  Great  Northern  Giant — The  Early  Days  of  the 
C.P.R.  and  its  Big  Promoters — Where  the  Aristocracy 
of  Brains  Ruled — A  Huge  Undertaking  and  a  Broad 
Policy — A  Conspicuously  Canadian  Enterprise — Some- 
thing About  the  Men  Who  Ruled — My  Fidus  Achates 
— Captains  Courageous — The  Active  Men  of  To-Day — 
And  Interesting  Facts  About  the  C.P.R 265 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


George  H.  Ham  (From  a  recent  photograph) Frontispiece 

Some  Early  Photographs  of  George  H.  Ham Facing  Page  16 

The  New  and  the  Old  C.P.R.  Stations  in  Winnipeg.  .  "  "    32 

How   Our   Early   Settlers   Arrived   in   Winnipeg "  "48 

Main   Street,   Winnipeg    "  "     80 

Portage  Avenue,  Winnipeg "  "    80 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Connaught  with  Princess 

Patricia    "  "     96 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Devonshire  and  Daughters 

the  Ladies  Cavendish  "  "     96 

Lord  Minto  at  His  Lodge,  Kootenay  "  "     96 

Some    Early    Trading    Posts    of    the    Hudson's    Bay 

Company    "  "  112 

At  the  San  Francisco  Fair "  "  128 

Waterfront,    Toronto,    Eighty    Years    Ago "  "  160 

Fish-Market,  Toronto,  Eighty  Years  Ago   "  "  160 

Toronto  To-Day   "  "  176 

Rough  Riders  of  the  Plains   "  "  192 

Winter   Uniforms  of   R.N.W.M.P "      .    "  192 

An  Indian  Policeman   "  ■  192 

Indian    Camp     "  "  192 

Brother    Andre    "  "  224 

The  Oratory  of  St.  Joseph "  "  224 

Lord    Strathcona "  "  272 

Lord   Mount   Stephen    "  "  272 

Sir  W.illiam  Van  Horne   "  "272 

Baron    Shaughnessy,    K.C.V.O "  "278 

E.  W.   Beatty,   K.C "  "284 

I.    G.    Ogden    "  "288 

D.  McNichol    "  "288 


xvi  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

R.  B.  Angus Facing  Page  288 

A   Map  Showing   Position   of   Passenger   and   Freight 

Trains  on  the  Canadian  Pacific  Main  Lines  at  6  p.m. 

November  1,  1920 "  "304 

Souvenir  of  the  Driving  of  the  Last  Spike  on  the 

C.  P.  R "  "320 

First  C.P.R.  Locomotive    "  "320 

The  First  Locomotive  in  Toronto   •-. "  "  320 


CHAPTER  I 

Seventy  Years  Ago — My  Early  Days  in  Kingston  and 

Whitby — Boyhood     Friends — Unspared     Eods — 

Better  Spellers  Then  than  Now — A  Cub 

Reporter — Other  Jobs  I  Didn't  Fill — 

Failure    to    Become    a    Merchant 

Prince — Put  Off  a  First  Train 

IT  has  been  said  by  facetious  friends  that  I  have 
several  birthplaces.  However  that  may  be,  Tren- 
ton, Ontario,  is  the  first  place  where  I  saw  light, 
on  August  23rd,  1847,  and  on  the  spot  where  I  was 
born  has  been  erected  a  touching  memorial  in  the 
shape  of  a  fine  hotel,  which  was  an  intimation,  if  we 
believe  in  fate  or  predestination,  that  my  life  should 
be  largely  spent  in  such  places  of  public  resort.  After 
events  confirmed  this  idea.  Hotels  have  been  largely 
my  abiding  place,  from  London,  England,  to  San 
Francisco,  and  from  the  city  of  Mexico  and  Merida 
in  Yucatan  as  far  north  as  Edmonton. 

My  father  was  a  country  doctor,  but,  tiring  of  being 
called  up  at  'all  hours  of  the  night  to  attend  a  distant 
kid  with  the  stomach-ache,  or  a  gum-boil,  wearied  and 
disgusted  with  driving  over  rough  roads  in  all  sorts  of 
weather  to  visit  non-paying  patients,  he  gave  up  the 
practice  of  medicine,  studied  law,  passed  the  necessary 
examinations,  and  in  1849  moved  to  Kingston  and  was 
associated  with  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir)  John  A.  Mac- 
donald.  Two  years  later  he  was  appointed  a  sort  of 
Pooh-bah  at  Whitby,  Ontario,  when  the  county  of 
Ontario  was  separated  from  the  county  of  York,  as 

(2)  (1) 


2  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

part  and  parcel  of  the  then  Home  District.  When 
questioned  about  my  early  life,  it  was  usual  for  inquis- 
itive friends  to  ask:  "How  long  were  you  in  Kings- 
ton?" And  my  truthful  answer — "Just  two  years" 
— invariably  evoked  a  smile  and  the  satirical  remark 
that  that  was  about  the  usual  sentence. 

My  first  recollections  in  babyhood  were  of  my  arm 
being  vaccinated  before  I  was  three  years  old,  and  to 
mollify  any  recalcitrancy — I  didn't  know  what  that 
word  meant  then — a  generous  portion  of  fruit  cake 
thickly  covered  with  icing  was  diplomatically  given  me. 
I  immediately  shoved  out  my  other  arm  for  another 
dose  of  vaccine  with  the  cake  accompaniment,  but  it 
didn't  work.  Another  recollection  is  my  going  out 
with  my  sister  Alice  to  see  a  military  parade.  We 
took  along  the  family 's  little  kitten  carefully  wrapped 
in  my  sister's  new  pelisse.  At  the  corner  of  Princess 
and  Bagot  streets,  the  martial  music  of  the  band 
frightened  pussy  and  with  a  leap  she  disappeared 
under  an  adjoining  building,  pelisse  and  all.  That's 
seventy-odd  years  ago,  but  every  time  I  visit  Kingston, 
even  to  this  day,  I  watch  around  Bagot  street  to  see  if 
the  cat's  come  back.  Which  she  hasn't;  nor  has  the 
pelisse.  Curious  to  relate,  the  C.P.R.  office  now  occu- 
pies the  site  of  my  boyhood  home. 

When  I  Was  at  School 

Whitby  was  first  called  Windsor,  and  I  have  a  map 
drawn  in  1841,  on  which  that  name  appears.  It  was 
changed  shortly  after.  School  days  at  Whitby,  at  the 
primitive  district  Henry  Street  school,  were  just  about 
the  same  as  those  of  any  other  school  boy;  and  the 
pleasurable  monotony  was  only  broken  by  such  events 
as  the  school-house  catching  fire,  or  the  teacher  being 
ill,  which  granted  us  a  few  real  honest-to-goodness 
holidays.     Some  of  us  deeply  regretted  that  the  darned 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  3 

old  place  hadn't  burned  down  altogether,  as  the  holi- 
days would  then  have  been  prolonged  indefinitely. 
Snowballing  matches  between  the  Grammar  and  Dis- 
trict schools  kept  the  boys  busy,  during  favorable 
winter  weather,  and  it  was  only  when  the  snow  disap- 
peared that  one  school  did  not  invade  the  precincts  of 
the  other,  sometimes  with  disastrous  effects.  These 
affairs  were  not  Sunday  school  picnics,  and  no  quarter 
was  ever  asked  or  given.  One  of  the  Grammar  army 
got  plugged  in  the  ear  in  a  severe  combat  by  a  snow- 
ball in  which  was  enclosed  a  good-sized  stone,  and  when 
he  was  keeled  over,  there  was  no  first  aid  to  the 
wounded,  but  a  'savage  reprisal.  Cricket  was  also  a 
favorite  game,  but  it  was  not  aggressive  enough.  Foot- 
ball and  shinny — especially  on  the  ice,  where  the  Town 
and  the  Bay  met  every  Saturday  for  a  whole  day's 
conflict — afforded  more  and  better  opportunities  for 
personal  encounters  and  were  more  popular  games. 
The  goals  were  a  mile  apart,  and  I  never  knew  of  a 
game  being  scored  by  either  side.  Golf,  croquet  and 
similar  sports  were  unknown,  but  would  have  been 
scorned  as  too  insipid.  But  we  played  One-old-cat  and 
Two-old- cat — predecessors  of  baseball.  Prisoner's 
base  gave  fine  opportunities  for  running  and  wrestling, 
and  had  many  devotees.  Don't  think  that  the  boys 
were  any  rougher  than  the  boys  in  any  other  school, 
but  in  the  glorious  old  days  rough  and  tumble  was 
usually  preferred  to  more  sedate  and  lady-like  games. 

Some  of  My  Boyhood  Fkiends 

There  were  some  pretty  bright  boys  who  graduated 
from  those  schools  and  made  a  name  for  themselves 
in  the  world.  John  Dryden  became  Minister  of  Agri- 
culture for  Ontario;  Johnny  Bengough,  who  was 
always  handy  with  his  pencil,  evolved  into  a  great 
cartoonist  and  published  Grip  in   Toronto;   Hamar 


4  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTELR 

Greenwood,  who  had  a  great  gift  of  the  gab,  went  to 
England,  was  knighted,  and  appointed  Chief  Secretary 
of  State  for  Ireland;  Jack  Wetherall  went  to  New 
York  and  achieved  position  and  wealth  as  an  advertis- 
ing manager  for  Lydia  Pinkham,  whose  female  pills 
are  peerless  and  unparalleled  (so  he  says) ;  Dick  Blow 
became  mayor  of  the  town ;  Jim  Bob  Mason — his  name 
wasn't  Jim  Bob,  but  that's  what  we  called  him — went 
to  the  States  where  his  son,  Walt  Mason,  I  am  in- 
formed, is  making  a  fortune  writing  popular  prose 
poems.  D.  F.  Burke  (we  called  him  Dan)  went  to 
Port  Arthur,  and  when  he  died  a  few  years  ago  left 
two  widows  and  a  big  estate,  thus  distancing  most  all 
his  old  comrades  in  worldly  good  fortune.  Dan  got  a 
charter  for  the  Port  Arthur  &  Hay  Lake  Railway, 
and  used  to  be  chaffed  over  its  construction  equipment, 
which  jealous-minded  people  like  ex-Mayor  George 
Graham  of  Fort  William  and  myself  said  consisted  of 
a  mule  and  a  bale  of  hay,  and  that  when  the  mule 
had  eaten  all  the  hay,  both  the  charter  and  the  mule 
expired.  George  Dickson  was  one  of  the  prize  pupils 
and  afterwards  became  principal  of  Upper  Canada 
College,  and  Billy  Ballard  won  equal  distinction  in 
educational  work  at  Hamilton.  George  Bruce  was  a 
model  pupil,  entered  the  ministry,  and  afterwards 
when  I  heard  him  preach  in  a  Presbyterian  church, 
I  felt  like  giving  him  three  cheers.  Danforth  Roche 
was  a  stolid  scholar  in  the  school,  but  when  he  struck 
out  for  himself,  he  had  the  biggest  departmental  store 
north  of  Toronto,  at  Newmarket,  and  was  one  of  the 
most  enterprising  and  extensive  advertisers  in  the  Pro- 
vince. Joe  White  is  town  clerk  at  Whitby,  and  a 
mighty  good  one.  Abe  Logan  went  to  the  Western 
States  and  accumulated  a  fortune.  Frank  Warren, 
who  recently  passed  away,  stayed  at  home,  entered  the 
medical  profession,  and  became  mayor  of  the  town. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  5 

Frank  Freeman,  who  belonged  to  the  Freeman  Family 
Band,  consisting  of  father,  two  sisters  and  himself — 
real  artists — is  still  a  musician,  and  I  came  across  him 
leading  the  orchestra  at  Tom  Taggart's  big  hotel  at 
French  Lick  Springs,  Indiana,  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
Fred  Lynde  went  to  Madoc  in  Hastings  County,  and 
was  successful  in  the  mercantile  business.  George  I). 
Perry  is  manager  of  the  Great  Northwestern  Tele- 
graph Co.,  and  his  brother  Peter  a  successful  educa- 
tionalist in  Fergus,  Ontario.  George  Bay  went  to 
Manitoba  and  became  reeve  of  a  municipality.  Bob 
Perry  became  a  C.P.R.  representative  at  Bracebridge, 
Ontario,  and  his  brother  Jack  is  a  well-to-do  resident 
of  Vancouver.  Jimmy  Lawlor  is  in  the  Government 
service  at  Ottawa,  and  Tommy  Bengough  is  one  of  the 
best  official  stenographers  in  the  employment  of  the 
same  city.  The  Laing  boys  became  lost  to  sight. 
Andrew  Jeffrey,  Harry  Watson  and  Bill  McPherson 
followed  the  crowd  that  went  to  Toronto,  and  the 
sister  of  the  latter  name  married  well,  Jessie  Mc- 
Pherson becoming  the  wife  of  Dr.  Burgess,  superin- 
tendent of  the  hospital  for  the  insane  at  Verdun,  just 
outside  of  Montreal.  Jimmy  Wallace  went  to  Chicago 
and  entering  the  audit  department  of  one  of  the  big 
railway  companies  forged  to  the  front,  and  Billy  Wol- 
f  enden,  who  unknown  to  his  parents  used  to  steal  away 
at  night  to  learn  telegraphy  and  railway  work  at  the 
Grand  Trunk  offices,  went  west  suddenly  and  finally 
became  General  Passenger  Agent  for  the  Pere  Mar- 
quette road.  When  the  U.  S.  Administration  took  over 
all  the  railroads  a  few  years  ago,  he  was  appointed  to  a 
similar  position  for  his  region.  John  A.  McGillivray 
became  a  member  of  Parliament  and  chief  secretary 
for  the  Order  of  Foresters.  "Adam  at  Laing  V  was 
the  only  name  that  Adam  Borrowman  was  known  by 
for  years,  Laing 's  being  the  largest  general  store  in 


6  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  town.  Now  lie  is  more  than  comfortably  fixed 
near  Chicago.  The  Laurie  boys  went  to  Manitoba, 
started  business  and  farming  at  Morris  and  prospered. 
John  H.  Gerrie  went  West,  and  is  now  managing  editor 
of  the  San  Francisco  Bulletin.  Harry  McAllan  went  to 
Toronto,  and  then  to  Montreal,  where  he  is  in  business. 
Later  on,  Georgie  Campbell  and  her  sister,  Flo,  be- 
came brilliant  and  very  popular  stars  on  the  American 
stage  as  May  and  Flo  Irwin.  Many  is  the  time  I 
dandled  May  on  my  knee.  The  last  time  I  saw  her, 
she  had  become  "fair,  fat  and  forty,"  and  I  fear  my 
old  rheumatic  limbs  would  now  prevent  me  from  re- 
peating the  pleasing  operation.  There  are  many 
others  that  I  cannot  recall,  scattered  all  over  the  in- 
habited globe.  Some  have  gone  to  the  Great  Beyond, 
and  of  those  living  the  bright  eyes  by  this  time  have 
grown  dim  and  the  various  shades  of  hair  have  turned 
gray,  but  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  believe  that  if  we 
could  only  turn  back  the  universe  and  regain  us  our 
youth,  there  would  be  general  rejoicing  amongst  us 
could  we  gather  together. 

Getting  to  Work. 

The  law  was  proposed  to  be  my  profession — after 
graduating  from  Toronto  University — but  as  there 
were  very  few  who  were  learned  in  legal  lore  and  had 
achieved  high  distinction  and  greatly  accumulated 
wealth  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  I  baulked,  and  went 
into  newspaper-work  in  the  old  Chronicle  office  at 
Whitby. 

One  reason  for  this  was  my  previous  experience. 
When  I  was  a  mere  kid  and  visiting  grandfather's 
old  home  at  South  Fredericksburg,  opposite  the  upper 
gap  of  the  Bay  of  Quinte,  that  venerable  ancestor  of 
mine  confided  in  me  that  he  wished  to  make  his  will 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  rest  of  the  family  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  7 

suggested  that  I  should  draw  up  the  document.  In 
school-boy  hand  the  will  was  drawn  up,  and  while  it 
suited  grandfather  all  right  enough,  I  wasn't  so  cock- 
sure it  was  in  the  right  form  and  phraseology.  So  I 
commandeered  a  horse  the  next  day  and  stole  off  to 
Napanee,  eighteen  miles  away,  and  called  upon  Mr. 
Wilkinson,  afterwards  Judge  Wilkinson,  whom  I  had 
met  at  my  father's  house  in  Whitby.  He  pronounced 
the  will  to  be  perfectly  legal,  and,  having  all  of  $2.00  in 
my  pocket,  I  rather  ostentatiously  asked  him  his  fee. 

' '  Nothing, ' '  he  smilingly  replied.  ' 6  Nothing  at  all — 
we  never  charge  the  profession  anything — never.' ' 

And  thus  I  was  able  to  get  an  elaborate  twenty-five 
cent  dinner  at  the  hotel.  So  when  the  question  of  my 
future  came  up,  I  thought  if  it  was  so  blamed  easy 
to  be  a  lawyer,  I  wanted  something  harder. 

The  Rod  Was  Never  Spared 

There  were  stricter  teachers  in  the  late  fifties  and 
early  sixties  than  there  are  to-day  and  the  ' '  ruler  "  was 
more  frequently  and  generously  applied.  I  got  my 
full  share.  One  day  I  was  unmercifully  punished,  and 
for  a  wonder,  I  didn't  deserve  it.  In  my  wrathful 
indignation,  I  told  the  teacher,  a  Mr.  Dundas,  a  fine, 
scholarly  Scotchman  of  the  best  old  type,  that  I  was 
only  a  boy,  but  that  when  I  grew  up  I  was  going  to  kill 
him.  That  threat  didn't  go  with  him,  and  he  again 
vigorously  applied  the  ruler  to  different  parts  of  my 
aching  anatomy.  I  dared  not  go  home  and  tell  of  this, 
or  I  would  have  run  the  chance  of  another  whipping — 
for  there  were  no  curled  darlings  then  who  could  suc- 
cessfully work  upon  the  mistaken  sympathies  of  indul- 
gent but  foolish  parents.  When  I  had  grown  up  and  re- 
turned on  a  visit  to  Whitby,  I  met  my  good  old  stern 
teacher  and  reminded  him  of  my  threat.  He  had  not 
forgotten  it.     But  I  told  him  I  wished  he  would,  for  he 


8  EEMINISCENCES  OR  A  RACONTEUR 

had  not  thrashed  me  half  as  much  as  I  deserved,  gen- 
erally speaking.  I  put  my  arms  around  him,  and  the 
tears  that  flowed  down  his  furrowed  cheeks  told  me  I 
was  forgiven.  We  had  veal  pot-pie  for  dinner  that 
night. 

I  didn't  succeed  as  well  in  another  episode,  when  a 
pupil  at  the  Grammar  School,  the  principal  of  which 
was  the  lamented  Mr.  William  McCabe,  afterwards 
manager  of  the  North  American  Life  Assurance 
Company  in  Toronto.  We  used  to  call  it  "playing 
hookey"  in  those  days  when  a  pupil  absented  himself 
from  school  to  loaf  around  the  swimming  hole  at 
Lynde  's  creek  and  ecstatically  swim  and  fish  the  whole 
day.  A  note  from  one's  parents  was  always  a  good 
excuse  and  my  beloved  mother,  in  the  kindness  of  her 
heart,  never  failed  to  provide  me  with  one.  But  Mr. 
McCabe  got  a  little  leery  of  these  numerous  maternal 
excuses,  and  insisted  I  should  get  a  note  from  my 
father,  which  placed  me  in  an  uncomfortable  fix.  It 
was  either  expulsion  or  a  paternal  note.  I  explained  to 
father  as  plausibly  as  I  could  and  got  the  note — which 
was,  it  struck  me,  altogether  too  freely  given.  Fortun- 
ately I  could  read  it  by  placing  it  against  the  light, 
and  it  briefly  but  unmistakably  read: 

"William  McCabe,  Esq. — 

Please  lick  the  bearer,    (sgd.)  John  V.  Ham." 

I  had  rather  an  uncomfortable  quarter  of  an  hour 
wending  my  way  to  school,  when  a  short  distance  from 
that  place  of  learning,  I  saw  a  brother  scholar,  Paddy 
Hyland,  coming  up  another  street.  Before  he  caught 
up  to  me,  I  was  limping  like  a  lame  duck.  Poor  Paddy, 
in  the  goodness  of  his  great  Irish  heart,  sympatheti- 
cally asked  me  what  was  my  trouble,  and  without  a 
qualm  of  conscience,  I  tersely  but  mendaciously  told 
him: 

"Sprained  my  ankle." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  9 

1 1  Poor  old  fellow, ' '  said  Paddy,  and  he  carefully  and 
gently  helped  me  along  to  school.  "Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  yon  ? ' '  he  asked  in  great  distress  at  my  sup- 
posed misfortune. 

"You  can,  Paddy.  Just  take  this  note  to  Mr.  Mc- 
Cabe." 

On  reaching  school  I  sank  into  my  seat  at  the  rear 
of  the  room.  Paddy  promptly  presented  the  note,  and 
I  eagerly  awaited  the  outcome  of  the  interview.  Mr. 
McCabe  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  I  saw  a  smile 
come  over  his  face  as  he  read  the  note.  Then  he  called 
to  me: 

"Here,  you,  come  up  here." 

I  hobbled  up.  He  tried  to  look  sternly  at  me  and 
said: 

"It's  all  right  this  time,  but  don't  you  try  it  on  me 
again. ' ' 

My  sprained  ankle  miraculously  improved  immedi- 
ately. 

Any  old-timer  will  tell  that  the  scholars  of  half -a - 
century  ago  could,  generally  speaking,  spell  words  in 
the  English  language  better  than  those  of  to-day.  It  is 
my  experience  anyway,  after  trying  out  a  hundred  or 
more  applicants  for  positions  as  stenographers  when 
the  result  was  that  over  fifty  per  cent,  couldn't  spell 
any  better  than  the  once-famous  Josh  Billings,  the 
American  humorist.  The  reason  why?  The  old-fash- 
ioned "spelling  down"  that  occupied  a  large  portion 
of  Friday  afternoon  exercises  has  been  abolished. 
That  reminds  me  that  in  other  schools — one  at  Prince 
Albert,  Saskatchewan,  some  years  ago,  one  exercise 
was  for  the  teacher  to  call  a  letter  of  the  alphabet,  and 
the  pupils  pointed  to  would  respond  by  naming  a  city 
whose  initial  letter  was  the  one  mentioned;  thus  "A" 
would  be  Almonte  or  Albany;   "B"  Battleford  or 


10  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Buffalo  or  Bowmanville;  "C"  Calgary;  and  so  it  went 
down  the  list  until  "F"  was  called,  and  a  young  hope- 
ful who  afterwards  became  an  M.P.,  shouted  "Fila- 
delphia".     That  closed  the  afternoon's  exercises. 

As  we  grew  up,  we  youngsters  loafed  around  the 
street  corners  or  gathered  at  some  store  or  other  con- 
venient meeting  place  in  the  evening  as  boys  in  other 
towns  did.  Later  on  I  spent  my  nights  in  the  library 
of  the  Mechanics '  Institute  when,  with  good  old  Hugh 
Fraser  and  J.  E.  Farewell,  now  county  attorney,  and 
a  full-fledged  colonel,  we  discussed  all  sorts  of  social 
problems  and  political  matters  until  the  cocks  began 
to  crow.  Then  we  trudged  home  in  the  early  dawn, 
each  one  perfectly  content  that  he  had  mastered  the 
others  in  the  discussion,  or  at  any  rate  had  settled 
many  disturbing  questions  finally  and  for  good,  though 
I  am  afraid  many  of  them  are  alive  still.  My  nightly 
association  with  these  two  old  friends,  both  some  years 
my  senior  and  with  a  few  other  friends,  was  of  great 
advantage  to  me  in  after  life.  For  one  thing,  it  taught 
me  to  be  tolerant  of  other  persons '  opinions,  that  there 
are  always  two  sides  to  a  question,  and  that  there  is 
nobody  alive  who  can  be  cocksure  of  everything  like  the 
chap  who  was  absolutely  positive  that  there  was  only 
one  word  in  the  English  language  commencing  with 
"su"  that  was  pronounced  "shu"  and  that  was 
" sugar",  but  wasn't  so  confoundedly  certain  when 
quietly  asked  if  he  was  "sure"  of  his  assertion. 

A  Cub  Reporter 

My  first  assignment  on  the  Chronicle  happened 
this  way:  While  working  on  the  case  I  had  taught 
myself  a  hybrid  sort  of  shorthand,  which  any  compe- 
tent stenographer  nowadays  would  look  upon  as  a 
Chinese  puzzle.  Mr.  W.  H.  Higgins,  a  clever  and 
experienced  newspaper  man  of  more  than  local  reputa- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  11 

tion,  composed  the  sole  editorial  and  reportorial  staff, 
and  one  day  there  were  two  gatherings — a  special 
meeting  of  the  County  Conncil  at  Whitby  and  a  Con- 
servative convention  at  Brooklin,  six  miles  north — 
and  only  one  Mr.  Higgins.  My  opportunity  came.  In 
despair  at  not  getting  a  more  suitable  representative, 
he  unwillingly  sent  me  to  Brooklin.  Well,  say,  when 
I  turned  in  my  report  early  Monday  morning,  the  boss 
was  astounded.  No  wonder,  I  wrote  and  rewrote  that 
blessed  report  during  all  Saturday  night,  and  the 
greater  part  of  Sunday  and  it  wasn't  till  near  dawn 
on  Monday  that  it  was  finished.  And  after  all  it  only 
filled  three  columns.  Any  experienced  reporter  would 
have  written  it  within  three  or  four  hours.  I  was  paid 
$5.00  for  the  report,  and  it  wasn't  so  much  the  money 
I  cared  for  as  the  encouraging  words  Mr.  Higgins 
gave  me.  Thereafter  I  reported  the  town  council,  and 
brought  in  news  items — frequently  written  and  rewrit- 
ten and  then  written  again — and  some  not  only  written 
but  absolutely  rotten — and  my  salary  was  increased  to 
eight  dollars  a  week,  but  I  kept  on  the  case  at  the  same 
time. 

Other  Adventures  in  Employment 

Failing  in  health — although  apparently  robust  and 
strong — inducements  of  future  wealth  lured  me  to 
Walkerton,  way  up  in  Bruce  County,  where  an  old 
friend  of  the  family,  Mr.  Ed.  Kilmer,  kept  a  general 
store.  I  was  to  be  a  partner,  after  a  little  experience 
behind  the  counter.  That  partnership  never  material- 
ized. I  used  to  practise  on  tying  up  parcels  of  tea  and 
coffee  and  sugar,  and,  somehow  or  other,  I  would  in- 
variably put  my  thumb  clumsily  through  the  paper,  and 
have  to  start  all  over  again.  I  could  sell  axes  and 
bar  iron  all  right  enough,  but  everyone  wasn't  buying 
those  articles.     One  day  a  lady  had  me  take  down  the 


12  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

greater  part  of  the  dress  goods  on  the  shelves  and 
always  wanted  something  else  than  what  was  in  stock. 
My  patience  was  exhausted,  so  I  went  to  Mr.  Kilmer, 
and  suggested  he  should  attend  to  the  lady,  mentioning 
incidentally  that  I  honestly  believed  baled  hay  was 
really  what  she  needed — and  forthwith  resigned.  As 
a  complete  failure  as  a  clerk  in  a  general  store,  I 
always  prided  myself  that  I  was  a  huge  success.  But 
I  left  town  the  next  day,  and  never  became  a  merchant 
prince. 

To  indulge  in  outdoor  life,  the  townships  of  Darling- 
ton and  East  and  West  Whitby  were  traversed  by  me 
as  sub-agent  for  a  farmers '  insurance  company.  There 
was  not  much  difficulty  in  securing  renewals  of  policies, 
but  it  was  uphill  work  to  get  new  business.  The  gen- 
eral excuse  for  refusal  to  insure  was  that  Mr.  Farmer 
had  been  insured  before  and  had  never  made  anything 
out  of  it.  My  throat  used  to  get  dry  as  a  tin  horn  in 
trying  to  explain  that  the  company  couldn't  exactly 
guarantee  a  " blaze",  but  the  insurance  policy  was  to 
protect  the  insure  in  case  of  fire.  Perhaps,  glibness  of 
tongue  was  not  one  of  my  long  suits,  and  the  work  did 
not  appeal  to  me.  Consequently  I  sent  in  my  resigna- 
tion and  returned  to  more  congenial  work. 

Put  Off  the  First  Train 

In  the  fall  of  1856,  the  town  schools  had  a  holiday, 
because  on  that  day  the  first  railway  passenger  train 
was  to  arrive  at  Whitby.  The  pupils  were  assembled 
up  town  at  the  High  School,  then  called  the  Grammar 
School.  The  Public  School  pupils  led  the  procession, 
preceded  by  the  town  band,  and  the  Grammar  School 
formed  the  rear  of  the  column,  under  command  of 
Mr.  William  McCabe,  who  was  then  the  only  teacher 
in  the  Grammar  School.  Arriving  at  the  station,  we 
were  lined  up  alongside  the  track.    About  3  p.m.  a 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  13 

train  with  three  passenger  cars  arrived  from  Toronto, 
filled  with  invited  guests.  The  locomotive  was  decor- 
ated with  flags,  and  on  the  front  and  sides  was  a  piece 
of  bunting  on  which  was  painted  the  words  "Fortuna 
Sequitur."  We  were  ordered  to  make  a  note  of  these 
words  and  produce  a  translation  thereof  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  We  generally  agreed  that  "Let  or  may  for- 
tune follow' '  was  about  the  meaning  of  these  Latin 
words.  The  train  moved  on  to  Oshawa  where  John 
Beverley  Robinson  and  others  delivered  addresses. 
On  the  return  of  the  train  from  Oshawa,  a  number  of 
school  boys  boarded  the  car  during  the  stoppage  at 
Whitby,  and  then  occurred  the  first  and  only  time 
T  was  ever  put  off  a  train.  I  was  bound  to  make  the 
trip  to  Toronto  as  I  had  never  experienced  a  ride  on 
a  railway  train.  The  conductor  put  my  brother,  four 
years  my  senior,  and  myself  off  the  rear  end  of  the 
car.  We  ran 'to  the  front  end,  only  to  be  again  ejected. 
This  was  a  little  discouraging,  I  will  candidly  admit, 
but  we  made  another  bolt  for  the  front  entrance,  and 
when  the  irate  conductor  threateningly  ordered  us  off, 
some  of  the  compassionate  passengers  told  him  to  give 
the  boys  a  show,  Which  he  grudgingly  did ;  and  to  To- 
ronto we  went.  In  the  other  cars,  the  invited  guests 
protested  against  the  invasion  of  the  Whitby  youths, 
but  they,  too,  notwithstanding  the  threats  and  warnings 
of  the  conductor,  stuck  to  the  train.  Neither  my 
brother  nor  myself  had  a  cent,  but  that  didn't  worry 
us  at  all,  and  when  we  arrived  in  Toronto,  it  was  after 
dusk.  No  one  knew  when  the  train  would  leave  for 
Whitby,  and  so  we  had  to  sit  in  that  car,  hungry  as 
bears,  until  good  old  Hugh  Fraser  of  Whitby  loomed 
up  about  ten  o'clock  with  some  crackers  and  cheese, 
after  which  we  didn't  care  a  continental  what  old  time 
the  train  would  leave.  Crackers  and  cheese  are  very 
invigorating.    The  other  fellows  pooled  all  the  money 


14  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

they  had  and  Jack  Wall  (afterwards  Dr.  John  Wall  of 
Oshawa),  who  had  been  attending  college  in  Toronto, 
rustled  some  more  crackers  and  cheese,  which  seemed 
to  be  the  sole  and  only  article  of  food  on  the  menu 
that  night.  The  clock  struck  4  a.m.  as  we  reached 
home,  completely  tired  out  but  happy  as  clams.  I 
was  the  first  boy  at  school  next  morning  and  was  the 
hero  of  the  day.  Bides  on  railways  then  were  big 
events  of  the  mightiest  importance.  Don't  care  so 
much  for  them  now.  I  remember  that  the  G.  T.  R. 
car  was  No.  2,  and  a  third  of  a  century  later  I  again 
rode  in  the  same  old  car,  then  on  the  Caraquet 
Railway  in  New  Brunswick.  But  as  I  had  a  pass  the 
conductor  did  not  dare  throw  me  off  once — let  alone 
twice. 

A  hot  battle  was  waged  between  Gordon  Brown,  of 
the  Globe,  and  a  member  of  the  Grand  Trunk  engineer- 
ing staff,  as  to  the  road  and  its  equipment  and  as  to  its 
time-table  for  the  excursion  train.  No  one  was  hurt, 
although  threats  were  made,  and  it  is  alleged  that  the 
Grand  Trunk  engineer  sent  a  challenge  to  the  editor  of 
the  Globe,  which  he  did  not  accept  or  pay  any  attention 
to,  except  by  publishing  it  in  the  Globe. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  Momentous  Election — Meeting  Archie  McKellar 

— Go  on  the   Turf — A   Sailor  Bold — A   Close 

Shave — Stories   of    Pets — An    Exaggerated 

Report — Following    Horace    Greeley  's 

Advice — And    Grow   Up   with    the 

Country. 

A  MOMENTOUS  election  was  that  in  South  On- 
tario in  1867 — the  first  one  held  after  the  Con- 
federation of  Canada  had  been  consummated. 
Hon:.  George  Brown,  of  the  Globe,  the  leader  of  the 
Reform  party,  was  standing.  The  riding  had  always 
been  staunchly  Reform  and  had  returned  Oliver  Mowa  t 
and  other  Reformers  by  sweeping  majorities.  In  an 
election  two  years  previously  Hon.  T.  N.  Gibbs,  of 
Oshawa,  the  Independent  Liberal  candidate,  had  joined 
hands  with  Sir  John  Macdonald,  whose  coalition  with 
Hon.  George  Brown  had  not  been  long-lived,  and  won. 
This  election  was  to  be  a  test  one,  and  upon  its  result 
depended  whether  the  new  Canada  should  be  under 
Liberal-Conservative  or  Reform  rule.  There  was  open 
voting  in  those  days,  and  two  days'  polling,  it  being 
generally  conceded  that  the  candidate  who  headed  the 
poll  on  the  first  day  would  be  the  winner.  Meetings  were 
held  nightly  throughout  the  riding,  and  the  greatest 
excitement  prevailed  during  the  campaign.  I  was  too 
young  to  have  a  vote  then,  but  I  had  a  good  deal  to 
say.  There  were  others.  Canvassing  of  votes  was 
kept  up  continuously  and  large  sums  of  money  were 
expended.    It  was  necessary  in  a  good  many  cases 

is 


16  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  pay  men  to  vote  for  their  own  party.  On  the  night 
of  the  first  day's  polling,  I  was  with  Jimmy  Cook,  then 
of  Bobertson  &  Cook,  of  the  Toronto  Telegraphy  who 
was  a  practical  telegrapher.  The  returns,  as  Mr. 
Brown  figured  them  out,  gave  him  a  majority  of  11, 
with  one  poll  to  hear  from.  Complete  returns,  as 
Jimmy  Cook  got  them,  gave  Brown  a  majority  of  one. 
But  while  that  was  practically  an  even  break,  the  Ke- 
formers  were  in  great  glee,  and  while  they  were  cele- 
brating the  Liberal-Conservatives  got  down  to  work 
and  arranged  for  relays  of  teams  to  bring  the  distant 
voters  the  next  day  to  the  polls.  At  three  o'clock 
next  afternoon  the  Union  Jack  went  up  in  front  of  Jake 
Bryan's  Tory  Hotel — there  were  Grit  and  Tory  hotels 
then — and  at  the  close  of  the  poll  Gibbs  had  a  major- 
ity of  69. 

Mr.  Brown  started  for  his  Toronto  home  on  the  fol- 
lowing afternoon  train,  and  while  at  the  "Whitby  sta- 
tion walked  up  and  down  the  platform  with  a  friend.  A 
man  named  Jago,  an  employee  of  the  railway,  who 
had  had  a  serious  personal  difference  with  the  defeated 
candidate,  was  in  the  waiting  room,  and  on  Mr.  Brown 
passing  the  door,  he  would  stick  his  head  out  and 
tauntingly  shout: 

"You  got  licked,  Mr.  Brown,  you  got  licked." 

Brown  kept  walking  and  Jago  kept  on  taunting  him 
upon  his  defeat.  This  at  last  so  exasperated  the 
Honorable  George,  that  he  made  a  dash  for  Jago  and 
grabbed  him  by  the  lapels  of  the  coat.  But  just  then 
the  train  came  in,  friends  interfered,  the  conductor 
shouted,  "All  aboard"  and  Mr.  Brown  was  hurried  to 
his  coach.  It  was,  of  course,  reported  all  over  the 
country  that  Brown  had  assaulted  the  man  and 
grievously  injured  him,  which  wasn't  true. 

The  country  gave  Sir  John  Macdonald  a  majority 
of  only  20;  many  of  us  wondered  what  would  have 


SOME    EARLY    PHOTOGRAPHS    OF    GEORGE    H.    HAM. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  17 

been  the  result  if  Mr.  Brown  had  carried  South 
Ontario. 

There  was  a  provincial  election  on  the  same  day 
when  Dr.  McGill,  the  Reform  candidate,  who  after- 
wards was  one  of  the  Nine  Martyrs,  pilloried  by  the 
Globe,  won  by  the  handsome  majority  of  308.  At 
the  election  in  1871,  Abram  Farewell,  as  a  straight 
Reformer,  defeated  Dr.  McGill  by  98  votes,  and  in 
1875,  N.  W.  Brown,  a  local  manufacturer,  and  a 
straight  Conservative,  beat  Farewell  by  33  votes,  and 
four  years  later,  John  Dryden,  Reformer,  defeated 
Mr.  Brown  by  382  votes.  South  Ontario  certainly 
was  not  wedded  to  any  particular  set  of  political  gods 
in  those  days — nor  is  it  now. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  campaigns  that  a  nice  look- 
ing gentleman  of  middle  age  called  at  the  Gazette 
office  and  politely  asked  to  see  the  exchanges.  I  had 
no  idea  of  his  identity,  and  we  soon  entered  into  an 
interesting  conversation.  He  asked  me  my  honest 
opinion  of  the  leading  politicians  and  I  with  the  su- 
preme wisdom  and  unsuppressible  ardor  of  youth,  fell 
for  it.  I  was  a  red  hot  Tory  and  what  he  didn't  learn 
of  the  Grits  from  me  wasn't  worth  knowing.  I  par- 
ticularly denounced  Archie  McKellar,  who  I  termed 
the  black  sheep  of  the  political  crew  at  Toronto,  and 
vehemently  proceeded  to  inform  him  of  all  that  gen- 
tleman's political  crimes  and  misdeeds.  He  encour- 
aged me  to  go  on  with  my  abusive  fulminations,  and 
he  went  away  smiling  and  told  me  it  was  the  most 
pleasant  hour  he  had  spent  in  a  long  time.  I  was 
present  at  the  public  meeting  that  afternoon  in  my 
capacity  as  reporter — for  in  those  days,  the  editor 
was  generally  the  whole  staff — and  was  sickeningly 
astounded  when  to  repeated  calls  for  "Archie  Mc- 
Kellar", my  pleasant  visitor  of  the  morning  arose 
amidst  the  loud  plaudits  of  his  political  supporters. 

(3) 


18  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

I — say,  let 's  draw  the  curtain  for  a  few  minutes.  After 
the  meeting  I  met  Mr.  McKellar  and  apologized  for 
my  seeming  rudeness,  but  he  only  laughed  pleasantly 
at  my  discomfiture,  and  told  me  how  he  had  thoroughly 
enjoyed  our  morning  seance  and  that  he  really  didn't 
fully  realize  before  how  wicked  he  was  until  I  pictur- 
esquely and  vividly  depicted  his  deep,  dark,  criminal, 
political  career.  We  became  fast  friends,  and  I  soon 
learned  that  Archie  was  not  nearly  as  black  as  he  had 
been  painted,  as  perhaps  none  of  us  are — nor  as 
angelic. 

I  Own  a  Eace  House 

Whitby  in  the  early  days  was  also  a  great  horse- 
racing  centre.  There  was  a  mile  track  up  near  Lynde  's 
Creek,  which  attracted  large  numbers  of  sports  from 
all  parts  of  the  country — but  the  number  of  non-pay- 
ing spectators,  who  drove  into  town  and  hitched  their 
wagons  just  outside  the  fence,  was  also  very  large. 
Nat  Kay,  and  the  Eay  boys  of  Whitby,  were  the  lead- 
ing local  sports,  and  Quimby  and  Forbes,  of  Wood- 
stock, were  the  pool  sellers,  and  such  men  as  Joe 
Grand,  Bob  Davies,  and  Dr.  Andrew  Smith,  Toronto ; 
John  White,  M.P.  for  Halton;  Koddy  Pringle  of  Co- 
bourg;  W.  A.  Bookless  of  Guelph,  and  Gus  Thomas  of 
Toronto,  were  regular  attendants.  Purses  of  $400 
downwards,  big  sums  in  those  days,  were  offered. 
Black  Tom,  Charlie  Stewart,  Lulu,  Storm,  Jack  the 
Barber,  were  amongst  the  horses  that  ran.  Black 
Tom — Nat  Bay's  horse — could  trot  in  2.40,  which  was 
then  a  good  record.  Storm — oh,  well  Storm — it  was 
an  appropriately  named  horse.  It  was  raffled  and 
Jack, Stanton — Jack  was  starter  for  years  at  the  On- 
tario Jockey  Club  in  Toronto,  and  was  as  good  a  sport 
as  ever  lived — and  a  couple  of  other  fellows  and  I 
had  the  good  or  bad  fortune  to  win  it.     Storm  was 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  19 

contrary  as  a  petulant  maid,  and  when  Ave  had  no 
money  on  her  would  win  hands  down,  and  when  we  bet 
our  last  nickel — good-bye  to  our  money.  I  lost  all  my 
little  money  on  Storm,  and  willingly  gave  Jack  Stanton 
my  share  in  the  contrary  horse.  If  I  remember  aright, 
he  came  out  about  even.  Jack  always  smoked  a  cer- 
tain grade  of  cigars,  which  then  sold  at  five  cents,  and 
thought  they  were  the  best  in  the  land.  In  after 
years,  when  I  had  recuperated  financially,  I  would 
bring  him  up  some  special  Havanas,  which  cost  twenty- 
five  cents,  and  give  him  one,  just  to  see  him  light  it, 
and,  while  I  wasn't  looking,  throw  it  away  in  disgust, 
and  light  one  of  his  own  ropes,  which  he  really  en- 
joyed. How  I  delighted  in  Jack  telling  me  that  the 
cigar  was  a  fine  one,  he  presuming  that  I  would  think 
he  meant  the  twenty-five-cent  cigar,  and  I  knowing  he 
was  referring  to  his  nickel  nicotine. 

Then  the  sports  in  town  for  the  races  played  poker 
at  night  at  the  office  of  Nat  Ray's  livery  stable.  The 
first  night  I  played,  and  in  the  first  hand,  I  had  a  pair 
of  deuces,  and  so  green  was  I  that  when  Charlie  Boyle 
made  a  raise  of  $5.00  I  senselessly  stayed,  drew  three 
cards  and  with  the  luck  of  a  greenhorn  pulled  in  the  two 
other  deuces.  Charlie  filled  his  two  pair,  and  had 
a  full  house.  He  bet  $5.00  and  I,  thinking  I  had  two 
pair,  and  not  knowing  their  value  raised  him  $5.00. 
Finally  he  called  and  threw  down  his  ace  full.  I  said 
I  had  two  pair  and  when  I  showed  the  two  pair — of 
deuces — there  was  a  general  hilarity;  Charlie  said  he 
had  never  in  his  life  ran  up  against  a  greenhorn  who 
didn  't  beat  him.  I  didn  't  know  that  my  two-pair  were 
fours.  I  cleaned  up  $65.00  that  night  and  thought,  as 
all  greenies  do,  that  I  knew  all  about  poker.  I  learned 
differently  in  the  following  nights. 

In  1870,  the  Queen's  Plate  was  the  great  event  of 
the  meeting.     That  was  when   Charlie   Gates'  Jack 


20  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Bell  won.  There  was  a  big  field,  and  Charlie's  horse 
was  in  it — one  of  the  rank  outsiders.  Terror  was  a 
prime  favorite.  Charlie  always  liked  the  younger 
generation,  and  when  I  asked  him  what  horse  to  bet 
on,  he  said  any  one  but  Jack  Bell.  Such  is  the  per- 
versity of  youth  that  I  immediately  placed  my  money 
on  Jack.  The  favorite  led  for  the  first  mile,  but  in 
the  next  quarter  was  passed  by  Jack  on  the  Green 
and  another  horse  and  Jack  Bell  closed  upon  the 
leaders,  and  coming  down  the  home  stretch  forged 
ahead  and  won  by  nearly  a  length.  Terror  was  fifth, 
and  I  was  again  a  capitalist.  All  the  winnings  were 
usually  made  by  such  amateurs  as  myself,  and  it  wasn't 
because  of  our  good  judgment  or  experience,  but  just 
on  luck.  That  was  one  of  the  memorable  races  of  the 
early  days,  and  is  not  forgotten  to  this  day  by  a  lot 
of  old-timers. 

A  Sailor  Bold 

In  a  vain  but  fairly  honest  endeavor  to  ascertain 
exactly  what  particular  line  of  industry  would  be 
most  suitable  to  ensure  my  future  comfort  and  wel- 
fare, I  embarked  as  an  A.  B.  sailor  before  the  mast. 
My  father-in-law  was  the  owner  of  a  small  fleet  of 
schooners  which  plied  on  Lakes  Ontario  and  Erie.  My 
first  voyage  on  the  Pioneer  was  very  successful. 
I  didn't  get  seasick,  fall  overboard,  or  start  a  mutiny, 
could  furl  or  unfurl  the  mizzen  mast  sails,  handle  a 
tiller  in  a — well — in  a  way,  and  would  gleefully  have 
carolled  a  "Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave",  or  warbled 
"Sailing",  which  was  so  popular  amongst  the  boys 
in  '85,  if  it  had  been  composed  then,  and  I  couldn  't  get 
the  tune  of  the  other  one.  A  sailor's  life  was  a  long 
drawn  out  sweet  dream  when  we  had  far  away 
breezes;  at  other  times  when  the  boisterous  winds 
blew  furiously,  it  was  a  nightmare.      The  Pioneer 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  21 

was  sunk  somewhere  off  Port  Hope,  but  all  hands  were 
easily  rescued.  Then  Capt.  Allen  and  Mary,  the  cook, 
who  was  the  captain's  wife  and  myself  were  trans- 
ferred to  the  Marysburg,  a  larger  schooner,  which 
used  to  labor  creakingly  along  as  if  there  wasn't  any 
oil  procurable  to  quiet  her  noisy  timbers.  One  day  in 
the  early  '70 's  we  tried  to  make  Cleveland  harbor, 
when  a  hurricane  came  up,  and  we  scampered  across 
the  lake  and  thought  we  had  found  shelter  behind 
Long  Point.  Lake  Erie  is  very  shallow,  and  I  can 
readily  testify  that  we  could  see  its  very  muddy  bot- 
tom when  the  waves  rolled  sky-high.  No  fires  could 
be  lighted  and  we  rationed  on  stale  cold  food  for  a 
while.  Beaching  the  haven,  the  kitchen  fire  was 
started,  and  preparations  made  for  a  much  needed 
square  meal.  But  before  that  could  be  prepared,  the 
anchor  let  go,  the  vessel  lurched,  I  grabbed  the  cook- 
stove,  and  Mary  doused  the  fire  with  a  couple  of  pails 
of  water.  It  was  no  snug  harbor  for  the  Marysburg 
which  lurched  furiously  to  starboard  and  very  unlady- 
like started  out  for  the  open  lake.  Then  there  was  a 
regular  go-as-you-please.  The  Marysburg  pitched 
and  heaved.  I  only  heaved.  I  would  have  given  a 
million  dollars  if  I  could  only  have  been  put  ashore 
in  a  swamp  without  any  compass — but  I  didn't  happen 
to  have  anywhere  near  that  sum  about  me.  Sailors, 
who  are  proverbially  high  rollers  in  the  spending  line 
when  ashore,  seldom  have  that  much  money  on  board 
ship.  But  the  Marysburg  and  I  were  high-rollers 
all  the  same  just  then,  and  took  every  watery  hurdle. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  nauseating  mal-de-mer,  I 
honestly  believe  I  would  have  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
excitement.  As  it  was  I  merely  listlessly  looked  upon 
the  wild  scenes  as  an  unconcerned  spectator;  I  knew 
if  I  were  drowned  I  never  would  be  hanged.  But  the 
storm  spent  its  fury,  and  once  out  of  troubled  waters, 


22  REMINISCENCES  OP  A  RACONTEUR 

down  came  the  main  mast,  and  the  big  anchor  got  up 
all  by  itself  and  jumped  overboard.  I  threw  up  my 
hat — about  the  last  thing  I  did  throw  up.  Then  I 
learned  something  about  the  law  of  averages — a  vessel 
has  to  sustain  a  certain  amount  of  damages  to  obtain 
any  insurance.  When  the  vessel  arrived  at  Port  Col- 
borne,  the  claim  for  damages  went  through  like  a  shot. 

When  we  were  eating  our  first  real  meal  in  the  cabin, 
the  Captain  quietly  remarked  that  if  I,  who  had  re- 
covered from  my  temporary  disability,  could  handle 
the  tiller  or  the  sails  in  the  same  way  I  handled  my 
knife  and  fork,  I  would  soon  be  amongst  the  greatest 
mariners  of  the  age,  and  would  soon  be  a  distinguished 
officer  in  Her  Majesty's  navy.  Shiver  my  timbers, 
how  I  might  have  won  the  war  and  fame  and  a  tin-pot 
title  and  a  pension ! 

That  reminds  me  that  when  Port  Dalhousie  was 
reached  I  went  to  a  barber  shop  for  a  shave.  My  face 
had  been  nicely  lathered,  when  I  noticed  the  barber 
making  furious  flourishes  through  the  air  with  his 
razor.  Naturally  I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing,  and 
he  told  me  he  was  cutting  their  heads  off.  Then  he 
gave  another  slash  at  the,  to  me,  invisible  objects 
with  heads  on,  and  still  another  and  another.  It  dawned 
upon  me  that  he  was  seeing  things  that  can  only  be 
seen  by  a  man  with  the  D.T.'s.  "Hold  on,"  I  said, 
as  I  rubbed  the  lather  off  my  face  with  a  towel,  "Let 
me  help  you",  and  arising  from  the  chair  I  said  con- 
fidentially to  him,  '  *  Say,  old  man,  don 't  you  think  we 
could  do  the  job  better  if  we  had  a  little  drink?"  This 
appealed  to  him  favorably  and  we  started  out  for  a 
nearby  saloon,  where  he  ordered  brandy  and  soda  and 
poured  out  a  stiff  ?un  while  I  tried  to  drink  a  glass  of 
lager,  and  skipped  out  and  never  stopped  running 
until  I  laid  down  exhausted  in  the  fo 'castle  of  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  23 

Marysburg..    That  was  the  closest  shave  I  ever  had. 
Stories  of  Pets 

We  generally  have  had  pet  animals  in  the  family,  and 
amongst  them  were  a  French- Canadian  chestnut  stal- 
lion, eleven  and  a  quarter  hands  high,  and  Major, 
Fido,  Bismarck  and  Toby,  of  the  canine  family,  and  old 
Tom  of  the  feline  tribe.  Pascoe,  the  pony,  was  a 
beauty,  and  I  guess  he  must  have  been  a  Protestant, 
for  one  Twelfth  of  July,  when  an  Orange  parade  was 
passing  with  bands  playing,  he  ran  amongst  a  group  of 
onlookers  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  and  seizing 
Miss  Annie  Carroll,  a  young  lady  visiting  my  mother, 
by  the  shoulders  with  his  teeth,  threw  her  down  and 
tried  to  trample  on  her.  Fortunately  we  interfered  in 
time  and  prevented  her  from  being  hurt.  Annie  was  the 
only  Koman  Catholic  in  the  crowd — and,  unless  Pascoe 
had  had  strong  religious  convictions,  it  was  difficult  to 
understand  why  he  should  have  deliberately  picked  on 
the  only  Koman  in  the  party. 

Fido  was  a  little  black  and  tan  with  a  religious  turn 
of  mind,  and  he  knew  when  Sunday  came  around.  He 
accompanied  the  family  to  St.  John's  Church,  over  a 
mile  away,  and  always  heralded  our  coming  with  loud 
sharp  barks,  which  never  ceased  until  all  of  us,  includ- 
ing Fido,  were  seated  in  the  pew.  This  got  to  be  a 
nuisance,  and  Fido  was  confined  in  the  barn  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  imorning.  When  we  tried  to  find  Fido 
the  next  Sunday  morning,  to  tie  him  in  the  barn,  his 
dogship  could  not  be  found — until  we  reached  St. 
John's,  where  he,  with  his  infernal  loud  bark,  was 
waiting  at  the  church  door,  and  joined  us  as  usual  in 
the  morning  devotions. 

Bismarck  was  named  after  the  ex-Chancellor  of 
Germany,  because  he  looked  like  him,  and  was  a  good 
watch-dog.    I  had  been  away  from  home  for  five  years, 


24  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

and,  returning  one  evening,  was  met  at  the  gate  by- 
Biz,  who  growled  at  me.  We  stood  facing  each  other 
for  several  minutes,  Biz  evidently  determined  that  I 
should  not  go  further,  and  I  awaiting  developments. 
Finally  I  called  out,  "Why,  Biz".  While  he  had  for- 
gotten me,  he  instantly  recognized  my  voice  and 
jumped  joyfully  at  me,  wagged  the  stump  of  his  short 
tail  vigorously  and  gave  every  demonstration  of  joy. 
Poor  Major,  who  had  reached  an  advanced  age,  and 
for  whom  food  was  specially  cooked  by  mother,  went 
out  one  evening,  ate  some  ground  glass  mixed  with 
lard  which  some  fiends  had  placed  on  the  streets,  came 
home  and,  lying  with  head  on  the  doorstep,  passed 
away  with  a  wistful  look  in  his  great  brown  eyes, 
which  brought  tears  to  ours.  Toby,  who  joined  my 
family  in  recent  years  and  is  still  with  us,  is  a  French 
fox  terrier,  and  can  do  anything  requiring  intelligence 
except  talk.  Toby  is  very  fond  of  my  grandson  George, 
whose  especial  pet  she  is.  She  had  never  seen  a  Ger- 
man helmet  to  our  knowledge,  but  one  day  when  George 
put  one  on  she  ferociously  flew  at  him  in  a  towering 
rage.  He  went  out  of  the  room  and  returned  with  a 
German  forage  cap  on  his  head,  and  again  the  dog 
made  a  quick,  vicious  dash  at  him,  and  he  had  to  hide 
tihe  offending  headgear  before  she  could  be  quieted. 
There  was  intelligence  for  you,  but  not  so  much  as  she 
displayed  when,  as  George  wrote  me  at  Atlanta : ' '  Toby 
is  getting  along  fine.  She  bit  the  Chinaman  to-day, 
when  he  brought  the  laundry  bill. ?  ? 

POETKY — AND  Me 

I  might  as  well  candidly  admit  two  things,  and  the 
admission  is  made  with  not  too  much  vaunting  pride. 
The  first  is  that  I  once  had  great  aspirations  of  being 
a  poet,  and  while  I  had  not  the  nerve  to  imagine  I 
would  reach  the  top-notcher  class  with  Shakespeare, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  25 

Byron,  Tennyson,  Bobby  Burns,  Campbell  and  other 
noted  writers,  I  bad  fond  hopes  of  at  least  having  my 
effusions  printed  (at  my  own  expense)  in  some  maga- 
zine or  other  as  a  starter,  until  Fame  would  overtake 
me,  and  then — .  But  Fame  couldn't  even  catch  up 
to  me,  let  alone  overtake  me,  although  some  of  my  ef- 
fusions were  highly  spoken  of  by  friends  who  had 
borrowed  or  wanted  to  borrow  money  from  me.  Here 
is  one,  which  I  did  not  dash  off — just  like  that — but 
labored  several  years  at  it,  and  forget  now  whether  it 
is  finished  or  not.  It  was  my  intention  to  make  it  an 
epic;  as  I  read  it  now,  it  looks  most  like  an  epicac. 
But  here  it  is : 

I  wonder  if  in  the  early  dawn, 

When  upon  God's  great  creating  plan 
He  builded  sky  and  sea  and  land 

And  moulded  clay  into  living  man, 
Why  used  He  earth  in  this  grand  work 

Instead  of  carving  hardened  stone  1 
Was  it  because  He  knew  that  man 

Could  not — would  not — live  alone? 
Then  using  the  very  softest  dust 

He  made  Man  plastic — so  his  coming  mate 
Could  always  mould  him  as  she  wished, 

Which  she  has  done  since  Eve  He  did  create. 

That  reminds  me  of  Bill  Smith  coming  into  the 
Gazette  office  at  Whitby  one  day  a  good  many  years 
ago,  and  telling  me  he  was  composing  an  elegy  on  his 
little  dead  brother,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I  would 
print  it  for  him.  I  told  him  we  were  a  little  short  of 
space,  but  if  it  didn't  occupy  more  than  three  or  four 
columns  I  would  do  my  level  best.  In  a  couple  of 
weeks,  in  marched  William,  and  very  grandiloquently 
laid  his  masterpiece  before  me.  It  wasn't  as  long  as 
he  had  been  writing  it.    In  fact  it  read: 


26  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

"That  little  brave, 
That  little  slave, 
They  laid  him  in  the  cold,  cold  grave.' ' 

— William  Smith. 

One  beautiful  thing  about  it  was  that,  like  the  speech 
of  one  of  Joe  Martin's  Cabinet  ministers,  ont  in  British 
Columbia,  it  was  of  his  own  composure.  The  circula- 
tion of  the  Gazette  increased  largely  that  week,  for 
William  came  in  and  absent-mindedly  took  away  a 
couple  of  dozen  copies  to  send  to  sympathizing  friends 
and  relatives. 

An  Exaggerated  Report 

The  other  admission  is  that  false  reports  about  a 
person  are  never  true.  For  instance,  sixteen  years 
ago  the  Charlottetown,  P.E.I.,  Guardian  unblushingly 
reported  my  death,  and  while  the  reading  of  the  obitu- 
ary notice  was  not  uninteresting,  it  was  not  altogether 
self -satisfying.    It  reads  as  follows: 

"With  sincere  regret  many  thousands  of  people  will 
learn  of  the  death  of  George  H.  Ham  of  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railway,  Montreal.  Very  few  men  had  so  ex- 
tensive an  acquaintance  or  so  many  friends.  He  was 
full  of  good-will  for  everybody.  During  his  illness 
letters  and  telegrams  poured  in  from  every  quarter  ex- 
pressing most  sincere  desires  for  his  recovery,  but  it 
had  been  otherwise  ordered.  He  leaves  a  memory 
fragrant  with  the  kindnesses  that  thousands  have  re- 
ceived at  his  hands." 

Of  course,  I -didn't  demand  a  retraction,  but  when 
Mr.  J.  B.  McCready,  the  editor,  was  seen  during  my 
visit  to  Charlottetown,  a  year  or  two  later,  he  was  will- 
ing to  mlake  one.  Finally  Mac  and  I  agreed  that  it 
would  not  be  advisable  to  spoil  a  good  news  item, 
just  because  it  wasn't  altogether  correct.    So  we  let  it 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  27 

go  at  that,  although  I  have  always  maintained  it  wasn't 
trne. 

But  to  this  day,  the  paragraph,  neatly  framed  in  be- 
coming black,  lies  before  me  on  my  office  desk,  and 
when  anything  goes  wrong,  and  I  feel  down  in  the 
mouth,  I  pick  it  up  and  read  it  and  say  to  myself: 
"Oh,  well,  things  could  easily  be  worse;  this  might 
have  been  true."    Which  is  some  consolation. 

A  Brief  Summary 

After  a  brief  newspaper  experience  in  Guelph,  Ux- 
bridge,  and  as  correspondent  of  the  Toronto  press,  I 
started  out  in  May,  1875,  for  some  western  point  not 
then  definitely  determined  on.  Prince  Arthur 's  Land- 
ing offered  no  particular  attraction  for  a  rambling 
reporter  in  those  days,  so  I  headed  for  Winnipeg,  and 
reached  there — after  experiencing  the  first  steamboat 
collision  in  the  Red  River — with  four  dollars  in  pocket, 
ten  of  which  I  owed.  Being  a  practical  printer,  I  was 
offered  a  position  on  the  Free  Press,  after  besieging 
the  office  for  a  week.  Then  I  rose  to  the  dignity  of  city 
editor,  and  in  less  than  four  years  published  a  paper 
of  my  own — the  Tribune — which  was  afterwards  amal- 
gamated with  the  Times,  of  which  I  became  managing 
editor.  Then  ill-health  caused  my  retirement,  and  a 
beneficent  Government  made  me  registrar  of  deeds  for 
the  county  of  Selkirk.  The  introduction  of  the  Tor- 
rens  system,  which  required  the  registrar  to  be  a  bar- 
rister of  ten  years'  standing,  knocked  me  out  of  the 
position,  although  I  produced  any  number  of  witnesses 
that  I  had  a  longer  standing  than  that  at  the  bar 
(now  abolished)  and  so  I  returned  to  newspaper  work. 
After  sixteen  years  of  constant  work  in  the  bustling 
city,  I  was  sent  for  by  Mr.  (Sir  William)  Van  Home, 
who  kindly  added  my  name  to  the  pay-roll  of  the  Can- 
adian Pacific  Railway  Company. 


28  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Now,  in  1921,  having  passed  the  allotted  three 
score  and  ten  of  the  Scriptures  and  the  regulated  three 
score  and  five  of  the  C.P.R.,  I  plug  away  at  my  desk 
or  on  the  trains  just  as  cheerfully  and  as  hopefully  as 
I  did  in  my  younger  days — crossing  the  continent  at 
least  twice  or  more  times  every  year  and  sometimes 
visiting  nearly  every  state  in  the  Union,  with  an  oc- 
casional odd  trip  once  in  an  age  to  the  Old  Country, 
Cuba,  Mexico,  Bahama  Islands  or  Newfoundland.  The 
rest  of  my  time  is  spent  at  home. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Winnipeg  a  City  of  Live  Wires — Three  Outstanding 
Figures — Rivalry   Between    Donald   A.    and   Dr. 
Schultz — Early  Political  Leaders — When  Win- 
nipeg was  Putting  on  its  First  Pants — Pioneer 
Hotels — The  Trials  of  a  Reporter — Not  Ex- 
actly an  Angelic  City — The  First  Iron 
Horse — Opening  of  the  Pembina  Branch 
— Profanity  by  Proxy — The  Republic 
of  Manitoba — The  Plot  to  Secede. 

WINNIPEG  is  a  live  wire  city.  That  does  not 
have  to  be  proven.  Almost  any  one  of  its 
progressive  business  men  will  admit  that,  if 
cornered,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  in  its  couple  of  hundred 
thousand  or  so  of  people  it  holds  as  many  distin- 
guished "live  wires' '  as  did  the  muddy,  generally  dis- 
reputable village  that  in,  say,  1873,  with  a  thousand  or 
perhaps  fifteen  hundred  people,  straggled  along  Main 
Street  from  Portage  Avenue  to  Brown's  Bridge,  near 
the  present  site  of  the  City  Hall,  and  sprawled  be- 
tween Main  Street  and  the  river.  It  was  without 
sidewalk  or  pavements;  it  had  neither  waterworks, 
sewerage  nor  street  lights.  The  nearest  railroad  was 
at  Moorhead  on  the  Red  River,  222  miles  away..  Its 
connection  with  the  outer  world  was  one,  or  possibly 
two,  steamers  on  the  Red  River  in  the  summer,  and  by 
weekly  stage  in  winter.  It  boasted  telegraph  connec- 
tion with  the  United  States  and  Eastern  Canada  by 
way  of  St.  Paul,  during  the  intervals  when  the  line  was 
working.  Although  essentially  Canadian  it  was  practi- 

29 


30  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

cally  Cut  off  from  direct  connection  with  Canada.  The 
Dawson  route  to  Port  Arthur  could  be  travelled  with 
great  labor,  pains  and  cost;  but  did  not  admit  of  the 
transportation  of  supplies.  All  freight  came  by  North- 
ern Pacific  Eailway  to  Moorhead ;  then  by  steamer,  flat 
boat  or  freight  team  to  Winnipeg. 

But  the  Winnipeg  of  that  day  was  recognized  to  be 
then,  as  it  is  now,  the  gateway  to  the  Canadian  Prairie 
West  where  lay  the  hope  of  Canada's  future  great^ss. 
The  transfer  of  governmental  authority  over  Rupert  's 
Land  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  to  Canal?*  had 
taken  place  in  1869 ;  Canadian  authority  had  b^-Zi  es- 
tablished by  the  first  Red  River  expedition  at  1870; 
a  transcontinental  railway  was  to  be  built  at  an  early 
date  that  would  displace  the  primitive  conditions  then 
existing.  The  doors  of  vast  opportunity  lay  wide 
open  and  Canada's  adventurous  sons  flocked  to  Winni- 
peg to  have  a  part  in  the  great  expansion — the  build- 
ing of  a  newer  and  greater  Canadian  West.  They 
were  big  men,  come  together  with  big  purpose.  Their 
ideas  were  big,  and  they  fought  for  the  realization  of 
them.  They  struggled  for  place  and  power  and  ad- 
vantage, not  with  regard  to  the  little,  isolated  village 
which  was  the  field  of  their  activities  and  endeavors ; 
but  always  with  an  eye  to  the  city  that  now  is  and 
to  the  great  plains  as  they  now  are. 

They  saw  what  was  coming;  they  were  there  to 
bring  it:  Yet  those  who  lived  to  see  their  visions 
realized,  as  they  are  to-day,  are  few  and  far  between. 
The  boom  of  1881  seemed  to  promise  that  realization, 
while  the  pioneers  of  the  early  70  's  were  still  to  the 
fore.  But  the  promise  of  the  boom  was  not  fulfilled — 
then.  It  was  only  a  mirage,  and  when  it  passed  it  left 
the  majority  of  the  pioneers  blown  off  the  map  financi- 
ally and  otherwise.  And  few  ever  "came  back". 
Since  the  boom  of  1882,  the  soul  of  Winnipeg  has  never 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  31 

been  what  it  was  before.  The  later  Winnipeg  may  be 
a  better  city.  It  was  a  short  life  from  71  to  '82,  but 
while  it  lasted,  it  was  life  with  a  "tang"  to  it — a 
"tang"  born  of  conditions  that  cannot  be  repeated  and 
therefore  cannot  be  reproduced. 

The  Live  Wires  or  the  Seventies 

Who  were  those  live  wires  of  the  70  's!  I  shall  just 
mention  a  few  whose  reputations  have  been  established 
before  the  world  by  after  events.  No  one  will  deny  the 
outstanding  ability  and  commanding  position  in  na- 
tional, imperial  and  even  world  affairs,  achieved  by  the 
late  Lord  Strathcona.  In  Winnipeg  in  those  early 
70 's  he  was  chief  commissioner  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  resident  in  Winnipeg,  and  took  an  active 
part  in  all  that  concerned  the  business  or  politics  of 
the  country. 

"Jim"  Hill  flatboated  down  the  Red  River  from 
Abercrombie  and  Moorhead  to  Winnipeg  in  70,  71 
and  72.  In  73  he  was  the  chief  member  of  the  firm  of 
Hill,  Griggs  &  Co.,  owning  and  operating  the  small 
steamer  Selkirk  on  the  Red  River  in  opposition  to  the 
"Kittson  Line"  (really  the  H.B.C.)  steamer  Interna- 
tional. Alex.  Griggs  was  captain  of  the  Selkirk,  and 
Hill  rustled  business  and  was  general  manager.  How 
small  that  day  of  small  things  was  may  be  judged 
by  the  fact  that  these  two  stern  wheel  steamboats  on 
the  Red  River  transported  all  supplies  of  all  kinds  used 
in  the  trade  of  the  vast  Northwest;  and  at  that  the 
International  was  laid  up  in  the  fall  for  lack  of  busi- 
ness. Of  course  they  had  to  meet  the  competition  of  flat 
boats.  In  any  case  Hill  was  squeezed  out  of  the  trans- 
portation business  on  the  Red  River.  The  Selkirk 
passed  into  the  service  of  the  "Kittson  Line"  and  Hill 
entirely  withdrew  his  interest  in  the  development  of  the 
Canadian  West.       Some  years  afterwards  he  joined 


32  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

forces  with  ihis  late  opposition  on  the  Eed  River  ih 
organizing  and  pushing  what  became  the  Great  North- 
ern railway  system  of  to-day. 

Amongst  the  men  of  the  70 's,  or  indeed  before  the 
70  's,  was  James  H.  Ashdown,  one  of  the  many  who 
entered  in  the  business  race,  and  one  of  the  few  who 
has  realized  to  the  full  the  success  for  which  he  hoped 
and  planned.  Mr.  Ashdown  was  in  Winnipeg  before 
the  transfer  to  Canada — no  doubt  in  expectation  of  the 
event.  As  a  Canadian  he  opposed  the  ambitions  of 
Louis  Kiel  and  was  imprisoned  by  Riel  during  his  short 
reign.  A  careful  but  enterprising  business  man,  the 
boom  of  1882,  that  destroyed  so  many  of  his  business 
colleagues  and  competitors,  left  him  unshaken.  His 
business  has  steadily  expanded  since  that  time.  To-day 
Mr.  Ashdown  belongs  to  his  business.  In  the  70  's  he 
was  a  fighting  force  for  progress.  In  the  struggle  for 
competition  and  lower  freight  rates  on  the  Red  River 
he  took  a  leading  part,  and  was  the  means  of  establish- 
ing the  "Merchants  Line",  consisting  of  the  Minne- 
sota and  the  Manitoba.  The  Manitoba  was  sunk  on  her 
first  trip  by  a  collision  with  the  " Kittson  Line"  Inter- 
national. While  that  seemed  to  put  the  "Merchants 
Line"  out  of  business,  the  course  of  the  subsequent 
damage  litigation  was  such  that  a  favorable  arrange- 
ment towards  Winnipeg  merchants  was  made  by  the 
"Kittson  Line";  and  this  bridged  over  the  river 
freight  conditions  until  the  arrival  of  the  railways.  In 
later  days  when  financial  difficulties  seemed  likely  to 
overcome  the  big  city,  Mr.  Ashdown  became  mayor  and 
admittedly  put  the  city  on  its  feet.  No  one  to-day  will 
deny  Mr.  Ashdown  the  attribute  of  being  a  live  wire. 

Another  old-timer  of  the  early  70  's  to  establish  his 
title  to  rank  with  the  best  of  them  under  modern  con- 
ditions was  "Sandy"  Macdonald.  Mr.  Macdonald  was 
a  resident  of  Winnipeg  in  the  70  's  but  did  not  go  into 


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THE     NEW    AND    THE     OLD     C.P.R.     STATIONS     IN     WINNIPEG. 


> 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  33 

business  for  himself  until  after  the  boom.  However, 
he  soon  made  up  for  lost  time.  During  the  slow  mov- 
ing decades  that  followed  the  boom,  Mr.  Macdonald 
expanded  his  wholesale  grocery  business  until  it  spread 
all  over  the  west  from  Winnipeg  to  the  Coast.  Some 
years  ago  he  sold  out  to  a  then  recently  organized  com- 
pany for  several  millions.  But  his  activities  did  not 
cease.  With  a  new  organization  he  is  doing  as  much 
and  as  widespread  a  business  as  ever,  following  his 
own  original  lines  as  to  cash  sales  and  co-operative  em- 
ployment. Mr.  Macdonald  is  essentially  a  progressive 
along  all  lines  and  has  served  the  modern  city  both  as 
alderman  and  mayor. 

But  a  city  must  have  other  interests  than  commerce 
and  transportation  if  it  is  to  be  a  real  city.  Education 
is  of  paramount  importance.  Now  that  there  is  a  Mani- 
toba University  and  a  number  of  colleges  given  to 
higher  education  along  all  accepted  modern  lines,  re- 
presenting an  expenditure  of  millions,  it  is  in  order  to 
recall  that  the  first  Manitoba  college  was  established 
through  the  single-minded  purpose  and  almost  single- 
handed  efforts  of  Kev.  Dr.  Bryce,  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  who  still  occupies  a  high  place  amongst  the 
educationists  of  the  West.  Manitoba  College  was 
begun,  like  almost  all  else  in  those  early  '70  's,  on  faith 
in  the  future  and  a  determination  to  be  ready  for  it 
when  it  came.  The  chief  trade  of  the  city  was  in  buffalo 
robes  from  the  plains;  production  from  the  farms, 
limited  as  it  was  at  best,  had  been  paralyzed  for  several 
successive  seasons  by  the  grasshopper  plague.  The 
immigrants,  who  were  arriving,  needed  almost  every- 
thing more  than  they  did  education.  And  yet  Dr. 
Bryce,  having  the  future  in  mind,  worked  on.  It  is  a 
long  road  from  the  Manitoba  College  of  1873  to  the 
University  and  College  of  1921.  But  Dr.  Bryce  has 
been  pushing  the  cause  through  every  change  and  has 

(4) 


34  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  satisfaction  of  seeing  to-day  the  realization  of  the 
hopes  with  which  he  entered  on  the  work. 

Lord  Strathcona  and  "Jim"  Hill  have  passed  from 
the  scene  of  their  efforts  and  triumphs.  Messrs.  Ash- 
down  and  Macdonald  and  Rev.  Dr.  Bryce  are  still  here 
to  answer  for  themselves.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
these  names  exhaust  the  list  of  outstanding  figures  who 
held  the  stage  in  those  early  years.  They  are  merely 
mentioned  as  examples  that  prove  beyond  argument 
the  live  wire  character  of  the  early  population. 

The  Rivalry  Between  Smith  and  Schultz 

An  instance  of  the  rivalry  of  those  early  giants  was 
that  between  Donald  A.  Smith  and  Dr.  Schultz.  Mr. 
Smith  was  commissioner  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, by  far  the  most  powerful  commercial  organiza- 
tion in  the  west,  which  also  controlled  the  only  inlet 
and  outlet  of  trade  or  travel  by  its  ' '  Kittson  Line ' '  of 
steamers  on  the  Red  River.  He  was  active  in  civic, 
provincial  and  federal  politics  and  was  considered  by 
the  new  Canadian  influx  to  be  anti-Canadian  and  non- 
progressive. Dr.  Schultz  was  a  Canadian  physician 
from  Windsor,  Ontario,  who  had  come  to  the  Red  River 
settlement  and  established  himself  in  medical  practice 
before  the  transfer  of  1869.  He  had  championed  the 
Canadian  cause  both  before  and  during  the  Riel  rebel- 
lion, and  escaped  Riel 's  vengeance  by  leaving  the  coun- 
try in  the  middle  of  winter ;  but  his  property  was  con- 
fiscated by  the  rebels.  When  he  returned  in  the  wake 
of  the  first  expedition  he  was  of  course  in  strong  favor 
with  the  constantly  increasing  Canadian  element  of  the 
population.  At  the  same  time  in  his  practice  as  a 
physician  he  acquired  the  confidence  of  many  of  the 
native  Red  River  settlers,  so  that  he  was  in  a  strong 
position  to  contest  the  claims  of  Mr.  Smith's  political 
support.  He  had  some  aptitude  for  trade  as  well  as  for 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  35 

medicine,  politics  and  real  estate,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  his  vision  of  the  future  was  as  far  reaching  and 
on  much  the  same  lines  as  that  of  Mr.  Smith,  who  was 
the  first  representative  from  Manitoba  in  the  Canadian 
Parliament. 

Both  were  men  of  boundless  energy  and  ambition. 
They  were  in  opposition  to  each  other  on  all  points  and 
at  all  times.  While  Dr.  Schultz  helped  to  ultimately 
defeat  Mr.  Smith  for  parliament,  the  latter  finally  car- 
ried away  the  prize  of  railway  construction  and  control 
that  had  been  the  great  dream  of  Dr.  Schultz.  Al- 
though the  doctor  was  finally  distanced  in  the  race  by 
his  great  rival  he  nevertheless  achieved  a  large  meas- 
ure of  distinction.  He  sat  in  the  Commons  and  after- 
wards in  the  Senate.  He  was  made  a  knight  and  for 
years  was  lieutenant-governor  of  Manitoba.  Had  his 
health  not  broken  down,  his  death  following,  there  is 
no  saying  how  far  he  might  ultimately  have  gone. 
These  facts  are  mentioned  not  to  revive  ancient  ani- 
mosities but  to  prove  that  the  men  who  achieved  suc- 
cess did  not  do  so  because  they  had  the  field  to  them- 
selves. They  had  to  fight  every  inch  of  the  way ;  then 
as  much  as  now  or  possibly  then  more  than  now. 

The  Political  Leaders 

Generally  speaking,  the  politicians  of  Manitoba  in 
the  70  's  were  of  higher  calibre  than  is  generally  found 
in  new  countries.  Head  and  shoulders  above  all  was 
Hon.  John  Norquay,  a  native,  who  became  Premier 
after  the  retirement  of  Hon.  A.  E.  Davis,  a  very  shrewd 
politician.  Mr.  Norquay,  who  personally  resembled 
Sir  James  Carroll,  the  Maori-Irishman  or  Irish-Maor- 
ian  of  New  Zealand,  was  a  high  minded  statesman, 
eloquent  beyond  ordinary  and  his  honesty  and  motives 
were  never  questioned,  except  by  the  cheap  agitating 
politicians.    His  sudden  death  was  a  loss  to  Canada, 


36  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

for  had  he  lived  he  would  have  left  his  mark  at  Ottawa. 
Hon.  Thomas  Greenway  was  his  sturdy  opponent  and 
they  were  great  bosom  friends.  There  were  others 
like  John  Winram,  William  and  Kobert  Bathgate,  the 
former  starting  the  first  gas  company  in  the  city,  Col. 
McMillan,  H.  M.  Howell,  Tom  Scott,  W.  F.  McCreary, 
A.  W.  Ross,  Hugh  Sutherland,  Gilbert  McMicken, 
Stewart  Mulvey,  Kenneth  Mackenzie,  Hon.  Joseph 
Eoyal,  C.  P.  Brown,  D.  M.  Walker,  Tom  Daly,  Hon.  A. 
A.  C.  Lariviere,  D.  B.  Woodworth,  Isaac  Campbell, 
W.  F.  Luxton,  Joseph  Ryan,  Dr.  O'Donnell,  E.  P. 
Leacock,  Charlie  Mickle,  Fred  Wade,  John  Macbeth, 
Alex.  M.  Sutherland,  E.  H.  G.  Hay,  with  whom  at  later 
date  were  associated  Hon.  Joseph  Martin,  Clifford  Sif- 
ton,  Dr.  Harrison,  Dr.  Wilson,  Sir  R.  P.  Roblin,  Sir 
James  Aiken,  Somerset  Aiken,  L.  M.  Jones,  J.  D. 
Cameron,  Joshua  Callaway  and  Charlie  Sharpe,  Amos 
Rowe,  Tom  Kelly,  the  big  contractor,  Hugh  John  Mac- 
donald,  T.  W.  Taylor,  W.  B.  Scarth,  Hon.  Robt.  Rogers, 
J.  H.  D.  Munson,  Geo.  Wallace,  now  M.P. ;  Sir  Stewart 
and  Willie  Tupper,  J.  P.  Curran  and  Tommy  Metcalfe, 
who  now  ornament  the  bench;  Heber  Archibald  was 
also  a  prominent  figure,  and  many  others,  all  of  whom 
played  their  part  in  the  development  of  the  country. 

I  Strike  Winnipeg 

When  I  struck  Winnipeg,  the  embryo  city  was  just 
putting  on  its  first  pants.  The  route  from  eastern 
Canada  was  made  in  summer  by  the  Great  Lakes  to 
Duluth  or  by  rail  through  Minnesota  to  Fargo  or  Moor- 
head — just  across  the  river  from  each  other — the  one 
being  in  Minnesota  and  the  other  in  Dakota ;  and  then 
by  boat  to  the  future  western  metropolis.  I  went  up 
the  Great  Lakes  to  Thunder  Bay,  walked  across  the  ice 
and  rowed  up  the  Kaministiquia  River  to  Fort  William 
on  May  24th,  1875.     Then  I  drove  over  to  Port  Arthur, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  37 

where  at  Julius  Sommer's  tavern,  I  sat  down  to  a 
table  covered  with  a  checkered  red  and  white  table 
cloth  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  The  food  was  good 
enough — what  there  was  of  it — and  plenty  of  it  such 
as  it  was.  After  a  short  stay,  I  took  the  steamer  for 
Duluth  and  the  Northern  Pacific  to  Moorhead.  My 
seat-mate  on  the  train  from  Duluth  to  Moorhead  was 
Billy  Bell — now  Col.  William  G.  Bell,  a  prominent 
citizen  of  Winnipeg.  There  were  no  sleeping  cars  then. 
At  Aitken,  Minnesota,  a  lumbering  centre,  one  of  those 
wild-eyed  lumber-jacks  with  his  red  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
up  and  his  trousers  stuck  in  his  top  boots,  leaped  on  the 
car,  and,  furiously  brandishing  a  revolver,  swaggered 
down  the  aisle. 

"Who  am  I?"  was  his  constant  cry  to  the  half- 
scared  occupants  of  the  coach.  "Say,  who  am  I? 
blankety,  blankety,  blank  my  blankety  blank  eyes,  who 
ami?" 

As  he  approached  our  seat,  his  voice  became  if 
possible  a  little  louder  and  the  revolver  was  flourished 
a  little  more  frantically.  It  peeved  me.  So  I  grabbed 
Billy  by  the  arm,  and  looking  the  disturber  in  the  eye, 
sharply  remarked: 

"Billy,  tell  the  gentleman  who  he  is!" 

That's  all  there  is  to  the  story,  for  the  bully  sub- 
sided and  vamoosed  by  the  rear  door  amidst  the  sighs 
of  relief  and  hearty  laughter  of  the  passengers. 

The  boat  trip  from  Moorhead  to  Winnipeg  occupied 
a  couple  of  days  and  nights.  There  was  keen  compe- 
tition between  the  old  Kittson  Line  and  the  Merchants 
Line.  I  was  a  passenger  on  the  International,  which 
left  first  for  the  north.  The  Manitoba  passed  us  some 
distance  down  the  river,  reached  Winnipeg,  and  on 
its  return  south-bound  trip  was  at  Lemay's  Point, 
about  five  miles  from  Winnipeg,  during  the  night.  In 
rounding  the  bend,  the  International,  doubtless  not  un- 


38  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

intentionally,  made  a  straight  run  for  her,  struck  her 
under  the  guards,  and  she  partially  sank.  I  was  un- 
ceremoniously thrown  out  of  my  berth,  and  rushed  to 
the  cabin,  which  was  the  scene  of  wild  confusion  and 
uproar.  One  scared  fellow-passenger  loudly  shouted 
that  the  boat  was  sinking,  and  just  then  the  mate  came 
along,  and,  hitting  him  a  wallop  on  the  ear,  which 
knocked  him  down,  said : '  *  You  're  a  dom  liar.  It 's  the 
other  boat  that's  sinking." 

Something  About  Hotels 

Winnipeg  warmly  welcomed  the  new-comer,  and 
made  him  feel  at  home.  The  old  Davis  House  on 
Main  Street  had  been  the  only  hotel  in  town,  but,  as 
population  increased,  Ed.  Roberts '  Grand  Central  and 
the  International  were  its  rivals,  and  afterwards  the 
Queen's — the  palace  hotel  of  the  Northwest,  as  it  was 
ostentatiously  advertised — was  built,  and  with  it  the 
Merchants. 

Later  came  the  Revere,  Leland,  Winnipeg,  Golden, 
Grand  Union,  Imperial,  Johnny  Haverty's  C.  P.  R. 
Hotel  at  the  south  end  of  the  city,  Duncan  Sinclair's 
Exchange,  Scotty  Mcln tyre's,  TafFs,  Pat  O'Connor's 
St.  Nicholas,  George  Velie  's  Gault  House,  Denny  Len- 
non's,  Billy  O'Connor's,  John  Baird's,  Johnny  Gums', 
Bob  Arthur's,  the  Potter  House,  the  Brouse  House, 
Montgomery  Brothers'  Winnipeg,  John  Poyntz',  the 
Clarendon  and  many  more  to  fill  in  the  immediate 
wants,  until  the  Manitoba,  an  offspring  of  the  Northern 
Pacific  was  erected,  only  to  be  shortly  after  destroyed 
by  fire.  Now  the  city  has  the  Royal  Alexandra  and  Fort 
Garry,  which  rank  amongst  the  finest  hotels  on  the 
continent,  and  a  host  of  smaller  but  very  comfortable 
places.  Winnipeg  during  and  ever  since  the  boom  has 
never  lacked  splendid  restaurants.  Clougher's,  Bob 
Cronn's,  Jim  Naismith's  and  the  Woodbine  were  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  39 

leading  ones,  but  that  old  veteran,  Donald  McCaskill, 
had  a  mania  for  opening  and  closing  eating  places  with 
astounding  regularity.  Chad's  place  at  Silver  Heights 
was  a  pleasant  and  well-run  resort,  but  one  can't  play 
ball  all  winter  and  so  other  games  were  played  in  some 
of  which  what  are  called  chips  were  substituted  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  concerned,  except  perhaps  the  losers. 

All  of  this  reminds  me  that  one  of  the  north-end 
hotels  was  called  the  California,  and  its  proprietor 
was  Old  Man  Wheeler.  When  in  the  late  70  's  it  was 
determined  to  form  a  Conservative  Association,  the 
California  was  chosen  as  the  place  for  the  gathering 
of  the  faithful  in  that  locality.  Hon.  D.  M.  Walker, 
afterwards  appointed  to  a  judgeship,  and  myself  were 
in  charge  of  the  meeting.  We  arrived  early  to  see  that 
all  necessary  arrangements  had  been  completed.  Sit- 
ting in  an  upper  room  the  Judge  asked  me  if  I  knew 
what  Wheeler's  politics  were  and  I  said  I  didn't,  but 
would  ascertain.  So  I  stamped  on  the  floor,  which  was 
the  usual  signal  that  someone  was  wanted.  Old  Man 
Wheeler  quickly  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  the  Judge 
asked : 

"Wheeler,  what  are  your  politics?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  he  replied,  "I'll  take  a  little 
Scotch." 

The  meeting  was  a  huge  success,  after  such  an  aus- 
picious opening.     The  Judge  said  it  could  not  help  but 

be 

The  Trials  or  a  Keporter 

While  Winnipeg  in  the  '70 's  was  in  a  sort  of  Happy 
Valley,  with  times  fairly  good  and  pretty  nearly  every- 
body knowing  everybody  else  or  knowing  about  them, 
the  reporter's  position  was  not,  at  all  times,  a  very 
pleasant  one,  for  on  wintry  days,  when  the  mercury 
fell  to  forty  degrees  below  zero,  and  the  telegraph 
wires  were  down,  and  there  were  no  mails  and  nothing 


40  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

startling  doing  locally,  it  was  difficult  to  fill  the  Free 
Press,  then  a  comparatively  small  paper,  with  inter- 
esting live  matter.  A  half-dozen  or  so  drunks  at  the 
police  court  only  furnished  a  few  lines,  nobody  would 
commit  murder  or  suicide,  or  even  elope  to  accom- 
modate the  press,  and  the  city  council  only  met  once  a 
week ;  but  we  contrived  to  issue  a  sheet  every  day  that 
was  not  altogether  uninteresting.  Of  course,  when 
anything  of  consequence  did  happen,  the  most  was 
made  of  it.  A.  W.  Burrows  (Dad)  was  a  great  source 
of  news,  and  many  an  item  he  gave  me.  He  was  in  the 
real  estate  business,  and  a  hustler  but  lived  long  before 
his  time  in  Winnipeg. 

The  city  council  was  an  attraction  to  many  citizens 
and  spirited  encounters  were  frequent  and  popular 
with  the  assembled  crowd.  At  one  meeting  Aid.  Frank 
Cornish  called  Aid.  Alloway  a  puppy,  and,  when  asked 
by  the  mayor  to  apologize,  did  so  by  saying  that  when 
he  came  to  think  of  it,  his  brother  alderman  was  not  a 
puppy,  but  a  full-grown  dog.  This  did  not  meet  with 
the  approval  of  his  worship,  whereupon  Aid.  Cornish 
very  humbly  and  penitently  apologized  to  the  entire 
canine  race.  Aid.  Wright  and  Aid.  Banning  had  a 
regular  set-to  at  another  meeting,  in  which  both  got 
the  worst  of  it.  "Them  was  the  days."  It  was  said 
of  Mr.  Cornish  that  when  he  was  mayor  of  Winnipeg 
■ — he  was  the  first — he  hauled  himself  up  before  him- 
self on  a  charge  of  being,  well,  let 's  say  not  too  sober, 
and  fined  himself  $5.00  and  costs.  The  attendants  at 
the  police  court  loudly  applauded  this  Spartan  act, 
until  they  heard  the  mayor  say  to  himself: 

"Cornish,  is  this  your  first  offence ?"  and  culprit 
Cornish  blandly  informed  Mayor  Cornish  that  it  was. 
Then  his  worship  addressing  himself  to  himself,  said : 

"Well,  if  it's  your  first  offence,  Cornish,  I'll  remit 
your  fine. ' '    And  the  laughter  was  resumed. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  41 

Not  Exactly  an  Angelic  City 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  imagine,  that  the  Winnipeg 
of  the  early  70  's  was  a  city  of  angels.  It  is  a  regret- 
table fact  that  some,  if  not  many,  of  its  leading  citi- 
zens may  fairly  be  described  as  otherwise. 

A  difficulty  in  dealing  with  the  more  human  and 
therefore  more  interesting  features  of  the  progress  of 
any  community  is  that  the  events  of  a  half  century 
ago  cannot  be  fairly  read  in  the  light  of  to-day.  Cus- 
tom is  law  in  a  large  measure.  What  was  allowable 
or  even  commendable  under  the  custom  prevailing  in 
one  age  may  be  neither  allowable  nor  commendable 
under  the  custom  of  half-a-century  later.  The  reading 
public  do  not  make  allowances.  They  are  apt  to  judge 
the  facts  related  of  the  past  by  the  standards  of  the 
present ;  they  do  not  recognize  the  absolute  truth  of  the 
phrase,  "  Other  times,  other  manners." 

Therefore  many  legitimately  interesting  episodes  of 
the  old  days  must  go  unrecorded  rather  than  that  the 
men  of  enterprise,  energy,  foresight  and  patriotism 
who  put  Winnipeg  on  the  map  in  the  years  from  71  to 
'82  should  be  misunderstood. 

The  men  who,  so  to  speak,  put  the  "Win-  in  Winni- 
peg deserve  the  best  that  those  who  are  the  heirs  of 
their  efforts  and  successes,  or  even  failures,  can  say  or 
think  of  them.  The  occasion  was  great,  and  they  were 
men  of  the  occasion. 

The  First  Iron  Horse 

The  arrival  of  the  first  locomotive  in  Winnipeg  was 
a  red-letter  day  for  the  whole  Canadian  West.  It  was 
on  October  9,  1877.  Brought  down  the  Red  River  on  a 
barge,  with  six  flat  cars  and  a  caboose,  towed  by  the 
old  Kittson  Line  stern-wheeler,  Selkirk,  her  voyage 
down  stream  was  one  continuous  triumphal  progress 


42  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

from  Pembina  at  the  International  boundary  to  Win- 
nipeg. 

The  Free  Press  of  that  day,  on  whose  staff  I  was 
city  editor,  telegraph  editor,  news  editor,  reporter, 
proof  reader  and  exchange  editor,  gave  the  following 
account  from  its  Pembina  correspondent  of  the  event- 
ful affair : 

"The  steamer  Selkirk  arrived  at  Pembina  yesterday 
(Sunday),  with  three  barges,  having  on  board  a  loco- 
motive and  tender,  a  caboose  and  six  platform  cars,  in 
charge  of  Mr.  Joseph  Whitehead,  contractor  on  the 
C.P.E.  As  this  is  the  pioneer  locomotive  making  its 
way  down  the  Red  River  Valley,  the  steamer  was 
hailed  by  the  settlers  with  the  wildest  excitement  and 
greatest  enthusiasm,  especially  as  Mr.  Whitehead  had 
steam  up  on  his  engine,  and  notified  the  inhabitants 
that  the  iron  horse  was  coming  by  the  most  frantic 
shrieks  and  snortings.  On  passing  Fort  Pembina  the 
flotilla  was  saluted  by  the  guns  of  the  (U.S.)  artillery, 
and  upon  arrival  at  Pembina  it  was  met  by  Captain 
McNaught,  commanding  at  Fort  Pembina,  and  his  offi- 
cers, Hon.  J.  Frankenfield,  N.  E.  Nelson,  and  his  associ- 
ates in  the  U.  S.  customs,  and  the  population  en  masse. 
The  flotilla  was  handsomely  decorated  with  flags  and 
bunting,  proud  of  the  high  distinction  of  carrying  the 
first  locomotive  destined  to  create  a  new  era  for  travel 
and  traffic  in  the  great  northwest." 

The  Free  Press  said  in  part  on  October  9th : 

"At  an  early  hour  this  morning,  wild,  unearthly 
shrieks  from  the  river  announced  the  coming  of  the 
steamer  Selkirk,  with  the  first  locomotive  ever  brought 
into  Manitoba;  and  about  9  o'clock  the  boat  steamed 
past  the  Assiniboine.  A  large  crowd  of  people  col- 
lected upon  the  river  banks,  and,  as  the  steamer  swept 
past  the  city,  mill  whistles  blew  furiously,  and  bells 
rang  out  to  welcome  the  iron  horse.     By  this  time  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  43 

concourse  had  assembled  at  No.  6  warehouse  (  at  foot  of 
Lombard  street)  where  the  boat  landed,  and  in  the 
crowd  were  to  be  noticed  people  of  many  different 
nationalities  represented  in  the  prairie  provinces. 

"The  Selkirk  was  handsomely  decorated  for  the  oc- 
casion with  Union  Jacks,  Stars  and  Stripes,  banners 
with  with  the  familiar  '  C.P.R.  •  and  her  own  bunting ; 
and  with  the  barge  conveying  the  locomotive  and  cars 
ahead  of  her,  also  gaily  decorated  with  flags  and  ever- 
greens and  a  barge  laden  with  railway  ties,  on  each 
side  presented  a  novel  spectacle.  The  whistles  of  the 
locomotive  and  the  boat  continued  shrieking,  the  mill 
whistles  joined  in  the  chorus,  the  bells  clanged — a 
young  lady,  Miss  Racine,  pulling  manfully  at  the  ropes 
— and  the  continuous  noise  and  din  proclaimed  loudly 
that  the  iron  horse  had  arrived  at  last.  Shortly  after 
landing  three  cheers  were  given  for  Mr.  Joseph  White- 
head, and  in  a  few  minutes  a  crowd  swarmed  on  board 
and  examined  the  engine  most  minutely.  The  caboose 
and  flat  cars,  which  also  came  in  for  their  share  of 
attention,  each  bearing  the  name  ' Canadian  Pacific'  in 
white  letters.  After  remaining  a  couple  of  hours,  dur- 
ing which  she  was  visited  by  many  hundreds,  the  Sel- 
kirk steamed  to  a  point  below  Point  Douglas  ferry, 
where  a  track  had  been  laid  to  the  water's  edge,  on 
which  it  was  intended  to  run  the  engine  this  afternoon. 

"It  is  a  somewhat  singular  coincidence  as  mentioned 
by  Mr.  Rowan  (C.P.R.  engineer  in  charge  then)  on  a 
recent  public  occasion,  that  Mr.  Whitehead,  who  now 
introduces  the  first  locomotive  into  this  young  country, 
should  have  operated  as  fireman  to  the  engine  which 
drew  the  first  train  that  ran  on  the  very  first  railway 
in  England — the  historic  line  built  in  Yorkshire  be- 
tween Stockton-on-Tees  and  Darlington.  Surely  the 
event  of  to-day  is  not  one  whit  less  important  to  Can- 
adians in  Manitoba  than  was  that  in  which  Mr.  White- 


44  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

head  figured  so  many  years  ago  to  Englishmen,  in 
Yorkshire.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  settlers  on  the 
banks  of  the  Eed  Eiver  went  almost  wild  with  excite- 
ment in  witnessing  the  arrival  of  the  "iron-horse." 

A  lone  blanketed  Indian  standing  on  the  upper  bank 
of  the  river  looked  down  rather  disdainfully  upon  the 
strange  iron  thing  and  the  interested  crowd  of  specta- 
tors who  hailed  its  coming.  He  evinced  no  enthusiasm, 
but  stoically  gazed  at  the  novel  scene.  What  did  it 
portend?  To  him  it  might  be  the  dread  thought  of  the 
passing  of  the  old  life  of  his  race,  the  alienation  of 
the  stamping  grounds  of  his  forefathers,  the  early  ex- 
tinction of  their  great  God-given  provider,  the  buff alo, 
which  for  generations  past  had  furnished  the  red  man 
with  all  the  necessities  of  life — shelter,  food,  clothing, 
shaganappy — a  necessity  for  his  cart  or  travois— and 
even  fuel.  The  untutored  mind  may  have  dimly  pic- 
tured the  paleface  usurping  his  rights  to  an  hitherto 
unquestioned  freedom  of  the  plains,  and  the  driving 
back  of  the  red  man  by  the  overwhelming  march  of 
civilization.  Whatever  he  may  have  thought,  this  iron 
horse  actually  meant  that  the  wild,  free,  unrestrained 
life  of  the  Indian  was  nearing  its  end,  and  that  the 
buffalo,  with  its  life-giving  gifts  and  its  trails  and 
wallows,  would  disappear,  to  be  replaced  by  immense 
tracts  of  golden  grain  fields  which  would,  in  years  to 
come,  miake  this  fair  land  the  granary  of  the  world. 
Buffalo  and  agriculture  are  an  impossibility  together, 
and  the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  unfailing. 
And  so  it  was  in  this  case,  when  the  first  locomotive 
was  the  avant  courier  of  thousands  to  come. 

The  Pembina  Branch 

In  the  early  days  of  December,  1878,  the  last  spike 
of  the  Pembina  Branch  of  the  C.P.R.,  connecting  St. 
Boniface  and  St.  Vincent,  Minnesota,  where  connection 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  45 

was  made  with  the  St.  Paul  &  Pacific  road  to  St.  Paul, 
was  driven.  There  were  no  palatial  sleepers  or  high- 
toned  parlor  cars  in  those  days  on  the  road,  and  the 
primitive  train  consisted  of  several  not  very  comfort- 
able flat  cars  and  a  box  car  in  which  were  some  rude 
benches,  a  lot  of  straw  carpeting,  and  a  small  wood- 
burning  heater.  It  was  called  "Joe  Upper's  private 
parlor  car".  There  were  a  great  many  of  the  first 
families  of  Winnipeg  aboard,  many  of  the  excursionists 
being  of  the  gentler  sex.  The  ceremony  of  driving  the 
last  spike  took  place  at  Rosseau  River.  There  was  a 
dispute  as  to  which  lady  should  have  the  honor  of  doing 
the  driving,  and  to  settle  the  controversy,  U.  S.  Consul 
Taylor  diplomatically  suggested  that  they  all  take  a 
whack  at  it.  And  they  did — gently  tapping  the  spike 
with  a  heavy  sledge  hammer,  but  not  driving  it  very 
far  into  the  tie.  After  all  had  had  their  turn,  and  the 
spike  was  still  in  painful  evidence,  the  consul  called 
upon  Mary  Sullivan,  the  big  strong  buxom  daughter  of 
the  boss  section  man,  who  with  one  mighty  blow  drove 
the  spike  home  amidst  the  loud  cheers  of  the  assembled 
multitude. 

Jack  McGinn,  now  with  the  Canada  Carbide  Com- 
pany, of  Shawinigan  Falls,  Que.,  was  the  first  pay- 
master of  the  road,  which  was  the  first  completed  link 
of  the  C.P.R.  system,  and  its  first  connection  with  any 
other  railway,  and  it  gave  Manitoba  and  the  Northwest 
their  first  rail  connection  with  the  outside  world.  The 
contractors  were  Upper  &  Willis,  Joe  being  a  Kingston 
(Ont.)  boy.  Immediately  after,  a  primitive  passenger 
service  was  inaugurated.  On  the  first  train,  on  which 
was  a  first-class  car  borrowed  from  the  St.  P.  &  P., 
were  half  a  dozen  or  so  passengers,  and  the  conductor 
asked  Jack  for  instructions  as  to  their  tickets,  of  which 
there  weren't  any.  Jack  was  equal  to  the  emergency 
and  wrote  on  an  ordinary  sheet  of  foolscap  paper : 


46  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Ticket,  No.  1,  Trip  No.  1,  St.  Boniface  to  St.  Vin- 
cent. Passenger — S.  Orson  Shorey,  December  2,  1878. 
J.  St.  L.  McGinn. 

To  add  to  its  value  as  a  souvenir,  Jack  had  it  pretty 
well  covered,  front  and  back,  with  singnatures,  includ- 
ing: Frederick  Hayward,  conductor;  J.  Vannaman, 
driver ;  E.  R.  McLennan,  road  master ;  R.  S.  McGinn, 
master  of  stores.  Big  Rory  McLennan  was  afterwards 
member  of  Parliament  for  Cornwall  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  the  world's  champion  for  tossing  the 
caber  and  throwing  the  hammer. 

The  following  summer  the  Pembina  Branch  was 
taken  over  by  the  Government  and  was  operated  by 
T.  J.  Lynskey  in  charge  until  it  passed  into  the  hands 
of  the  present  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  Company. 
Mr.  Shorey  was  very  proud  of  his  souvenir  ticket  which 
he  kept  carefully  framed.  Jack  McGinn  was  not  only 
paymaster,  but  the  first  superintendent  of  the  C.P.R., 
then  under  the  control  of  the  contractor. 

LOED   StRATHCONA — AND   PROFANITY 

In  the  general  election  of  1878,  the  then  constituency 
of  Lisgar,  which  included  Winnipeg  and  the  country 
around  it,  was  contested  by  the  then  Hon.  Donald 
A.  Smith  and  the  Hon.  Alex.  Morris,  who  was  pre- 
viously Lieutenant-Governor  of  Manitoba.  It  was  a 
very  closely  contested  election  and  Donald  A.  (as  the 
afterwards  Lord  Strathcona  was  generally  alluded  to) 
won  by  the  narrow  majority  of  9.  For  some  hours  on 
the  night  of  the  election,  the  result  was  in  grave 
doubt,  owing  to  the  returns  from  St.  Charles  not  being 
received.  The  general  impression  was  that  Mr.  Morris 
was  elected.  There  was  deep  consternation  in  the 
Smith  camp  and  while  Mr.  Smith  himself  was  not  at 
all  a  profane  man,  circumstances  caused  him  to  swear 
by  proxy,  so  to  speak.    Bob  Woods  was  his  right  hand 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  47 

man,  and  when  things  looked  decidedly  sombre  Bob 
gave  vent  to  his  pent-up  feelings  and  burst  forth  into 
language  in  which  he  did  not  usually  indulge.  Trying  to 
console  his  chief,  he  very  forcibly  remarked: 

"Oh,  blank,  the  blank  sons  of  guns,  they're  a  lot 
of  low-down  dirty  blankety,  blank  traitors  and  scoun- 
drels." 

And  the  supposed  defeated  candidate,  clasping  his 
hands  and  rubbing  them  as  if  washing  them  in  invisible 
water — a  peculiarity  of  his — acquiescently  replied : 

"Are  they  not,  Mr.  Woods,  are  they  not?" 

"Yes,  and  they  are  a  miserable  black-livered  lot  of 
blankety,  blank  pirates  and  political  prostitutes." 

"Are  they  not,  Mr.  Woods,  are  they  not?"  Mr.  Smith 
enquiringly  coincided. 

"Judas  Iscariot  was  a  Simon  Pure  white  angel,  com- 
pared with  these  blankety,  blank  blackguards  and  cut- 
throats." 

And  Mr.  Smith  again  agreed  by: 

"Was  he  not,  Mr.  Woods,  was  he  not?" 

"And  they  can  all  go  to  h "  (not  heaven)  hotly 

thundered  Bob. 

"Can  they  not,  Mr.  Woods,  can  they  not?"  sympa- 
thetically came  Mr.  Smith's  reply. 

And  this  conversation  unceasingly  kept  up,  until  the 
missing  returns  came  in,  and  showed  that  the  expected 
defeat  had  been  turned  into  victory. 

And  that  was  the  nearest  that  the  future  Lord 
Strathcona  was  ever  known  to  indulge  in  profanity. 

The  Eepubliic  of  Manitoba 

A  well-known  if  not  very  prominent  resident  of  Win- 
nipeg was  Mr.  Thomas  Spence,  who  arrived  in  the 
'60  's.  He  was  well  educated  and  possessed  of  the  av- 
erage amount  of  brains,  but  he  was  not  by  any  means 
in  the  first  or  second  rank  of  statesmen,  capitalists  or 


48  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

commercial  magnates.  And  yet  Tom,  as  he  was  fami- 
liarly called,  was  the  first  and  only  president  of  a  Can- 
adian republic  that  ever  existed.  When  the  authority 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  was  nearing  an  end, 
Tom  hied  himself  to  Portage  la  Prairie,  then  little  more 
than  a  hamlet,  and  founded  the  Bepublic  of  Manitoba, 
which  was  to  be  altogether  self-supporting  and  to  be 
separate  and  distinct  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, in  fact  a  government  on  its  own  hook.  Tom  sur- 
rounded himself  with  a  committee  of  five  and  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  provide  for  the  levying  of  taxes,  the 
erection  of  public  buildings,  the  making  of  Indian 
treaties,  the  construction  of  roads  and  other  public 
works,  all  of  which  he  set  forth  in  a  letter  to  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies.  In  a  little  over 
four  months  after  the  dispatch  of  his  letter,  President 
Spence  received  a  body  blow  in  the  shape  of  an  ac- 
knowledgement from  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  and 
Chandos,  in  which  he  was  plainly  told  that  his  "  so- 
called  self-supporting  government  had  no  force  in  law" 
and  "no  authority  to  create  or  organize  a  government 
without  reference  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  or  the 
Crown, ' '  and  he  was  officially  warned  that  he  and  his 
coadjutors  were  acting  illegally  and  incurring  grave 
responsibilities.  The  republic  then  collapsed — long  be- 
fore it  had  reached  its  first  birthday.  It  was  an  in- 
glorious ending,  and  Tom's  roseate  dreams  of  a  proud 
presidential  career  were  rudely  shattered.  The  ex- 
president  returned  to  Winnipeg,  and  became  satisfied 
with  a  fairly  good  position  in  the  local  Government 
service,  but  he  always  insisted  that,  if  he  had  been 
given  a  chance,  the  Eepublic  of  Manitoba  would  have 
been  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  prosperous  countries 
in  the  universe — at  any  rate  it  would  have  been  larger 
than  the  Principality  of  Monaco,  more  fertile  than 
Greenland,  not  so  torrid  as  Florida  nor  as  mountainous 


JD^JSZO 


HURRAH 


HOW  OUR  EARLY  SETTLERS  ARRIVED  IN  WINNIPEG. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  49 

as  Mexico,  and  would  have  had  as  big  a  navy  as  Swit- 
zerland. 

The  Plot  to  Secede 

One  of  the  most  exciting  of  the  episodes  in  which  I 
figured  was  the  secession  meeting  held  in  the  third 
storey  of  a  big  building  immediately  opposite  the  city 
hall.  Mack  Howse,  Charles  Stewart  and  some  other 
disgruntled  people  called  the  meeting  to  pass  resolu- 
tions that  Manitoba  should  secede  from  the  Dominion. 
T.  J.  Lynskey,  of  the  Government  Railway,  learning 
this,  resolved  to  head  off  the  disloyal  gathering.  Ob- 
taining a  card  of  admission,  a  few  hundred  imitation 
ones  were  printed  and  distributed  where  they  would  do 
the  most  good.  When  the  meeting  opened  with  Mr. 
Stewart  in  the  chair,  the  hall  w.as  packed — but  not  with 
faces  familiar  to  many  of  the  organization.  Mr.  Stew- 
art, who  was  an  Englishman  and  perfectly  sincere  in 
his  views,  seeing  before  him  what  might  be  a  hostile 
audience,  discreetly  gave  a  moderate  address,  and 
when  the  secession  resolution  was  read,  there  were  calls 
for  Mr.  Wilson,  father  of  Charlie  and  Herb  Wilson,  the 
lawyers,  and  himself  a  barrister  of  high  standing. 
He  was  a  staunch  Liberal  and  also  a  staunch  Can- 
adian, and  the  merciless  tongue-lashing  he  gave  the 
seceders  in  a  twenty  minute  speech  would  have  done 
credit  to  Sir  Richard  Cartwright  himself.  His  per- 
oration, if  not  grand,  was  effective.  Turning  to  the 
chairman,  he  shouted  at  him: 

"And  now,  sir,  if  it  were  not  for  your  gray  hairs  and 
your  advanced  age  I  would " 

And  he  glanced  significantly  at  the  open  window  near 
him. 

There  were  calls  for  me  and  I  was  trying  to  keep 
the  young  men  around  me  in  leash.  I  simply  told 
them  that  I  had  not  come  to  speak,  but  to  listen,  but  if 

(5) 


50  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

it  would  facilitate  matters  at  all,  I  would  move  that  the 
chairman  be  a  committee  of  one  to  secede.  This  fully 
met  the  views  of  the  great  majority  of  the  meeting 
and  when  Johnny  Gurn,  who  kept  a  restaurant  which 
was  not  run  altogether  on  temperance  principles,  rose 
and  said:  "I  seconds  the  motion,' '  pandemonium  broke 
loose  and  the  meeting  broke  up.  In  descending  the 
long  flights  of  stairs  some  attempts  were  made  by  too 
enthusiastic  individuals  to  interfere  with  the  malcon- 
tents but  there  were  enough  of  us  to  safeguard  them. 

At  four  o'clock  next  morning  my  doorbell  rang — I 
lived  in  Fort  Eouge  then — and  on  going  to  the  door 
who  should  be  there  but  Charlie  Stewart.  Inviting  him 
in,  and  offering  him  and  myself  some  liquid  refresh- 
ments, he  began  to  explain  about  the  meeting.  What 
I  wanted  to  know  was  who  were  the  real  instigators  of 
the  affair,  but  say  what  I  would,  he  would  not  betray 
his  friends.  All  I  got  out  of  him  as  he  left  the  house 
at  daybreak  was : 

"But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Ham,  there'll  be 
no  more  meetings  for  me  on  a  third  storey.  Ground 
floors  for  me  every  time  after  this." 

And  thus  ended  an  important  chapter  in  the  history 
of  Manitoba,  for  if  the  secession  motion  had  found  its 
way  into  the  American  and  European  press,  as  it  was 
intended  it  should,  the  results  might  have  been  serious. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Big  Winnipeg  Boom — Winnipeg  the  Wicked — 

A  Few  Celebkated  Cases — Some  Prominent 

Old-Timers — The  Inside  Story  of  a 

Telegraph  Deal — When  Trouble 

Arose  and  Other  Incidents 

THEN  came  the  boom  of  1881-2  and  sealskin  coats 
and  cloaks  and  diamond  pins  and  diamond 
brooches  and  diamond  rings  were  greatly  in 
evidence.  The  city  was  all  ablaze  with  the  excitement 
of  prospective  riches.  Champagne  replaced  Scotch  and 
soda,  and  game  dinners  were  very  common.  Auction 
sales  were  held  daily  and  nightly,  and  in  the  auction 
rooms  of  Jim  Coolican,  Walter  Dufour  and  Joe  Wolf 
people  bought  recklessly.  Property  changed  hands 
quickly  at  greatly  enhanced  values.  Certainly  a  land- 
office  business  was  being  done.  The  craze  spread  to  the 
rural  districts  and  land  surveyors  and  map  artists 
wjorked  overtime  to  fill  orders.  Lots  in  Winnipeg  were 
plotted  for  miles  beyond  the  city  limits.  Some  non- 
existing  "cities"  were  placed  on  the  eastern  market, 
and  some  swamps  were  brazenly  offered  in  Winnipeg. 
If  there  ever  was  a  fool's  paradise,  it  sure  was  located 
in  Winnipeg.  Men  made  fortunes — mostly  on  paper — 
and  life  was  one  continuous  joy-ride. 

A  lot  of  us  boarded  at  the  Queen's  Hotel,  then  run 
by  Jim  Ross,  at  whose  table  a  quiet  coterie  sat. 
Amongst  the  personnel  of  the  party  was  La  Touche 
Tupper,  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived,  but  a  little  in- 
clined to  vain  boasting.     He  was  a  fairly  good  bar- 

51 


52  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ometer  of  the  daily  land  values.  Some  days  when  he 
claimed  to  have  made  $10,000  or  $15,000  everything  was 
lovely.  The  next  day,  when  he  could  only  credit  him- 
self with  $3,000  or  $4,000  to  the  good,  things  were  not 
as  well,  and  when  the  profits  dropped,  as  some  days 
they  did,  to  a  paltry  $500  or  $600,  the  country  was  going 
to  the  dogs.  We  faithfully  kept  count  of  La  Touched 
earnings,  and  in  the  spring  he  had  accumulated  nearly 
a  million  in  his  mind.  There  were  others.  And  all 
went  as  mierry  as  a  marriage  bell,  with  wealth  and 
wine  on  every  hand,  until  one  day,  when  lots  in  Edmon- 
ton were  placed  on  the  market,  the  craze  ran  higher 
than  ever  before.  It  was  a  frightful  frenzy.  "Without 
any  knowledge  of  the  locality  of  the  property,  people 
invested  their  money  in  lots  at  fabulous  prices.  Many 
overbought,  some  tried  to  unload  and  the  next  morning 
there  was  a  slump,  and  you  couldn't  give  away  prop- 
erty as  a  gift.  The  boom  had  busted.  Where,  the  day 
previous,  the  immense  throng  had  gathered  in  such 
numbers  that  window  panes  were  smashed,  in  their 
eagerness  to  buy,  only  those  who  wanted  to  sell  were 
seen.  It  was  the  morning  after  the  night  before.  And 
a  mighty  sad  one  it  was. 

And  Winnipeg  came  down  to  earth  again. 

For  some  time  after  the  big  boom  busted,  there  was 
a  decided  sag  in  the  finances  of  many  a  Winnipegger. 
Of  course,  I  kept  in  the  procession,  and  managed  to 
worry  along  pretty  well,  as  I  had  a  very  warm  friend 
in  the  late  Chief  Justice  Howell,  then  a  partner  in  the 
law  firm  of  Archibald  &  Howell.  We  kept  flying  kites 
with  a  good  measure  of  success,  for  he  had  a  high 
financial  standing,  and  we  never  had  a  misunderstand- 
ing but  once.  It  was  all  over  a  similarity  of  figures 
and  a  series  of  curious  coincidences.  We  had  a  note 
for  $175  in  the  bank,  and  it  was  overdue.  A  renewed 
note  was  promtly  given  —  most  of  the  promptness 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  53 

being  due  to  the  urgent  request  of  the  bank  manager. 
It  so  happened  that  Mr.  Howell's  current  account  had 
exactly  $175  to  his  credit,  and  strange  to  say  I  was 
overdrawn  just  n  similar  amount.  The  bank  at  once 
wiped  out  my  indebtedness  with  the  note,  and  then  took 
Mr.  Howell 's  $175  to  pay  it.  When  my  good  friend 
gave  a  small  cheque  the  next  day,  it  was  returned  to 
him  with  the  ominous  "N.S.F."  marked  legibly  upon 
it.  My,  but  he  was  wrathy,  and  in  his  anger  came  to 
me.  We  wiere  both  dumbfounded,  but  finally  it  got 
through  my  wool  how  the  thing  was  done,  and  we  both 
looked  at  each  other  like  two  lost  babes  in  the  wood. 
So  we  went  out  and  soundly  cussed  all  financial  insti- 
tutions in  existence,  and  were  only  reconciled  to  our 
fate  after  a  prolonged  visit  to  Clougher's. 

Winnipeg  the  Wicked 

In  its  early  days,  Winnipeg  was  reputed  to  be  one 
of  the  two  wickedest  places  in  Canada.  The  other  was 
a  small  Ontario  town — Paris,  if  I  remember  aright. 
Winnipeggers  didn't  object  very  much  to  having  the 
doubtful  distinction  attributed  to  it,  but  they  kicked 
like  steers  when  linked  with  a  small  eastern  village, 
where  it  would  naturally  be  supposed  the  only  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  sin  would  be  the  innocent  little 
lambs  gamboling  on  the  green.  If  they  were  no  worse 
than  the  Canadian  Parisians — well,  it  was  confounded- 
ly humiliating — and  they  were  somewhat  ashamed  of 
being  put  in  the  amateur  class.  Probably  Paris  might 
have  a  few  who  were  i '  a  devil  of  a  fellow  in  his  own 
home  town,"  but  Winnipeg  looked  down  in  scorn  on 
that  mush-and-milk  brand  of  real  sporty  life.  Of 
course  the  city  was  pretty  rapid,  with  lots  to  drink 
and  plenty  to  gamble,  and  horse  racing  galore  and 
similar  sports  were  the  rage.  With  dances,  operas, 
swagger  champagne  suppers,  and  late  hours,  it  was  one 


54  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

continuous  merry  round.  But  gay  life  in  Winnipeg 
was  grossly  exaggerated,  because  it  was  a  compara- 
tively small  place,  running  speedily  'ahead  of  other 
places  of  even  larger  size  in  its  daily  round  of  gaiety. 
Hideous  crime  itself,  as  it  is  seen  in  the  cities  of  its 
size  to-day,  was  totally  unknown.  There  was  scarcely 
even  a  murder  or  a  shooting  scrap  and  very  few  scan- 
dals. The  demi-mondaines  were  numerous  and  hilari- 
ous as  were  their  patrons,  hut  the  police  regulations 
were  usually  strictly  enforced,  and,  while  the  bars 
were  kept  open  until  all  hours  of  the  night,  the  liquor 
was  of  a  good  quality,  and  there  were  fewer  drunken 
people  staggering  on  the  streets  than  could  be  seen  in 
other  places  which  made  greater  pretensions  of  a  mon- 
opoly of  all  the  virtues.  The  police  court  records  prove 
this.  So  while  it  was  called  wicked,  it  held  no  real 
genuine  carnival  of  crime.  It  was  simply  a  wide  open 
frontier  outpost  of  civilization. 

Early  in  its  infancy,  it  was  invaded  by  a  band  of 
crooks  from  the  south,  who  started  in  on  the  bad  man 
act,  but  Chief  Justice  Wood  isoon  put  them  where  the 
dogs  couldn't  bite  them  with  long  sentences  in  jail  or 
Stoney  Mountain  penitentiary.  Those  who  didn't  come 
up  before  the  Judge  made  a  mad  dash  for  liberty  across 
the  line.  There  were  a  couple  of  executions,  but  only 
one  Winnipeg  murder,  and  the  Gribben  murder,  where 
a  whiskey  peddler  along  the  line  of  railway  construc- 
tion shot  a  cabin  boy  of  one  of  the  river  boats  to  death. 
Taking  it  all  in  all,  life  in  Winnipeg  was  as  safe  as  it 
is  in  Westmount  to-day — but  a  dashed  sight  more 
exciting. 

Down  at  Fisher 's  Landing  in  Minnesota,  immigrants 
who  there  transferred  from  train  to  boat  were  un- 
mercifully fleeced  by  Farmer  Brown,  who,  driving  a 
sorry  looking  yoke  of  oxen  and  wearing  a  bucolic  make- 
up, victimized  the  immigrants  with  sad,  sad  tales  of 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  KACONTEUR  55 

sorrow  and  misfortune,  and  when  their  sympathies 
were  aroused  through  his  unfailing  flow  of  tears,  he 
would  trim  them  to  a  standstill  at  three  card  monte,  at 
which  he  was  an  adept.  There  were  other  sharpers,  of 
course,  as  there  always  are  where  there  is  a  movement 
of  people,  but  they  did  nothing  actually  sensational. 

Interviewing  a  Murderer 

Louis  Thomas,  an  Indian,  was  found  guilty  of  mur- 
dering a  white  man  down  near  Morris,  and  was  sent- 
enced to  death.  A  few  days  previous  to  the  execution, 
a  friend  of  mine  who  was  a  guard  at  the  jail,  which  was 
then  located  at  the  bend  on  Main  Street,  near  the  city 
hall,  tipped  me  off  that  the  Indian  wanted  to  see  me. 
Although  it  was  against  the  regulations,  I  managed  to 
smuggle  myself  into  his  cell,  and  he  told  me  the  story 
of  the  crime.  He  had  just  got  to  the  point  of  saying 
that  two  French- Canadians  had  taken  the  victim  by 
the  legs  and  thrown  him  into  a  well,  when  the  sheriff 
appeared  and  ordered  me  out  of  the  place  and  de- 
manded my  notes.  Of  course,  I  had  to  go,  and  backed 
out  as  dignified-like  as  I  could,  protesting  that  I  was 
willing  to  give  up  my  notes,  until  I  reached  the  street 
door.  Once  outside  the  jail,  I  made  a  mad  rush  for 
the  Free  Press  office,  wrote  up  my  report  of  the  day's 
exciting  event,  and  that  evening  there  was  so  much 
indignation  expressed  around  town  that  next  morning 
the  Government  appointed  Hon.  D.  M.  Walker  to  in- 
vestigate the  affair,  and  I  waJs  allowed  to  be  present. 
The  Indian  had  given  me  a  couple  of  pages  of  foolscap 
on  which  he  said  was  scribbled  a  confession  in  the 
Iroquois  language,  but  it  could  easily  be  seen  that  it 
was  merely  scribbling  and  nothing  more.  When  Mr. 
Walker  confronted  the  prisoner  he  retracted  every 
blessed  word  he  had  told  me,  and  when  next  I  saw  him 
on  the  scaffold,  he  looked  at  me  in  a  most  careless,  half- 


56  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

amused  way,  and,  waving  his  hand  towards  me,  cheer- 
ily said  with  the  greatest  nonchalance :  "Bon  jour,  boy, 
bon  jour."  Five  minutes  later,  he  dropped  into  eter- 
nity. 

Schofield  's  Escapade 

Another  exciting  incident  was  the  Schofield  affair. 
Schofield  was  a  trusted  employee  of  the  McMillan  Bros. 
— D.  H.  and  W.  W. — who  ran  a  flour  mill  near  the 
river  bank.  One  morning  the  office  was  found  to  be  all 
topsy-turvy.  Chairs  were  upset  and  other  furniture 
scattered  around  promiscuously,  and  a  large  dent  in  a 
wooden  desk  evidenced  that  a  club  had  been  used. 
Drops  of  blood  left  a  trail  in  the  snow  to  the  river  and 
on  the  ice.  The  next  day  and  next  night  ice  cutting 
machines  worked  overtime  making  holes  in  the  ice,  and 
grappling  irons  were  unavailingly  lowered  to  rescue 
the  body.  People  were  aghast  at  the  awful  crime  and 
Schofield 's  pretty  wife  was  the  object  of  everybody's 
sympathy.  The  following  day,  Schofield 's  remains 
were  found — down  in  Minneapolis,  although  the  waters 
of  the  Red  River  flowed  the  other  way.  An  American 
customs  officer  at  St.  Vincent,  on  the  boundary,  re- 
ported a  man  answering  Schofield 's  description  who 
had  passed  through  on  the  St.  Paul  train  the  night  of 
the  awful  tragedy,  and  that  he  was  dressed  like  an  or- 
dinary working  man  but  had  forgotten  to  discard  his 
white  starched  shirt,  whose  cuffs  with  gold  sleeve  links 
had  attracted  his  attention  as  being  a  queer  sort  of  a 
combination  for  a  laboring  man.  Schofield 's  rooms 
were  searched  and  in  them  was  found  a  collection  of 
dyes,  false  moustaches,  wigs,  etc.,  with  which  he  had 
disguised  himself.  As  his  accounts  were  all  right,  it 
was  puzzling  to  know,  why  he  had  put  up  such  a  job, 
until  it  was  discovered  that  it  was  to  secure  a  fairly 
good  insurance  which  he  had  on  his  life. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  57 

An  Express  Robbery 

Then  there  was  Jim  Van  Rensaellaer 's  case.  Jim 
was  a  big,  fat,  good-natured  agent  of  the  American 
Express  Company  at  Winnipeg  and  of  the  Wirmipeg- 
Moorhead  stage  company  for  years,  and  was  liked  by 
everybody.  One  day,  it  was  discovered  that  from  the 
vault  in  the  express  office  had  been  taken  a  package  of 
money — >said  to  be  $10,000  but  really  $15,000  (to  save 
extra  express  charges)  which  a  bank  was  sending  to 
Winnipeg.  There  was  absolutely  no  clue  to  the  rob- 
bery. For  years  Van  was  shadowed  by  local  and  im- 
ported detectives  and  every  device  resorted  to  in  order 
to  catch  him.  His  friends  stood  staunchly  by  him,  but 
the  money  was  gone,  and  who  could  have  taken  it  if  not 
Van?  Coming  on  the  train  from  Devil's  Lake,  Dakota, 
to  Grand  Forks  one  day,  I  met  Jack  Noble,  a  detective, 
whom  I  'had  known  for  years.  He  told  me  the  express 
company  never  let  up  in  running  down  express  robbers, 
and  that  he  expected  to  catch  Van  before  long — and 
this  was  a  couple  of  years  after  the  theft.  In  a  friendly 
spirit  I  told  Van  all  this  when  I  reached  home,  but  Van 
seemed  perfectly  unconcerned,  and  said  he  was  as 
much  interested  in  solving  the  mystery  as  the  company 
was.  Some  years  later  when  in  London,  England,  I 
spent  an  evening  wiith  H.  G.  McMicken,  who  at  the  time 
of  this  robbery  occupied  part  of  the  express  office  as  a 
railway  and  steamship  ticket  office.  He  was  a  sort  of 
amateur  detective  and  could  open  a  safe  in  first-class 
Raffles  style,  and  he  had  given  a  good  deal  of  attention 
and  thought  to  this  affair.  The  only  solution  he  could 
offer — and  it  was  probably  the  correct  one — was  that 
on  the  eventful  day  a  number  of  workmen  were  employ- 
ed in  whitewashing  the  office.  The  vault  door  had  been 
left  ajar,  and  one  of  the  men,  seizing  the  opportunity, 
had  snatched  the  package  and  secreted  it  in  his  white- 


58  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

wash  pail,  where  it  would  immediately  be  covered  with 
the  lime  solution.  He  could  then  easily  leave  for  lunch 
with  his  booty  in  the  pail,  which  he  doubtless  did.  This 
theory  was  afterwards  corroborated  by  a  contractor 
who  told  a  friend  of  mine  that  the  culprit  had  confessed 
the  crime  to  him — a  long  time  after  it  had  been  com- 
mitted. And  the  express  company  was  out  only  $10,000 
besides  its  expenses  for  detectives,  and  the  bank  lost 
$5,000.  But  the  latter 's  reputation  suffered  more  than 
Van's. 

The  Case  of  Lord  Gordon-Gordon 

A  remarkable  case  was  that  of  Lord  Gordon-Gordon, 
a  presumed  nobleman,  who  in  the  early  70 's  cut  a  wide 
swath  in  Minnesota,  where  he  was  royally  entertained 
by  leading  people.  He  intimated  that  he  was  acting 
for  his  sister,  who  desired  to  invest  heavily  in  western 
lands.  He  was  "pie"  for  the  Minnesotans,  who  were 
willing  to  unload  on  her  ladyship  all  the  land  she 
coveted.  A  fine  looking  gentlemanly  fellow,  he  quickly 
made  hosts  of  friends.  It  was  not  long  before  it  was 
discovered  that  his  lordship  had  previously  got  into 
difficulties  in  New  York  with  Jay  Gould,  the  well-known 
railway  magnate,  and  was  out  on  bail.  He  promptly 
immigrated  to  Manitoba,  and  to  secure  his  return  to 
the  United  States  an  attempt  was  made  to  kidnap  him. 
He  was  forcibly  seized  at  the  residence  of  Hon.  James 
McKay,  whose  guest  he  was,  and  hurried  towards  the 
boundary  line,  but  the  authorities  interfered  and 
brought  back  Lord  Gordon-Gordon  and  his  kidnappers 
to  Winnipeg,  wfhere  the  offenders  and  their  ac- 
complices, who  were  prominent  business  men  and 
politicians  of  Minnesota,  were  lodged  in  jail.  Amongst 
them  was  Loren  Fletcher,  of  St.  Paul,  who  wired  his 
friends  a  pithy  telegram  which  has  been  often  quoted : 
"I  am  in  a  hell  of  a  fix."    Lord  Gordon- Gordon,  who 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  59 

had  the  sympathy  of  the  people,  went  to  a  friend's 
house  in  Headingly,  and  when  advised  that  he  would 
have  to  be  extradited,  asked  for  time  to  pack  a  few 
clothes,  went  into  an  adjoining  room,  from  which  was 
heard  the  sharp  report  of  a  revolver,  and  when  his 
friends  rushed  in  he  was  dead.  Who  and  what  he  was 
has  never  been  revealed,  but  some  years  later 
Chambers's  Journal  had  a  long  and  interesting  article 
about  him,  in  which  it  was  made  to  appear  that  he  was 
the  illegitimate  offspring  of  a  Cornish  family,  whose 
ancestry  had  accumulated  great  wealth  through  smug- 
gling. His  remarkable  career  is  now  about  forgotten, 
but  he  set  the  pace  in  New  York  and  through  Minnesota 
and  created  more  excitement  in  Winnipeg  than  any 
other  event  of  the  early  days,  excepting  perhaps  the 
Eiel  Rebellion. 

The  Farr  Case 

Early  in  the  morning  of  Saturday,  April  13, 1895,  the 
wife  and  children  of  William  Farr,  a  C.P.R.  locomotive 
engineer,  operating  a  yard  engine  at  Winnipeg,  were 
awakened  by  the  smell  of  smoke  and  fire,  and  their  cries 
aroused  Mr.  T.  C.  Jones,  living  in  the  adjoining  house, 
which  was  a  double  frame  structure  on  the  south-east 
corner  of  Ross  and  Isabel  Streets.  The  aid  of  neighbors 
speedily  extinguished  the  flames.  On  arrival  of  Chief 
Billy  Code,  of  the  fire  brigade,  the  smell  of  coal  oil 
aroused  his  suspicions  and  he  sent  for  the  police.  On 
investigation,  it  was  found  that  coal  oil  had  been 
sprinkled  on  the  steps,  both  front  and  rear,  of  the  stair- 
ways leading  upstairs,  and  also  around  the  windows 
and  doors  leading  outside.  The  conduct  of  Farr  while 
on  his  engine  and  following  the  period  of  the  midnight 
meal  by  asking  if  his  mates  had  not  heard  a  fire  alarm, 
and  the  conditions  at  his  house,  were  sufficient  to  cause 
his  arrest  by  the  police.    Only  circumstantial  evidence 


60  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

was  in  possession  of  the  police  and  they  could  not  dis- 
cover a  motive  for  the  dastardly  deed  by  Farr.  It  was 
on  information  which  James  Hooper,  city  editor  of 
the  Daily  Nor'-Wester,  of  which  I  was  then  managing 
editor,  furnished  Chief  Code  and  Chief  of  Police  Mc- 
Rae,  that  they  traced  his  connection  with  a  young  wo- 
man, whom  he  had  promised  to  marry.  He  had  attend- 
ed church  and  theatres  with  her  and  had  made  her 
many  costly  presents  of  clothing  and  furs. 

Farr  escaped  from  the  police  station  during  the 
early  hours  of  Monday  morning,  April  15,  by  wrench- 
ing one  of  the  iron  bars  out  and  then  spreading  the 
others  sufficiently  to  permit  him  getting  his  body 
through,  and  opening  the  window,  made  his  escape.  He 
got  away  and  was  not  recaptured  for  a  considerable 
period.  It  is  supposed  he  was  concealed  in  the  cab  of 
a  westbound  locomotive.  On  his  recapture  he  was  tried 
and  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  five  years  in  the  peni- 
tentiary. On  his  release,  after  serving  his  term,  he 
took  up  residence  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  The  young 
woman  subsequently  married  a  farmer  and  lived  for  a 
number  of  years  in  the  vicinity  of  Glenella.. 

Well  I  remember  the  day  she  came  half  frightened 
into  the  Nor-'Wester  office  to  endeavor  to  have  her 
name  in  connection  with  the  affair  kept  out  of  the 
paper.  To  me  behind  closed  doors  she  tearfully  related 
her  version  of  her  companionship  with  Farr,  whom 
she  said  she  had  frequently  seen  in  church  with  his 
family,  but  which,  she  alleged,  he  told  her  was  his  dead 
brother's  widow  and  children,  whom  he  was  support- 
ing. Between  her  hysterics  and  weeping,  I  said  con- 
soling words  and  showed  her  the  futility  of 
suppressing  her  name,  and  finally  convinced  her  that 
her  story  would,  if  printed,  be  better  for  her.  When 
she  left  she  was,  although  undoubtedly  ill,  com- 
paratively in  bettered  condition,  and,  as  it  was  raining, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  61 

I  sent  her  home  in  a  cab,  with  strict  injunctions  to  take 
a  hot  drink  and  go  straight  to  bed,  and  to  see  no  one, 
which  she  did.  That  evening  the  Nor '-Wester  had  a 
two  column  story  with  startling  headings,  and  the 
other  papers  hadn't  a  line. 

Some  Prominent  Old-Timers 

Among  the  many  outstanding  figures  of  those  days 
was  W.  F.  Luxton,  founder  of  the  Free  Press.  There 
were  three  other  newspapers  published  in  the  village 
of  Winnipeg  when  Kenney  &  Luxton  issued  the  Mani- 
toba Free  Press,  a  weekly,  in  1872.  The  Free  Press 
embodied  and  expressed  Mr.  Luxton 's  views  on  public 
questions  and  also  his  ideas  as  to  what  news- 
paper service  to  the  public  should  be.  The  paper 
grew  from  weekly  to  daily  in  due  course  and  secured  a 
hold  upon  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  people  of 
Manitoba  which,  under  many  changes  of  management 
and  policy,  it  keeps  in  a  large  measure  to  this  day. 

Among  the  clergy  of  the  day,  the  Rev.  George  Young, 
pastor  of  the  Grace  Church,  may  well  be  mentioned. 
He  had  arrived  at  Fort  Garry  as  Missionary  of  the 
Methodist  Church,  shortly  before  the  transfer  to  Can- 
ada. He  was  outspoken  on  behalf  of  Canadian  con- 
nection. When  Kiel  assumed  control,  Mr.  Young,  be- 
cause of  his  office,  was  not  arrested,  but  he  was  kept 
under  threat  and  surveillance.  He  administered  the 
sacrament  to  Thomas  Scott  before  his  execution  by 
Kiel's  partisans.  He  was  not  a  pulpit  orator,  but  he 
was  always  leading  in  the  right  direction.  Whether 
preaching  to  immigrant  congregations  or  Indian  bands, 
administering  the  last  rites  to  the  condemned  Scott  or 
helping  to  organize  and  cheer  on  the  handful  of  volun- 
teers hastily  gathered  to  resist  the  Fenian  raid  of  1870 
at  Pembina  (his  own  son,  George,  in  the  ranks),  or 


62  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

again  preaching  for  honesty  and  good  government  to 
peaceful  Grace  Church  congregations,  Rev.  Mr.  Young 
was  a  strong  force  for  right  and  for  Canada  at  the 
moment  when  the  future  course  of  events  was  being 
set. 

During  the  troublous  times  both  before  and  after 
the  transfer  of  1869,  St.  John's  Mission  Cathedral  of 
the  Church  of  England  with  its  boys'  college  in  con- 
nection held  a  quiet  course  and  did  its  allotted  work. 
The  fact  that  the  Rev.  Dr.  Machray  of  St.  John's  dur- 
in  the  70  's  was  afterwards  elected  Metropolitan  of 
Canada  is  sufficient  evidence  that  in  that  field  also  was 
large  ability  successfully  applied.  Rev.  Mr.  Clarke  was 
the  pastor  of  Holy  Trinity  Church,  succeeded  by  Rev. 
Mr.  Fortin,  who  did  yeoman  service,  and  Rev.  Sam  P. 
Matheson,  of  St.  John's,  became  Primate  of  all  Can- 
ada, an  honor  which  he  deservedly  gained.  Dean  Gris- 
dale,  Rev.  Mr.  Pinkham,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Al- 
berta, and  Bishop  Maclean,  universally  known  as  Sas- 
katchewan Jack,  were  prominent  in  church  work. 
Canon  McKay  was  an  early  missionary  of  the  Anglican 
Church.  Rev.  Mr.  Ewing  was  the  first  Congregational 
minister,  and  Rev.  J.  B.  Silcox  and  Rev.  Hugh  Pedley 
followed,  and  I  think  Rev.  Mr.  Macdonald  was  the  first 
Baptist — all  earnest  workers.  Rev.  John  Semmens, 
who  recently  died,  was  long  a  missionary  amongst  the 
Crees.  Rev.  Mr.  Black,  Rev.  Dr.  Robertson,  Rev.  Prof. 
Hart,  Rev.  Dr.  Duval,  Rev.  C.  B.  Pitblado,  Rev.  Alex. 
Grant  and  Rev.  John  McNeil  were  pioneer  Presby- 
terians of  great  distinction,  and  across  the  river  His 
Grace  Archbishop  Tache  with  Fathers  Cherrier  and 
Cloutier  aided  in  the  great  Christianizing  work,  and 
were  beloved  by  both  Protestant  and  Catholic ;  while  on 
the  plains  the  lamented  Father  Lacombe  and  others  of 
the  black  robe  carried  the  Cross  and  taught  the  Word 
with  beneficial  results. 


EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  63 

Speaking  of  present  day  industries,  the  Brown  & 
Butherford  planing  mill  and  sash  factory  was  an  insti- 
tution in  1873,  and  the  Vulcan  Iron  works  were  estab- 
lished by  Mr.  John  McKechnie  of  Dundas,  Ont.,  shortly 
after.  Following  these  there  were  the  lumber  firms  of 
Macauley  &  Jarvis,  Dick  Banning,  D.  E.  Sprague, 
Smith  &  Melville,  and  the  business  firms  of  A.  G.  B. 
Bannatyne,  W.  H.  Lyons,  Kew  &  Stobart,  afterwards 
Stobart  &  Eden,  Andrew  and  Robert  Strang,  Alex.  Mc- 
Intyre,  Blair  &  Larmour,  Alexander  &  Bryce,  Higgins, 
Young  &  Jackson,  George  Andrews,  J.  E.  Cameron, 
Noel  Chevrier,  Kenny  Murchison,  J.  H.  Brock,  who 
inaugurated  the  Great  Western  Life  Assurance  Co., 
the  Blue  Store,  Snyder  &  Anderson,  Scott  &  Carson, 
Thomas  Ryan,  McLennagan  &  Mallock,  J.  F.  Cald- 
well, D.  McArthur,  banker,  F.  H.  Brydges,  Geo. 
R.  Crowe,-  Willie  Whitehead,  Charlie  Enderton, 
Capt.  Donaldson,  Bishop  &  Shelton,  Mulholland 
&  Taylor,  Fred  Ossenbrugge,  Fred  Brydges, 
Richard  Waugh,  and  his  sons  J.  C,  and  Richard  D., 
who  became  mayor  of  the  city,  and  is  now  settling 
affairs  in  Europe,  Capt.  Wm.  Robinson,  who  did 
effective  service  in  the  South  African  campaign, 
the  Stovels,  George  Clements,  Robert  Wyatt,  Thos. 
W.  Taylor,  Charlie  Radiger,  who  started  the  first 
distillery  in  Winnipeg,  and  offered  five  -  year  -  old 
on  the  opening  day,  Trott  &  Melville,  James  Stewart, 
Conklin  &  Fortune,  Hugh  and  James  Sutherland, 
William  Dodd,  Alloway  &  Champion,  bankers,  Jos. 
Penrose,  John  Haffner,  Alfred  Pearson,  W.  D.  Russell, 
Dan  Campbell,  Parsons  &  Richardson,  Geo.  Murray,  E. 
L.  and  Fred  Drewry,  G.  F.  &  J.  Gait,  George  Wishart, 
J.  W.  Winnett,  Alex.  Calder,  W.  D.  Blackford,  Joe 
Wolf,  W.  Dufour,  Jim  Coolican,  Doc  W.  J.  Hinman, 
Stewart  Mulvey,  E.  Brokovski,  William  Bryden,  Geo. 
Muttlebury,  Geo.  F.  Carruthers,  William  Wellband, 


64  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

A.  H.  Bertrand,  Benson  &  Taylor,  Scott  &  Leslie,  Gold 
Seal  Jones,  Laney  Hibbard  and  bis  big  dog,  E.  Boyce, 
wbo  was  a  partner  of  Jimmy  Steen,  and  made  a  fortune 
publishing  a  weekly  paper  in  Chicago,  and  goodness 
knows  how  many  more,  but  few  of  them  are  now  in 
existence. 

Tom  Verner  and  Tom  Persse  were  amongst  the 
singers — saw  Tom  in  the  movies  recently — and  Lonis 
de  Plainville,  known  as  Louis  Nathal  on  the  stage,  was 
a  fine  artist.  Harry  Prince,  Charlie  Armstrong,  Jack 
McGinn,  Bob  Halloway,  Frank  I.  Clarke,  Graham 
Boston,  Jim  Phillips,  Goodwin  Ford,  Charlie  Sharpe 
and  many  others,  were  amongst  the  good  fellows  of 
those  days. 

There  were  also  some  real  characters  in  town, 
notably  Ginger  Snooks,  Dick  Burden,  and  Dublin  Dan. 
Ed.  McKeown  was  a  pugilist  of  more  than  local  repute 
but  he  soon  retired  from  the  ring. 

Amongst  the  press  boys  were,  besides  those  already 
mentioned,  Jack  Cameron,  afterwards  with  the  Hamil- 
ton Spectator,  Charlie  Tuttle,  Ned  Farrer,  Amos  Rowe, 
T.  H.  Preston,  now  of  Brantford,  Billy  Dennis 
(Senator  before  his  untimely  passing  away),  Donald 
Beaton  and  his  two  sons,  Fred.  C.  Wade,  Charlie  Keel- 
ing, Billy  Moss,  Frank  McGuire,  later  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco and  New  York  press,  Jimmy  Poole,  now  of 
Chicago,  Col.  Scoble,  Charlie  Handscombe,  Walter 
Payne,  W.  E.  MacLellan,  now  in  Halifax,  R.  L.  Rich- 
ardson, John  Moncrieff,  Jim  Hooper,  Billy  Perkins, 
Thos.  E.  Morden,  Wm.  Coldwell,  who  with  William 
Buckingham,  started  the  first  paper  in  the  city,  George 
Brooks  of  Siftings,  Bill  Nagle,  who  started  the  Sun, 
The  Khan,  still  alive  at  his  Ontario  country  house,  en- 
livening the  press  of  Canada  with  his  canticles,  A.  J. 
Magurn,  Alex  McQueen,  Acton  Burrows,  Molyneux  St. 
John,  Jim  Fahey,  who  died  in  Toronto,  John  Conklin, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  65 

Robert  Houston,  W.  S.  Thompson,  Ernie  Blow,  now 
publicity  agent  of  the  C.  N.  R.  in  the  West,  Walter 
Nursey  and  John  Lewis,  now  press  agent  of  the  Liberal 
party.  Papers  were  born  and  papers  were  buried,  and 
resurrections  were  frequent. 

And  the  city  hall  and  court  house  officials — well, 
amongst  them  were  A.  M.  Brown,  the  veteran  city 
clerk,  who  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Charlie,  who  is 
still  on  the  job;  J.  W.  Harris,  the  assessor,  and  his 
successor,  E.  Ward  Smith,  of  Yukon  fame,  D.  S.  Curry, 
comptroller,  Tax  Collector  George  Hadskis,  T.  H.  Parr 
and  H.  H.  Ruttan,  city  engineers,  Dave  Marshall  of 
the  market,  W.  G.  Scott,  the  treasurer,  and  Harry 
Kirk,  the  janitor. 

At  the  court  house  were  W.  E.  Macara,  Geoff. 
Walker,  P.  A.  Macdonald,  L.  Betourney,  county  court 
clerk,  Ed.  Marston  and  next  door,  Pat  Lawlor,  the 
jailor,  was  a  faithful  official. 

And  Darby  Taylor,  too,  dear  old  Darby,  and  Dr. 
Kerr  gave  us  another  item.  Coming  in  from  Stoney 
Mountain  one  night,  they  were  overtaken  by  a  blinding 
blizzard.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  unhitch  the 
horse,  wrap  themselves  up  in  a  buffalo  robe  as  best 
they  could,  and  as  uncomfortably  as  possible,  and 
await  the  early  dawn,  which  isn  't  very  early  during  the 
winter  months  in  northern  latitudes.  Then  they  dis- 
covered that  they  were  only  a  few  yards  away  from  a 
farmhouse  whose  occupants  would  gladly  have  furn- 
ished them  shelter. 

The  Inside  Story  of  a  Deal 

It  was  in  January,  1882,  that  Mr.  Robert  S.  White, 
then,  as  now,  chief  editor  of  the  Montreal  Gazette, 
whose  casual  acquaintance  I  had  previously  made  in 
the  East,  arrived  one  morning  at  Winnipeg,  on  an 
interesting  mission.    He  was  accompanied  by  General 

(6) 


66  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

J.  S.  Williams  of  New  York;  or,  as  Mr.  White  took 
pains  to  tell  me,  lie  was  merely  General  Williams' 
cicerone  for  the  trip.  Their  object  was  to  purchase  the 
charter  of  the  Great  Northwest  Telegraph  Company. 
It  came  about  in  this  way:  the  Union  Mutual  Tele- 
graph Company  had  been  organized  in  New  York  a 
few  months  previously  by  Messrs.  Evans,  Moore  and 
other  financial  magnates  as  a  competitor  of  the  West- 
ern Union.  A  considerable  mileage  of  wire  had  been 
strung  and  was  in  operation.  It  was  important  for 
the  Union  Mutual  to  obtain  connection  with  Montreal, 
Toronto  and  other  principal  eastern  points  in  Can- 
ada. Learning  of  the  existence  of  the  Great  North- 
west Telegraph  charter  they  decided  to  buy  it  if  pos- 
sible. General  Williams  was  deputed  to  proceed  to 
Montreal  to  confer  with  Mr.  Charles  R.  Hosmer,  now 
a  leading  figure  in  Canadian  finance,  railways,  bank- 
ing and  industry,  who  had  then  left  the  position  of 
manager  of  the  Dominion  Telegraph  Company  at 
Montreal  to  join  the  staff  of  the  Union  Mutual.  It  was 
agreed  that  General  Williams  with  Mr.  White  should 
proceed  to  Winnipeg. 

Time  pressed.  It  had  leaked  out  that  the  Western 
Union  was  hot  after  the  G.N.W.  charter.  The  telegraph 
lines  to  Winnipeg  being  under  control  of  that  company, 
the  risk  of  a  message  to  myself  to  obtain  options  on  the 
G.N.W.  shares  held  in  Winnipeg  was  deemed  too  great. 
So  the  conspirators,  Williams  and  White,  proceeded 
by  rail.  Fortune  did  not  favor  them,  they  arriving  at 
Winnipeg  about  two  days  after  Erastus  Wiman's 
agent,  acting  for  the  Western  Union,  had  secured  the 
plum.  And  it  was  a  plum,  the  G.N.W.  charter  being  of 
the  blanket  variety;  good  for  all  kinds  of  telegraph 
construction  and  operation  from  Dan  to  Beersheba 
within  the  Dominion  of  Canada,  but  it  only  ran  zig-zag 
from  Winnipeg  to  nowhere  in  particular.  My  recollec- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  67 

tion  is  that  the  price  paid  by  the  Western  Union  agent 
for  the  whole  capital  stock  of  the  G.N.W.  was  about 
$8,000.  When  Hon.  John  Norquay  and  his  associates, 
who  had  parted  with  their  stock,  learned  what  General 
Williams  was  prepared  to  pay,  what  they  said  was 
quite  unfit  for  publication.  However,  we  solaced  our 
sorrows  in  the  club  and  took  it  out  of  Mr.  Wiman  in 
the  manner  customary  to  such  incidents.  It  may  be  of 
interest  to  learn  how  nearly  the  Great  Northwest  Tele- 
graph charter  escaped  the  Western  Union,  which  soon 
after  that  date  became  perpetual  lessee  of  the  pro- 
perty linked  up  under  the  former  name,  and  in  which 
the  old  Montreal  Telegraph  Company  was  merged. 

Keal  Trouble  Arises 

When  Fort  Rouge  was  taken  into  the  city  I  began  to 
figure  in  really  troublesome  times.  Fort  Rouge  was 
created  a  ward  of  the  city,  but  given  no  representation 
in  the  city  council,  which  its  people  wouldn't  stand. 
What  they  lacked  in  numbers  they  made  up  in  noise 
and  determination.  A  meeting  of  a  score  or  so  resi- 
dents, nearly  all  there  were,  was  held,  and  three  alder- 
men were  selected  (not  elected)  to  represent  the  ward 
in  the  city  council.  They  were  Mr.  Thomas  Nixon,  a 
well-known  citizen,  strong  with  the  church-going  com- 
munity, Mr.  Stewart  Mulvey,  a  prominent  Orangeman 
and  brewer,  and  myself,  without  any  particular  pedi- 
gree. We  three  attended  the  first  council  meeting  held 
after  our  selection,  and  got  a  mighty  cool  reception. 
Mayor  McMicken,  while  sympathizing  with  us,  followed 
legal  advice  and  would  not  recognize  us  any  more  than 
he  could  help.  In  attempting  to  address  the  chair  we 
were  ordered  to  sit  down  which  we  readily  did,  only  to 
arise  again,  and  receive  the  same  treatment.  It  was 
not  until  the  other  aldermen  were  threatened  with  legal 
prosecution  that  we  were  at  all  acknowledged.    The  old 


68  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

municipality  of  Fort  Rouge  had  $1,700  in  its  coffers, 
but  just  before  its  termination  as  a  separate  munici- 
pality, the  funds  were  voted  into  Mr.  Nixon's  hands,  as 
trustee,  and  we  were  going  to  fight  the  beasts  of 
Ephesus  with  that  money.  In  fact  we  had  engaged 
Fred  McKenzfe,  a  bright  young  lawyer,  and  the  city 
compromised — 'after  an  indignation  meeting  had  been 
held  at  which  Charlie  Wishart  and  other  non-residents 
of  Fort  Rouge  vigorously  denounced  the  council  for  its 
disgraceful  conduct.  We  were  given  our  seats,  and  an 
act  was  passed  by  the  Legislature  to  legalize  all  that 
had  been  done.  Then  the  proceedings  deteriorated  in- 
to what  one  sagacious  alderman  termed  a  "beer 
garden. ' '  There  was  a  feud  between  Aid.  George  Wil- 
son and  Aid.  Mark  Fortune  (who  was  a  victim  of  the 
Titanic  disaster)  and  these  two  had  no  particular  love 
for  one  another.  One  night  while  Aid.  Wilson,  Mulvey 
and  myself  were  going  to  a  council  meeting,  the  ques- 
tion of  the  legality  of  a  certain  by-law  was  discussed. 
Aid.  Wilson  said  it  was  ultra  vires,  and  I  told  him,  in 
discussing  its  legality  in  council,  to  again  say  it  was 
when  I  pulled  his  coat-tail.  I  sat  between  the  two 
warring  aldermen.  Wilson  started  out  on  the  by-law, 
and  Mark  was  busy  writing  a  proposed  motion.  At  the 
psychological  moment,  I  pulled  Wilson's  coat-tail,  and 
he  addressed  the  Mayor : 

"But,  Mr.  Mayor,  I  fear  it's  ultra  vires." 

Turning  to  Aid.  Fortune  I  whispered : 

"Mark,  did  you  hear  what  he  called  you?" 

"No,  what  is  it ?" 

"Why  he  called  you  an  ultra  vires." 

"What's  that?"  Mark  asked. 

"Well,  I'd  rather  be  called  a  dog's  child  than  that 
— it's  the  meanest  thing  anybody  can  be  called." 

Mark  arose  indignantly  and,  interrupting  Wilson's 
remarks,  shouted — ' ' 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  69 

"Mr.  Mayor — Mr.  Mayor — " 

Then,  turning  to  me,  he  remarked  sarcastically  in  a 
stage  whisper  that  everyone  could  hear : 

"Oh,  it's  only  Wilson.  Nobody  cares  a  hang  what 
he  says." 

At  another  time,  I  walked  into  the  finance  committee 
meeting  from  one  of  the  license  and  police  I  had  been 
attending  and  found  Aid.  Nixon — ' '  Dad ' '  we  familiarly 
called  him — crouched  up  and  shaking  with  laughter 
until  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  A  previous 
council  had  been  loudly  denounced  for  its  incapacity, 
and  "Dad"  handed  me  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  he 
had  written  the  opinion  of  a  brother  alderman : 

"Under  the  old  rigma  things  were  in  a  state  of 
cahose." 

The  alderman  meant  to  say  that  "under  the  old 

regime  things  were  in  a  state  of  chaos."    I  shouldn't 

translate  his  meaning  for  it  spoils  a  joke  to  have  to 

explain  it. 

Always  Have  Proof 

It  is  always  advisable  to  have  positive  proof  of  your 
assertions,  no  matter  how  respectable  you  may  be.  I 
learned  this  when  on  a  trip  on  Lake  Manitoba  in  the 
80  's.  Our  party,  wjhich  consisted  of  Hon.  C.  P.  Brown, 
Minister  of  Public  Works,  in  the  Norquay  government, 
Hon.  Alex.  Sutherland,  provincial  secretary,  F.  H. 
Mathewson,  manager  of  the  Merchants  Bank,  George 
B.  Spencer,  the  venerable  collector  of  customs  at  Win- 
nipeg— the  two  latter  being  prominent  in  Episcopal 
church  matters — George  Dennison  Taylor,  who  wore 
a  plug  hat,  and  myself.  We  had  gone  to  the  White 
Mud  river  by  train,  then  took  Pratt's  big  tug-boat  to 
the  upper  end  of  the  lake,  where  we  overtook  His  Lord- 
ship Archbishop  Machray  and  his  party,  who  had  been 
nearly  a  week  longer  than  we  had  in  reaching  Partridge 
Crop    river    by    driving    and    canoeing.      After    the 


70  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

customary  greetings,  His  Lordship  casually  asked  Mr. 
Brown  when  he  had  left  Winnipeg.  " Yesterday,' ' 
promptly  answered  C.  P.  The  Archbishop  looked  in- 
credulous, as  from  his  own  personal  experience,  that 
was  impossible.  So  he  turned  to  Mr.  Sutherland  and 
to  Mr.  Mathewison  and  to  Mr.  Spencer  and  individually 
made  the  same  enquiry,  which  evoked  the  same  reply. 
His  Grace  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears,  although 
he  had  every  confidence  in  their  veracity,  and  especial- 
ly of  his  co-workers  and  fellow  churchmen.  So  in 
despair  he  turned  to  me,  and  satirically  asked,  "Well, 
then,  Mr.  Ham,  when  did  you  leave  Winnipeg  V9  "  Oh, 
I  came  with  this  party  and" — producing  it — "here's  a 
copy  of  yesterday's  Free  Press  I  brought  along  for 
you. ' ' 

The  good  prelate  was  greatly  relieved  for  my  posi- 
tive proof  as  to  the  time  we  left  the  city  had  assured 
him  that  all  men  were  not  liars — as  he  had  really  begun 
to  believe  the  others  were.  I  sat  in  a  front  pew  the 
next  Sunday  in  St.  John's  Cathedral,  and  His  Lordship 
preached  a  thoughtful  sermon  on  the  sin  of  bearing 
false  witness  against  one's  neighbors  and  the  beneficial 
advantages  of  making  your  statements  full  and  clear. 

It  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  above  incident,  but 
George  Dennison  Taylor,  (who  recently  passed  away  in 
Montreal,  deeply  lamented),  while  we  were  on  the  tug- 
boat, persisted  in  speaking  of  "  Nee-a-gare-a. "  We 
couldn  't  make  out  what  on  earth  he  was  talking  about, 
and  he  finally  told  us  it  was  about  the  great  cataract. 
He  was  informed  that  in  civilized  and  Christian 
countries,  it  was  pronounced  "Niagara,"  but  he  per- 
sisted in  calling  it  "Nee-a-gare-a,"  until  he  was 
threatened  with  being  thrown  into  the  lake  if  he  didn't 
give  it  the  proper  pronunciation.  When  he  again  per- 
sisted in  his  aboriginal  pronunciation  of  the  Falls. 
Aleck  Sutherland   and  I — both  husky  chaps — grabbed 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  71 

George  and  threw  him  overboard.  Down  he  went  into 
the  depths — all  But  his  shiny  plug,  and  when  he  came 
up  we  yelled  at  him,  "Niagara  or  Nee-a-gare-a?"  and 
he  answered  "Nee-a-gare-a."  Down  he  went  again, 
but  when  he  came  to  the  surface,  submissively  an- 
nounced that  the  proper  pronunciation  was  Niagara. 
He  was  then  hauled  aboard,  and  so  was  the  plug,  and 
when  he  learned  that  the  lake  was  about  forty  miles 
long  and  only  seven  miles  wide,  and  goodness  knows 
how  deep  he  cheerfully  admitted  that  "Niagara"  was 
a  more  picturesque  and  poetical  word  than  "Nee-a- 
gare-a.  ' '    And  so  it  is. 

Winnipeg  Doctors  Play  Practical  Jokes 

Dr.  Patterson  was  a  leading  physician  of  Winnipeg, 
but  he  is  my  medical  adviser  no  longer.  This  is  why. 
One  Hallowe  'en  about  10  o  'clock,  wihen  I  was  handling 
flimsy  on  the  Free  Press — three  different  services  were 
enough  to  drive  a  man  to  distraction — I  was  going 
down  to  the  business  office,  when  the  Doctor,  collarless 
and  coat  unbuttoned,  rushed  in  and  excitedly  said : 

"Great  guns,  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  re- 
covered ! ' ' 

< « Prom  what  1 ' '  I  naturally  asked. 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "just  got  a  'phone  that  you  had 
fallen  in  a  fit."  Grabbing  my  wrist,  he  encouragingly 
remarked  as  he  felt  my  pulse:  "Well,  it's  not  so  bad. 
A  little  stimulant  will  put  you  all  right."  And  he 
dragged  me  across  the  road  to  Clougher's. 

As  we  were  returning  to  the  office  and  had  reached 
the  lane  in  the  rear  of  Clougher's,  we  heard  footsteps 
hastening  down  the  sidewalk  from  Main  Street. 

Hold  on,"  he  said,  "let's  see  what's  up."     The 

up"  was  Dr.  Good,  and  Dr.  Jones,  and  Dr.  Cowan 
and  Dr.  Neilson  and  Dr.  Benson  and  Dr.  Henderson 
and  Dr.  Codd  and  others,  making  a  round  dozen  in 


72  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

all,  and  they  were  all  glad  to  see  me  alive.  Each 
mother's  son  had  received  a  similar  'phone  call  to  the 
one  Dr.  Patterson  said  he  had  got.  The  whole  medical 
fraternity  boldly  charged  me  with  playing  a  Hal- 
lowe'en trick  on  them,  Dr.  Patterson  being  the  loudest 
in  his  denunciation.  I  tried  to  explain  my  entire  in- 
nocence to  the  whole  group  at  Clougher's,  but  it  evi- 
dently did  not  go  with  them.  Dr.  Good  said  he  had 
just  retired  from  general  practice  and  had  become  a 
specialist,  but  on  account  of  our  old  friendship  he  had 
left  a  patient  in  his  office  to  answer  the  call.  Dr.  Jones, 
who  was  in  his  slippers,  stated  that  he  was  about  to 
retire  after  a  hard  day's  work,  but  couldn't  see  me 
sutler.  Dr.  Neilson  asserted  that  he  had  to  neglect  an- 
other patient  to  answer  this  fool  call,  and  what  the 
other  doctors  said  was  unfit  for  publication,  They  all 
looked  upon  me  with  suspicion  and  if  another  call  had 
been  given  them  for  me  that  night,  I  would  have  died 
of  old  age  before  they  would  have  come  to  my  aid. 

It  was  a  long  time  afterwards  when  old  Alex  Mc- 
Laren, of  the  McLaren  House,  and  I  met  in  front  of 
Trott  &  Melville's  drug  store  on  Main  Street,  just  a 
short  distance  from  the  Free  Press  office.  We  always 
stopped  and  had  a  chat  when  we  met,  and  this  time 
Mac  burst  out  laughing  and  said:  "That  was  a  good 
one  we  put  over  you  last  Hallowe  'en,  wasn  't  it  1 "  Then 
he  realized  he  had  said  too  much  and  was  as  dumb  as 
an  oyster.  Finally,  he  admitted  that  he  and  Dr.  Pat- 
terson were  walking  past  that  drug  store  on  that  fate- 
ful evening,  and  the  Doctor  put  up  the  job  on  me  and 
his  confreres.  He  went  in  and  arranged  with  the  tele- 
phone exchange  to  call  up  the  other  medical  men,  then 
taking  off  his  collar  and  disarranging  his  clothes  as  if 
he  had  rushed  out  to  answer  a  hurry-up  call,  piked  for 
the  Free  Press  half  a  block  away.  And  even  to  this 
day  the  Doctor  unblushingly  asseverates  that  by  his 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  73 

prompt  action  he  actually  saved  my  life.  I  never  re- 
ceived a  bill  for  their  services — but  they  made  me 
spend  all  my  money  at  Clougher  's  that  night  in  render- 
ing continued  aid  to  their  injured  feelings.  And  that 's 
the  kind  of  man  Dr.  Patterson  is. 

A  Big  Scandal 

Col.  W.  N.  Kennedy  was  mayor  of  Winnipeg  when 
the  city  bought  its  first  piano.  People  maliciously  said 
that  the  instrument  was  an  old  one  belonging  to  the 
mayor  which  he  had  palmed  off  on  the  city.  Of  course 
there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  the  report,  but  it 
would  not  down.  At  a  concert  one  evening,  Miss 
Chambers,  a  niece  of  Col.  Kennedy,  now  Mrs.  W.  W. 
McMillan,  a  composer  of  high  ability,  was  playing  a 
number,  when  one  of  the  mayor's  detractors  who  sat 
beside  me  said  in  a  stage  whisper : 

" There,  doesn't  that  prove  that's  the  mayor's  old 
piano?  How  would  his  niece  know  where  to  put  her 
fingers  so  well  unless  she  had  played  upon  it  before?" 

That  was  proof  positive  to  him  of  the  existence  of  a 
big  scandal. 

Donald  McEwan  and  the  Waiter 

A  great  many  people  throughout  Canada  will  re- 
member with  kindly  thoughts  Mr.  Donald  McEwan, 
who  represented  the  well-known  clothing  house  of 
Shorey  &  Co.,  of  Montreal,  in  the  West.  He  used  to 
make  his  headquarters  in  Vancouver  at  the  C.P.R. 
hotel,  where  he  had  a  favorite  waiter  in  Mike — Mike, 
the  ready  witted  Irishman.  One  day  we  were  lunching 
together,  and  it  happened  that  one  waiter  bringing  in 
a  loaded  tray  for  one  of  the  guests  collided  with  an- 
other waiter  returning  to  the  kitchen  with  a  tray  full 
of  empty  dishes.  There  was  a  grand  crash  and  a  big 
smash.     "Say,  Mike,  who  got  the  worst  of  that?" 


74  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

laughingly  asked  Donald  of  Michael.    Quicker  than  a 
flash  came  back:  "The  C.P.R.,  sor." 

Another  time  my  good  friend  was  trying  to  get  a 
hurried  lunch  in  order  to  catch  a  train.  He  gave 
Michael  his  full  order,  which  included  ox-tail  soup. 
The  order  was  promptly  filled,  but  Michael  had  for- 
gotten the  soup.  "Where's  the  ox-tail ?"  demanded 
Mr.  McEwan.  "Shure,"  retorted  Mike,  "It's  where 
it  ought  to  be — behind,  sor. ' ' 

Mistaken  Identity 

Mistaken  identity  frequently  leads  to  curious  out- 
comes. For  instance,  John  Macbeth,  a  popular  young 
lawyer,  who  was  born  in  Kildonan,  and  his  brother 
Roddy,  now  a  favorite  Presbyterian  preacher  in  Van- 
couver, didn't  look  alike  as  much  as  two  peas,  but 
there  was  the  usual  family  resemblance.  At  this  par- 
ticular time  the  Reverend  Roddy  was  preaching  in 
Springfield,  not  far  from  Winnipeg.  One  day,  as  I  was 
talking  to  John,  one  of  the  Macleods  of  Kildonan,  but 
then  a  farmer  in  Springfield,  joined  us,  and  began  to 
tell  John  how  much  he  enjoyed  his  sermons.  ' '  They  're 
grand,  and  I  feel  uplifted  by  them.  •  Oh,  boy,  you  're  the 
best  preacher  I  ever  heard,  and  I  don't  want  any  better 
one,  me  whatefer  boy."  "But,"  replied  John,  "I'm 
not  Roddy;  I'm  John."  "The  hell  you  are.  Come  on 
John,  an '  let 's  have  a  drink. ' '    And  naturally — . 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Boys  are  Marching — The  Trent  Affair — The 
Fenian  Raid — The  Riel  Rebellion — A  Dangerous 
Mission — Lost  on  the  Trail — The  First  and 
Last  Naval  Engagement  on  the   Sas- 
katchewan— Rescue  of  the  Maclean 
Family — A  Church  Parade  in  the 
Wilderness — Indian   Signals 

OF  COURSE,  the  Great  World's  War  has  com- 
pletely overshadowed  all  previous  unpleasant- 
nesses, but  in  the  old  days,  minor  events,  as  they 
are  deemed  to-day,  were  of  the  most  vital  importance. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  Trent  Affair  in  1861,  when  the 
United  States  had  forcibly  taken  Mason  and  Slidell, 
the  Confederate  ambassadors,  on  their  way  to  Great 
Britain  from  the  British  steamer  Trent  at  Nassau, 
Bahama  Islands.  Great  Britain  demanded  their  instant 
release,  and  there  being  a  prolonged  delay  in  com- 
plying by  the  United  States,  steps  were  immediately 
taken  to  enforce  the  demand.  There  was  a  call  to  arms 
and  a  surprising  response  in  Canada.  Many  thousands 
more  recruits  volunteered  than  were  asked  for.  Al- 
though only  fourteen  years  of  age,  I,  with  other  Whitby 
youths  who,  like  myself  were  tall  for  their  age,  enlisted. 
There  was  no  medical  examination  in  those  times,  and 
in  a  couple  of  days  we  donned  the  now  discarded  scarlet 
infantry  uniform.  We  drilled  every  night,  carrying 
the  old  heavy  Enfield  rifle  which  seemed  to  weigh  a  ton, 
and  we  kids  went  through  our  military  exercises  until 
we  almost  became  as  lop-sided  as  a  pig  with  one  ear. 

75 


76  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

There  wasn't  one  of  us  but  devoutly  hoped,  like  the 
man  with  the  invalid  wife  that  she  would  get  well — or 
something — only  we  hoped  something  or  other  would 
happen  and  we  didn't  care  a  continental  what  it  was, 
so  long  as  we  were  relieved  of  that  awful  tiring, 
monotonous  drill.  The  United  States,  knowing  it  was 
in  the  wrong,  according  to  the  laws  of  nations,  grace- 
fully delivered  up  Messrs.  Mason  and  Slidell  and  the 
episode  happily  ended  without  any  blood  being  shed. 

An  Adventuke  With  Colonel  Denison 

In  1866,  there  was  another  call  to  arms,  when  the 
Fenians  invaded  Canada  at  Fort  Erie.  Whitby  sent  an 
able  bodied  contingent,  of  which  I  was  a  high  private, 
to  Niagara  Falls,  which  was  reached  as  the  skirmish 
at  Ridgewiay  was  being  fought.  That  campaign  was  a 
picnic,  and  as  we  were  billeted  at  the  swagger  Cataract 
House,  and  afterwards  in  barracks,  it  was  not  so  bad. 
We  had  particular  instructions  to  allow  no  one  to  enter 
the  camp  without  the  password,  and  one  day,  Private 
Jimmy  Shier  and  I  were  on  sentry  go.  Colonel  Bob 
Denison,  a  fine  soldier,  as  all  the  Denisons  were,  en- 
deavored to  pass  the  lines  on  horseback.  I  halted  him 
and  demanded  the  password,  and  he,  evidently  to  try 
me  out,  said : 

' '  You  know  me,  I  'm  Col.  Denison. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,  you  doubtless  are,  but  orders  are  orders. 
Password,  please.' ' 

He  didn't  give  it,  and  I  called  for  Jimmy,  who,  drop- 
ping his  rifle,  climbed  like  a  cat  up  the  horse 's  side,  and 
unceremoniously  pulled  the  colonel  to  the  ground.  We 
called  out  the  guard,  and  marched  the  Colonel  to  head- 
quarters. Then  the  trouble  commenced,  and  Jimmy 
and  I  were  brought  before  the  commanding  officer,  who 
had  issued  the  orders  which  we  had  faithfully  fulfilled. 
We  were  promptly  and  properly  acquitted. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  77 

Col.  Bob,  who  evidently  enjoyed  the  little  affair,  got 
even  with  us.  The  next  day  we  were  out  drilling  as 
usual,  and  when  deploying  in  full  extended  order,  were 
instructed  by  Col.  Denison  to  lie  down.  It  was  no  bed 
of  roses  we  dropped  on,  but — well,  I  never  saw  so  many 
thistles  in  all  my  life,  nor  ever  felt  so  many.  In  fact 
our  uniforms  were  more  thistles  than  clothing,  and  the 
gallant  Colonel  chuckled,  as  he  saw  us  picking  the 
prickles  from  every  conceivable  part  of  our  persons. 

Previous  to  this,  on  our  way  to  the  front,  a 
sergeant's  guard  of  us  were  billeted  in  Toronto  at  Mike 
Murphy's  joint — Mike  being  the  Fenian  head  centre. 
Well,  we  bully-ragged  that  place  all  night,  and  had  a 
very  frugal  breakfast,  the  chief  part  of  which  consisted 
of  playing  ball  with  ill  smelling  salt-herring  and  in  our 
throwing  boiled  potatoes  up  and  trying  to  catch  them 
in  our  cups  of  alleged  coffee.  Mike  had  passed  the 
word  around,  and  a  menacing  gang  of  big  dock  wal- 
lopers gathered  at  the  door,  but  we  marched  steadily, 
with  rifles  in  one  hand  and  our  heavy  buckled  belts  in 
the  other,  and  no  attempt  was  made  to  interfere  with 
us,  but  their  pointed  remarks  were  just  what  you 
would  imagine  they  might  be.  Then  we  were  sent  to 
the  Bay  Tree  (after  the  Tremont)  and  when  my  bed- 
mate  discovered  some  apple  sauce  on  the  sheets,  we 
marked  it  with  a  lead-pencil  and  recognized  it  at  dinner 
next  day.    Such  are  the  horrors  of  war. 

The  Riel  Rebellion 

When  the  Metis  rebellion  broke  out  in  1885,  Ned 
Farrer,  then  editor  of  the  Toronto  Mail,  wired  me  at 
Winnipeg,  to  secure  a  man  to  represent  his  paper  at 
the  front.  My  efforts  were  unavailing  and  I  dropped 
into  the  telegraph  office  to  send  him  a  message  to  that 
effect,  when  who  should  walk  in  but  Davis,  of  the  To- 
ronto Globe,  who  told  me  he  was  getting  a  team  of 


78  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

horses  and  a  buckboard  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what 
else,  and  intended  joining  the  troops  at  Qu'Appelle. 
There  was  nothing  private  about  the  conversation,  and 
I  wired  his  programme  to  Ned.  Quickly  came  back  the 
characteristic  reply : 

"Go  thou  and  do  likewise." 

I  went,  but  before  I  did  I  engaged  Alex.  Berard,  a 
Fort  Rouge  Metis,  whom  I  knew  well,  to  accompany 
me.  I  agreed  to  give  him  $300  if  he  got  me  into  Riel's 
camp  before  the  troops  at  Batoche,  and  as  a  pledge  of 
good  faith  gave  his  wife  $18,  on  the  distinct  under- 
standing that  if  I  were  killed,  I  wouldn't  pay  the  $300 
and  would  get  my  $18  back.  Aleck  and  I,  with  a  lot  of 
provisions,  went  out  to  Qu  'Appelle  where  General  Mid- 
dleton  and  his  forces  were  preparing  for  the  northern 
movement.  Unfortunately,  like  the  parrot  who  got  its 
neck  twisted,  I  talked  too  much  and  disclosed  my  plan 
to  a  comrade,  who  told  it  to  some  one  else  and  finally 
it  reached  the  ears  of  the  General,  who  at  once  sent 
Aleck  home.  Thus  what  might  possibly  have  been  one 
of  the  greatest  newspaper  scoops  of  the  day  was 
frustrated  and  the  ultimate  decision  arrived  at  by  my- 
self was  that  whenever  a  blooming  idiot  was  missing  I 
could  assuredly  find  him  by  gazing  into  a  mirror. 

In  no  cheerful  frame  of  mind  I  strolled  out  along  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Qu'Apelle,  which  in  English 
means  "Who  calls ?" — and  I  heard  a  voice  "Hey  there, 
George' '  calling  me — the  sweet  dulcet  voice  of  Col. 
Allan  Macdonald,  the  Indian  agent  at  Qu  'Appelle. 

"Hop  in  here,  old  man,  and  take  a  drive,"  he  said. 

So  I  got  into  his  buckboard  and  innocently  asked 
where  he  thought  his  destination  might  be. 

"Oh,  just  over  to  the  File  Hills,"  he  said.  "There's 
a  report  that  Nicol,  the  farm  instructor,  and  his  wife 
have  been  killed  by  the  Indians  and  I'm  going  out  to 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  79 

We  passed  an  Indian  on  a  load  of  straw  en  route, 
and  I  never  realized  till  then  how  much  better  poor  Lo 
looks  on  a  load  of  straw  than  he  does  on  the  war  path. 
We  reached  the  Superintendent's  house  just  before 
dark  to  find  that  the  report  of  his  death  was  a  little 
premature,  and  also  ascertained  that  the  File  Hill 
Indians  were  not  in  the  most  beautiful  frame  of  mind. 
After  supper,  beds  were  made  for  us  on  the  floor,  and 
the  Colonel  cautioned  me  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open 
and  to  have  my  gun  ready,  which  I  did  by  promptly 
falling  sound  asleep. 

Next  morning  a  band  of  the  Crees  appeared  in  war 
paint  and  well-armed.  We  had  a  pow-wow  in  a  little 
shack  about  12  feet  square,  in  which  there  was  a  large 
stone  chimney.  IVe  been  to  grand  opera  and  five 
o  'clock  teas,  but  I  never  spent  such  a  delightfully  un- 
comfortable half  hour  as  I  did  in  the  ensuing  thirty 
minutes.  There  were  Rosebud,  Sparrow  Hawk  and 
Star  Blanket,  brother-in-law  of  Frank  Hunt,  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  who  must  have  been  an  all  nighter,  for 
his  full  name  was  "The  man  who  has  a  Star  for  a 
Blanket, ' '  and  they  were  all  dressed  in  their  war  paint 
and  feathers.  Their  demands  were  many  and  urgent, 
but  the  sturdy  old  colonel  never  blinked  an  eye.  He 
gave  his  opinion  of  them  individually  and  collectively 
in  the  most  classic  of  all  classical  languages.  All  the 
while  I  was  gazing  up  the  chimney,  and  wondering  how 
far  I  could  climb  before  something  or  other  might  hap- 
pen to  me.  But  nothing  did,  for  the  colonel  bravely 
browbeat  them  so  that  they  skulked  out  and  "we"  had 
a  glorious  victory. 

I'm  not  going  to  tell  the  story  of  the  uprising — that's 
too  old  a  story.  But  I  just  want  to  record  another  ad- 
venture— remember  these  are  personal  experiences — 
of  a  little  unpleasantness.  At  Clarke's  Crossing  the 
General  one  evening,  when  there  was  a  stiff  breeze 


80  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

blowing,  rode  out  of  camp  all  alone.  I  rustled  a  horse, 
and  without  saddle  or  bridle  followed  him.  Catching 
up  to  him,  a  few  miles  from  camp  he  hailed  me :  "  Hello, 
what  are  you  doing  here."  I  explained  I  was  hunting 
Indians.  He  began  to  admonish  the  weather.  "This 
beastly  wind,  you  know — why  I  came  out  here  for  a 
smoke,  and  I '11  be  hanged  if  I  can  light  my  pipe. ' '  "Is 
that  all,  General!"  I  remarked.  "That's  no  trouble. 
Just  get  a  little  to  leeward. ' '  He  drew  up  beside  me, 
I  scratched  a  match,  lighted  his  pipe  unconcernedly 
and  he  said:  "Well,  you  westerners  are  a  most  re- 
markable people ;  you  can  do  anything. ' '  And  I  thanked 
Providence  he  didn't  ask  me  to  light  his  pipe  a  second 
time,  for  it  was  a  thousand  to  one  shot.  But  it  made 
me  his  friend  for  life — and  when  he  was  appointed 
Constable  of  the  Tower  of  London,  he  invited  me  over 
to  see  him.  Which  was  not  accepted  for  fear  he  might 
want  me  to  strike  another  match  for  him. 

MlDDLETON  AND  THE  QUEEN 

General  Middleton  was  a  kindly  bluff  old  soldier,  and 
was  unmercifully  criticized  by  people  who  had  no 
knowledge  of  military  affairs.  The  best  answer  to 
those  who  abused  him  is  that,  by  request  of  good  old 
Queen  Victoria,  he  was  instructed  to  spare  the  lives  of 
his  untrained  soldier  boys,  for  most  of  them  were  mere 
lads,  and  of  the  misguided  Indians  and  Metis,  who  were 
her  Majesty's  subjects.  This  is  what  he  told  me,  and  it 
is  another,  if  another  were  needed,  example  of  how 
wise  and  humane  was  the  Great  White  Mother  across 
the  seas.  I  think  now,  if  she  had  been  spared  she  might 
possibly  have  subdued  rebellious  Ireland. 

Selected  for  Dangerous  Mission 

Just  another  incident,  which,  while  it  does  not 
amount  to  much,  was  all-important  to  me  at  that  criti- 
cal moment. 


WINNIPEG    OF    TO-DAY 
Main    Street    (above)  ;    Portage    Avenue    (below). 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  81 

It  happened  on  the  Saskatchewan  whose  lazily-rolling 
waters  flow  from  the  far-away  Kockies,  through  the 
pine  lands  and  plains  of  the  Canadian  Northwest  and 
empty  into  murky  Lake  Winnipeg,  from  which  they  are 
carried  to  Hudson  Bay,  and  for  all  I  know  mingle  with 
those  of  the  Arctic  and  Atlantic  oceans.  And  it  came 
about  through  that  almost  incomprehensible  perversity 
or  foolhardiness  or  obliging  disposition  which  impels 
one  to  help  a  fellow  out  of  a  hole  and  causes  a  certain 
class  of  happy-go  lucky  people  to  rush  in  where  white- 
winged  spirits  would  not  attempt  to  fly,  let  alone  tread. 
To  be  exact,  it  was  the  day  before  the  beginning  of  the 
long-stretched  out  skirmishing  at  Batoche,  which  re- 
sulted in  the  charge  which  led  to  the  discomfiture  of 
Eiel  and  the  dispersal  of  his  dusky  forces.  The  sun 
shone  bright  and  strong  on  that  lazy  May  afternoon, 
with  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring;  and  Gabriel's  Cross- 
ing, where  the  stern- wheeler  Northcote  was  tied  to 
the  bank,  was  drowsy  and  sleepy  as  if  the  recalcitrant 
halfbreeds  and  Indians  were  a  thousand  miles  away 
and  not  lurking  in  the  nearby  woods.  The  arrival  of 
the  mail — a  not  very  regular  occurrence — was  a  de- 
cided break  in  the  irksome  monotony — the  pleasantness 
of  which,  however,  was  modified  by  instant  disappoint- 
ment. The  Canadian  troops  had  marched  away  that 
morning  to  take  up  a  position  behind  the  rebel  head- 
quarters at  Batoche,  and  the  mail  carrier  would  not 
deliver  up  the  bag  for  reasons  sufficient  for  him,  but 
insisted  on  taking  it  on  to  the  camp  sixteen  miles  away. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  follow  after  him  for  our 
letters  and  our  papers,  and  George  Macleod,  one  of  the 
couriers  attached  to  the  small  detachment  on  the  steam- 
er, was  detailed  for  the  duty.  There  was  to  be  a  fight 
on  the  morrow  with  a  strongly-entrenched  savage  foe 
of  whose  strength  we  knew  very  little,  but  wlhose  wily 
tactics  and  deadly  aim  had  been  deeply  impressed  upon 

(7) 


82  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

us  a  short  time  before  at  Fish  Creek,  and  we  were 
eager  to  hear  what  perhaps  might  be  the  last  word 
from  home.  For  the  Northcote  was  to  take  part  in  the 
coming  engagement — steaming  down  the  river  past 
the  rebel  stronghold  and  drawing  the  enemy's  fire  while 
the  troops  were  to  rush  in  from  the  rear,  and — but  this 
story  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  that. 

Macleod  quickly  reported  himself  ready.  Then 
Captain  So-and-So  asked  him  to  bring  something 
or  other  from  camp,  and  Lieutenant  What  's-his-name 
wanted  him  to  carry  a  message  to  a  comrade,  and  non- 
coms,  and  men  had  requests  galore  for  parcels  and 
other  truck  until  poor  Macleod  had  more  commissions 
than  a  corporal's  guard  could  execute  in  a  fortnight. 
He  remarked — sarcastic  like — that  perhaps  it  would  be 
easier  to  march  the  whole  column  from  Batoche  back 
to  the  boat  than  "to  git  all  them  things,"  so  it  was 
decided  that  someone  or  other  should  accompany  him. 
Why  that  someone  should  have  been  myself  does  not 
after  all  these  years  appear  very  clearly  to  me,  nor 
did  it  then;  but  Colonel  Bedson — God  rest  his  soul — 
suggested  that  I  should  go  and  even  if  we  didn't  re- 
turn the  naval  brigade  would  not  be  so  seriously  handi- 
capped as  to  render  it  entirely  ineffective.  That  settled 
it;  so  Macleod  and  I — a  humble  newspaper  corres- 
pondent— and  Peter  Hourie  's  pony  which  was  attached 
to  Peter  Hourie 's  buckboard,  kindly  loaned  for  the  oc- 
casion— Peter  was  an  interpreter — started  out  on  our 
mission.  A  well-beaten  trail  led  due  south  through 
dense  woods,  and  we  followed  it  for  five  or  six  miles 
and  then  the  freshly  broken  turf  showed  that  the 
column  had  turned  sharp  to  the  left,  and  paralleled  the 
river  towards  Batoche,  marching  through  a  park-like 
country  with  blufTs  and  openings  and  dotted  with  little 
ponds.  There  was  a  remarkable  similarity  in  the  sur- 
roundings for  many  a  mile,  so  much  so  that  one  portion 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  83 

was  confusingly  like  another — but  it  was  a  winsome 
scene  whose  restfulness  and  calm  were  accentuated  by 
the  jarring  discordant  events  of  previous  days.  In 
these  northern  latitudes,  Nature  is  unusually  lavish 
with  her  gifts  and  here  she  had  created  a  picturesque 
demesne  that  was  remindful  of  well-kept  ancestral 
estates  in  the  Old  Country.  It  wias  Nature  in  her 
simple  beauty — unadorned  except  with  that  adornment 
which  the  hand  of  the  Master  alone  can  give.  It  was 
the  summer  dreamland — a  scenic  poem — a  fragment  of 
incomparable  Kentish  landscape  in  a  glorious  Can- 
adian setting. 

Lost  on  the  Trail 

The  stars  shone  that  night  in  the  cloudless  northern 
sky  in  all  their  accustomed  brilliancy,  and  the  long- 
drawn  out  summer  twilight,  never  reaching  more  than 
semi-darkness,  rendered  the  surroundings  indistinctly 
visible.  Peter  Hourie's  played-out  pony  had  been  re- 
placed by  a  captured  rebel  broncho,  unused  to  the  re- 
straint of  harness  and  shafts ;  commissions  had  faith- 
fully been  executed,  the  last  outpost  had  bidden  us  a 
cheery  good-night,  and  we  were  bowling  along  smooth- 
ly towards  the  Northcote.  The  partially  broken 
broncho,  however,  did  not  take  kindly  to  anything  like 
work,  and  so  soon  as  this  one  began  to  realize  the 
ignominy  of  its  task  it  started  in  to  cavort  and  swerve 
around  and  despite  the  united  efforts  of  Macleod  and 
myself,  we  soon  found  ourselves  off  the  trail.  While 
Macleod  held  the  fractious  beast,  I  groped  about  in  the 
darkness  for  the  wagon  tracks,  and  having  found  them, 
soon  lost  them  again,  only  to  recover  and  again  lose 
them  more  frequently  than  I  can  now  remember.  A 
dim  light  in  the  distance  was  the  first  indication  of 
anybody's  presence  but  our  own.  Macleod  couldn't  see 
it  until  we  were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  an 


84  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Indian  camp  fire  carefully  secreted  in  one  of  the  bluffs. 
We — in  some  trepidation,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned — 
managed  to  make  a  wide  detour  and  just  as  we  were 
beginning  to  congratulate  ourselves  that  we  had  avoid- 
ed these  emissaries  of  the  enemy,  a  cry  like  that  of  a 
bittern  gave  warning  that  the  Indians  were  signalling 
to  one  another.  Macleod  intimated  that  I  and  the 
broncho  and  the  buckboard  should  make  for  a  par- 
ticular bluff  which  he  pointed  out,  and  he  would  remain 
where  he  was  and  await  developments.  Then  came 
the  bad  half-hour  of  loneliness  and  anxiety  and  mis- 
giving for  we  knew  not  our  exact  location — nor  the 
whereabouts  of  the  foe.  After  what  seemed  an  age, 
Macleod  caught  up  to  me,  and  reported  that  we  had 
evidently  not  been  observed. 

A  moment  later  other  signals  were  heard  issuing 
from  near  where  the  Indian  camp  was,  and  answers 
seemed  to  come  from  several  different  quarters.  Mac- 
leod, who  was  as  plucky  as  they  make  'em,  suggested 
a  repetition  of  the  previous  tactics.  But  I  remonstrat- 
ed. I  held  that  we  ought  to  stand  together;  I  fully 
realized  that  if  anything  happened  to  him,  the  Lord 
only  knew  how  I  would  get  out  of  that  tangled  maze 
of  country.  Besides,  between  you  and  me,  there  are 
times  when  one  would  rather  not  be  altogether  alone, 
and  this  was  one  of  them.  He  persisted,  however,  in 
following  out  his  plan  of  campaign,  and  told  me  to 
take  my  bearings  by  a  couple  of  stars  which  he  pointed 
out.  If  he  didn't  turn  up  soon,  I  was  to  be  guided  by 
them  until  I  reached  the  trail  leading  to  the  boat.  I 
went  on  with  the  broncho  and  the  buckboard,  and  if 
ever  an  astronomer  watched  stars  as  steadfastly  as  I 
did,  he 's  a  wonder.  My  neck  would  get  stiff  as  a  poker 
from  the  unusual  craning  it  had  to  undergo,  and  then 
I  would  bend  it  down  to  ease  it,  and  when  I  again 
glanced  upwards  I  would  catch  a  couple  of  other  stars, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  85 

until  I  honestly  believe  the  whole  firmament  was  com- 
pletely taken  in.  My  idea  of  location  was  disgustingly 
hazy,  but  I  had  a  firm  impression  when  I  saw  what  I 
thought  to  be  a  blanketed  Indian  sneaking  towards  me 
that,  once  I  got  a  fair  shot  at  him,  I  would  make  a  break 
for  the  timber  and  never  stop  until  I  struck  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  or  some  other  place  near  a  railway.  The  tension 
was  extreme;  it  is  the  dread  of  the  unknown  and  the 
unseen  and  the  darkness  and  the  uncertainty  that  make 
a  fellow's  flesh  creep.  I — and  the  broncho-buckboard 
combination — were  strategically  placed,  and  with  gun 
drawn  over  the  animal 's  withers  I  was  prepared  to 
make  a  good  Indian  out  of  at  least  one  redskin.  The 
figure  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and,  however  it  was, 
while  my  heart  beats  sounded  like  the  pounding  of  a 
big  bass  drum,  my  hand  was  steady,  and  my  mind 
strayed  away  from  thoughts  of  my  predicament.  Every 
incident  of  a  lifetime  flashed  before  me,  trivial  events 
that  had  long  before  been  forgotten,  occurrences 
that  had  not  been  recalled  to  memory  in  many 
a  day.  I  thought  of  those  at  home,  and  of  my  first 
little  boy  Jack,  dead  and  gone,  and  wondered  if  he 
would  know  me  in  the  other  world.  I  guess  it's  that 
way  when  one  feels  he 's  facing  death.  Mr.  Indian  was 
just  within  good  range,  but  I  was  waiting  to  make  sure 
of  him,  when  "all  right' '  was  sounded.  My  fancied 
Indian  was  Macleod  himself.  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see 
anybody  in  all  my  whole  life,  even  my  best  girl.  He 
had  not  only  evaded  the  enemy,  but — the  Indian's 
craftiness  doesn't  amount  to  much  at  night — he  had 
put  him  on  the  wrong  track.  There  was  but  one  fly 
in  our  pot  of  ointment.  We  were  off  the  trail  and  how 
far  off  we  didn't  know — but  we  knew  that  if  we  kept 
due  west  we  would  strike  the  trail  leading  to  the  river 
somewhere  or  other  this  side  of  the  Kocky  Mountains. 
About  midnight  that  long  looked  for  trail  was  reach- 


86  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ed.  It  was  a  perfect  tree-lined  avenue,  dark  as  black- 
ness itself,  and  so  we  trudged  along — Mac  as  the 
advance  guard,  and  I  carefully  leading  the  broncho. 
We  had  not  advanced  a  mile  before  Mac  stepped  upon 
a  dry  poplar  limb  that  had  been  placed  across  the  road 
by  the  Indians  as  a  signal  to  their  fellows,  and  it  snap- 
ped like  a  pistol.  Mac  sprang  I  don't  know  how  many 
feet  in  the  air,  and  I  leaned  against  the  broncho  and, 
notwithstanding  the  seriousness  of  the  occasion,  laugh- 
ed till  the  tears  came.  It  was  a  wonderful  leap.  He 
assumed  all  kinds  of  postures  in  that  jump;  it  was 
positively  the  best  bit  of  ground  and  lofty  tumbling  I 
had  ever  seen,  even  in  a  circus.  I  didn't  laugh  long, 
though,  because  as  we  proceeded  through  a  little  open- 
ing, to  the  right  I  saw  a  dim  camp  fire,  around  which 
it  didn't  require  much  imagination  to  see  figures 
flitting.  Mac  could  see  this  one  too,  and  we  watched  it 
growing  larger  and  larger.  In  whispered  consultation, 
I  suggested  that  we  abandon  the  broncho  outfit  and 
take  to  the  woods  on  the  left. 

' '  But  we  can  % ' '  remonstrated  Mac. 

"Why  not?"  I  whisperingly  wanted  to  know. 

"Because  it's  Peter  Hourie's  buckboard,  and  I  told 
him  I  'd  bring  it  back. ' ' 

6 '  Oh,  hang, ' ' — I  think  that 's  the  word  I  used — "hang 
Peter  Hourie  's  buckboard. ' ' 

But  Mac  was  obdurate  and  we  mournfully  and  noise- 
lessly moved  on.  Then  came  another  glimpse  of  that 
camp  fire,  and  the  awful  import  of  the  old  saying  that 
silence  is  golden  flashed  upon  me.  Then  I  laughed 
again — heartily  and  boisterously.  The  confounded  old 
camp  fire  we  had  conjured  up  was  only  the  moon 
rising ! 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  we  passed  through  a 
spot  which  I  afterwards  learned  was  to  have  been  the 
gathering  place  of  the  rebels  at  that  hour.     Fortu- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  87 

nately  the  meeting  had  not  materialized  through  some 
providential  misunderstanding  in  their  orders. 

As  the  sun's  rays  came  streaming  from  the  east  we 
reached  the  Northcote,  only  to  be  welcomed  by  the  gruff 
demand  as  to  what  on  earth — well,  we'll  say  it  was 
earth — kept  us  so  long,  and  that's  the  sort  of  thanks 
Mac  and  I  got  for  our  trouble.  Afterwards,  my  com- 
panion confided  in  me  that,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
he  couldn  't  see  very  well  at  night.  Others  told  me  he 
was  blind  as  a  bat  in  darkness.  That  was  some  consol- 
ation. 

A  Naval  Battle  in  the  West 

The  next  day,  orders  were  to  start  the  steamer  at  8 

0  'clock  sharp  and  steam  down  the  river.  I  was  on  the 
upper  deck,  indulging  in  a  fragrant  five  cent  cigar  when 

1  read  a  funny  paragraph  in  a  newspaper  I  had 
brought  along.  I  went  down  to  the  barricaded  lower 
deck  to  show  it  to  Major  Bedson,  when  the  rebels  open- 
ed fire  upon  us.  That  part  of  the  Northcote  was  bar- 
ricaded with  bags  of  flour  so  arranged  as  to  make  port 
holes.  My  old  friend,  Hugh  John  Macdonald,  was 
seriously  ill,  and  I  grabbed  his  gun  and  shoving  it 
through  the  porthole,  banged  away,  only  to  set  fire  to 
the  bags.  Quickly  extinguishing  the  burning  bags,  I 
hastened  to  another  porthole  in  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
not  barricaded,  and  fired  away,  until  a  lot  of  splinters 
struck  me  in  the  face — the  splinters  being  the  outcome 
of  a  fairly  well  directed  rebel  shot.  Discretion  being 
the  better  part  of  valor,  just  then,  I  moved  to  another 
porthole,  and  a  soldier  came  up  and  with  his  fingers 
easily  picked  a  bullet  from  the  tendrils  of  the  wood, 
and  quietly  remarked,  " Pretty  close  shave."  It  was 
pointing  straight  for  my  heart.  Then  we  struck  the 
ferry  cable  which  had  been  lowered  for  our  especial 
benefit,  and  to  avoid  a  rock,  Capt.  Jim  Sheets,  an  ex- 


88  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

perienced  old  Missouri  steamboat  man,  in  command  of 
the  Northcote,  let  the  craft  swing  around,  and  we  went 
down  stream,  stern  foremost,  with  the  current.  In  the 
meantime  the  Canadian  forces  engaged  the  enemy,  an 
hour  late  according  to  schedule.  The  Northcote  stop- 
ped a  few  miles  below  Batoche,  where,  ensconced  be- 
hind a  pile  of  mail-bags  which  made  a  splendid  barri- 
cade, I  kept  up  a  steady  fire  at  something  unknown.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  hit  any  clouds  or  not,  but  I  am 
assured  of  one  thing:  if  any  lead  mines  are  ever  dis- 
covered on  the  banks  of  the  Saskatchewan,  I  should 
have  a  prior  claim  over  anybody  in  their  ownership. 
This  was  the  first  naval  battle  in  the  Canadian  North- 
west, and  I  imagine  it  will  be  the  last.  At  any  rate, 
it  will  be  as  far  as  yours  truly  is  concerned. 

Bescuing  the  Maclean  Family 

When  I  was  a  kid,  the  favorite  literature  amongst  the 
youngsters  was  Beadle's  Dime  Novels — long  ago  dis- 
continued and  almost  forgotten.  There  was  a  re- 
markable similarity  in  the  different  books  issued.  The 
same  old  story  was  of  a  lovely  heroine  who  was  cap- 
tured by  the  wild  Indians  and  rescued  by  a  gallant, 
brave  and  loving  hero,  after  no  end  of  miraculous 
escapes,  in  which  he  did  many  unheard-of  feats.  I 
never  thought  then  that  I  would  ever  be  chasing 
Indians  or  be  chased  by  them.  The  romantic  days 
of  fiction  had  passed.  But  one  fine  June  morning  at 
Fort  Pitt,  I  found  they  hadn't. 

While  I  was  strolling  along  the  river  bank,  trying 
my  -best  to  smoke  a  real  bang-up  ten-center,  Major 
Bedson,  master  of  transportation  of  General  Middle- 
ton's  column,  drove  up  in  a  carriage  and  yelled  at  me : 
*  '  Get  in,  old  man. ' ' 

I  did  so  and,  after  we  had  started  off  again,  I  natu- 
rally asked  where  we  were  going  and  why.  He  told  me 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  89 

that  Big  Bear  had  released  the  Maclean  family  and  we 
were  going  out  to  find  them.  Might  as  well  look  for 
a  needle  in  a  haystack  in  that  immense  tract,  but  the 
Major  had  an  idea  of  their  wlhereabouts,  and  so  we 
struck  for  Loon  Lake,  on  reaching  which  we  found  in 
camp  about  as  tough  a  looking  crowd  as  ever  you  saw. 
Unwashed,  unkempt,  with  tattered  clothing  and  little 
food,  there  they  all  were,  the  twenty-two  prisoners 
who  had  been  allowed,  when  provisions  ran  short,  to 
escape  from  Big  Bear's  camp — the  Maclean  family, 
father  and  mother  and  nine  children,  Amelia  and  Eliza 
being  young  ladies  of  18  and  16  years  of  age,  Kitty 
being  14,  and  the  others  ranging  from  12  years  to  an 
infant  in  arms ;  and  George  Mann,  farm  instructor  at 
Frog  Lake,  his  wife  and  three  children,  Stanley  Simp- 
son and  other  employees  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Co.  at 
Fort  Pitt,  Frog  Lake  and  Onion  Lake.  For  once,  some- 
body was  mighty  glad  to  see  me,  and  more  glad  to  see 
Major  Bedson,  who  was  a  brother-in-law  of  Maclean. 
That  staunch  old  Westerner,  Major  IJayter  Reed,  who 
did  splendid  service  during  the  uprising,  came  up  with 
supplies  and  clothes,  and  when  they  arrived  and  the 
freed  captives  had  donned  their  new  habiliments,  and 
washed  up  and  eaten  the  first  square  meal  for  a  long 
time,  the  transformation  was  complete.  Sam  Steele 
came  too.  After  all  their  trekking  through  wild  lands 
and  swamps  with  little  food,  here  were  freedom  and 
liberty  and  friends.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
memorable  21st  June — the  longest  day  of  the  year — 
when  W.  J.  Maclean,  the  father,  commonly  known  as 
Big  Bear  Maclean,  and  I  trudged  along  the  trail,  and 
he  told  me  the  story  of  their  wanderings.  They  had 
never  been  ill-treated,  some  kindly  disposed  half- 
breeds  guarding  them,  but  once,  at  Loon  Lake,  the 
squaws  whose  husbands  or  sons  had  been  killed  wanted 
to  slaughter  them,  but  they  were  prevented.    The  only 


90  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

one  to  complain  was  Stanley  Simpson  (who  after- 
wards was  accidentally  drowned)  who  confidentially 
informed  me  that  boiled  dog  as  a  regular  article  of  diet 
was  a  fraud,  a  delusion  and  a  sham.  What  was  a 
delicacy  to  the  red  man  was  sickening  to  him,  and  be- 
tween dog  and  starvation,  the  latter  was  largely  pre- 
ferable in  his  humble  opinion. 

However  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  and  every- 
body was  joyful  and  happy.  And  no  winder,  after  the 
days  and  weeks  of  terror  and  hardship  which  they  had 
endured.  We  reached  Fort  Pitt  in  safety,  after  a  long 
wearisome  trip,  most  of  which  we  had  to  tramp  or  ride 
in  rude,  jolting,  springless  wagons.  There  was  no 
complaint,  no  grumbling,  no  post  mortems,  and  mother- 
ly Mrs.  Maclean,  I  could  see,  silently  thanked  God  for 
their  happy  deliverance. 

We  didn't  know  where  Big  Bear  and  his  aboriginal 
warriors  were,  but  we  kept  one  eye  open  to  see  that,  if 
he  had  changed  his  alleged  mind,  he  would  get  the 
worst  of  any  encounter  with  us.  And  when,  after  a 
long  fit  of  silence  on  my  part,  Mrs.  Maclean  kindly 
asked  me  what  I  was  thinking  about  I  laconically  re- 
plied: " Beadle's  Dime  Novels.' ' 

A  Church  Parade  in  the  Wilderness 

The  banks  of  the  Beaver  Eiver  have  seldom,  if  ever, 
witnessed  the  sight  which  was  to  be  seen  on  the  morn- 
ing of  June  6th,  1885,  a  military  church  parade.  There 
was  no  stately  edifice,  no  solemn  sounding  organ,  no 
rich  upholstered  pews,  no  carved  or  gilded  pillars, 
nor  fashionably  dressed  ladies  attired  in  silks  and 
satins.  But  the  place  of  worship  was  a  grander 
one,  with  the  blue  vaulted  Heaven  for  dome,  the 
fringe  of  far-extended  green  budding  trees  the 
living  walls,  while  the  ripple  of  a  brook  and  the 
carolling  of  birds  furnished  a  sweet  accompaniment 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  91 

to  the  songs  of  praise  sung  by  the  uncultured  and  un- 
practised voices  of  the  choir.  Nor  marble  floor  nor 
silk-woven  carpet  was  here,  but  on  the  flower-flecked 
prairie  we  found  easy  seats  or  shaking  off  the  con- 
ventionality of  eastern  etiquette,  sought  grassy 
couches  and  lay  prone  on  the  luxuriant  verdure.  This 
picture  may  have  been  rudely  marred  by  the  canvas- 
covered  wagons  and  clumsily  constructed  carts  which 
formed  the  corral,  but  they  were  in  keeping  with  the 
congregation,  a  mixed  and  motley  crew,  mainly  red- 
coats with  Sunday  shaven  faces,  slouch-hatted 
teamsters,  booted  and  spurred  rough  riders  of  the 
plain,  buckskin-clad  scouts,  herders,  cowboys,  camp 
cooks,  redolent  of  grease  and  flour,  all  semi-circling  the 
preacher — the  grand  old  western  Methodist  pioneer, 
Eev.  John  MacDougal — who  for  the  nonce  had  donned 
sombre  garments,  and  listening  to  the  message  of 
Christ  and  His  love  to  man  and  man's  duty  to  Him. 
The  sermon  ended — no  polished  oration,  but  a  simple 
and  earnest  discourse — all  most  reverently,  with  un- 
covered heads,  stood  silent  and  still  while  the  bene- 
diction was  pronounced  and  then  they  dispersed,  not 
with  the  rush  and  hurly-burly  of  the  more  cultured 
churchgoer,  but  quietly  and  orderly  to  their  camps, 
while  from  the  mission  house  on  the  crest  of  the 
upland,  now  sacrilegiously  occupied  by  the  military, 
came  the  dusky-hued  Chippewayans,  with  shawl- 
enveloped  squaws,  from  the  more  imposing  service  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  The  service  may  soon  have  been 
forgotten,  the  lesson  it  taught  unlearned,  but  for  the 
nonce  at  any  rate,  the  roughest  and  rudest  felt  the 
influence  of  the  Word,  and  the  camp  was  better  for  the 
day  and  the  day's  gathering  of  worshippers. 

Indian  Signals 

The  traveller  on  the  plains  in  the  early  days  soon 
learned  the  significance  of  the  spires  of  smoke  that  he 


92  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

sometimes  saw  rising  from  a  distant  ridge  or  hill  and 
that  in  turn  he  might  see  answered  from  a  different 
direction.  It  was  the  signal  talk  of  the  Indians  across 
miles  of  intervening  ground,  a  signal  used  in  rallying 
the  warriors  for  an  attack,  or  warning  them  for  a  re- 
treat if  that  seemed  advisable. 

The  Indian  had  a  way  of  sending  up  the  smoke  in 
rings  or  puffs,  knowing  that  such  a  smoke  column 
would  at  once  be  noticed  and  understood  as  a  signal, 
and  not  taken  for  the  smoke  of  some  camp-fire.  He 
made  the  rings  by  covering  the  little  fire  with  his 
blanket  for  a  moment  and  allowing  the  smoke  to  ascend, 
when  he  instantly  covered  the  fire  again.  The  column 
of  ascending  smoke  rings  said  to  every  Indian  within 
thirty  miles,  "Look  out!  There  is  an  enemy  near!" 
Three  smokes  built  close  together  meant  danger.  One 
smoke  merely  meant  attention.  Two  smokes  meant 
"camp  at  this  place.' ' 

Sometimes  at  night  the  settler  or  the  traveller  saw 
fiery  lines  crossing  the  sky,  shooting  up  and  falling, 
perhaps  taking  a  direction  diagonal  to  the  lines  of 
vision.  He  might  guess  that  these  were  signals 
of  the  Indians,  but  unless  he  were  an  old-timer,  he 
might  not  be  able  to  interpret  the  signals.  The  old- 
timer  and  the  squaw  man  knew  that  one  fire-arrow,  an 
arrow  prepared  by  treating  the  head  of  the  shaft  with 
gunpowder  and  fine  bark,  meant  the  same  as  the 
columns  of  smoke  puffs — "An  enemy  is  near."  Two 
arrows  meant  "Danger."  Three  arrows  said  impera- 
tively, "This  danger  is  great."  Several  arrows  said 
"The  enemy  are  too  many  for  us."  Thus  the  un- 
tutored savage  could  telephone  fairly  well  at  night  as 
well  as  at  day. 

And  this  was  where  the  red  man  was  ahead  of  the 
white,  for  this  long  distance  system  of  communication 
was  in  daily  use  years  before  the  Morse  code  of  tele- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  93 

graphy  by  wire,  which  was  practically  on  the  same 
lines,  was  invented. 

Another  system  of  wireless  telegraphy  by  mirrors 
was  also  operated  by  the  red  man,  but  it  would  only 
be  used  on  bright  sunshiny  days  and  never  at  night. 
The  holder  of  the  mirror,  by  catching  the  rays  of  the 
sun  could  direct  them  right  into  the  eyes  of  a  passing 
person  at  some  distance,  and  thus  attract  his  atten- 
tion, and  communication  between  them  was  thus 
established. 

All  of  which  goes  to  show  the  truthfulness  of  the 
adage;  " There's  nothing  new  under  the  sun.,, 

At  the  time  of  the  Custer  massacre,  the  first  tidings 
of  the  fight  were  learned  in  the  Red  River  valley  from 
Indians  from  the  Red  Lake  River,  a  tributary  of  the 
Red  River,  who  came  down  in  canoes  in  war  paint  and 
told  the  people  of  Crookston,  Minnesota,  of  the  great 
Indian  victory.  The  Winnipeg  Free  Press  and  the  St. 
Paul  and  Minneapolis  evening  papers  published  the 
story  simultaneously,  and  this  was  the  first  intimation 
given  of  Custer 's  terrible  fate.  The  next  day,  the  news 
came  by  wire  from  Deadwood,  but  the  Indian  signals 
beat  out  the  telegraph  companies,  and  these  Red  Lake 
Indians  were  several  hundred  miles  from  the  scene  of 
the  massacre. 

Some  Curious  Indian  Names. 

A  chapter  could  be  written  about  the  names  of  some 
of  the  red  men  whom  I  have  either  met  or  heard  of  and 
who  were  practically  wards  of  the  Mounted  Police.  A 
few  samples  will  give  an  idea  of  the  originality  exer- 
cised by  the  Indians  in  this  respect.  One  of  Big  Bear's 
councillors  rejoiced  in  the  modest  cognomen  "All  and 
a  Half."  One  of  the  same  old  rascal's  head  men  was 
known  as  " Miserable  Man."  Incidentally  it  might  be 
mentioned  that  he  "dearly  lo'ed  the  lassies,  0,"  and 


94  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

was  possessor  of  a  harem  of  considerable  proportions. 
Was  this  responsible  for  his  name?  Other  names 
which  occur  to  me  are  "Piapot,"  "Almighty  Voice/ p 
"Beardy"  (possessed  by  an  Indian  chief  who  had  a 
decided  attempt  at  a  beard),  "Calf  Shirt,' '  "Mighty 
Gun,"  "Scraping  High,"  and  "Bad  Eggs." 

Amongst  the  great  men  of  these  Indians,  Crowfoot, 
chief  of  the  Blackfeet,  stood  pre-eminent.  He  was  of 
commanding  appearance,  with  a  higher  intelligence 
than  many  of  our  clever  pale  faces  possess,  and  he  and 
Poundmaker,  of  the  Crees,  and  Eed  Crow,  of  the 
Bloods,  made  a  brainy  trio. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Governors-General  I  Have  Met — Dufferins  and  the 
Icelanders — The  Marquis  of  Lorne  and  Wee  Jock 
McGregor  —  Unpleasantness  at  Rat  Portage  — 
Kindness  of  Princess  Louise — Lord  Lansdowne 
at  the  Opening  of  the  Galt  Railway — '  *  My  ' ' 
Excellent  Newspaper  Report — Talking  to  . 
Aberdeen — Minto,  the  Great  Horseman 
— Earl  Grey  a  Great  Social  Enter- 
tainer— The  Grand  Old  Duke  and 
Princess    Pat — The    Duke    of 
Devonshire. 

THERE  was  great  enthusiasm  displayed  upon  the 
arrival  of  Lord  and  Lady  Dufrerin  in  Winni- 
peg in  the  summer  of  1877.  Theirs  was  a  tri- 
umphal tour.  The  Governor  General,  while  ostensibly 
travelling  through  Canada  to  learn  of  its  possible 
development,  came  principally  to  visit  the  Icelanders, 
for  whose  migration  to  Canada  he  was  largely  if  not 
solely  responsible.  After  having  seen  Winnipeg  and 
driven  the  first  spike  in  the  Pembina  Branch  railway 
of  the  C.P.R.  at  St.  Boniface,  he  with  his  retinue  start- 
ed out  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Icelandic  settlement.  No 
newspaper  correspondents  were  allowed  to  accompany 
the  party  on  account  of  lack  of  accommodation.  And  so 
the  poor  Toronto  Globe  correspondent  sat  twiddling 
his  thumbs  in  Winnipeg  while  the  expedition  went 
north.  Lord  Dufferin's  private  secretary  was  Billy 
Campbell,  who  also  filled  the  same  position  with  the 
Marquis  of  Lorne  and  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  but 

95 


96  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

was  now  correspondent  for  the  Winnipeg  Free  Press 
on  the  Icelandic  tonr.  Billy  and  I  were  old  chums. 
Lord  Dufferin's  visit  to  Gimli,  the  Icelandic  settle- 
ment, was  duly  reported  in  the  Free  Press.  Billy  would 
send  in  the  copy,  and  we  would  send  out  the  proofs  to 
a  designated  spot,  where  the  Governor  General  would 
revise  and  return  to  the  F.P.  office.  They  looked  like  the 
map  of  Asia  after  he  had  corrected  them.  His  Excel- 
lency had  given  the  Icelanders  perfect  fits,  and  he  was 
a  master  mechanic  in  the  uttering  of  the  English  or  any 
other  language,  but  it  makes  an  awful  lot  of  difference 
between  telling  people  disagreeable  things  and  read- 
ing those  same  disagreeable  things  in  cold  print.  So 
the  Icelanders  and  the  English  readers  of  the  Free 
Press  had  different  views  of  His  Excellency's  opinion 
of  his  proteges. 

On  His  Excellency's  departure  for  the  east  he  was 
tendered  an  afternoon  banquet  in  Winnipeg,  at  which 
he  made  that  famous  speech  where  the  Canadian  West 
was  spoken  of  as  the  land  of  illimitable  possibilities. 
Lieut.-Governor  Morris  also  made  a  speech  and  the 
other  speaker  was  to  have  been  Chief-Justice  Wood, 
but  the  time  of  the  boat's  departure — they  were  going 
up  Red  River  to  Moorhead — came  too  early  for  the 
latter 's  oration,  much  to  his  chagrin,  as  he  and  the 
Lieut-Governor  hated  each  other  like  Christians.  This 
did  not  altogether  spoil  the  Chief's  oration,  for  he 
utilized  the  greater  part  of  it,  with  1;he  necessary 
alterations,  in  his  charge  to  the  grand  jury  at  the  next 
assize.    And  it  made  good  reading. 

Lord  Dufferin  was  an  orator.  He  memorized  his 
speeches,  and  always  supplied  the  copy  to  the  press. 
You  know  His  Excellency  could  imprecate  in  seventeen 
different  languages,  and  he  usually  did  so  when  occas- 
sion  required.  One  day  in  reporting  one  of  Lord  Duf- 
ferin's  speeches  in  which  he  made  a  happy  allusion  to 


The   Duke   and   Duchess   of   Connaught   with   Princess   Patricia    (top),    the   Duke 

and    Duchess    of    Devonshire    and    Daughters     the    Ladies     Cavendish     (centre), 

Lord    Minto   at  his   Lodge,   Kootenay    (bottom). 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  97 

Canada  and  her  American  cousins,  Billy  forgot  to  in- 
sert the  words,  "loud  laughter" — and  the  omission 
gave  a  seriousness  to  the  speech  that  His  Excellency 
did  not  intend.    There  was  blood  on  the  moon  next  day. 

The  Highland  Laddie. 

In  1881  the  Marquis  of  Lome  first  went  west.  The 
C.  P.  R.  was  not  completed,  but  he  travelled  through 
Canada  all  the  same.  The  contractors  for  Section  B., 
of  whom  the  late  John  J.  Macdonald  was  the  head, 
undertook  to  carry  him  from  Eagle  Lake  to  Rat  Port- 
age, a  distance  of  about  75  miles,  but,  as  a  long  detour 
had  to  be  made  to  take  advantage  of  the  water 
stretches,  the  distance  travelled  was  nearly  double  that 
mileage.  Elaborate  preparations  were  made,  camps 
established  at  regular  intervals,  and  everything  that 
could  be  done  for  the  comfort  of  viceroyalty  was  done. 
Live  sheep,  which  scared  the  Indians  who  had  seen 
none  before,  were  taken  to  apparently  inaccessible 
places,  Indian  boatmen  in  uniform  manned  large  birch- 
bark  canoes — to  ride  in  which  gives  one  the  idea  of  the 
poetry  of  motion — experienced  chefs  supplied  excel- 
lent menus,  and  everything  combined  to  make  this  a 
most  enjoyable  outing.  The  newspaper  representa- 
tives which  included  myself  met  His  Excellency  at  the 
western  end  of  Burnt  Portage  through  whose  weary, 
dusty  miles  he  and  his  staff  had  walked — and  when  the 
tug  which  brought  us  to  an  island  where  we  had  camped 
approached  its  shores,  a  piper  in  kilts  struck  up 
"Highland  Laddie' '  to  the  amazement  and  delight 
of  His  Excellency.  At  each  successive  camp  there  was 
a  new  surprise  for  him,  but  none  so  complete  as  the  one 
at  Dryberry  Lake,  where  we  camped  one  Saturday 
night.  The  next  morning,  a  bath  in  the  lake  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  reviver  in  the  large  marquee.  As  we  were 
about  to  crook  our  elbows,  the  noted  Dr.  Jock  Mc- 

(8) 


98  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Gregor,  the  Marquis '  bosom  friend  and  chaplain  at 
Glasgow,  who  accompanied  him  on  the  trip,  unex- 
pectedly appeared  on  the  scene.  One  has  to  know  the 
Doctor  to  imagine  what  followed.  He  was  one  of  the 
wittiest  and  most  eloquent  as  well  as  the  kindest  of 
men  I  ever  met.  And  he  startled  us  all  by  loudly  call- 
ing the  Marquis  by  name  and  denouncing  him  for 
desecrating  the  Holy  Sabbath  by  putting  that  into  his 
mouth  which  would  steal  away  his  brains.  He  dressed 
the  whole  crowd  of  us  down  for  our  unseemly  and 
desecrating  act,  and  we  all  looked  shamefaced  and 
about  as  uncomfortable  as  could  be  expected.  And 
when  we  all  felt  pretty  sheepish  and  mean,  he  con- 
cluded : 

"Out  upon  you  all,  you  unregenerate  sinners,  out 
upon  you.  But" — after  a  long  pause  during  which  we 
were  all  looking  for  a  hole  to  crawl  into,  he  added: 
"being  a  little  bit  thirsty,  I'll  take  a  wee  drappie 
mysel '. ' ' 

Great  Caesar!  what  a  relief — Why  I  nearly  turned 
Presbyterian  right  on  the  spot. 

There  was  a  little  unpleasantness  when  Rat  Portage 
(now  Kenora)  was  reached.  Mr.  MacPherson,  the 
Indian  agent,  had  written  out  an  address  of  welcome 
from  the  local  tribe,  but  Manitobahiness,  the  chief, 
would  have  none  of  it.  He  would  prepare  the  address 
himself  or  the  Great  White  Mother's  son-in-law  could 
go  hang  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  Manitobahiness 
was  camped  on  a  nearby  island,  where,  seated  on  a 
soap-box,  with  his  blanket  wrapped  about  him,  he 
looked  every  inch  a  king.  The  late  Ebenezer  McColl  was 
superintendent  of  Indian  affairs  then,  and  he  took  me 
over  to  help  conciliate  the  irate  chief.  We  were  re- 
ceived with  a  salvo  of  gunshots,  in  true  Indian  custom, 
but  the  arguments  and  suggestions  of  Mr.  McColl 
availed  nothing.      Manitobahiness  was  firm,  and  Mr. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  99 

McColl  sensibly  gave  way  to  his  wishes.  The  next  I 
saw  of  the  kingly  chief,  he  was  ridiculously  danc- 
ing a  dance  of  welcome  with  the  rest  of  his  tribe. 
Manitobahiness  was  no  fool.  He  was  wharfinger  at 
one  of  the  river  docks,  and  kept  accurate  account 
of  the  freight  received  in  hieroglyphic  style.  He  was 
only  known  to  have  made  one  error.  Forgetting  to  put 
a  hole  in  a  circle,  he  transformed  a  grindstone  into  a 
cheese. 

Sir  Donald  Smith  met  the  party  at  Rat  Portage  and 
lined  up  the  entire  tribe  in  a  long  row,  and  personally 
gave  each  one  a  silver  coin.  You  ought  to  have  seen 
those  who  first  received  the  gift  slip  down  the  line  and 
take  up  their  position  at  the  other  end,  thus  securing 
two  pieces  of  silver.  The  poor  Indian  may  be  un- 
tutored, but  he  knows  how  to  get  there  when  anything 
is  going. 

The  Kindness  of  Princess  Louise. 

The  Marquis'  private  secretary  was  the  same  Billy 
Campbell  who  was  with  Lord  Duff  erin.  He  told  me  of 
the  kindness  and  affection  he  received  from  His  Excel- 
lency and  the  Princess  Louise.  One  time  when  he  was 
laid  up  in  a  Toronto  hospital,  the  Marquis  would  steal 
up  from  Ottawa  on  Saturday  nights,  visit  him  Sundays, 
and  be  back  at  RIdeau  Hall  Monday  mornings  with  no- 
body but  the  household  any  the  wiser.  When  Billy 
was  recuperating  and  had  returned  to  work,  His  Excel- 
lency asked  him  one  day  to  bring  him  a  book  from  a 
high  shelf  in  the  library.  Before  he  could  rise  from 
his  chair,  the  Princess  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  said : 

' ' Never  mind,  Mr.  Campbell,  I  will  get  it." 

Arid  she  ascended  the  stepladder  and  brought  down 
the  required  book. 


100  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

What  of  it?  some  may  say.  Well,  it  doesn't  amount 
to  much,  but  I  know  a  whole  lot  of  people  Who  are  not 
daughters  of  Royalty  who  would  not  have  been  so 
thoughtful  and  considerate. 

The  Marquis  or  Lansdownb. 

The  first  time  I  met  Lord  Lansdowne  was  at  the 
opening  of  the  Lethbridge  Collieries  railway  which  con- 
nected the  mines  with  the  main  line  of  the  C.P.R.  at 
Dunmore.  We  were  up  early  in  the  morning,  but  the 
eating  facilities  had  rather  fallen  down  and  Mr.  W.  E. 
Maclellan  (now  Inspector  of  Post  Offices  at  Halifax), 
who  represented  the  Winnipeg  Free  Press,  and  myself, 
hadn't  much  in  the  way  of  solids  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon. The  banquet  was  held  that  evening  in  a  large 
building  belonging  to  the  Coal  company,  and  Mac  and 
I  thought  we  would  seek  a  quiet  corner  to  report  the 
speeches.  We  got  in  the  wrong  door,  and  came  out 
unexpectedly  on  the  platform  on  which  the  guests  of 
the  evening  were  seated.  Sir  Alexander  Gait  presided, 
with  His  Excellency  on  his  right,  and  Mac  and  I,  feel- 
ing very  embarrassed,  were  ushered  into  seats  directly 
facing  them  with  our  backs  to  the  audience.  After  the 
chairman  and  His  Excellency's  address,  Sir  Alexander 
insisted  that  both  Mac  and  I  should  speak,  but  we  beg- 
ged off,  and  the  next  morning  we  visited  some  Indian 
reserves  and  Fort  Macleod,  where  my  old  friend, 
Kamoose  Taylor,  entertained  us,  the  banquet  chiefly 
consisting  of  liquid  refreshments.  At  one  of  the  re- 
serves Jerry  Potts  was  interpreter,  and  Jerry  got  tired 
of  the  long-winded  talks  of  the  red  men.  You  see,  one 
of  them  gets  up  and  talks  for  five  minutes  or  so,  and 
then  the  interpreter  translates  his  words  into  English. 
One  chap  was  especially  importunate.  He  was  starv- 
ing for  this  and  starving  for  that  until  the  in- 
terpreter's patience  ceased.    A  ten-minute  aboriginal 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  101 

declamation  was  condensed  by  Jerry  as  follows :  "He 
wants,  he  wants  to  live  like  the  white  man.  He  wants 
pie."  The  conference  then  suddenly  came  to  a  close, 
with  His  Excellency  doing  his  best  to  conceal  his 
laughter. 

It  was  on  this  trip  that  Jerry  is  said  to  have  sent 
back  a  message  to  the  gubernatorial  party,  after  having 
been  frequently  bothered  by  enquiries  as  to  what  would 
be  seen  when  the  driving  party  got  to  the  top  of  the 
next  hill:  "Another  hill,  you  d n  fools." 

Next  morning  we  were  on  the  C.P.R.  east  bound 
train,  and  at  an  early  hour,  I  was  busy  at  work.  Sir 
Alexander  came  along  and  seeing  me  writing  so  early 
in  the  morning,  after  the  previous  two  days '  strenuous- 
ness  asked  if  he  could  help  me.  I  said  he  could,  as  so 
much  had  happened  so  quickly  that  I  might  have  a  hazy 
idea  of  some  things  that  had  occurred,  and  asked  him 
if  he  would  look  over  my  report,  to  which  he  willingly 
consented.  The  introduction  pleased  him,  for  I  had 
paid  him  a  deservedly  high  compliment,  and  main- 
tained that  no  matter  what  might  be  the  official  title 
of  the  road,  it  would  always  be  called  the  Gait  Railway, 
which  it  isn't  now.  The  report  of  his  speech  at  the 
banquet  met  with  his  approval,  but  when  he  came  to 
Lord  Lansdowne's  he  hesitated.  "I  didn't  hear  him 
say  that,"  and  "I  don't  think  he  said  this,"  and  similar 
remarks.  But  I  told  him  I  was  not  bigoted,  and  he 
could  fix  it  up  to  suit  himself,  which  he  did,  and  it  was 
a  eorking  good  report.  So  much  so,  that  a  few  months 
later,  when  I  went  to  Ottawa  to  represent  the  Times  in 
the  press  gallery,  Lord  Lansdowne  sent  Billy  Camp- 
bell to  tell  me  how  highly  he  appreciated  my  ( ?)  excel- 
lent report,  and  asked  me  to  call  and  register  on  the 
visitor's  list,  so  that  invitations  could  be  sent  me  for 
social  functions.    By  which  you  will  learn  that  if  you 


102  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

can't  do  a  thing  yourself,  get  somebody  who  can  do  it 
better  than  you  to  do  it  for  you. 

Talking  to  Aberdeen 

Lord  Aberdeen  was  only  met  incidentally  and 
he  always  seemed  to  be  to  be  very  nervous,  as  if  he  was 
afraid  of  being  hit  with  a  brick,  which  I  attributed  to 
his  long  residence  in  Ireland.  He  was  affable  and  try- 
ing to  do  good  and  was  very  approachable.  When  in 
Winnipeg  once,  he  was  in  residence  at  Silver  Heights, 
one  of  Lord  Strathcona's  country  houses.  I  had  ar- 
ranged with  him  one  day  to  'phone  him  in  the  evening 
when  he  would  give  me  his  itinerary  for  the  following 
day.  There  was  an  employee  at  Silver  Heights  who 
was  very  disobliging,  especially  to  the  press,  and  whom 
I  called  up  that  evening.,  I  thought  from  the  way  the 
reply  came  that  this  person  was  answering  the  'phone. 
I  told  him  to  get  to  blazes  out  of  that,  and  that  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  Aberdeen.  Then  came  a  quiet  gentle  voice : 
"I  am  Aberdeen,"  and  then  he  told  me  all  I  wanted  to 
know  about  his  movements.  Lady  Aberdeen  was  a 
most  indefatigable  worker,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  their  late  tour  through  the  United  States  for 
some  worthy  object  did  not  have  the  results  that  were 
expected. 

A  Great  Horseman. 

Lord  Minto,  while  democratic  in  some  of  his  tend- 
encies, as  might  be  expected  from  his  close  and  intimate 
contact  with  the  turf,  was  more  of  a  stickler  for  the 
official  proprieties  and  forms  than  many  other  Gov- 
ernors General.  When  the  present  King  and  Queen, 
as  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cornwall  and  York,  visited 
Canada,  he  insisted  upon  his  staff  personally  super- 
vising all  arrangements,  and  while  providing  for 
proper  respect  being  shown  to  Canada's  royal  guests, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  103 

he  had  it  seen  to  that  all  honors  due  to  the  Governor 
General  as  direct  representative  of  the  King  were 
forthcoming.  So  it  happened  that  at  all  public  affairs 
in  the  chief  cities,  there  were  two  official  processions 
with  separate  guards  of  honor  and  cavalry  escorts, 
one  of  each  for  the  Prince  and  the  other  for  the  Gov- 
ernor General. 

When  calling  at  Kideau  Hall  one  day,  Lord  Minto 
at  once  commenced  recalling  incidents  of  the  Riel  re- 
bellion, and  enquired  after  J.  H.  E.  Secretan,  Col.  Bos- 
well,  Billy  Sinclair  and  Peter  Hourie  and  a  host  of 
others,  with  whom  he  had  been  associated  during  the 
campaign.  He  had  not  forgotten  a  name,  and  his 
interest  in  them  was  undoubted.  Lord  Minto  was  a 
splendid  horseman,  of  whom  it  was  truly  said  that 
when  on  horseback  one  could  not  tell  where  the  man 
left  off  and  the  horse  began. 

Lord  Minto  loved  the  outward  trimmings  of  state. 
For  instance,  it  was  diplomatically  represented  to  the 
Deputy  Ministers  at  Ottawa  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  attend  state  functions  in  plain  every  day  dress  suits 
that  the  proper  attire  for  them  to  wear  upon  such  oc- 
casions was  the  Windsor  uniform  of  the  second  or  third 
class,  and  the  deputies  had  to  dig  down  in  their  pockets 
and  equip  themselves  with  the  regulation  gold-laced 
suits,  swords,  cocked  hats,  etc. 

Earl  Grey. 

Soon  after  Lord  Grey's  arrival  it  was  intimated  by 
His  Excellency  that  he  desired  a  complete  private  train 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  Governor  General.  The 
request  caused  some  consternation;  but  the  situation 
was  met  by  the  acquisition  on  the  part  of  the  Govern- 
ment for  the  Governor  General's  use  of  the  two  special 
cars,  " Cornwall' '  and  "York,"  specially  built  by  the 
C.P.E.  for  the  visit  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Corn- 


104  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

wall  and  York.  Lord  Grey  had  a  well-developed  taste 
for  real  fun,  and  dearly  loved  a  good  story.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  stately  functions  held  at  Government 
House  during  the  Grey  regime,  when  the  unrivalled 
gold  table  service  presented  to  the  first  Earl  Grey 
made  the  great  tables  in  the  main  dining-room  present 
a  scene  of  oriental  gorgeousness  with  the  sheen  of  the 
huge  and  numerous  candelabra,  trays,  vases,  dishes, 
etc.,  of  solid  gold,  numerous  informal  dinners,  re- 
ceptions, etc.,  were  held. 

One  of  the  closing  functions  of  the  regime  will  never 
be  forgotten.  The  guests  consisted  principally  of  elder 
parliamentarians  and  senior  newspaper  men.  After 
dinner  the  guests  moved  to  the  ballroom,  where  a  well 
stocked  buffet  was  installed.  Then  there  was  a  real, 
old-time  jollification,  His  Excellency  being  the  prime 
mover  and  most  active  spirit  in  a  jubilee  of  song  and 
story.  Perhaps  the  piece  de  resistance  was  the  singing 
of  " Annie  Laurie"  by  the  Nova  Scotian  octogenarian, 
Senator  William  Ross,  with  the  chorus  by  the  entire 
company  led  by  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Senate,  who  is 
supposed  to  be  the  model  par  excellence  of  dignity  and 
decorum. 

Earl  Grey  was  never  happier  than  when  in  the  com- 
pany of  young  people  and  inciting  them  to  some  fun 
and  frolic.  A  remark  made  by  His  Excellency  rather 
in  joke  than  in  earnest,  I  fancy,  had  unpleasant  results 
for  a  certain  young  lady  of  the  ministerial  circle  of 
that  day.  He  was  joking  with  a  group  of  the  ministers' 
daughters  about  their  curtsies  at  an  approaching 
drawing-room,  and  remarked  that  he  thought  he  should 
give  a  prize  to  the  girl  who  would  "bob"  the  lowest 
without  losing  her  equilibrium.  A  particularly  bright, 
pretty  and  ambitious  girl  set  herself  out  to  win  the 
wager,  but  she  went  head  over  heels  on  the  carpet  in 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  105 

front  of  Their  Excellencies.    His  Excellency  gallantly 
assisted  the  blushing  debutante  to  her  feet. 

The  Grand  Old  Duke. 

The  Duke  of  Connaught  was  extremely  fond  of 
youthful  society  and  particularly  that  of  children.  Of 
all  the  functions  at  Government  House  His  Royal 
Highness  appeared  to  enjoy  the  children's  fancy  dress 
parties  the  best,  and  he  would  mingle  with  his  little 
guests  and  busy  himself  in  the  dining-room  to  see  that 
all  had  their  fill  of  the  good  things  provided.  The 
Duke  possessed  in  a  marked  degree  the  memory  for 
names  and  faces  for  which  members  of  the  royal  family 
are  celebrated  and  it  was  uncanny  how  he  would 
recognize  individuals  he  could  not  have  seen  for  years. 
Some  of  the  Senators  and  Members  of  Parliament 
credited  His  Royal  Highness  with  some  remarkable 
occult  faculty  on  account  of  his  knowledge  respecting 
them  when  they  first  had  the  privilege  of  meeting  him. 
The  Duke,  after  his  arrival,  arranged  that  an  appoint- 
ment should  be  made  for  every  Senator  and  Member 
of  the  House  to  call  upon  him  in  his  office  in  the  Eastern 
Block.  When  the  parliamentarians  thus  honored 
entered  the  vice-regal  office  they  wtere  surprised  to  find 
that  His  Royal  Highness  not  only  knew  all  about  their 
political  careers,  antecedents,  families  and  business, 
but  led  them  off  into  the  discussion  of  their  pet  hobbies, 
etc.  The  explanation  is  simple  enough — he  studied  his 
expected  visitors'  records  in  the  Parliamentary  Guide 
and  I  have  been  told  that  in  addition  he  had  private 
confidential  notes  supplied  to  him  by  the  Usher  of  the 
Black  Rod,  who  is  his  representative  on  the  staff  of  the 
Senate. 

While  at  Government  House  upon  one  occasion  it 
was  my  privilege  to  be  standing  in  a  quiet  corner  near 
a  desk,  which  evidently  was  the  working  desk  of  His 


106  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Eoyal  Highness,  and  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a 
portrait  occupying  the  post  of  honor  upon  it.  It  was 
the  portrait  of  the  Widow  of  Windsor,  our  old  Queen  - 
"The  Queen" — and  inscribed  on  it  the  motherly  words 
"To  Dear  Arthur  with  fond  love."  No  doubt  it  was 
often  an  inspiration  to  our  royal  Governor  General,  and 
its  position  was  a  touching  proof  to  me  of  the  pure, 
dutiful  human  character  of  the  Duke. 

When  in  Ottawa  or  visiting  other  cities  or  towns,  the 
Duke,  frequently  accompanied  by  the  Princess  Pat,  had 
the  happy  knack  of  saluting  those  he  met  in  the  early 
morning  strolls,  and  entering  into  conversation  with 
them — generally  about  the  town  or  city  or  village  and 
its  affairs  and  prospects.  He  always  evinced  deep  in- 
terest in  the  average  citizen  who  on  many  occasions 
was  not  conscious  of  the  identity  of  his  illustrious 
companion. 

The  Duke  of  Devonshire. 

Among  all  of  our  Governors  General  there  have 
been  none  more  distinguished  by  a  kindly  and  unas- 
suming disposition  than  the  present  hospitable  oc- 
cupant of  Kideau  Hall,  and  one  after  being  being  pre- 
sented to  His  Excellency  soon  overcomes  any  sense  of 
personal  insignificance  he  might  have  anticipated  in 
the  presence  of  the  head  of  one  of  England's  most 
historical  families,  who  is  also  one  of  England's 
wealthiest  men  of  position  to-day,  being  the  owner  of 
186,000  acres  of  the  most  valuable  mineral  areas  in 
Lancashire  and  Derbyshire,  and  of  no  less  than  six 
splendid  ancestral  estates. 

There  is  something  about  His  Excellency's  genial 
kindly  face  which  at  once  makes  those  privileged  to 
meet  him  perfectly  at  ease,  while  those  who  know  him 
well  describe  him  as  a  man  of  a  peculiarly  unselfish  and 
generous  nature. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  107 

As  might  be  expected  of  the  head  of  the  historical 
Cavendish  family,  he  is  especially  proud  of  his  Eng- 
lish ancestry,  and  of  the  part  Englishmen  have  played 
in  the  history  of  the  Empire;  hut  he  is  no  jingo,  and 
is  not  given  to  idle  boasting.  My  experience  has  been 
that  the  well-bred  Englishman  is  about  the  least  boast- 
ful man  in  the  world,  his  antipathy  to  anything  re- 
sembling " swank' '  often  making  him  painfully  un- 
assertive. 

The  Duke  of  Devonshire  is  an  English  thoroughbred. 
As  immediate  successor  to  the  Duke  of  Connaught,  he 
had  a  peculiarly  difficult  position  to  fill,  but  he  has 
filled  it  acceptably,  Canadians  being  particularly  im- 
pressed with  His  Excellency's  evident  desire  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  every  corner  of  the  Dominion, 
and  to  comply  with  all  reasonable  requests  to  grace 
with  his  presence  functions  connected  with  worthy 
objects.  No  constitutional  difficulties  have  arisen  dur- 
ing His  Excellency's  tour  of  duty  in  Canada,  but  if 
such  should  occur  one  may  count  upon  His  Majesty's 
representative  doing  his  duty  according  to  those  fine 
standards  of  simple  honor  and  cool,  dogged  English 
courage  which  have  characterized  the  Cavendish  family 
from  immemorial  times. 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  impression  created  upon 
my  mind  at  the  1 1me  by  the  conduct  of  Lord  Frederick 
Cavendish  in  the  historical  Phoenix  Park  tragedy. 
When  the  gang  of  murderers  pounced  from  their  place 
of  hiding  upon  Mr.  Burke,  Lord  Frederick  could  have 
easily  escaped.  If  he  remained  the  chance  of  beating 
off  the  well-armed  assailants  was  practically  nil,  for 
he  had  no  other  weapon  than  his  umbrella — but  the 
courage  and  honor  inherited  through  generations  of 
staunch  fighting  Cavendishes  impelled  him  to  take  the 
chance,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  he  staunchly  and 
vigorously  persevered  in  the  hopeless  task  of  pro- 


108  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

tecting  his  companion  until  he  himself  was  struck  life- 
less to  the  ground  by  the  assassins. 

In  the  little  country  churchyard  where  his  remains 
are  interred,  the  simple  grave  is  modestly  marked  by 
a  small  plain  headstone,  on  which  are  merely  inscribed 
his  name,  and  dates  of  birth  and  death.  But  around 
the  mound  is  a  well-beaten  path,  worked  deeply  into 
the  ground  by  the  tread  of  countless  thousands  who 
have  paid  their  last  tribute  to  the  assassinated  hero, 
while  large  monuments  and  costly  mausoleums  which 
mark  the  resting  place  of  others  are  left  undisturbed  by 
visitors.  The  well-beaten  path  is  a  lasting  tribute  to 
the  lamented  Lord  Frederick,  and  to  the  Cavendish 
family. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Hudson  's  Bay   Company  —  A   Tribute  to  Its 

Officers — Intrepid     Scotch     Voyageurs — Daily 

Paper  a  Year  Old — Royal  Hospitality  of  the 

Factors — Lord  Strathcona's  Foundation 

for  His  Immense  Fortune  —  The 

First    Cat    in    the    Rockies — 

Indian    Humor    and 

Imagery. 

BEFORE  the  advent  of  the  railways,  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  was  the  biggest  institution  be- 
tween the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Its 
tercentenary  was  recently  celebrated  in  right  royal 
style,  as  became  the  importance  of  the  event.  It  had 
posts  all  through  the  West,  and  it  was  the  great 
purveyor  for  the  few  scattered  people  in  that  illimit- 
able domain. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  write  a  history  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company,  but  to  pay  a  tribute  to  the  officers 
of  that  company  as  I  knew  them.  They  were,  scarcely 
without  exception,  either  Scotch  or  of  Scotch  descent, 
and  whether  in  the  Arctic  circle,  the  broad  plains,  the 
northern  wilderness  or  in  the  growing  western  cities 
one  was  glad  to  meet  them.  The  MacTavishes,  the 
Andersons,  the  Macfarlanes,  the  Macdougalls,  Mac- 
donalds,  Christies,  McMurrays,  Campbells,  Hamiltons, 
Stewarts,  Sinclairs,  Rosses,  Cowans,  Taylors,  Mc- 
Kenzies,  Fortescues,  Bells,  Wattses,  Balsillies,  Aldous, 
Simpsons,  Rankins,  Grahams,  Murrays,  McLeans, 
Hardistys,  Clarkes,  Belangers,  "Wilsons,  Traills,  Cam- 

109 


110  EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

sills  and  others  I  cannot  recall,  formed  a  great  group 
in  my  days,  as  their  forefathers  did  before  them.  In 
my  day,  the  Commissioners  were  Messrs.  Donald 
A.  Smith,  Wrigley,  C.  J.  Brydges  and  C.  C.  Chipman. 
And  with  them,  over  a  century  and  a  half  ago  and 
since  then,  many  of  the  noted  clansmen  of  the  famous 
Scottish  chiefs,  whose  fortunes  were  lost  at  the  mem- 
orable battle  of  Culloden  in  1746,  which  extinguished 
the  hopes  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  afterwards  came  to 
Canada.  They  had  participated  in  that  bloody  engage- 
ment, and  having  lost  all,  and  to  avoid  the  fierce  per- 
secutions which  followed,  fled  to  this  country  of  refuge. 
They  were  distinguished  for  heroic  courage  and  daring 
enterprise.  Coming  to  Canada  they  at  once  sought 
employment  in  the  adventurous  schemes  of  the  fur 
traders  of  the  Northwest.    And  yet : 

' '  From  the  lone  shieling  of  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us  and  the  waste  of  seas, 
Yet  still  the  blood  is  strong,  the  heart  is  highland 
And  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides.' ' 

Intrepid  Scotch  Voyageurs. 

This  bold  blood  gave  new  vigor  and  additional 
energy  to  the  affairs  of  the  traders.  These  men  and 
their  descendants  were  the  intrepid  voyageurs  who 
pushed  their  fortunes  to  the  Saskatchewan  and  the 
Athabasca  over  a  century  ago.  The  blood  which  flowed 
in  the  bands  of  Culloden  is  the  blood  of  those  fearless 
Scotsmen  who  dared  warring  tribes  and  frozen  regions 
and  unknown  hardships,  who  discovered  the  Mackenzie 
River,  who  first  crossed  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
first  planted  the  British  flag  on  the  Arctic  seas.  In 
the  veins  of  many  Bois  Brules  and  Metis  girls  on  the 
Red  River  flows  the  blood  of  the  men  who  fought  with 
Lochiel  near  Inverness  on  the  15th  April,  1746. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  111 

The  vast  region  of  British  America  is  full  of  the  un- 
written traditions  of  the  daring  exploits  of  these  men 
through  a  wilderness  of  territory  larger  than  all 
Europe,  and  it  only  needs  the  glamor  of  the  glittering 
pen  of  a  Scott  to  weave  these  wild  annals  into  stories 
as  fascinating  as  Waverley,  and  as  charming  as  the 
wonderful  romances  of  Fenimore  Cooper.  In  old 
journals  can  be  read  how  the  great  Cardinal  Richelieu 
headed  "The  Company  of  the  Hundred  Partners/ '  in 
1637,  engaged  in  the  fur  trade  in  Canada,  which  com- 
pany continued  for  thirty-six  years,  and  which  has 
had  successors  continuously,  till  finally  merged  into 
the  Great  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  which  carries  on  its 
extensive  operations  at  the  present  time.  So  that  the 
Red  River,  the  Saskatchewan  and  the  far-off  Atha- 
basca are  linked  back  to  the  days  of  Louis  XIV  in 
France,  and  to  the  great  chief  and  clans  of  Scotland 
who  fought  at  Culloden,  where  the  flag  of  the  Stuarts 
went  down  forever. 

One  can  recall  with  pleasant  memories  the  glorious 
gatherings  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  men  and  their  friends. 
When  you  met  men  from  the  Arctic  circle,  from  the 
Pacific  coast,  from  the  plains  and  the  forests  of  the 
great  West,  from  all  points  of  the  compass — except  the 
South — men  who  had  grown  grey  in  the  service,  who 
had  lived  lonely  but  wonderful  lives  amongst  aborig- 
ines, you  felt  that  no  matter  how  much  the  policy  of 
the  company  in  by-gone  days  might  be  criticized  and 
condemned — for  it's  always  the  pioneer  who  gets  the 
worst  of  it — you  were  meeting  grand  old  men.  The 
slogan  of  the  company  was  "Pro  pelle  cutem" — skin 
for  skin — and  in  all  its  dealings  with  the  aboriginal 
world  faith  was  always  strictly  kept.  That's  what 
guaranteed  the  safety  of  Hudson's  Bay  men,  wearing 
Scotch  caps  and  displaying  the  Union  Jack  in  the 
dark  days  of  the  Sioux  massacre  in  Minnesota.    That 


112  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

was  the  guarantee  in  the  old  Fort  Garry  days  that 
the  goods  purchased  were  just  what  they  were  repre- 
sented to  be.  That's  why  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany and  its  faithful  officials  and  employees  did  not 
palm  off  cheap  goods  on  the  innocent  Metis  or 
Indians. 

Hospitality  was  unbounded  and  they  were  as  glad 
to  see  a  visitor  as  the  wearied  wanderer  was  to  seek 
their  comfortable  quarters. 

Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  stationed  'way  up  north 
where  he  received  his  mail  only  once  a  year,  was  a 
subscriber  to  the  London  Times  and,  as  he  told  me, 
he  had  a  morning  paper  every  day  in  the  year,  his 
copy  being  exactly  one  year  old.  He  religiously  read 
only  one  copy  a  day.  He  died  in  Peterboro  some  years 
ago  and  his  death  was  greatly  regretted. 

Joseph  Hargrave's  "Red  River"  was  a  splendidly 
written  book,  now  almost  forgotten.  I  remember  him 
in  Winnipeg,  a  cultured  gentleman,  who  had  never 
before  worn  any  foot  covering  but  mossasins.  I  met 
him  with  his  first  pair  of  leather  boots,  and  he  walked 
clumsily  as  an  ox.    But  he  didn't  write  with  his  feet. 

Lawrence  Clarke,  of  Prince  Albert,  was  a  host 
wlhose  hospitality  could  never  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  enjoyed  it.  Johnny  McTavish,  after  whom  I 
named  my  first  boy,  was  everybody's  friend,  John 
Balsillie,  James  Anderson,  Jim  McDougall,  Horace 
Belanger  from  Norway  House  on  Lake  Winnipeg, 
whose  laugh  was  the  most  infectious  I  ever  heard — 
who  can  ever  forget  them!  And  they  are  but  a  few 
of  the  army  of  Hudson's  Bay  men,  who  in  days  gone 
by  wielded  a  great  influence  amongst  the  untutored 
people  of  the  land.  Some  of  the  names  are  familiar 
to  the  residents  of  many  an  Ontario  town,  whither 
several  of  the  factors  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
retired  at  the  close  of  their  service  to  spend  the  even- 


SOME   EARLY   TRADING  POSTS   OF   THE   HUDSON'S   BAY   COMPANY. 


KEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  113 

ing  of  their  busy  lives  in  peaceful  dignity,  always  men 
of  outstanding  character  in  the  community.  It  was 
these  men  who  laid  the  solid  foundation  of  Lord 
Strathcona's  immense  fortune.  Money  was  of  no 
use  to  them  in  their  isolated  homes  and  they  entrusted 
their  savings  to  "Donald  A."  for  investment.  This 
he  faithfully  did  and  it  gave  him  a  strong  financial 
standing.  Credit,  you  know,  is  sometimes  more  use- 
ful than  cash. 

The  Tale  or  a  Cat. 

This  is  the  history  of  the  first  cat  ever  brought  into 
the  farther  Northwest.  The  Indians  were  told  it 
would  catch  mice  and  perform  other  remarkable  feats, 
and  they  at  once  concluded  that  it  was  a  medicine 
animal  of  great  virtue,  so  they  dubbed  it,  "the  little 
tiger".  Pussy  was  stationed  at  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Post  at  Head  mountain,  and  thither  a  band  of  Black- 
feet  went  to  see  the  wonderful  animal.  It  so  happened 
that  no  one  was  in  the  kitchen  of  the  post  when  one 
of  the  Indians  arrived,  and  finding  himself  alone  with 
the  cat  he  quickly  grabbed  it  and  put  it  under  his 
robe.  Lo,  as  was  the  custom  in  those  days,  (and  per- 
haps in  these,  too),  wore  no  undergarments.  Just  at 
this  moment  one  of  the  employees  of  the  company 
came  in,  and  the  Indian,  fearing  the  cat  would  squeal 
on  him,  firmly  pressed  his  arm  on  its  head.  The  cat 
naturally  resented  this  treatment,  and  its  sharp  claws 
were  driven  into  the  dusky  hide  of  its  captor.  The 
Indian  didn't  exactly  emulate  the  Spartan  youth  who 
allowed  the  fox  to  eat  out  his  vitals  rather  than  be 
exposed,  but  he  tried  to  hard  enough.  As  the  cat 
scratched,  the  Indian's  face  became  distorted  and  his 
body  and  disengaged  arm  went  through  such  con- 
tortions that  induced  the  H.  B.  man  to  imagine  he  was 
ill. 

(9) 


114  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

"Are  you  sick?"  asked  the  H.  B.  employee. 

"No-n-no,"  and  just  then  the  eat  used  his  claws 
again.  His  arm  went  up  in  the  air  and  his  body 
cavorted  as  if  he  had  an  attack  of  St.  Vitus '  dance. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  must  be,"  said  the  white  man  with 
compassion. 

"No,  not  ill" — and  again  the  cat  firmly  drew  its 
claws  down  the  poor  fellow's  bleeding  breast.  More 
contortions  followed  and  then  the  Indian  confessed, 
on  condition  that  he  would  not  be  exposed  for  having 
stolen  the  animal.  Just  at  this  juncture  old  Mr. 
Christie,  afterwards  chief  commissioner  of  the  com- 
pany, and  who  then  was  in  charge  of  the  post,  came 
upon  the  scene,  and  the  Indian  motioned  the  other 
officer  not  to  expose  him.  In  doing  so,  he  unfortunately 
squeezed  the  cat's  head  again,  and  Miss  Pussy  re- 
sented the  familiarity  by  again  clawing  the  Indian, 
who  gave  another  bound  in  the  air,  and  went  through 
his  contortions  while  a  look  of  agony  settled  on  his 
face. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  the  poor  fellow?"  asked 
Mr.  Christie  sympathetically.  "Nothing,"  was  the 
employee's  answer,  with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  yes,  the  poor  fellow  is  very  ill.  Get  him  some 
medicine.  See  him  now — see  him,"  said  Mr.  Christie, 
as  the  contortions  continued.  "Quick,  get  him  some- 
thing— see  him  again!"  for  the  Indian  danced  around 
like  a  madman  under  the  spur  of  the  cat's  sharp 
claws.  The  employee  laughed  immoderately,  and  Mr. 
Christie,  enraged  at  such  apparent  heartlessness, 
ordered  the  man  to  either  get  the  medicine  at  once  or 
leave  the  place.  And  every  little  while  the  Indian 
would  squeeze  the  cat's  head,  and  the  cat  would 
scratch  viciously,  and  then  the  Indian  would  jump 
vigorously,  while  poor  Mr.  Christie  stood  by  gazing 
pitifully  on  the  sufferer.     Finally  the  employee  ex- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  115 

plained  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  their 
acrobatic  visitor  that  medicine  could  cure,  but  if  Mr. 
Christie  would  only  let  him  have  what  was  the  matter 
with  him  instant  relief  would  come.  A  little  per- 
plexed over  this  statement,  Mr.  Christie  consented, 
and  the  Indian  unfolded  his  robe  and  exhibited  a 
beautifully  lacerated  bosom — torn  to  pieces  the  full 
reach  of  the  cat's  four  paws.  Then  the  old  gentle- 
man laughed,  and  the  employee  laughed, — but  the 
Indian  didn't.  He  started  for  home  pleased  with  his 
prize,  but  his  torn  bosom  became  so  painful  that  he 
revenged  his  sufferings  by  killing  the  little  tiger  and 
making  a  war  bonnet  of  its  skin.  And  that  is  the 
history  of  the  first  cat  in  the  Rockies. 

Indian  Humor  and  Imagery 

It  is  a  pretty  general  belief  that  the  Indian  never 
laughs.  This  is  incorrect.  The  red  man  enjoys  a  joke 
as  well  as  the  white  or  black  or  yellow,  and  his 
imagery  is  poetic. 

When  I  visited  Mekastino,  Chief  of  the  Bloods, 
(known  as  Red  Crow),  and  told  him  I  had  come  to 
learn  about  the  intended  uprising  of  the  Indians  in 
the  West,  who  were  charged  with  the  proposed 
slaughtering  of  all  the  whites  in  the  Northwest,  he 
smilingly  asked: 

"And  if  you  believe  this  how  dare  you  come  here 
without  a  gun  to  defend  yourself?" 

I  nonchalantly  replied,  putting  my  hand  over  my 
upper  vest  pocket : 

"Oh,  I  have  something  here  that  will  kill  any 
Indian  I  ever  met. ' ' 

He,  very  interestedly,  wanted  to  know  what  it  was, 
and  I  produced  a  lead-pencil.  The  whole  tribe  present 
laughed  heartily  when  it  was  translated  to  them  and 
dubbed  me  "The  Man  with  the  Lead  Pencil. " 


116  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Next  time  I  met  Ked  Crow  was  in  Winnipeg  on  his 
way  to  Europe,  whither  the  Canadian  Government 
had  sent  him  and  other  chiefs  for  civilizing  and  edu- 
cation. I  took  the  band  to  an  ice  cream  parlor  and  as 
he  ate  his  first  dish,  the  chief  called  it  " sweet  snow" 
and  said  thaf  on  the  next  fall  of  it  he  would  send 
down  all  his  squaws  with  baskets  galore  to  secure  a 
plentiful  supply. 

In  taking  them  to  the  theatre  that  night,  the  electric 
lights  were  turned  on;  gazing  up  at  them,  he  put  his 
hands  over  his  mouth,  and  exclaimed,  ' '  Oh  my,  oh  my, 
oh  my,  the  white  man  is  wonderful.  See !  he  has  plucked 
a  lot  of  little  stars  from  the  skies  and  put  them  on 
poles  to  light  the  village  with.  He  is  wonderful. '  '  And 
to  this  day  Ked  Crow  imagines  those  lights  are  little 
stars  captured  from  heaven  and  utilized  by  the  angelic 
corporation  of  Winnipeg  for  street  lighting  purposes. 
"  Around  the  World  in  Eighty  Days"  was  the  play  pro- 
duced and  my  dusky  guests  uninterestedly  viewed  the 
opening  scenes.  But  when  the  Deadwood  stage  was 
attacked  by  Indians  there  came  a  decided  change  in 
their  demeanor.  All  called  out  encouragingly  in  the 
Indian  tongue  to  their  fellow  reds  on  the  boards,  and 
they  became  greatly  excited  and  their  unceasing 
activities  of  person  and  guttural  whoops  attracted 
more  attention  to  the  group  than  did  the  actors.  After 
the  show  we  met  their  brothers  in  red,  who  belonged  to 
another  tribe,  and  it  was  explained  to  them  that  this 
was  only  play-acting  and  stage  robbery  was  now 
obsolete. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Abound  the  Banqueting  Board — My  First  Speech — 

At  the  Ottawa  Press  Gallery  Dinners — A  Race 

With    Hon.    Frank    Oliver  —  A  Homelike 

Family  Gathering — A  Scotch  Banquet 

— Banquets  in  Winnipeg — Bouquets 

and  Brickbats — The  Mayor  of 

New  York  and  the  Queen 

or  Belgium. 

IT  WAS  part  of  my  duties  for  many  years  to 
average  at  least  two  banquets  a  week  during  the 
open  season  for  public  gatherings  of  that  kind,  and 
this  continued  so  long  that  my  good  friend  and  medical 
adviser,  Dr.  Frank  England,  of  Montreal,  finally  gave 
due  warning  that  if  I  persisted  in  the  pernicious  habit 
he  would  have  me  interdicted  as  a  public  feeder.  About 
that  time  the  Great  War  with  what  was  once  the  Ger- 
man Empire  broke  out,  and  banqueting  was  largely 
taboo.  So  the  doctor's  advice  was  timely,  and  I  could 
honestly  follow  it  and  still  not  miss  much. 

My  first  banqueting  speech  was  made  at  Whitby 
when  upon  the  departure  of  one  of  the  citizens,  who 
had  just  failed  in  business,  we  gathered  to  give  him  a 
farewell  at  the  Royal  Hotel.  As  the  only  representa- 
tive of  the  press  present — a  callow  youth  who  had 
never  thought  of  speaking  in  public — I  was  called 
upon,  and  rose  to  respond  with  not  too  much  cheerful 
alacrity.  For  the  life  of  me,  I  didn't  know  what  to  say, 
but  I  had  to  say  something  and  so  I  started  out  with  my 
heart  in  my  mouth : 

117 


118  REMINISCENCES  OP  A  RACONTEUR 

"Mister  Chairman,  ladies  and  gentlemen. ' '  Then  I 
remembered  there  wasn't  a  blamed  female  in  the  room. 
The  audience  laughed  heartily  at  what  they  thought 
was  an  attempt  on  my  part  to  be  funny,  when  I  never 
was  so  serious  in  all  my  life.    But  I  helplessly  went  on. 

"We  are  all  glad  to  be  here  and  see  our  honored 
guest  leave  town — "  then  a  long  pause,  and  I  realized 
I  had  put  my  foot  in  it,  but  quickly  recovering,  kept 
making  things  worse  by  adding — "and  we  all  wish  him 
in  his  future  home  the  great  success  he  has  met  with  in 
Whitby.' '  A  dead  silence  ensued,  and  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  in  thunder  I  could  say  next.  There  was  no 
inspiration,  but  lots  of  perspiration  for  me,  but  I  had 
to  say  something  or  other.  So  I  wished  him  and  his 
family — he  was  a  bachelor  without  any  relatives — all 
the  prosperity  that  his  great  talents  and  business 
ability — (he  was  a  chump  of  the  first  water) — I  don't 
remember  whether  I  finished  the  sentence  or  not,  but 
a  friend  in  need  seeing  my  dilemma  started  a  round  of 
applause,  during  which  I  quickly  subsided,  and  spent 
the  rest  of  the  evening  very  uncomfortably  in  wonder- 
ing whether  I  was  a  mere  common  garden  variety  of 
pumpkin  head  or  something  worse. 

Of  the  hundreds  of  banquets  that  I  have  attended, 
none  were  more  enjoyable  than  those  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary Press  Gallery  at  Ottawa,  which  were  always 
held  on  a  Saturday  night.  There  good  fellowship, 
genial  companionship  and  mirth,  both  in  wit  and 
humor,  held  unbroken  sway  until  midnight  when  it  was 
run  on  Winnipeg  time  and  then  on  Vancouver  time,  so 
that  we  wouldn't  break  the  Sabbath.  The  big  men 
spoke  freely  and  so  did  some  of  us  littler  fellows,  and 
seldom  was  there  a  tiresome  spell,  for  the  speeches 
were,  by  an  unwritten  law,  always  brief  and  to  the 
point.  These  were  before  the  dark  days  of  the  Big  War 
and  prohibition.    They  were  held  from  1870  to  1914, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  119 

when  they  ceased  altogether  during  the  conflict,  and 
have  not  been  resumed  since. 

Sir  John  A.  Macdonald,  Sir  Wilfrid  Laurier,  Sir 
Charles  Tupper,  Sir  John  Carling,  Sir  George  Foster 
frequently  were  honored  guests,  and  such  senators  and 
commoners  as  Nicholas  Flood  Davin,  Dr.  Landerkin, 
George  Casey,  Sir  Sam  Hughes,  Hon.  R.  Lemieux,  Col. 
E.  J.  Chambers,  Col.  Smith,  Dr.  Sproule,  Ed.  Mac- 
donald, Senator  George  Fowler,  Hon.  Geo.  P.  Graham, 
Hon.  R.  F.  Sutherland,  Charlie  Parmalee,  Harry 
Charlton  of  the  Grand  Trunk,  John  P.  Knight,  Tom 
Daly,  M.P.,  E.  G.  Prior,  M.P.,  Robt.  S.  White.  M.P., 
James  Somerville,  M.P.,  J.  J.  Curran,  M.P.,  and  a 
host  of  others  gladly  accepted  the  highly  coveted  invi- 
tation. My  first  appearance  at  one  of  these  was  in 
1886.  The  gathering  was  a  comparatively  small  one, 
but  still  very  respectable.  John  T.  Hawke,  of  the 
Ottawa  Free  Press  and  for  years  subsequently  pub- 
lisher of  the  Moncton  Transcript,  was  assigned  the 
reply  to  the  toast  of  "The  Conservative  Party"  and 
R.  S.  White  that  to  the  toast  of  "The  Liberal  Party." 
The  joke  consisted  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  White  was  about 
as  hard  shell  a  Tory  in  those  days  as  Mr.  Hawke  was 
an  adamant  Grit.  Mr.  White  treated  his  subject 
humorously,  reciting  as  commendable  all  the  faults  of 
the  Liberal  party,  recounting  their  electoral  failures  as 
due  to  a  stupid  public,  and  winding  up  with  the  hope 
that  the  party  which  for  the  nonce  he  represented 
might  for  many  years  continue  to  adorn  the  place  they 
held  in  the  Commons.  The  Liberals  then  were  in  a 
hopeless  minority.  Mr.  Hawke  was  nonplussed  by  the 
line  Mr.  White  had  taken  and  his  attack  on  the  Con- 
servative party  fell  somewhat  flat.  He  had  missed  the 
joke  of  entrusting  him  with  the  toast. 

The  president  of  the  gallery  always  occupied  the 
chair,  having  the  Prime  Minister  on  his  right  and  the 


120  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

leader  of  the  Opposition  on  his  left.  For  sixteen  con- 
secutive years  I  was  honored  with  a  seat  next  Sir 
Wilfrid,  whether  he  was  in  office  or  ont  of  it — 'bluff  old 
Harry  Anderson  of  the  Toronto  Globe  could  tell  you 
why. 

The  only  reason  I  can  give  for  being  chosen  to  sit 
beside  Sir  Wilfrid  all  these  years  was  that  I  never 
wanted  anything  of  him  and  didn't  worry  him  by 
introducing  theological,  theosophical,  social,  scientific 
or  any  other  subject  that  was  not  in  complete  harmony 
with  the  spirit  and  informality  of  the  evening.  And 
Sir  Wilfrid  did  enjoy  a  joke.  One  night  I  called  his 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  waiter  was  removing  the 
silverware  between  courses. 

"WHy,  yes!    What  does  he  do  that  for?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  you  know,  Sir  Wilfrid,  he's  responsible  for 
the  table-ware." 

" Surely,"  remarked  Sir  Wilfrid  solemnly,  "he 
doesn't  suspect  me,  does  he?" 

"Not  yet,  Sir  Wilfrid,  not  yet." 

Then  again  I  remarked  to  him  that  I  supposed  he 
travelled  a  good  deal,  and  he  said  he  did. 

"And  you  put  up  at  first-class  hotels,  too,  I  pre- 
sume 1 "   He  acknowledged  that  he  did. 

"Did  you  ever  notice,  Sir  Wilfrid,  how  small  the 
cakes  of  soap  in  the  bedrooms  are  nowadays  1 ' ' 

He  said  he  had,  and  wanted  to  know  the  reason  of 
their  diminished  size. 

"Because  the  hotels  don't  lose  so  much  soap  now." 

And  the  raillery  was  just  what  he  wanted  to  indulge 
in  after,  perhaps,  a  vexatious  and  trying  day  at  his 
office. 

Hon.  Frank  Oliver  and  Yours  Truly. 

According  to  a  report  of  one  of  the  press  gallery 
banquets  Hon.  Frank  Oliver,  M.P.,  shortly  after  I  had 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  121 

delivered  what  I  was  pleased  to  think  was  a  speech, 
was  called  upon.  The  former  Minister  of  the  Interior 
according  to  the  report  said  he  had  always  felt  a 
personal  interest  and  some  pride  in  Mr.  Ham,  because 
he  had  been  the  means  of  giving  him  his  first  job  in 
the  West.  In  1875  he  (Mr.  Oliver)  was  the  foreman  in 
the  Winnipeg  Free  Press  printing  office,  when  a  young 
fellow  just  up  from  Ontario  blew  in,  told  a  joke  or  two 
and  asked  for  a  job  at  the  case.  Mr.  Oliver  said  he 
liked  the  jokes  and  also  his  style,  and  engaged  him 
then  and  there,  giving  him  some  good  advice  as  to  how 
he  might  get  on  if  he  minded  himself.  The  ex-minister 
continued:  "George  took  the  advice  all  right,  for  be- 
fore many  months  were  over  he  was  writing  the 
editorials  for  the  Free  Press  and  was  an  alderman  of 
the  city  of  Winnipeg,  while  I  was  driving  bulls  across 
the  prairie." 

That's  all  right  for  Mr.  Frank,  but  it  isn't  the  whole 
story.  That  was  46  years  ago,  and  the  reportorial 
room  and  the  composing  room  consisted  of  one  and  the 
same  room,  and  we  couldn't  even  boast  of  a  proof  press 
— we  used  a  mallet  and  planer — think,  you  publishers 
of  to-day,  a  daily  paper  without  a  proof  press,  and 
the  telegraph  dispatches  were  frequently  unintelligible. 
Frank  Oliver  was  foreman  and  I  was  a  comp.  Then  I 
got  ahead  of  him  and  became  city  editor,  and  he 
pounded  a  bull  train  900  miles  across  the  plains  to 
Edmonton,  where  he  started  the  Bulletin,  a  model 
paper,  and  got  ahead  of  me.  Then  I  evened  up  and 
started  the  Winnipeg  Tribune — not  R.  L.  's  sheet,  but, 
you  know,  modesty  prevents  my  saying  anything 
further  about  the  two  Tribunes.  Comparisons  are 
odious.  Then  Frank  forged  ahead  and  was  elected  to 
the  Northwest  Council,  and  I  caught  up  to  him  by  elect- 
ing myself  alderman  of  Winnipeg.  Hanged,  if  he 
didn't  go  me  one  better  and  Edmonton  sent  him  down 


122  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  Ottawa  as  an  M.P.  In  desperation  I  collared  a  school 
trusteeship  and  a  license  commissionership  under  the 
McCarthy  Act,  which  was  declared  ultra  vires  the  next 
week.  He  wouldn't  stand  for  that,  so  he  became  a 
Minister  in  Sir  Wilfrid  Laurier's  cabinet.  Then  Sir 
Sam  Hughes  came  to  my  rescue,  and  appointed  me  an 
honorary  lieutenant-colonel.  This  was  the  apex  of  our 
greatness.  Bad  luck  set  in  for  us  both.  Frank  was 
beaten  in  the  Federal  elections,  and  Sir  Sam  wouldn't 
let  me  go  to  the  war,  because  he  was  of  the  decided 
and  fixed  opinion  that  I  would  be  more  useless  over 
there  where  the  bombs  and  bullets  were  flying  than  in 
Montreal  where  the  prices  of  everything  one  consumed 
or  wore  were  soaring.  So  no  rivalry  exists  between 
Frank  and  me  now,  and  we  have  agreed  to  call  it  a 
draw. 

When  Sir  Wilfrid  Didn't  Blush. 

At  another  press  gathering,  when  I  was  called  upon 
to  speak,  I  began  by  timidly  asking  if  there  were  any 
reporters  present,  and  loud  and  continued  shouts  of 
"No-o-o"  convinced  me  that  there  were  none. 

A  second  question:  "Are  there  any  ladies  present V 
received  an  equally  demonstrative  negative. 

To  a  third  one:  "Will  Sir  Wilfrid  blush ?"  there 
was  no  mistake.    He  wouldn't. 

So  then  I  told  a  story,  and  I  could  see,  by  a  side 
glance  of  the  eye,  that  Sir  Wilfrid  felt  not  a  little  con- 
cerned. 

But  "Honi  soit  qui  mat  y  pense"  is  my  motto  as  well 
as  that  of  the  British  Empire,  and  so  I  told  a  story  of 
the  Cobalt  days — it's  an  old  one  now — when  on  a 
stormy  night  a  benighted  stranger  on  the  G-owganda 
trail  sought  shelter  in  a  road-house  only  to  find  it  was 
crowded  plumb  full.    The  landlord  informed  him  that 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  123 

there  was  no  place  for  him  there  and  that  he  would 
have  to  seek  for  quarters  elsewhere. 

"But,"  pleaded  the  weary  wayfarer,  "there  is  no 
place  to  go — no  house  within  half-a-dozen  miles,  and 
the  storm  is  growing  worse  and  worse.' ' 

The  landlord  was  inexorable,  but  just  then  his  hand- 
some young  daughter  joined  the  two  and  having  over- 
heard the  conversation,  said : 

"But,  father,  you  can't  turn  the  poor  man  away  on 
such  a  night  as  this.  We  can  find  room  for  him,  if  he'll 
sleep  in  the  hired  man's  bed.  He's  gone  away,  you 
know. ' ' 

The  landlord  was  willing,  and  the  stranger  gladly 
accepted  the  offer.  Shortly  afterwards  he  was  en- 
sconced in  the  hired  man's  bed. 

Just  before  blowing  out  the  candle,  he  heard  a  gentle 
tap  on  the  door,  and  crying  out :  ' '  Come  in, ' '  beheld  as 
the  door  partly  opened  a  vision  of  loveliness — the  land- 
lord's daughter. 

"Would  you  like  a  nice  bed-fellow  to-night?"  she 
innocently  asked.  (Here  Sir  Wilfrid  looked  sharply  at 
me,  evidently  in  great  concern.) 

"You  bet,"  was  the  reply.  (Sir  Wilfrid's  look  was 
agonizing — but  just  for  the  moment.) 

"Well,"  said  the  maiden,  "just  roll  over  then;  the 
hired  man's  come  back." 

Loud  laughter  and  a  sigh  of  relief  which  ended  in  a 
chuckle  from  Sir  Wilfrid  concluded  that  particular 
part  of  my  contribution  to  that  evening's  gaiety  of  the 
gallery. 

One  day  a  party  of  friends  were  discussing  banquets 
at  the  Montreal  Club,  and  I  expressed  the  opinion  that 
they  were  a  delusion  and  a  snare ;  that  they  were  usual- 


124  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ly  commenced  at  a  late  hour  instead  of  at  seven  or  half- 
past,  the  hour  when  people  generally  dined;  that  the 
menu  consisted  of  a  large  variety  of  uneatable  or  un- 
palatable food,  and  other  words  to  similar  effect. 
Charlie  Foster,  the  assistant  passenger  traffic  manager 
of  the  C.P.E.,  wanted  to  know  what  kind  of  a  bill-of- 
fare  I  would  suggest,  and  I  named  common  garden 
soup,  corned  beef  and  cabbage,  pumpkin  pie,  etc.,  etc., 
and  so  forth.  In  proof  of  this  I  related  how  at  the 
swagger  banquet  of  the  Quebec  Fish  and  Game  Associ- 
ation held  at  the  Eitz- Carlton  some  time  previously — 
quite  a  gorgeous  affair — I  noticed  late  in  the  evening 
a  worried,  dissatisfied  look  come  across  the  classic 
features  of  Hon.  Frank  Carrel,  of  the  Quebec  Tele- 
graph, who  sat  opposite  me. 

" What's  the  matter,  Frank ?"  I  asked. 

" Don't  know,  old  dear,  don't  know,  but  I  feel  rather 
queer.    By  Jove,  I  believe  I  'm  hungry. ' 9 

' '  So  am  I,"  I  rejoined.  And  we  went  down  to  Childs ' 
and  as  the  clock  struck  midnight  were  revelling  in 
savory  dishes  of  corned  beef  hash  and  poached  eggs, 
(for  which,  I  might  add,  we  were  joshed  and  jibed  at 
many  a  time.) 

A  few  days  after,  a  deputation  of  fellow  workers  in 
the  C.P.E.  vineyard  dropped  into  my  office,  headed  by 
Charlie  Benjamin,  now  passenger  traffic  manager  of 
the  Company's  ocean  service,  who  mentioned  that  there 
was  a  guy  who  kicked  like  a  steer  at  banquet  foods  as 
usually  framed  up  by  chefs,  and  as  this  guy  was  to  have 
a  birthday  on  the  near  approaching  23rd  August,  he 
demanded  on  behalf  of  the  large  and  apparently  re- 
spectable deputation  that  the  aforesaid  guy  should 
himself  prepare  a  bill-of-fare  for  the  feed  that  was  to 
be  tendered  him.  I  was  the  guy.  And  here  is  a  copy  of 
the  menu : 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  125 

Sliced  Tomatoes 

Celery  Olives 

Pea  Soup,  Thin,  Like  Mother  Used  to  Make 

A  Little  Cold  Liver  and  Bacon 

Irish  Turkey  and  Cabbage 

New  Boiled  Murphies  with  the  Sweaters  on 

Buttered  White  Beans  a  la  Orchestra 

Dear  Apple  Pie  Poor  Pumpkin  Pie 

Tea  or  Coffee 

And,  between  you  and  me,  no  dinner  I  ever  attended 
filled  the  long  felt  want  as  that  one  did.  Like  the 
Scotchman  who  boasted  that  he  had  gone  to  bed  per- 
fectly sober  the  previous  night  for  the  first  time  in  20 
years,  and  felt  none  the  worse  for  it  next  morning — 
neither  did  any  of  us  after  eating  the  wholesome  food. 

A  Scotch  Banquet. 

The  only  banquet  I  ever  attended  in  the  Old  Country 
was  at  Greenock,  Scotland,  in  honor  of  George  Wal- 
lace, who  was  leaving  home  for  Winnipeg.  Capt.  Mac- 
pherson,  commodore  of  the  famed  Gourock  Yacht  Club, 
Neil  Munro,  the  novelist,  and  myself  had  returned  to 
Gourock  from  the  launching  of  the  Empress  of  Britain 
at  Go  van,  on  the  Clyde,  and  were  enjoying  some  scones 
and  tea — at  least  they  were — just  before  dinner,  when 
a  message  came  from  Greenock  to  go  up  at  once.  So  up 
we  went,  and  as  the  three  of  us  entered  the  big  well- 
filled  banqueting  room  of  the  Tontine  Hotel,  there  was 
loud  applause  for  my  two  friends  who  were  very  popu- 
lar. We  had  a  rattling  good  time,  and  the  Provost, 
who  presided,  learning  that  I  was  a  Canadian,  called 
upon  me  to  speak  at  just  the  right  time,  and  I  got  off 
a  whole  lot  of  guff  which,  however,  seemed  to  please 
the  assembled  multitude.  Why  they  even  laughed  im- 
moderately when  I  told  them  that  they  would  be  greatly 


126  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

disappointed  if  they  should  come  to  Montreal  expecting 
to  see  only  French  people,  for  they  would  find  only 
about  one  half  of  that  nationality  and  the  other  half 
Scotch  (and  after  a  pause)  and  soda.  I  almost  laughed 
at  it  myself.  After  the  banquet,  Col.  Tillitson,  the 
banker,  gave  another,  and  there  were  more  speeches, 
and  I  thanked  God  that  the  dawn  broke  on  a  beautiful 
Sabbath  morning,  when  a  fellow  didn't  have  to  get  up. 
Scotland  is  a  highly  civilized  country. 

Banquets  in  Winnipeg. 

Banquets  in  the  early  days  in  Winnipeg  were  occas- 
ions for  the  gathering  together  of  kindred  spirits.  The 
St.  Andrew's  banquets  were  largely  attended  and  one 
could  always  tell  when  1st  December  came  around  by 
seeing  the  unusual  number  of  dress-suited  gentlemen 
in  the  places  of  public  resort  that  morning.  St.  Andrew 
was  a  saint  who  couldn't  be  properly  honored  in  a  few 
hours.  The  attendance  was  not  exclusively  confined 
to  Hielan'men  but  many  of  other  nationalities  gladly 
joined  in  the  festivities  and  kept  them  up  with  a  merry 
whirl  long  after  "God  Save  the  Queen"  had  been 
loyally  rendered. 

The  St.  George's  Society  also  had  great  gatherings. 
At  one,  held  in  the  early  '80 's  in  the  now  demolished 
Eoyal  Arms  Hotel,  amongst  the  guests  of  the  evening 
was  Mr.  McCroskie,  the  architect  who  repaired  the 
hotel  at  the  corner  of  Main  and  Broadway,  and  made 
it  habitable.  The  old  gentleman  came  togged  up  in 
his  Sunday  best  and  wore  a  top  hat,  which  for  safety 
he  placed  under  his  chair.  As  hilarity  began  to  work 
its  way  about  the  table,  this  fact  was  whispered  around, 
and  a  good  many  jokers  of  the  practical  type  quietly 
dropped  a  plateful  of  tipsy  cake  or  plum  pudding  or 
ice  cream  and  goodness  knows  what  else  into  the  plug 
hat  until  it  was  nearly  full  to  the  brim.    Then  a  devil- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  127 

may-care  party  sitting  across  the  table  accused  the 
victim  of  not  being  an  Englishman,  and  trouble  com- 
menced. Enraged  at  the  insult,  Mac  arose  excitably 
from  his  seat,  hastily  grabbed  his  hat  and  after  a  few 
steps  on  his  way  to  the  door  indignantly  clapped  it, 
contents  and  all,  on  his  head.  How  that  slushy  stuff 
did  pour  down  on  his  head  and  his  shoulders  was  a 
caution.  Some  of  us  didn't  see  the  point  of  the  joke — 
but  were  silenced  by  the  thunderous  laughter  that  fol- 
lowed. 

Bouquets  and  Brick-Bats  and  Democracy. 

There  is  never  a  rose  without  a  thorn.  This  is  of- 
ficial. Bouquets  a-plenty  have  been  showered  upon  me. 
Sir  Thomas  White  once  called  me  a  great  national 
asset — and  I  am  glad  he  fortunately  added  the  "et"j 
Collier's  wrote  of  me  as  the  greatest  unprinted  wit  un- 
bound in  Canada,  and  other  dubbed  me  Ambassador  in 
Chief  of  the  C.P.R.,  while  I  have  mistakenly  been 
honored  by  being  called  the  Mark  Twain  of  Canada — 
save  the  Mark — and  the  British,  Australasian,  Ameri- 
can and  Canadian  press  representatives  heaped 
eulogies  and  showered  gifts  upon  me,  and  I  never  got  a 
swelled  head  over  it,  because  I  had  experienced 
bouquets  with  bricks  in  them.  Once,  when  I  filled  the 
high  and  dignified  position  of  chairman  of  the  license 
and  police  committee  in  the  city  of  Winnipeg,  Chief 
Murray  came  to  me  one  day  and  told  me  that  Schmidt 
— I  think  that  was  his  name — had  half-a-dozen  teams 
at  work  and  only  one  license.  I  instructed  him  to  make 
Mr.  Schmidt,  if  that  was  his  name,  take  out  a  license 
for  each  and  every  team,  and  the  order  was  promptly 
and  strictly  carried  out.  The  matter  escaped  my  mind 
altogether,  until  one  bright  afternoon  when  entering  a 
street  car  amongst  whose  passengers  were  several 
ladies  of  my  intimate  acquaintance.     After  bidding 


128  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

them  the  time  of  day,  I  went  to  a  seat  forward,  where  a 
fat  German  in  a  partially  intoxicated  condition  was 
lolling.  As  I  neared  him,  he  a  little  gruffly  wanted  to 
know  if  I  was  Alderman  Ham.  Imagining  he  was  one 
of  the  free  and  independent  electors  of  Fort  Kouge, 
which  ward  I  was  chosen  to  represent,  I  pulled  down 
my  vest,  puffed  out  by  bosom  like  a  pouter  pigeon,  and 
courteously  acknowledged  that  I  was — in  the  blessed 
hope  of  securing  an  additional  vote  at  the  approaching 
election.  But  it's  the  unexpected  that  always  happens. 
He  leered  at  me  and  shouted,  so  that  everybody  in  the 
car  could  hear : 
1 i  You  are,  eh  f  Well,  you  are  a  damned  old  stinker. ' ' 
It  was  Schmidt,  the  teamster  man.  I  didn't  mind 
that,  but  the  ladies  all  heard  him,  and  laughed  im- 
moderately, for  which  no  particular  blame  could,  would 
or  should  be,  as  the  case  may  be,  attached  to  them.  But 
it  knocked  my  high  and  mighty  ideas  of  glorified  of- 
ficialdom into  a  cocked  hat. 

Another  time,  but  there  was  no  brick  in  this  one,  in 
travelling  through  the  Canadian  Kockies  an  American 
lady  in  the  observation  car  asked  the  name  of  a  par- 
ticularly lofty  mountain.  Here,  I  thought,  was  an  ap- 
preciative audience  of  one  whom  I  could  illuminate.  I 
told  her  it  was  Mount  Tupper,  named  after  one  of  Can- 
ada 's  greatest  statesmen,  and  that  on  the  other  side 
was  Mount  Macdonald,  called  after  Canada's  Grand 
Old  Man,  and  that  the  two  mountains  had  once  been 
united,  as  Sir  John  and  Sir  Charles  were,  but  that  in 
the  very  long  ago  the  irresistible  forces  of  Nature  had 
split  them  in  twain.  The  lady  seemed  greatly  inter- 
ested, and  I,  in  my  middle-aged  simplicity,  went  on  to 
point  out  the  "picturesque  figure  of  the  Hermit,  which 
with  cowl  and  faithful  dog,  carved  out  of  hardened 
rock,  had  stood  watch  and  ward  all  through  the  long 
centuries  of  past  and  gone  ages,  and  that  until  etern- 


AT  THE    SAN  FRANCISCO   FAIR. 
A   GATHERING  OF  AMERICAN  JOURNALISTS. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  129 

ity  they  would  be  on  guard  as  living  symbols  of  the 
wonderful  works  of  an  omniscient  Creator.' '  And  she 
said: 

"My,  how  cute!'' 

Any  aspirations  I  may  have  had  concealed  about  my 
person  of  ever  rivalling  Demosthenes  immediately  sub- 
sided, and  it  gradually  dawned  upon  me  that  as  a 
silver-tongued  orator  I  wasn't  even  in  the  same  class 
with  William  Jennings  Bryan,  Newton  Rowell  or 
Mayor  Hylan  of  New  York. 

Mayor  Hylan  and  the  Queen 

That  reminds  me  of  something  altogether  different — 
the  mention  of  Mayor  Hylan 's  name — which  has  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  the  case,  but  as  I  am  writing 
these  reminiscences  higgledy  piggledy,  just  as  they 
occur  to  me,  the  reader  needn't  mind. 

When  the  King  and  Queen  of  Belgium  visited  New 
York,  His  Honor  was  greatly  in  evidence.  He  is  very 
democratic,  you  know,  whatever  that  may  be.  He  in- 
troduced His  Majesty  to  one  of  his  friends  in  this 
way : ' i  King,  this  is  Mister  Jack  Walsh,  one  of  our  very 
best  officials. ' '  That  was  the  democratic  way,  all  right 
enough,  but  he  went  one  better  in  the  afternoon,  when 
there  was  a  grand  parade  of  school  children,  which  was 
reviewed  by  Belgium's  royalty.  The  grouped  children 
to  the  number  of  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  sang  the 
national  anthems  of  America  and  Belgium  to  the  in- 
tense delight  of  their  Majesties. 

After  the  function  was  ended,  Her  Majesty  grate- 
fully acknowledged  to  His  Honor  her  great  pleasure  at 
witnessing  such  a  sublime  spectacle. 

"Your  Honor,"  she  said  sweetly,  "I  can  scarcely 
express  my  feeling  at  seeing  so  many  well  dressed, 
highly  cultured  young  people  and  hearing  their  sweet 
voices  in  perfect  unison  singing  the  beloved  native  song 

(10) 


130  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

of  my  country.    You  should  be  proud  of  them.  America 
should  be,  for  in  them  are  those  who  will  grow  up  to  be 
the  future  fathers  and  mothers  of  a  race  that  will  make 
the  United   States   a  wonderfully   great   and   grand 
country — perhaps  the  greatest  in  the  world." 
And  His  Honor  democratically  replied : 
1  i  Queen,  you  said  a  mouthful  that  time. ' ' 
Then,   even  Her  Majesty   smiled,   and  the   others 
merely  laughed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

In  the  Land  of  Mystery — Planchette  and  Ouija — 
Necromancers  and  Hypnotists  and  Fortune  Tel- 
lers—Adventures in  the  Occult — A  Spirit 
Medium — Mental  Telepathy — Fortune 
Telling  by  Tea  Cups  and  Cards — 
Living  in  a  Haunted  House. 

WHETHER  one  believes  in  the  supernatural  or 
not  is  of  no  consequence  in  the  reading  or 
writing  of  these  experiences.  Some  strange 
things  have  occurred — and  there  may  or  may  not  be  a 
plausible  explanation  of  them.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to 
say  that  there  is  full  corroboration  for  any  assertion 
made. 

First,  about  the  mystic  boards — Planchette  and 
Ouija.  The  only  difference  between  them  is  that  Plan- 
chette has  two  legs  and  the  third  support  is  a  lead 
pencil  which  writes  on  a  sheet  of  paper  spread  out  on 
the  table;  and  Ouija  has  three  legs  and  the  board 
itself  has  "yes,"  "no,"  the  alphabet  and  the  numerals 
up  to  ten. 

The  first  time  I  used  Planchette  was  in  the  early 
70 's  when  I  brought  one  home  from  Toronto,  and 
with  it  an  unopened  bundle  of  several  newspaper  ex- 
changes from  the  post  office.  Without  looking  at  it  I 
took  up  an  unopened  paper,  and  held  it  behind  my  back 
and  asked  a  casual  visitor,  Mrs.  Kent,  and  my  sister 
(who  acted  as  the  "mediums")  the  name  of  the  paper. 
Planchette  wrote  Expositor  and,  on  opening  it,  I  found 
the  paper  was  the  Seaforth  Expositor.    That  gave  me 

131 


132  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

more  confidence  in  it  than  I  can  honestly  say  I  have  in 
Ouija,  who  is  decidedly  off  color  in  many  of  her 
answers.  She  has  told  me  different  versions  of  mat- 
ters asked,  and  is  as  unreliable  as  a  star  witness  in  a 
divorce  case.  And  I  am  a  pretty  good  medium  too, 
can  work  it  alone,  and  even  with  one  hand,  while  I  have 
seen  people  Who  couldn't  make  it  move  at  all. 

I  have  tried  to  interview  several  dead  and  living 
people  through  Ouija,  and  if  I  only  recorded  what  he, 
she  or  it  recorded  I  would  be  sent  either  to  jail  or  to 
the  lunatic  asylum.  Ouija  merely  records  what  your 
sub-conscious  mind  impels  your  hands,  unconsciously 
on  your  part,  to  move.  The  board  itself  means  nothing. 
It  merely  tells  you  what  you  don't  know  you  were 
thinking  about. 

Then  there  are  the  necromancers  and  the  hypnotists 
and  the  Anna  Eva  Fays;  also  the  Georgia  Wonders 
and  such  like.  McKeown,  a  nephew  of  the  Scotch  wiz- 
ard, Anderson,  did  remarkable  feats  which  I  can't 
explain;  Malina,  who  never  appeared  in  public,  but 
received  $100  a  night  at  private  houses,  was  a  mystery, 
which  he  claimed  he  wasn't.  The  Georgia  Wonders 
increased  in  numbers  as  the  subject  of  points  and 
angles  became  known.  Charlie  Kelly,  the  well-known 
Winnipeg  singer,  travelled  with  one  troupe  and  at 
Halifax  was  astounded  when  the  manager  of  the  show 
told  him  he  would  have  to  get  another  "Wonder"  as 
the  one  he  had  was  getting  too  fat  and  wouldn't 
"draw."  So  he  advertised  for  one — of  course  discreet- 
ly— and  after  Charlie  had  witnessed  a  couple  of  re- 
hearsals, he  resigned  in  disgust. 

Anna  Eva  Fay  performed  remarkable  feats.  One 
day  while  visiting  Winnipeg  I  met  Billy  Seach,  man- 
ager of  the  Princess  Opera  House,  and  while  enjoying 
an  evening  stroll  he  told  me  of  the  successes  and  fail- 
ures of  the  previous  season.    Anna  Eva  Fay  had  made 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  133 

the  greatest  hit  and  packed  the  house  every  night.  He 
then  went  on  to  tell  me  that  Miss  Fay  had  scouts  out 
at  every  place  she  performed.  I  knew  that,  for  my 
next  door  neighbor  in  Montreal,  Billy  Cameron,  was 
one  of  them. 

Well,  one  morning,  Anna's  scout  happened  to  drop 
into  Archibald  &  Howell's  law  office  to  see  a  clerk  of 
his  acquaintance.  There  was  a  minister  in  the  waiting- 
room,  and  one  of  the  members  of  the  firm  came  out  and 
greeted  him.  He  was"  from  a  little  town  not  far  from 
Winnipeg,  in  which  city  he  was  well  known.  This 
reverend  gentleman  remarked  that  things  were  not 
going  well  with  him,  that  his  little  boy  had  broken  his 
arm,  but  was  getting  better,  and  that  he  had  lost  a 
drove  of  pigs,  but  thought  he  would  find  them  in  a 
slough  near  a  red  barn  a  couple  of  miles  away. 

That  night,  the  minister  attended  Anna  Eva  Fay's 
performance  and  standing  up  handed  in  some  written 
questions.  He  was  directly  spotted  by  the  scout,  who 
conveyed  the  intelligence  Miss  Fay  desired.  She  an- 
swered the  questions  quite  satisfactorily,  and  the 
wonder-stricken  reverend  gentleman  freely  communi- 
cated to  those  near  him  the  accuracy  of  the  answers. 
Shortly  after  Miss  Fay  predicted  that  Hugh  John 
Macdonald  would  beat  Joe  Martin  by  1,435  majority 
and  Peter  Rutherford,  a  staunch  Grit  and  a  firm  be- 
liever in  Miss  Fay's  prophecies,  rlshed  out  of  the  show 
and  ran  down  to  the  Liberal  committee  rooms  and 
shouted  for  them  to  close  the  place  as  they  were  licked 
already.  Hugh  John  was  elected  all  right,  but  not  by 
the  majority  she  said  he  would  have. 

Adventures  in  the  Occult. 

In  Los  Angeles,  I  met  Miss  Dolly  Chevrier,  daughter 
of  the  late  Senator  Chevrier  of  Winnipeg,  who  was  an 
old  friend.     She  asked  me  to  accompany  her  to  the 


134  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

residence  of  an  Irish  lady  acquaintance,  who  is  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  city  officials '  of  Los  Angeles,  and 
who  had  the  gift  of  second  sight.  We  had  a  very 
pleasant  evening  and,  always  incidentally,  she  brought 
up  some  subject  or  other  that  demonstrated  she  had 
some  occult  gift.  She  asked  me  what  person  wished 
to  accompany  me  home,  and  mentioned  the  name  of 
one,  whom  I  afterwards  discovered  had  entertained 
the  desire.  She  told  me  about  my  sister,  of  whose 
existence  she  ordinarily  could  have  no  knowledge,  and 
informed  me  of  several  occurrences  in  my  life  which 
astonished  me.  In  leaving  she  told  me  that  if  I  be- 
lieved in  the  occult,  I  should  call  upon  a  Madame  Lenz, 
who  was  a  professional  fortune  teller,  which  I  did. 

Just  at  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from  the  son-in- 
law  of  Mrs.  William  Stitt,  asking  if  I  knew  of  any 
property  that  her  husband,  who  had  just  died,  owned 
in  the  West.  Madame  Lenz's  methods  were  simple. 
You  wrote  five  questions  and  placed  them  in  a  sealed 
envelope;  she  would  then  twist  the  envelope  in  her 
hands  and  return  it  to  you.  She  first  told  me  that  I 
had  recently  lost  a  friend,  and  that  he  was  buried  in 
Mon-Mon-Mon — she  appeared  to  be  in  doubt — but 
finally  said  Montana.  I  corrected  her  and  said  it  was 
Montreal.  She  admitted  her  haziness,  but  said  he  was 
interred  on  top  of  a  mountain,  which  was  true.  She 
said  he  had  some  property  in  the  West,  but  it  was 
worthless,  as  it  proved  to  be. 

As  I  was  leaving  she  remarked  that  September  10th 
was  her  birthday,  and  that,  on  the  anniversary  of  her 
birth,  I  would  receive  a  good  sum  of  money.  I  wasn't 
down  at  the  office  next  September  10th  with  an  express 
wagon  to  carry  away  any  gold  that  might  come,  and 
when  the  clock  struck  twelve  at  midnight,  I  charitably 
thought  that  Madame  had  had  another  attack  of  hazi- 
ness.   A  few  years  went  by,  and  after  a  peculiar  coin- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  135 

cidence  of  circumstances  one  fine  September  10th  the 
prediction  was  realized,  and  I  was  $4,400  the  richer 
Madame  Lenz  asked  me  the  whereabouts  of  a  number 
of  my  friends,  amongst  those  she  mentioned  being 
Mr.  A.  A.  Polhamus ;  I  told  her  he  was  sitting  out  in 
the  auto  waiting  for  me. 

Amongst  my  acquaintances  was  Saint  Nihil  Singh,  a 
young  Hindoo  who  came  with  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  Eddie  Coyle,  then  the  C.P.R.  representative  at 
Vancouver.  He  was  a  bright  young  fellow  and  soon 
made  a  name  for  himself  in  his  writings  in  the  Can- 
adian and  American  press.  Taking  me  by  the  hand, 
he  read  it,  and  said  I  was  a  human  fish — sucker,  I  sup- 
pose— and  preferred  liquids  to  solids — that  is  soups 
and  stews  to  roasts — which  was  true.  I  asked  him  if 
he  had  ever  seen  any  of  those  miraculous  feats  that 
the  Hindoo  fakir  (not  fakir  but  fakeer)  had  done, 
instancing  a  boy  climbing  a  rope  which  had  been 
thrown  up  into  the  air  and  disappearing  into  space. 
He  had.  And  how  was  it  done?  And  he  replied,  how 
did  I  think  it  was  done  1  I  said  by  hypnotism,  and  he 
smilingly  agreed  with  me. 

Then  came  another  Singh — I  forget  his  other  name 
— but  he  was  an  Indian  doctor,  and  he,  too,  had  seen 
these  wonderful  feats,  but  he  explained  that  they  were 
only  done  by  a  certain  cult  whose  forefathers  for 
thousands  of  years  had  practised  the  black  art,  and 
had  developed  an  additional  sense  which  enabled 
them  to  do  the  seemingly  impossible.  So  "you  pays 
your  money,  and  takes  your  choice.' ' 

"Getting  the  Dope"  on  the  "Prof." 

In  the  earlier  days  of  Winnipeg  Prof.  Cecil  appeared 
and  gave  an  exhibition  of  spectacular  table  moving 
and  other  things.  Jim  McGregor  and  I  were  induced 
to  go  on  the  platform  and  he  and  I  faced  each  other  at 


136  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  table  while  the  Professor  and  his  assistant  sat 
on  the  other  sides.  The  table  moved  all  right  enough, 
and  so  did  my  left  hand,  for  I  grabbed  the  Professor 
by  the  arm  to  find  that  he  had  attached  to  his  wrists 
two  strong  steel  bars  Which,  with  his  hands  on  the 
table  and  the  bars  under  the  leaf,  acted  as  levers  and 
the  whole  thing  was  done. 

He  wasn't  exposed  of  course.  It  would  have  spoilt 
the  show. 

But  he  "got  it  in  the  neck"  a  little  later.  He  released 
himself  from  handcuffs — which  is  easily  done  by  slip- 
ping the  mainspring  of  a  watch  into  the  ratchets  and 
off  they  come.  He,  unfortunately,  challenged  every- 
body to  produce  any  sort  of  manacle  and  he  would 
open  it.  Dick  Power,  then  chief  of  the  provincial 
police,  came  forward  with  a  brand  new  shackle.  It 
had  never  been  used  before.  It  was  locked  on  Dick's 
leg,  a  handkerchief  thrown  over  it,  and  the  Professor 
tried  in  vain  to  open  it.  He  couldn't  get  the  main- 
spring into  the  ratchet,  and  was  finally  compelled  to 
admit  his  inability  to  do  so. 

Telepathy  and  Foktune  Telling. 

All  this  is  different  from  telepathy  and  spirits.  One 
night  not  so  very  long  ago  I  was  awakened  by  hearing 
Eeggie  Graves'  voice  just  outside  my  bedroom  door, 
saying,  "George  Ham,  George  Ham,  George  H.  Ham 
of  the  C.P.R."  This  continued  for  some  time,  and  I 
also  recognized  Brent  MacNab  's  voice.  It  was  absurd 
to  imagine  that  they  were  in  the  hallway  of  my  house 
at  that  unearthly  hour,  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
When  I  turned  on  the  light,  the  voices  ceased;  when 
I  turned  it  off  Reggie  recommenced  calling  my  name.  I 
pinched  myself  to  see  if  I  was  awake  or  dreaming, 
but  after  half  an  hour  or  so  the  calling  ceased  for  good 
and  I  fell  asleep. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  137 

The  next  night  at  two  o  'clock  I  was  again  awakened 
by  Reggie's  voice  calling  upon  me  as  it  had  the  night 
previous.  The  calling  continued  while  the  light  was 
off  and  ceased  when  it  was  turned  on.  After  a  while 
I  lighted  a  cigarette,  smoked  part  of  it,  and,  extin- 
guishing the  fire,  placed  it  on  <a  small  stand  at  my  bed- 
side. If  it  was  there  in  the  morning,  this  telepathy 
calling  was  no  dream.  True  enough  in  the  morning  the 
cigarette  was  just  where  I  had  put  it.  Three  or  four 
evenings  later,  Eeggie  and  Brent  dropped  in  to  see 
me,  and  I  related  what  I  have  just  written. 

"It's  true,"  exclaimed  Reggie,  "it's  true — I  was 
in  great  distress  and  bodily  pain  and  you  were  my 
only  sheet  anchor  and  I  called  you  both  nights." 

Reggie  was  at  his  home  at  Ste.  Rose  seventeen  miles 
away. 

Another  night  I  was  awakened  by  women's  voices  at 
4  a.m.  and,  while  I  could  not  hear  what  they  said,  could 
easily  distinguish  the  voice  of  one  of  the  ladies.  Just 
for  fun  I  'phoned  her  next  day,  and  told  her  she  had  not 
gone  to  bed  until  four  o'clock  and  she  related  how  a 
neighbor  had  been  ill  and  she  had  gone  in  to  see  her 
and  stayed  with  her  until  that  late  hour.  The  sick  wo- 
man's house  was  nearly  a  mile  away  from  my  resi- 
dence. 

Then  there  is  fortune-telling — by  cards  and  by  tea 
cup.  A  clever  reader  of  the  remaining  tea  leaves  can 
make  up  a  mighty  good  story,  from  one's  imaginative 
powers  and  the  knowledge  of  the  person  whose  tea-cup 
is  being  read.  Cards  are  different,  and  apparently  are 
read  by  the  proximity  of  one  card  dealt  out  of  the  pack 
to  the  others  that  follow.  However  that  may  be,  I 
know  of  several  instances  where  the  fortune-teller's 
predictions  came  absolutely  true.  One  happened  while 
crossing  the  Atlantic  on  board  the  old  Champlain,  when 
a  lady  acquaintance  one  lazy  afternoon  offered  to  tell 


138  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

my  fortune.  The  cards  told  her,  and  she  told  me,  that 
I  would  hear  very  bad  news  on  my  arrival  at  St.  John, 
and  would  learn  of  the  death  of  a  very  close  friend. 
True  enough,  I  was  handed  a  letter  from  Mell  Duff 
before  I  left  the  ship  informing  me  of  the  death  of  my 
very  intimate  friend,  Bob  Morris,  general  baggage 
agent  of  the  C.P.R.,  of  Montreal.  The  other  instance 
occurred  in  Shediac,  N.B.,  when  one  rainy  afternoon  on 
going  to  Weldon's  Hotel,  I  found  my  wife  packing  her 
trunk.  She  told  me  that  a  lady  had  told  her  fortune  an 
hour  or  so  before,  and  the  cards  predicted  that  she  was 
to  leave  the  place  immediately.  Of  course,  I  laughed 
over  her  unseemly  haste,  but  a  few  minutes  later  re- 
ceived a  rush  telegram  from  Mr.  McNicoll  instructing 
me  to  report  at  once  at  headquarters.  We  left  for 
Montreal  next  morning,  and  I  have  been  stationed  there 
ever  since. 

Besides  these,  there  is  palmistry.  That  is  an  old  art, 
and  anyone  who  studies  a  book  on  palmistry  can 
correctly  read  the  lines  of  anybody's  hand. 

Stoey  or  the  Haunted  House. 

While  I  am  on  this  subject  I  might  as  well  tell  you 
that  I  once  lived  in  a  haunted  house  for  a  couple  of 
years.  Here 's  the  story,  which  in  every  particular  can 
be  corroborated  by  Major  George  H.  Young,  formerly 
of  the  Customs  office,  Winnipeg,  the  owner  and  previ- 
ously the  occupant  of  the  house,  and  by  Charlie  Bell, 
for  many  years  secretary  of  the  Winnipeg  Board  of 
Trade,  who  also  lived  in  the  place,  and  by  others. 

It  was  on  St.  Patrick 's  Day,  1877,  that  my  wife  and  I 
took  possession  of  the  little  house  just  south  of  old 
Grace  Church  on  Main  Street,  Winnipeg,  our  landlord 
being  Mr.  Geo.  H.  Young.  Tradition  said  it  was  built 
on  an  old  Indian  burial  ground.  The  house  was  not 
fully  furnished  the  first  day  and  we  fixed  up  a  bed  in 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  139 

what  was  to  be  the  parlor.  During  the  night  queer 
noises  were  heard.  The  stove  in  the  adjoining  room 
rattled  like  mad,  and  investigation  proved  nothing. 
There  was  no  wind  or  anything  else  visible  that  should 
cause  a  commotion.  A  door  would  slam  and  on  going 
to  it,  it  was  found  wide  open.  One  night  there  was  a 
loud  noise  as  if  some  tinware  hanging  up  on  the  wall 
in  the  kitchen  had  fallen.  Saying:  "There  goes  the 
boiler  lid/'  my  mother,  who  had  come  from  Whitby  on 
a  visit,  ran  downstairs  and  returned  with  the  assertion 
that  nothing  had  fallen  on  the  floor  to  make  such  a 
noise.    And  so  it  went  on. 

I  spoke  io  George  Young  about  it,  and  he  laughingly 
said:  "You're  hearing  those  noises  too;  well,  I  won't 
raise  the  rent  anyway  on  that  account. ' '  And  he  didn  "t 
— but  that's  not  the  custom  nowadays. 

One  time  the  cellar  was  filled  with  water,  coming 
from  where,  goodness  only  knows,  though  it  was  said 
that  there  was  a  slough  through  that  property  years 
ago.  Anyway  the  cellar  was  full  of  water,  and  it  had  to 
be  baled  out.  I  said,  "Leave  it  to  me.  Let  George  do 
it."  My  motto  is  "Do  it  now" — "now"  being  an  in- 
definite time. 

After  a  few  days,  despairing  of  any  decisive  action 
on  my  part,  my  wife  engaged  the  Laurie  boys,  (who 
came  from  Whifiby)  to  empty  the  cellar.  They  came 
one  fine  morning  with  pails  and  ropes  and  everything 
was  ready  to  put  the  cellar  in  its  normal  condition.  But 
lo  and  behold,  when  the  trap  door  was  opened,  there 
wasn't  a  blamed  drop  of  water  in  the  blooming  cellar. 
It  was  dry  as  a  tin  horn.  Of  course  I  triumphantly 
boasted,  "There,  didn't  I  tell  you.  Always  leave 
things  to  me."  The  Laurie  boys  were  puzzled,  for 
they  had  seen  the  cellar  full  the  previous  day.  And  I 
gloated.  We  never  ascertained  whence  came  the  water 
or  where,  it  went,  but  by  this  time  I  had  got  accustomed 


140  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  the  prances  and  pranks  of  the  house  and  didn't  care 
a  continental. 

After  a  couple  of  years '  occupancy  of  the  house, 
which  in  the  meantime  had  been  purchased  by  the  late 
George  McVicar,  we  sought  a  new  residence  on  Logan 
Street,  next  to  Aid.  More's ;  and  the  Main  Street  house 
was  leased  to  a  Mr.  Conlisk,  a  cigar  manufacturer,  who 
hitherto  had  boarded  at  John  Pointz's  hotel,  diagon- 
ally opposite.  We  were  to  move  out  on  a  Saturday 
morning,  but  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents  and  the 
muddy  streets  were  almost  impassable.  Besides  our 
new  house  wasn't  ready. 

I  went  to  Mr.  Conlisk  and  asked  him  if  he  would  let 
us  stay  for  a  couple  of  days  longer  and  I  would  pay  his 
rent  and  his  board  at  the  hotel.  But  he  wouldn't.  He 
had  leased  the  house  and  he  was  going  into  it  Saturday 
afternoon.  And  he  did.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  un- 
pleasant things,  so  I  '11  skip  telling  about  how  we — and 
our  furniture — fared.  In  less  than  a  week,  Jimmy 
Bennett,  a  well  known  citizen  who  had  a  room  with  the 
Conlisks,  left  for  other — and  doubtless  quieter — 
quarters,  and  before  the  month  was  up  Conlisk  paid 
another  month's  rent  in  advance,  and  gave  the  landlord 
notice  that  he  was  quitting.  George  McVicar  came  to 
me  and  angrily  wanted  to  know  why  I  was  spreading 
reports  that  his  house  was  haunted.  I  told  him  I  had 
not  done  anything  of  the  kind,  but  that  it  was  the 
spooks  who  had  spoken.  The  building  was  removed  to 
the  north  end,  and  some  years  after,  on  recognizing  it, 
I  called  to  see  if  the  noises  still  continued.  But  they 
wouldn't  let  me  in. 

I  don't  pretend  to  be  able  to  explain  the  queer  noises, 
nor  could  George  Young,  nor  Charlie  Bell,  and  Jimmy 
Bennett  would  not  even  speak  of  them.  Whether  they 
were  the  spirits  of  the  past  and  gone  Indian  braves 
showing  their  displeasure  at  our  intrusion  in  their 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  141 

domain,  or  were  caused  by  some  peculiarity  in  the  con- 
struction of  the  house  and  its  environments,  I  can  not 
offer  an  opinion.  But,  as  we  got  accustomed  to  them, 
they  didn't  disturb  us  at  all,  and  we  got  rather  proud 
of  our  ghostly  guests  whose  board  and  lodging  cost  us 
nothing. 


CHAPTER  X 

Mark  Twain,  the  Great  Humorist — A  Delightful 
Speaker — A  Chicago  Cub  Reporter's  Experi- 
ence— The   Celebrated   Cronin   Case — 
W.  T.  Stead  and  Hinky  Dink — 
When  the  Former  Wrote 
"If  Christ  Came  to 
Chicago." 

MARK  TWAIN  was,  in  the  minds  of  a  multitude, 
the  greatest  humorist  that  America  has  ever 
produced.  Some  of  his  works  are  classics,  and 
he  gave  that  human  touch  to  his  characters  that  en- 
deared them  to  the  hearts  of  his  readers.  Although  his 
gifted  pen  is  laid  away  forever,  his  writings  still  live 
as  Dickens's  have  lived,  his  characters  are  undying. 
What  is  more  huuman  than  his  Tom  Sawyer  and 
Huckleberry  Finn,  his  Col.  Mulberry  Sellars,  in  the 
"Gilded  Age,"  his  "Prince  and  Pauper,"  and  what 
works  will  outlast  his  Tales  of  Western  Life,  and  the 
"Innocents  Abroad"? 

While  I  could  not  say  that  I  was  at  all  intimate  with 
Mark,  I  have  met  him  a  number  of  times,  and  have 
heard  him  speak  brilliantly,  and  also,  while  suffering 
great  bodily  pain,  pathetically  endeavoring  to  be  his 
own  bright  sunshiny  self  at  banquets,  when  another 
person  similarly  stricken  in  health  would  have  been  a- 
bed  at  home  or  in  the  hospital. 

I  knew  Mark  better  than  many  others  did,  however, 
through  my  good  friend,  Ralph  W.  Ashcroft,  now  of 
Montreal,  who  for  many  years  was  his  business  man- 

142 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  143 

ager;  his  wife,  Mrs.  Ashcroft,  (formerly  Miss  Lyon) 
was  Mark's  capable  secretary.  They  have  a  thousand 
and  one  recollections  of  Mark,  and  could  give  the  world 
a  more  realistic  insight  of  the  dead  author  than  has 
ever  yet  been  presented. 

Few  men  who  ever  spoke  in  public  could  sway  an 
audience  more  readily  than  could  Mark  Twain.  It  was 
a  delight  to  him  to  play  upon  the  emotions  of  his 
hearers,  and  to  transport  them  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  from  the  verge  of  tears  to  the  realm  of  laughter. 
But  I  recall  two  occasions  on  which  his  art  failed  him. 

He  had  been  visiting  a  friend  who  lived  in  a  small 
town  in  New  York  state,  and  while  there  was  asked  by 
the  superintendent  of  a  local  charitable  institution  if  he 
would  be  kind  enough  to  come  there  and  talk  to  the  in- 
mates. He  said  he  would  be  delighted  to  do  so.  The  next 
evening,  when  Mark  stepped  on  the  platform  of  the 
auditorium,  he  viewed  an  audience  of  both  sexes  and 
all  ages,  and  portraying  various  degrees  of  intelligence. 
This  was  somewhat  perplexing,  and,  for  a  moment,  he 
was  at  a  loss  to  decide  what  kind  of  a  talk  to  give  them. 
However,  he  launched  forth  in  a  general  way,  and,  after 
a  few  moments,  as  he  tells  it,  "I  fired  a  mild  one  at 
them."  But  there  was  no  response — not  even  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  a  laugh.  All  sat  with  their  eyes 
glued  on  him,  wrapt  in  wonderment,  admiration  and 
respect.  This  was  a  poser  to  Mark,  but  he  continued 
to  talk,  and,  in  a  minute  or  two,  he  "  selected  a  strong- 
er one  and  hurled  it  into  their  midst.' '  The  result  was 
the  same — a  morgue-like  silence  emanating  from  a 
group  of  animate  corpses. 

Mark's  friend  was  on  the  platform  with  him,  and 
Mark  looked  appealingly  at  him.  He  detected  a  twinkle 
of  amusement  in  his  friend's  face,  but  got  no  en- 
couraging look  from  him.  Mark  paused,  mentally 
surveyed  his  last  joke  and  its  manner  of  delivery,  and 


144  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

found  both  flawless.  He  was  bewildered,  but,  never- 
theless, decided  to  make  a  final  attempt.  He  felt  that 
his  reputation  as  a  humorist  was  at  stake. 

So  he  continued  talking,  and  finally  launched  an 
anecdote  that  had  never  failed  in  his  experience  to 
turn  an  audience  inside  out  with  laughter  and  shrieks 
of  applause.  But  not  a  glimmer  of  amusement  was 
perceptible  in  his  audience — not  the  remotest  sug- 
gestion of  a  laugh  or  a  smile.  He  was  furious — mad 
right  clear  through  at  his  failure — and  he  commenced 
to  "take  it  out  of "  his  audience  in  sarcastic  vein,  end- 
ing his  talk  by  complimenting  them  on  their  acute  ap- 
preciation of  humor  and  wit.  When  he  reached  his 
friend's  home,  he  asked  him  if  he  could  explain  their 
stupor. 

"Why,  didn't  you  know?"  said  his  friend:  "They're 
all  deaf  mutes!" 

MAKK  AND  THE  ' '  HlGH-BEOWS. ' ' 

On  the  other  occasion,  Mark  had  quite  a  different 
audience — the  faculty  and  the  graduating  classes  of 
Columbia  University  in  New  York.  On  the  platform 
with  him  were  several  eminent  men  of  international 
reputation.  Knowing  the  company  he  would  be  in, 
Mark  decided  that  this  occasion  would  be  a  suitable 
one  at  which  to  show  an  intellectual  audience  that  he 
was  something  more  than  a  humorist — to  show  them 
that  he  was  a  philosopher  and  a  man  of  parts  in  a 
literary  way.  He  selected  for  this  purpose  the  beauti- 
ful poem  which  he  had  written  in  memory  of  his 
daughter  Susy,  and  which  had  not  then  been  published. 
He  decided  to  read  this  to  the  gathering,  at  the  close 
of  his  talk.  Mark's  turn  came,  and  he  delighted  his 
audience  with  one  of  the  most  delicately  witty  speeches 
he  had  ever  made.  They  thought  he  had  finished,  but 
he  kept  on  his  feet,  and  they  continued  applauding.  He 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  145 

raised  his  hand  beseeching  silence,  and  then  said:  "I 
would  like,  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  read  you  some 
serious  verse  that  I  composed  recently.  It  is  an  ap- 
preciation of  my — " 

The  applause  was  renewed  with  fourfold  force,  the 
laughter  fairly  shook  the  building.  Mark  looked  visibly 
pained;  he  appeared  to  be  (as  he  was)  deeply  dis- 
tressed. This  served  only  to  accentuate  and  prolong 
the  demonstration.  Finally  they  quieted  down,  and 
very  solemnly  Mark  said:  "But,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
what  I  wish  to  read  to  you  is  sacred  in  my  eyes.  It 
refers  to — " 

But  it  was  no  use — the  shrieks  of  laughter  drowned 
his  words.  After  exhausting  themselves,  the  audience 
waited  for  more,  waited  for  "the  joke."  But  Mark 
merely  said,  in  as  grieved  a  tone  as  he  truly  felt:  "I 
see,  my  friends,  that  you  are  in  no  mood  this  evening 
to  treat  me  seriously,  so  I  will  not  burden  you  further." 
And  he  sat  down,  amid  a  deafening  demonstration. 
Such  wit,  they  thought,  was  delicious.  He  could  have 
cried  with  chagrin.  Few,  if  any,  in  that  audience  yet 
know  of  their  unwitting  faux  pas. 

So  it  was  with  Harry  Lauder,  two  years  ago,  when 
speaking  in  a  Congregational  Church  in  Montreal.  He 
charmed  his  audience  with  a  few  quaint  sayings,  and 
then  referred  to  the  Great  War,  and  to  the  loss  he  had 
sustained  through  the  death  of  his  son.  It  was  very 
pathetic,  but  a  number  of  people  sitting  in  front  of 
him  shook  with  laughter.  They  thought  he  was  still 
funny,  to  Sir  Harry's  utter  disgust  and  to  the  disgust 
of  others,  who  like  myself  felt  the  man's  sorrow  and 
tearfully  sympathized  with  him  in  his  loss. 

Mark  was  a  very  shrewd  investor.     Whenever  he 

made  a  few  thousand  dollars  on  a  book  or  lecture  tour, 

he  would  put  the  money  into  some  sound  enterprise. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  he  was  the  man  who 
(ii) 


146  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

developed  what  is  now  the  linotype,  the  first  type- 
setting machine. 

The  Human  Cash  Register. 

He  was  very  much  interested  in  the  cash  register, 
and,  when  he  died,  was  one  of  the  owners  of  a  machine 
which  was  almost  human.  It  would  register  a  purchase 
of  say  $2.65,  gobble  up  a  $5  bill,  and  automatically  hand 
the  customer  his  change,  viz :  a  two  dollar  bill,  a  twenty- 
five  cent  piece,  and  a  dime.  The  change  would  always 
come  out  in  the  highest  possible  denominations.  Mark 
figured  on  having  a  phonograph  attached  to  the  cash 
register,  which  would  say:  "Here's  your  change, 
madam.    Thank  you  very  much. ' ' 

The  late  H.  H.  Rogers,  of  Standard  Oil  Co.  fame, 
often  gave  him  valuable  advice  regarding  investments-. 
On  one  occasion  Mark  decided  to  have  a  little  fun  at 
Rogers'  expense.  He  went  to  his  office  one  day  and 
told  him  he  was  going  to  invest  some  money  in  a  brick- 
yard that  could  make  bricks  cheaper,  and  better  and 
faster  than  any  other  brickyard  on  earth,  and  he  want- 
ed Rogers  to  invest  $50,000  too.  Mark  told  Rogers  all 
about  the  wonderful  method  of  making  these  marvelous 
bricks,  and  took  up  about  an  hour  of  Rogers '  valuable 
time,  finally  saying:  "Now,  Henry,  I  want  your 
cheque  for  $50,000,  and  I  want  it  NOW." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Rogers.  "There's  one  important 
thing  about  the  matter  that  you  haven't  told  me." 

"What  is  that!"  asked  Mark. 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Rogers,  "where  is  this  brickyard 
of  yours  located?" 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Mark  disgustedly,  "if  you  want  to 
know  that,  the  deal's  off!" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  brickyard  was  a  myth.  It 
didn't  exist.  All  that  Mark  was  after  was  to  get  Rogers 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  147 

to  write  out  the  cheque,  so  that  he  could  have  the  laugh 
on  him. 

My  Old  Friend,  the  Chicago  Cub  Reporter. 

Amongst  my  good  old  friends  is  Joe  Dillabough,  for 
years  on  the  Chicago  press.  Joe  is  Canadian  born, 
but  drifted  to  Chicago  in  the  early  '80  's  and  was  the 
first  cub  reporter  of  the  Times.  What  he  doesn't  know 
of  the  seamy  side  of  life  in  that  great  city  is  not  worth 
knowing.  When  Joe  was  taken  ill  some  years  ago,  we 
sent  him  out  to  the  Canadian  Kockies  to  recuperate, 
and  incidentally  to  tell  the  world  of  the  magnificence 
of  the  scenery  around  and  about  them,  and  how  it 
enthralled  the  prominent  people  from  the  east.  Joe's 
first  dispatch  was  about  the  unfortunate  disappear- 
ance of  a  bishop  and  several  priests  from  some  out- 
landish country,  the  name  of  which  I  have  forgotten,  in 
a  chasm  at  Banff,  and  of  their  timely  rescue  by  Man- 
ager Mathews,  of  the  C.P.R.  hotel.  It  appeared  in  the 
Montreal  evening  papers  and  on  going  to  Toronto  that 
night  I  sat  beside  a  stranger  while  the  berths  were 
being  made  up  when  he  casually  remarked  that :  ' '  This 
is  a  queer  story  in  to-night's  paper — this  rescue  of  the 
bishop  and  priests  from  a  chasm  at  Banff."  I  asked 
in  what  particular  way  was  it  queer,  and  he  said  he 
came  from  that  far-away  land  and  they  never  had  a 
bishop  there.    And  I  said, ' '  Oh,  Joe. ' ' 

Then  the  next  dispatch  was  about  the  drowning  of 
a  large  number  of  Indians  in  Lake  Louise,  while  cross- 
ing the  ice  on  their  way  to  a  potlach.  It  was  widely 
published.  I  wrote  Joe  that  there  were  no  Indians  in 
that  locality,  and  if  there  were,  they  would  not  cross 
the  lake  but  follow  the  trail  around  Lake  Louise,  but  if 
they  did  cross  the  ice,  they  couldn't  possibly  drown  for 
the  ice  was  a  couple  of  feet  thick.  Joe  naively  replied 
that  there  were  some  of  the  most  elegant  liars  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  he  had  ever  known.    My  experience 


148  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

is  that  these  talented  descendants  of  Ananias  are  not 
altogether  confined  to  that  scenic  region. 

Nearly  a  generation  ago  the  art  of  alliteration  was 
worked  to  death  in  sensational  headings.  The  Times 
was  easily  first  in  this  particular,  and  one  fine  morning 
shocked  and  startled  the  community  by  its  blasphemous 
caption  "Jerked  to  Jesus/ '  which  appeared  following 
the  hanging  of  a  murderer  who  was  himself  the  medium 
for  the  suggestion.  The  copyreader  was  Clinton  A. 
Snowden,  then  one  of  the  bright  young  men  on  the 
Times'  staff.  Snowden  went  to  Tacoma  about  1892.  It 
was  he  who  hit  upon  the  plan  of  sending  George 
Francis  Train,  the  great  national  crank,  around  the 
world  on  a  60-day  tour,  "Tacoma  to  Tacoma,' '  to  beat 
the  record  of  Phineas  Fogg,  the  Jules  Verne  character 
in  ' '  Around  the  World  in  Eighty  Days. ' '  By  the  same 
token  Train  was  the  original  of  Fogg  in  the  Verne 
story.  It  will  be  recalled  that  Nellie  Bly,  a  Canadian 
newspaper  woman  working  in  New  York,  set  out  to 
out-do  Train's  record  and  beat  it  by  a  day  or  so.  Nellie 
was  a  Brockville  girl  or  from  one  of  the  towns  near 
there.  Train,  by  the  way,  was  a  financial  genius  in  his 
younger  days  and  the  real  father-promoter  of  the 
Union  Pacific  Eailway.  He  introduced  "trams"  in 
London  and  Australia. 

Several  Gory  Sequences. 

The  celebrated  Cronin  case  was  one  of  Joe's  assign- 
ments, and  it  was  one  of  the  most  cold-blooded  mur- 
ders in  the  country's  annals.  I  am  only  referring  to 
it,  because  one  of  the  scenes  was  laid  in  Winnipeg.  Dr. 
Cronin  was  an  earnest  and  honest  patriotic  Nationalist, 
and  belonged  to  the  notorious  Camp.  20.  Suspecting 
that  the  immense  sums  of  money  contributed  to  the 
"Cause"  were  being  stolen  by  the  "Triangle,"  which 
controlled  the  Camp  and  diverted  the  funds  to  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  149 

Triangle's  personal  benefit,  lie  openly  denounced  Alex- 
ander Sullivan,  its  chief,  and,  strenuously  as  they  tried 
to  silence  him,  he  still  continued  to  openly  charge  them 
with  theft.  They  could  only  quiet  him  by  getting  him 
out  of  the  way,  and  he  was  lured  to  the  Carlson  cottage 
one  night  and  foully  murdered.  Pat  McGarry,  Frank 
T.  Scanlan  and  other  friends  visited  the  newspaper 
offices  and  told  of  their  suspicions.  They  were  right. 
John  M.  Collins,  a  Camp  20  member,  then  a  traffic  cop 
at  Lake  and  Clark  Streets,  identified  Martin  Burke  at 
Winnipeg.  John  later  became  chief  of  police  at  Chi- 
cago. He  died  of  pneumonia  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
George  Hubbard,  chief  in  1889,  who  sent  Collins  to  the 
Teg,  recently  died  in  Florida.  Alex.  S.  Ross,  assistant 
chief  in  '89,  who  brought  Burke  back  to  Chicago,  died 
some  years  ago.  He  was  a  brother  of  Duncan  C,  the 
great  athlete,  and  Wm.  J.  Boss,  now  of  Fort  William, 
and  former  superintendent  of  bridges,  C.P.R.,  under 
John  M.  Egan.  Detective  John  Broderick,  who  work- 
ed up  the  case  in  Winnipeg,  died  a  few  years  ago,  and 
George  A.  H.  Baker,  assistant  states-attorney  for  Cook 
County,  committed  suicide  in  Chicago  by  strangling 
himself  with  a  trunk  strap. 

When  Alex.  Sullivan,  head  of  the  Triangle,  died  at 
St.  Joseph's  Hospital,  Chicago,  Joe  covered  the  story 
for  the  Tribune.  He  was  the  son  of  a  British  Army 
Officer,  once  stationed  at  Fort  Amherstburg,  Ont.,  and 
was  born  there.  The  Cronin  murder  has  been  followed 
by  many  tragedies  on  both  sides,  or  factions.  It  was 
John  Fleming,  an  ex-policeman,  who  tipped  to  Joe  the 
scoop  that  John  Sampson  ("Major")  had  been  offered 
$100  by  Dan  Coughlin  (Big  Dan),  a  Chicago  city  de- 
tective, to  slug  Cronin  and  that  tip  led  to  Dan's  con- 
nection with  the  case  and  to  Joe's  story  of  his  hiring 
of  the  white  horse  from  Pat  Dinan,  the  liveryman, 
which  was  used  when  Cronin  was  lured  to  his  death  in 


150  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  Carlson  cottage.  Dan  became  a  fugitive  from 
justice  following  the  bribing  of  jurors  in  an  Illinois 
Central  Railway  civil  court  action,  and  he  died  in 
Honduras.  He  was  led  into  the  bribery  case  by  Pat 
O'Keefe,  special  agent  for  the  Illinois  Central  Rail- 
way, and  formerly  in  the  same  capacity  for  the  C.P.R. 
under  Supt.  J.  M.  Egan,  in  Winnipeg.  O'Keefe  and 
Aleck  Ross,  years  before  going  to  Chicago,  had  been 
partners  as  whiskey  detectives  in  and  around  Rat 
Portage,  Ont.  They  had  quarrelled  up  there  over  a 
pair  of  rubber  boots  and  remained  enemies  for  years  in 
Chicago  until  they  were  brought  together  in  Mel 
Wood's  saloon  on  Clark  Street,  where  they  shook 
hands  and  made  up,  renewing  an  old  and  fast  friend- 
ship. 

Martin  Burke  was  captured  by  Chief  of  Police  Mc- 
Rae  through  information  give  by  Alex.  Calder  and 
his  son  Arthur,  who  had  sold  him  a  ticket  through  to 
Ireland.  Burke's  assumed  name  was  John  Cooper.  He 
was  sentenced  to  life  imprisonment  and  nearly  every 
one  connected  with  the  case  came  to  a  tragic  end. 

Stead  and  Hinky  Dink. 

It  was  through  another  Joe — Joe  Page,  that  great 
Canadian  baseball  promoter — that  I  met  the  notorious 
"Hinky  Dink,"  who  has  been  an  alderman  of  Chicago 
for  years  and  years  and  has  remained  one  notwith- 
standing the  strenuous  efforts  of  the  reform  element 
to  defeat  him.  His  real  name  is  Michael  McKenna,  and 
his  first  ward  colleague  in  the  council  20  odd  years  was 
"Bath  House  Jawm" — John  J.  Coughlin.  The  Dink 
really  is  a  square  little  man  and  became  a  great  pal 
of  W.  T.  Stead,  when  he  was  here  getting  material  for 
his  book,  "If  Christ  Came  to  Chicago."  On  that  visit 
Stead  lived  among  the  hobo  fellows  and,  with  them, 
actually  was  a  "white  wing,"  pushing  a  broom  in  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  151 

streets  that  he  might  get  color  for  his  story.  Hinky's 
special  claim  for  popularity  is  that  he  never  goes  back 
on  ' '  the  boys ; ' '  no  matter  at  what  hour  of  the  night  or 
early  morn  he  arises  to  go  bail  for  any  poor  unfortu- 
nate in  the  police  toils,  and  it  is  said  that  never  has  he 
been  deceived  by  those  he  has  helped  out  of  a  hole.  His 
saloon  is  now  closed,  the  landlord  having  raised  his 
rent  to  an  exorbitant  sum. 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  Canadian  Women's  Press  Club — How  It  Origin- 
ated— With  "Kit"  of  the  Toronto  Mail  at  St. 
Louis      and      Elsewhere — The      Lamented 
"Francoise"  Barry — Successful  Trien- 
nial Gatherings — The  Girls  Visit 
Different   Parts   of    Canada — 
Threatened  Invasion  of  the 
Pacific  Coast. 

ONE  fine  day  in  June,  1904,  a  handsome  and  fash- 
ionably dressed  young  lady  came  into  my  office 
at  C.P.R.  headquarters,  and  started  cyclonically 
to  tell  me  that  while  the  C.P.R.  had  taken  men  to  all 
the  excursions  to  fairs  and  other  things,  women  had 
altogether  been  ignobly  ignored  and  she  demonstrative- 
ly demanded  to  know  why  poor  downtrodden  females 
should  thus  be  so  shabbily  treated.  When  she  had 
finished  her  harangue — I  guess  from  lack  of  a  further 
supply  of  breath — I  politely  motioned  her  to  a  seat  and 
calmy  said: 

"Sit  down,  Miggsy,  sit  down  and  keep  cool,"  which 
she  did. 

She  was  Margaret  Graham,  a  writer  for  the  press, 
and  a  champion  of  woman's  rights — which  I  had  al- 
ready sagaciously  surmised. 

When  quietness  was  restored,  she  explained  that  her 
mission  was  to  persuade  the  C.P.R.  to  take  a  bunch — I 
don 't  think  she  used  the  word  bunch — of  women  to  the 
St.  Louis  fair,  to  which  I  had  recently  accompanied  a 
party  of  newspaper  men.    Miggsy 's  idea  appealed  to 

152 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  153 

me,  and  we  arranged  for  a  party  of  sixteen — sweet 
sixteen,  though  some  of  them  didn't  think  they  were — 
to  visit  St.  Louis. 

The  trip  was  a  huge  success  in  every  way,  and  not 
only  was  the  Fair  taken  in,  but  a  visit  was  paid  to 
Chicago,  where  the  party  was  entertained  by  the  well- 
known  Jane  Addams,  at  Hull  House.  On  the  way  home, 
by  a  happy  inspiration,  a  woman's  press  club  was 
formed  with  Kit,  of  the  Toronto  Mail,  as  president,  and 
somehow  or  other — guess  for  lack  of  better  material — 
I  was  made  honorary  president,  and  have  been  the 
only  male  member  of  a  female  press  club  in  the  world 
ever  since.  Some  are  born  great,  you  know,  others 
achieve  greatness,  and  others  still  have  greatness 
thrust  upon  them.  You  can  readily  see  to  which  class 
I  belong,  can't  you?  And  now  at  the  recent  triennial, 
the  club  transformed  me  into  an  active  member.  I 
have  qualified  through  writing  these  reminiscences, 
and  have  been  initiated  into  the  solemn  mysteries  of 
the  lodge.  There  was  no  goat — at  least  no  four-legged 
one — but,  there,  I  must  not  divulge  the  secret  mysteries 
of  the  girls'  conclave. 

Since  then,  this  press  club  has  had  outings  to  dif- 
ferent parts  of  Canada  every  three  years — until  the 
Great  War  broke  out — when  they  were  discontinued, 
but  renewed  again  in  1920  with  Montreal  as  the  meet- 
ing place,  and  a  delightful  visit  to  Quebec,  Ste.  Anne  de 
Beaupre  and  Ottawa,  and  in  1923  they  threaten  to  in- 
vade Vancouver  and  Victoria.  These  triennial  outings 
have  been  very  enjoyable  and  I  always  came  home  with 
a  gold-headed  umbrella  or  a  swagger  valise  or  hand 
bag  or  gold  sleeve  links  and  other  jewelry,  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  if  the  trips  had  been  made  annually  in- 
stead of  triennially,  I  would  have  been  able  to  start 
up  a  second-hand  departmental  store  with  the  untaxed 
luxuries   I  lugged  home.     The   club   has   prospered 


154  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

amazingly,  notwithstanding  my  association  with  it, 
and  its  membership  has  increased  from  16  to  more  than 
350. 

Amongst  the  charter  members  were  some  writers  of 
note:  "Kit99  of  the  Mail,  the  first  president  (Mrs. 
Coleman)  and  "Francoise"  of  her  own  paper  (Miss 
Barry)  have  passed  to  the  Great  Beyond — God  rest 
their  souls — and  other  distinguished  writers  were 
"Mary  Markwell"  (Mrs.  Kate  Simpson  Hayes); 
"Happiness",  as  we  called  her,  (now  Mps.  Jerry 
Snider  of  Toronto) ;  Irene  Love  of  London,  Ont.  (now 
Mrs.  Eldred  Archibald),  who,  under  the  nom  de 
plume,  Margaret  Currie,  daily  enlightens  the  readers 
of  the  Montreal  Star  with  words  of  advice  and  wis- 
dom; Katherine  Hughes,  who  is  now  trying  to  free 
Ireland  with  that  distinguished  person  of  Spanish 
parentage  and  born  in  the  United  States,  de  Valera; 
Miss  Alice  Asselin,  of  Le  Nationalist;  Mrs.  Balmer 
Watt,  of  Brantford,  now  of  Edmonton;  Miss  Gerin- 
Lajoie;  Miss  PloufTe;  Miss  Laberge;  Miss  Madeleine 
Gleason;  Miss  Marie  Beaupre  (Helene  Dumont)  of  La 
Presse;  Miss  Valois  of  Ottawa  and  of  course  Miggsy 
(Mrs.  Albert  Horton,  of  Ottawa)  who  was  the 
originator  of  the  trip  which  led  to  the  formation  of  the 
club. 

With  "Kit"  in  St.  Louis. 

At  St.  Louis,  impressionable  Kit  accompanied  me  to 
a  reproduction  of  the  Passion  Play  of  Oberammergau, 
and  in  one  scene  I  heard  ' '  Kit ' '  sobbing.  ' '  What 's  the 
matter  with  you,  Kit?"  I  sympathetically  whispered. 
"Oh,  see  our  blessed  Saviour ;  they're  crucifying  him," 
she  tearfully  replied.  "Well,  let's  get  out  of  here," 
and  I  hustled  her  to  an  adjoining  performance  where 
an  Irish- Australian  songstress  was  energetically  sing- 
ing, "The  Wearing  of  the  Green,"  as  we  were  seated. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  155 

And  Kit,  her  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  was  vigorously 
keeping  time  with  the  tune  by  patting  the  floor  with  her 
foot.    What  a  difference  a  few  minutes  makes. 

At  another  show,  a  trip  through  Siberia,  Kit  and  I 
approached  the  entrance  where  there  was  a  locomotive 
with  steam  up  and  bell  ringing.  I  was  enjoying  a  cigar, 
and  casually,  but  confoundedly  simply,  asked  the  at- 
tendant if  I  would  have  time  to  finish  my  smoke  before 
the  show  started.  "Hold  that  engine,"  he  shouted  to 
the  engineer,  "all  aboard — hurry  up."  And  like  a 
chump  I  threw  away  my  butt  and  we  hiked  in  behind 
the  locomotive  only  to  find,  as  any  one  but  a  rube  would 
have  known,  that  it  was  a  stationary  one,  and  had  real- 
ly nothing  to  do  with  the  trip. 

Kit  was  great — she  never  failed  me.  At  a  gathering 
of  the  club  in  Toronto,  when  the  Governor  General  was 
present,  I  laughingly  offered  to  wager  with  some  of  the 
girls  that  I  would  kiss  the  prettiest  woman  that  would 
come  into  the  room.  I  won  hands  down,  for  when  Kit 
came  in,  she  rushed  up  to  me  and,  putting  her  arms 
around  me,  smacked  me  on  the  place  where  smacks 
should  smack  and  gaily  chirped:  "Arrah,  George, 
darlint,  how  are  you!    Haven's  seen  you  for  an  age." 

"Francoise"  was  beloved  of  all,  and  her  charming 
talk  was  irresistible.  When  she  passed  away,  there 
was  many  a  tear-dimmed  eye  and  many  a  heavy  heart 
as  we  reverently  laid  her  to  rest. 

The  Mormons. 

There  are  a  whole  lot  of  people  who,  not  knowing  the 
Mormons,  have  formed  a  very  wrong  impression  of 
them.  I  guess  they  were  bad  enough  when  they  had  the 
"Avenging  Angels"  and  harassed  and  massacred  the 
gentle  Gentiles  in  Utah.  But  at  a  later  date,  I  gained 
knowledge  of  them,  and  found  that  they  were  not  as 
black  as  they  were  painted.     Henry  Ward  Beecher, 


156  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

whom  I  frequently  met,  spoke  kindly  of  them  and  said 
that  their  young  men  and  women  led  beautiful  and 
wholesome  lives.  Other  authorities  testified  as  to  their 
good  qualities.  My  own  experience  of  them  was  that 
they  were  an  industrious,  hard-working,  sober  people, 
the  boys  helpful  and  the  girls  modest ;  their  well  laid 
out  and  cleanly-kept  towns,  like  a  cart-wheel,  with  the 
streets  running  out  from  the  hub  like  spokes,  were 
models  that  could  be  followed  with  advantage. 

Mr.  Knight,  the  founder  of  the  colony  at  Raymond, 
Cardston  and  Magrath  in  Southern  Alberta,  told  me  in 
Calgary  one  day  how  he  had  selected  Canada  for  his 
sect.  As  a  boy  he  had  one  dream — to  be  a  help  to  his 
people — but  he  had  little  money  to  be  of  much  use  to 
them.  One  night  he  had  a  vision  of  a  silver  mine  in  a 
certain  locality.  He  located  the  mine  and  worked  it 
with  excellent  results  and  with  the  proceeds  he  es- 
tablished the  Mormon  settlements  in  Alberta  to  which 
he  had  been  providentially  directed. 

It  so  happened  that  on  one  of  the  outings  of  the  Can- 
adian Women's  Press  Club,  Raymond  and  other  vil- 
lages were  on  our  itinerary.  There  was  a  story  pub- 
lished at  the  time  that  L.  0.  Armstrong,  a  leading  of- 
ficial of  the  C.P.R.  colonization  department,  had  wired 
ahead  that  I  was  a  prominent  wealthy  Mormon  from 
Wyoming  and  with  a  number  of  my  wives  and  other 
lady  friends  would  visit  their  community.  The  story 
went  on  to  say  that  the  Mormons  turned  out  in  force  to 
meet  and  greet  us,  and  that  I,  tumbling  to  the  idea  that 
some  one  or  other  had  put  up  a  job  on  me,  carried  out 
the  imposture  to  the  letter.  That  wasn't  so,  but  the 
girls  were  cordially  received  and  had  a  rattling  good 
visit. 

Bishop  Mackenzie  and  his  wife  were  very  hospitable, 
but  Mrs.  Mackenzie  wondered  why  my  female  friends 
asked  so  many  queer  questions.    They  wanted  to  know 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  157 

how  many  other  wives  the  Bishop  had  and  how  she  got 
along  with  them,  but  I  laughed  it  off. 

George  W.  Green,  the  mayor  of  Raymond,  a  jolly 
good  fellow,  accompanied  ns  on  a  side  trip  by  train, 
and,  on  nearing  his  town,  the  girls  ranged  themselves 
in  the  vestibules  at  both  ends  of  the  car,  leaving  him 
and  myself  alone  in  the  body  of  the  coach.  Smelling  a 
rat,  His  Worship,  when  the  train  stopped  at  the  sta- 
tion, alertly  jumped  out  the  window  and  waved  his 
adieux.  The  laugh  was  on  the  girls.  When  we  re- 
turned to  the  car,  there  was  a  20-lb.  bag  of  sugar  ad- 
dressed to  me  with  Mayor  Green's  compliments.  Now, 
if  that  were  only  to-day — but  what's  the  use  of  repin- 
ing? He  is  now  the  bishop  of  the  Ward  at  Raymond 
and  enjoys  the  prominent  distinction  of  having  a  clean 
police  record  during  his  two  years  as  mayor  of  the 
town.  There  was  not  an  arrest  or  trial  in  the  place 
during  his  term  of  office. 

Amongst  the  Mormons  I  met  was  a  Mrs.  Silver,  one 
of  Brigham  Young's  numerous  grandchildren.  She 
was  a  handsome  and  charming  woman,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  her  husband  and  two  children.  She  was 
proud  of  her  ancestry  and  of  her  religion,  and  spoke 
freely  of  their  home  life.  The  grandchildren  lived 
happily  together  and  formed  groups  with  congenial 
relatives.  Thus  Mary  and  Jane  and  Susie  and  Ruth 
would  be  bosom  companions  and  Lily  and  Betty  and 
Rebecca  and  Rachel  and  Maude  would  play  together. 
And  they  all  got  along  swimmingly.  The  only  thing 
curious  about  it  was  that  the  little  Silver  girl  called 
Mrs.  Silver  mother  and  Mr.  Silver  uncle,  and  the  little 
Silver  boy  called  Mr.  Silver  father  and  Mrs.  Silver 
auntie.  It  did  seem  queer;  still  it's  none  of  my  busi- 
ness to  butt  in  on  family  affairs. 

Meeting  a  Mormon  delegate  at  Washington  with 
some  newspaper  friends,  we  were  given  a  very  interest- 


158  KEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ing  talk  on  Mormon  life.  His  home — or  rather  homes 
— he  said,  consisted  of  an  eight-apartment  house,  in 
which  his  eight  wives  and  families  were  separately 
domiciled.  He  explained  their  home  life,  and  when 
Jack  Messenger  of  the  Washington  Star  asked  him 
what  he  did,  he  naively  replied,  "Me?  Oh,  I  just 
circulate." 

In  all  fairness,  it  should  be  said  that  polygamy  is  not 
in  evidence  in  Alberta.  But  I  wonder  how  we  alleged 
Lords  of  Creation  would  take  it  if  polyandry  were  in 
vogue  as  polygamy  once  was. 

A  magnificent  Mormon  temple  is  being  erected  at 
Cardston,  at  a  cost  of  several  millions,  and  it  is  said 
will  be  the  finest  temple  in  North  America.  No  Gentile 
foot  is  ever  to  be  allowed  to  desecrate  it,  so  I  suppose  I 
shall  never  see  its  splendid  interior — unless  I  turn 
Mormon,  which  is  not  amongst  the  probabilities. 


CHAPTER  XII 

When  Toronto  Was  Young — The  Local  Newspapers 
— The  Markham  Gang — Some  Chief  Magistrates 
of  the  City — Ned  Farrer,  the  Great  Jour- 
nalist— Theatrical  Recollections — Old- 
Time    Bonifaces  —  And    Old-Time 
Friends — Toronto's    Pride. 

TORONTO  is  "the  Queen  City  of  Canada,' '  but  it 
was  not  always  thus.  Long  before  my  time  it 
was  called  either  "Little  York,"  or  "Muddy 
York,"  and  the  latter  designation  was  as  well  deserv- 
ed as  the  former,  for  the  town  or  city — (it  became  a 
city  with  William  Lyon  Mackenzie  as  Mayor  in 
1834) — had  much  the  experience  of  Winnipeg  in 
its  pioneer  days  owing  to  the  generosity  with  which 
mud  was  lavished  upon  it.  There  was  an  oozy,  slippery 
and  sticky  quality  about  the  mud  of  the  town  of  York 
that  made  it  famous  all  over  Upper  Canada. 

If,  by  reason  of  this  pecularity,  the  town  was  none 
too  comfortable  under  foot,  neither  was  it  at  all  times 
as  agreeable  overhead.  One  hundred  and  eight  years 
ago  the  Yankees  captured  the  place  and  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  decorated  what  was  left  of  it  when  the  burn- 
ing of  the  public  buildings  and  the  looting  had  been 
stopped. 

Nemesis,  however,  soon  overtook  the  invaders.  The 
British  retaliated  by  taking  Washington.  Our  neigh- 
bors have  not  yet  ceased  exulting  over  the  defeat  of  the 
little  garrison  at  York,  and  bewailing  the  barbarity  of 
the  attack  upon  Washington.  I  wonder  if  all  this  would 

159 


160  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

have  happened  had  Tommy  Church  ruled  in  those 
days. 

When  the  Union  Jack  returned,  as  it  did  the  follow- 
ing year,  rebuilding  proceeded  briskly.  Our  fore- 
fathers were  not  restrained  by  union  rules  or  the  eight- 
hour  day.  But  the  Toronto  of  that  time  is  not  the  To- 
ronto of  1921.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there  have  been 
three  Torontos  on  the  present  site.  The  first,  known 
as  Little  York  possibly  to  distinguish  it  from  its  name- 
sake New  York,  was  crowded  into  half  a  dozen  squares, 
just  east  of  Sherbourne  Street.  Then  came  the  second, 
with  King  Street  up  to  York  Street  as  its  principal 
thoroughfare,  and  with  nothing  much  north  of  Queen 
Street.  Following  this  we  have  the  Toronto  of  to-day, 
covering  a  large  area  and  boasting  a  population  of 
more  than  half  a  million. 

It  was  while  the  city  was  passing  from  its  second  to 
its  third  stage  that  I  first  knew  it.  You  landed  from 
the  Grand  Trunk  at  a  little  brick  building  in  the  centre 
of  a  long  platform  at  the  foot  of  York  Street.  This 
was  the  predecessor  of  the  new  Union  Station  that  is 
to  be  opened  in  the  sweet  by  and  by.  You  at  once 
knew  you  were  in  a  great  metropolis  for  at  the  slip 
running  into  the  Bay,  which  at  that  time  had  not  been 
filled  in,  and  came  up  nearly  to  Front  street,  were  the 
carts  loading  with  barrels  of  water  for  distribution 
among  the  citizens.  It  was  a  sort  of  primitve  water 
works  system,  with  the  wells  and  distilleries  to  sup- 
plement it  for  drinking  purposes. 

Up  York  Street  and  along  Front  were  some  of  the 
old-fashioned  villas.  York  to  Spadina  on  Front  and 
Wellington  Streets  had  been  the  fashionable  section 
of  the  second  city  of  Toronto,  with  the  Parliament 
Buildings  half  way  along.  Here,  Sandfield  Macdonald, 
the  first  premier,  ruled  the  new  Province  of  Ontario. 
Sandfield 's    Government   was   noted   for   its    uncon- 


TORONTO    EIGHTY    YEARS    AGO. 
Above,    Waterfront;     below,    Fish-market. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  161 

ventionality — from  the  physical  point  of  view.  The 
Prime  Minister  was  said  to  have  but  one  lung.  The 
Provincial  Treasurer,  E.  B.  Wood,  had  but  one  arm, 
and  the  Provincial  Secretary,  M.  C.  Cameron,  had  but 
one  foot.  No  wonder  the  first  Ontario  administration 
did  not  make  a  good  run. 

The  Leader  's  Drill  Shed  Story. 

Just  east  of  the  Parliament  Buildings  was  the  huge 
wooden  drill  shed  built  during  the  Trent  excitement 
when  every  town  in  Canada  was  running  to  drill  sheds 
instead  of  to  good  roads  or  prohibition.  One  night  this 
far  from  elegant  structure  collapsed  under  the  weight 
of  a  fall  of  snow.  The  old  Leader,  of  which  more  anon, 
made  a  front  page  sensation  of  the  accident.  Multi- 
farious headlines,  nearly  a  column  in  length,  told  the 
harrowing  story,  and  a  single  sentence  stating  that  the 
roof  of  the  shed  had  fallen  in  formed  the  body  of  the 
report.  Jimuel  Briggs  was  then  writing  the  comic 
Police  Court  for  the  Telegraph,  a  rival  paper.  He 
arraigned  a  supposititious  tramp  before  the  "Beak" 
on  the  charge  of  drunkenness  and  vagrancy. 

"What  was  the  last  piece  of  work  you  did?"  asked 
the  magistrate. 

"The  Leader's  report  on  the  drill  shed,"  the  pris- 
oner replied. 

"Six  months  with  hard  labor,"  was  the  penalty 
promptly  imposed.  This  was  the  first  rebuke  I  know 
of  to  the  headline  as  a  newspaper  artifice. 

King  and  Yonge  were  the  business  and  promenade 
streets.  All  the  big  retail  stores  were  on  King,  and 
those  of  prominence  were  better  known  by  the  trade 
name  given  to  them  than  by  the  names  of  their  pro- 
prietors. Thus  the  Golden  Lion,  the  Golden  Griffin,  the 
Mammoth,  Flags  of  all  Nations,  and  China  Hall  were 
the  popular  bargain  centres.    Yonge  Street  was  just 

(12) 


162  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

beginning  to  pick  up  the  retail  trade.  This  street  was 
named  after  an  early  British  secretary  of  war  who 
never  saw  it.  Up  Yonge  and  just  around  the  corner  on 
Queen  next  to  Knox  Church,  on  the  site  now  covered  by 
Simpson's,  was  a  fashionable  undertaking  establish- 
ment conducted  by  Luke  Sharp,  whose  name,  displayed 
in  huge  letters  over  an  assortment  of  attractive 
caskets,  seemed  to  suggest  "Safety  First' '  to  the 
passers  by.  Eobert  Barr,  the  famous  humorist,  who 
kept  Detroit  laughing  for  years,  thought  so  well  of  the 
name  that  he  adopted  it  as  his  nom  de  plume.  Thus 
Luke  literally  leaped  from  grave  to  gay. 

A  more  notable  example  of  the  coming  together  of 
the  serious  and  the  not-so-serious  was  furnished  at 
King  and  Simcoe  Streets  where  St.  Andrew's  Church, 
Government  House,  Upper  Canada  College,  and  an  at- 
tractive tavern  occupied  the  four  corners.  It  used  to  be 
said  that  salvation,  legislation,  education  and  damna- 
tion met  at  this  point.  Salvation  is  all  that  remains  of 
the  big  four,  and  the  survival  is  no  doubt  attributable 
to  the  fact  that  Toronto  is  Toronto  the  Good.  Nor  is 
this  the  only  evidence  of  the  Goodness  of  the  City.  Joe 
Clark,  of  the  Toronto  Star,  whose  orchard  would  have 
seriously  affected  the  fruit  market  if  he  had  had  more 
than  three  trees,  once  told  me  that  his  precious  heir- 
apparent  some  years  ago  came  home  from  Sunday 
School  triumphantly  bearing  a  Bible — the  big  prize 
for  the  most  industrious  pupil.  The  next  year  he 
brought  home  another  Bible,  but  with  diminished  en- 
thusiasm. The  following  year  he  appeared  with  a 
third  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  which  he  meekly  laid 
on  the  table,  and  enquiringly  remarked : 

"Say,  Dad,  how  many  more  Bibles  have  I  got  to  win 
before  I  get  anything  else?" 

Thus  was  the  foundation  of  Toronto's  goodness 
firmly  and  permanently  laid. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  163 

When  " Three  Pair"  Won. 

The  old  Government  House  at  the  four  corners  was 
supplanted  by  the  new  one  in  Rosedale  a  few  years  ago. 
This  building  figured  in  rural  politics  in  the  early  days 
of  Ontario.  Archie  McKellar,  who  was  the  first  U.F.O., 
though  he  didn't  know  it,  used  to  go  up  and  down  the 
side  lines  denouncing  the  extravagance  that  built  such 
a  mansion  and  put  a  billiard  room  in  it.  His  labor  with 
the  farmers  helped  to  put  Sir  Oliver  Mowat  in  power, 
and  oddly  enough  Sir  Oliver  lived  for  years  in  this 
very  Government  House,  though  I  do  not  think  he  used 
the  billiard  room.  Society  made  Government  House  its 
headquarters. 

But  the  Toronto  Club,  now  occupying  its  palatial 
quarters  at  the  corner  of  York  and  Wellington  Streets, 
was  the  gathering  place  for  the  elite  of  the  male  persua- 
sion. A  story  is  told  of  pre-prohibition  days  when 
some  of  the  masculine  social  stars  used  to  meet  at  the 
Club  for  a  little  game  of  draw,  or — there  being  no 
0.  T.  A.  to  interfere  with  their  conscience  on  the 
temperance  question — for  a  little  of  something  else. 
Late  in  the  night,  or  early  in  the  morning  as  the  case 
may  be,  at  one  of  these  assemblies  the  hand  of  one  of 
the  players  was  "called."  The  hand  was  shown,  and 
it  showed  three  tens.  No  good;  the  next  man  threw 
down  three  Queens.  Not  worth  a  tinker 's  what-do-you- 
call-it ;  the  next  showed  three  Kings.  The  same  result ; 
three  aces  followed.  The  holder  of  the  three  aces 
started  to  rake  in  the  pot  when  the  last  player  hic- 
coughed, ' i  Hold  on,  will  you,  I  Ve  got  three  pair. ' '  And 
they  all  admitted  that  the  pot  was  his. 

The  Albany  Club  on  King  Street  east  was  and  still 
is  the  leading  Conservative  club,  and  I  guess  some  of 
the  old  members  are  still  voting  for  Sir  John. 


164  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

The  Toronto  Press. 

The  newspapers  of  that  period  had  a  hard  time  to 
make  ends  meet,  owing  to  the  cost  of  production  and 
the  rarity  of  subscribers.  The  Globe,  the  Leader  and 
the  Colonist  were  the  dailies.  George  Brown,  Gordon 
Brown,  Dan  Morrison  and  Charles  Lindsey  were  the 
chief  writers.  George  Brown  thought  more  of  the 
Globe  than  of  any  other  of  his  life  associations,  except- 
ing perhaps  Bow  Park.  They  say  that,  returning  from 
Edinburgh  with  his  bride,  he  jumped  out  of  the  train 
when  it  reached  the  Toronto  station  and  made  for  the 
Globe  office,  forgetting  for  the  moment  that  his  fair 
companion  required  some  attention  in  the  strange  city 
to  which  she  had  come. 

His  assaults  upon  the  other  side  of  politics  were 
printed  double-leaded  on  the  front  page  of  the  paper. 
People  used  to  think  this  was  because  of  their  im- 
portance. But  John  A.  Ewan,  who  was  a  boy  in  the 
Globe  office  at  the  time,  and  was  assigned  the  duty  of 
running  up  to  Mr.  Brown's  house  for  the  editorial  copy, 
used  to  say  that  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  articles 
had  to  go  on  the  front  page  because,  owing  to  the  labor 
lavished  upon  them,  they  were  too  late  for  the  page 
devoted  to  editorial  matter.  John  A.  Ewan  began 
newspaper  work  on  the  Globe,  and  was  one  of  the 
editors  of  that  paper  when  he  passed  away.  A  staunch 
Liberal  and  beloved  by  all,  we  were  warm  friends,  for 
he  was  a  good  deal  like  my  other  bosom  friend,  Sam 
Kydd,  of  the  Montreal  Gazette,  whose  quaint  humor 
gave  the  editorial  columns  of  that  paper  a  brightness 
that  made  them  very  pleasant  reading. 

One  evening  John  unceremoniously  but  unintention- 
ally dropped  in  on  a  little  dinner  party  I  was  giving 
to  several  members  of  the  Women's  Press  Club  at  the 
King  Edward,  and  after  having  enjoyed  a  pleasant 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  165 

time,  insisted  when  we  were  alone  and  the  affair  was 
over  upon  asking  the  amount  of  the  bill  because  he 
wanted  to  share  the  expense.  I  firmly  refused  to  enter- 
tain such  a  proposition,  and  told  him  it  was  not  the 
custom  in  the  neck  of  the  woods  I  came  from  to  allow 
anyone  else  to  pay  for  one's  guests. 

"Very  well,  George,  my  boy,"  said  John.  "You've 
been  very  kind  to  me  and  I  am  going  to  be  equally 
generous  to  you.  Hanged  if  I  don 't  get  you  the  Liberal 
nomination  for  East  Toronto  at  the  next  election." 

Funny,  wasn't  it!  John  had  just  been  snowed  under 
in  that  constituency  by  a  3,000  Conservative  majority. 
Poor  John — dead  and  gone — his  memory  is  still  kept 
green  by  all  the  old-timers  who,  knowing  his  kindness 
of  heart,  his  geniality  and  his  amiability,  loved  him  all 
the  more. 

While  the  Globe  was  growing  in  every  way  some  of 
the  other  papers  were  not  doing  so  well.  The  Tele- 
graph, the  first  venture  in  the  daily  field  of  my  old 
friend,  John  Eoss  Robertson,  with  Jimmy  Cook  as  his 
partner,  felt  the  pinch,  and  so  did  the  Leader  after 
Charles  Belford  and  George  Gregg  left  to  help  start 
the  Mail. 

The  Leader's  last  days  were  marked  by  some 
journalistic  novelties.  If  you  had  subscribed  to  the 
paper  if  kept  on  coming  whether  you  renewed  your 
subscription  or  not.  If  you  advertised  for  a  cook  the 
"ad"  was  placed  at  the  top  of  the  "wanted"  column, 
and  appeared  daily  although  your  want  had  been  sup- 
plied, working  its  way  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
column  as  fast  as  new  "ads"  arrived  to  take  the  top 
place.  Ultimately  the  appeal  for  a  cook  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  column  and  was  retired. 

The  Colonist,  then  a  Tory  organ,  during  the  panic  of 
1857,  startled  the  political  world  with  a  sensational 
article,  headed  "Whither  Are  We  Drifting?"  and  laid 


166  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  blame  of  the  distressing  condition  of  the  country 
on  the  awful  extravagance  and  culpable  incapacity  of 
the  Government.  As  I  remember,  though  only  a  youth 
of  immature  years,  the  paper  was  financially  in  a  hole, 
and  John  Sheridan  Hogan,  a  brilliant  young  Irishman, 
who  supported  the  Conservative  party,  was  its  editor. 
The  Colonist's  sensational  article  brought  immediate 
financial  relief,  for  the  Reformers  swarmed  to  its 
assistance  by  increasing  its  advertising  patronage  and 
its  circulation.  Hogan  was  elected  as  a  Liberal  to  the 
Local  Legislature  for  one  of  the  Greys,  and  was  short- 
ly afterwards  murdered  one  night  while  crossing  the 
Don  bridge  by  the  notorious  Brooks  Bush  gang,  which 
camped  near  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  made  the 
locality  a  veritable  hell  on  earth. 

The  Markham  Gang. 

Before  I  was  born  or  even  thought  of,  the  equally 
notorious  Markham  gang  operated  for  years  on  a  very 
large  scale,  but  I  used  to  hear  a  great  deal  of  their 
evil  doings.  The  members  of  this  gang  were  horse- 
thieves,  counterfeiters,  desperadoes,  and  even  murder 
was  committed  by  its  members.  While  apparently 
well-to-do,  respectable  people — farmers,  millers,  tav- 
ern-keepers, etc. — they  rivalled  the  scum  of  the  earth 
in  the  darkness  of  their  infamous  crimes.  Their  organ- 
ization was  perfect,  an  iron-bound  oath  binding  them 
together,  and  they  adroitly  scattered  their  bogus 
money  broadcast,  and  drove  scores  upon  scores  of 
horses  to  Detroit  and  other  places  on  the  American 
frontier,  which  was  crossed  without  the  formality  of 
a  visit  to  the  customs  house. 

Toronto  naturally  was  the  scene  of  many  of  their 
operations,  being  a  fairly  good  distance  from  Mark- 
ham. Some  years  after  I  accompanied  my  old  friend, 
Col.  J.  E.  Farewell,  of  Whitby,  on  a  visit  to  Dawn  town- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  167 

ship  in  Lambton  county,  to  inspect  a  property  he  had 
acquired  there.  It  was  located  in  the  middle  of  a  good- 
sized  swamp,  and  to  his  great  surprise  he  found  the 
cellars  of  a  big  house  and  large  stables  and  other 
buildings  and  large  apple  trees — the  headquarters  of 
that  part  of  the  gang  which  operated  throughout  West- 
ern Canada.  Here  the  stock  rested  and  was  fixed  up 
so  as  to  be  unrecognizable  by  the  rightful  owners 
should  they  happen  to  come  across  the  animals. 

To  the  East  the  gang  operated  as  far  as  the  Bay 
of  Quinte,  and  even  had  big  establishments  in  Staf- 
ford and  Dunham  townships  in  Lower  Canada,  where 
the  "phoney"  money  was  made.  Murders  were  com- 
mitted by  these  lawless  desperadoes.  After  some 
years,  through  the  exertions  of  Mr.  George  Gurnett, 
police  magistrate  of  Toronto,  and  Mr.  Higgins,  high 
constable  of  York,  and  others,  several  of  the  leaders 
of  the  gang  were  arrested  and  punished  either  by  death 
or  imprisonment.  The  gang  was  dispersed,  and  while 
it  is  now  but  a  misty  memory — it  terrorized  the  country 
in  those  primitive  days. 

Comic  and  Other  Papers. 

There  were  comic  papers  as  well  as  serious  ones  in 
my  early  days.  The  Grumbler  was  one.  It  was  owned 
by  Erastus  Wiman,  who  afterwards  led  in  the  unre- 
stricted reciprocity  movement,  and  the  chief  writer  was 
Bill  Rattray,  who  later  on  wrote  the  heavy  religious 
articles,  combating  German  agnosticism,  in  the  Mail. 
Another  was  the  Poker,  conducted  by  Robert  A.  Har- 
rison, who  rose  to  the  position  of  Chief  Justice  of  On- 
tario. Then  came  Grip,  published  by  my  old  school- 
fellow, Johnny  Bengough ;  it  succeeded  splendidly, until 
Johnny's  two  fads — single  tax  and  prohibition,  then 
ahead  of  the  age — lost  it  the  needed  patronage.  Johnny 
was  a  bright  cartoonist  and  an  able  writer  and  is 


168  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

credited  with  the  authorship  of  that  celebrated  poem, 
"On-tay-rio,  On-tay-rio,  the  tyrant's  hand  is  on  thy 
throat,"  which  raised  a  great  ruction  in  Quebec,  and 
which  had  been  attributed  to  the  late  Hon.  James 
D.  Edgar. 

The  Mail  first  appeared  in  1872  with  T.  C.  Pattes- 
on,  the  father,  along  with  Harry  Good,  of  the  sporting 
page  in  the  Canadian  newspaper.  The  Globe  would 
not  go  in  for  horse  racing,  so  the  Mail  made  a  specialty 
of  this  sport  and  ultimately  the  older  paper  had  to  come 
in.  The  Mail  was  to  have  been  started  on  April  1 ;  but 
the  foreman  printer  drew  attention  to  the  danger  in- 
volved in  the  selection  of  that  date  for  the  first  num- 
ber. So  the  paper  came  out  a  day  earlier  than  was 
intended.  Yet  the  Mail  did  not  escape  the  sort  of 
humor  appropriate  to  the  first  of  April.  It  had  the 
city  laughing  soon  after  it  was  founded  by  reason  of 
some  curious  typographical  errors  incident  to  the  haste 
of  production. 

One  of  these  arose  out  of  a  St.  George's  Society  ser- 
vice at  St.  James  Cathedral.  It  appears  that  a  boy 
in  the  composing  room  had  been  entertaining  himself 
by  setting  up  sections  of  a  dime  novel  relating  the 
adventures  of  "Cut  Throat  Dick,  the  Bold  Eoamer  of 
the  Western  Plains,"  or  of  some  other  celebrity  of 
that  type.  When  the  report  of  the  St.  George's  ser- 
mon was  being  placed  in  the  form  preparatory-  to 
printing  the  paper,  the  "make-up"  man  used  instead  of 
the  second  half  of  the  sermon  a  selection  from  the  story 
of  "Cut  Throat  Dick"  with  the  result  that  the  preach- 
er, Eev.  Alexander  Williams,  was  represented  as  using 
language  that  was  quite  unsuited  to  the  pulpit. 

In  the  same  paper  somebody  played  a  practical  joke 
at  the  expense  of  Mr.  M.  Homer  Dixon,  the  Consul- 
General  for  the  Netherlands.  Mr.  Dixon  always  ap- 
peared at  state  functions  wearing  the  diplomatic  uni- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  169 

form  of  blue  cloth  and  gold  lace.  A  letter  appeared  in 
the  Mail  offering  a  vigorous  defence  of  this  practice 
and  was  signed  apparently  by  Mr.  Dixon  himself.  The 
missive,  which  was  a  forgery,  set  everybody  laughing. 

But  there  was  a  louder  laugh  at  a  practical  joke  play- 
ed by  my  old  friend,  W.  R.  Callaway,  general  passenger 
agent  of  the  Soo  Line,  and  formerly  of  the  C.P.R.  at 
Toronto.  Mr.  Callaway  is  nothing  if  not  a  wag.  The 
jobs  he  has  put  up  are  innumerable,  and  this  is  one  of 
them..  He  issued  "swell"  invitations  to  the  leading 
citizens  of  Toronto  to  visit  his  office  on  King  street 
and  see  the  first  cycle  used  in  the  construction  of  the 
C.P.R.  which  had  just  been  completed.  The  acceptances 
were  many.  Amongst  those  who  came  to  see  the 
wonderful  and  historic  machine  were  Sir  George  Kirk- 
patrick,  the  mayor  and  aldermen  of  Toronto,  and  many 
society  ladies  and  gentlemen.  They  Were  escorted  to  a 
rear  room  where  they  beheld  a  brand  new  wheel-bar- 
row, especially  borrowed  for  the  occasion  from  Rice 
Lewis  &  Son.  The  crowd  took  the  ' '  sell ' '  good  natured- 
ly,  but  Mr.  Callaway  was  conveniently  absent  in  Lon- 
don. 

Returning  to  the  newspapers — in  a  later  day  came 
the  Sun,  the  World,  edited  by  W.  F.  Maclean,  M.P.,  the 
Empire,  both  afterwards  absorbed  by  the  Mail,  and  the 
Telegram,  the  last  and  highly  successful  venture  of 
John  Ross  Robertson.  John  Ross  in  this  enterprise 
made  municipal  politics  his  specialty,  and  woe  to  the 
man  he  opposed.  One  candidate  for  the  mayoralty  to 
whom  he  objected  was  Angus  Morrison.  Mr.  Morrison 
was  not  a  good  or  strictly  coherent  speaker.  John  Ross 
went  after  him  by  printing  verbatim  reports  of  his 
campaign  speeches,  and  thus  did  him  no  end  of  harm. 

Toronto  's  Chief  Magistrates. 

Toronto's  mayors  have  been  of  all  types  and  of  all 
brands  of  politics.  Next  to  Tommy  Church,  the  most 


170  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

tenacious  was  Francis  H.  Metcalfe,  " Square  Toes' '  as 
he  was  called,  who  had  five  terms.  Mayor  Church  has 
had  six,  and  is  now  enjoying  his  seventh.  He  toes  the 
line  with  even  greater  energy  than  did  Mr.  Metcalfe. 
"Square  Toes"  was  a  notable  member  of  the  Orange 
Order,  and  the  joke  was  on  him  when  he  had  to  give 
protection  to  the  Catholic  processions  that  celebrated 
the  Papal  Jubilee.  E.  F.  Clarke  and  Horatio  C.  Hocken 
were  also  chiefs  of  the  Orange  Order.  Ned  Clarke  was 
taken  away  all  too  early. 

Some  of  the  mayors  had  a  good  streak  of  humor. 
Mayor  McMurrich  was  one  of  these.  It  falls  to  the  lot 
of  the  mayor  to  give  names  to  the  foundlings  coming 
under  the  protection  of  the  city.  One  newspaper  man, 
Ephraim  Roden,  had  criticised  Mr.  McMurrich  in  the 
course  of  his  journalistic  duties.  Shortly  afterwards  a 
colored  foundling  had  to  be  named,  and  the  mayor  con- 
ferred upon  it  the  full  name  of  his  critic.  Mr.  With- 
row  was  a  mayoralty  candidate  but  was  not  elected. 

I  remember  coming  to  one  of  the  exhibitions  which 
preceded  the  establishment  of  the  Industrial.  It  was 
held  just  where  the  Massey-Harris  factories  and  yards 
are  on  King  street.  King  street  west  then  ended  at 
Strachan  avenue,  and  big  gates,  where  King  street 
stopped,  guarded  the  entrance  to  the  fair  grounds. 
The  most  notable  feature  of  the  Fair  was  the  glass 
structure  known  as  the  Crystal  Palace.  Here  all  the 
best  exhibits — the  quilts,  the  amateur  paintings,  the 
cakes  by  the  farmer's  wife,  the  sewing  machines,  the 
pumpkins,  the  parlor  organs  and  the  stoves  were  dis- 
played. Outside  on  the  grounds  were  agricultural  im- 
plements, animals  none  too  well  housed,  and  mud — for 
the  weather  as  a  rule  was  hostile  to  the  Fair.  Mr. 
Withrow  and  some  other  leading  spirits  worked  for 
the  transfer  of  the  Exhibition  to  the  Garrison  Common, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  171 

and  now  Toronto  has  the  big  show  of  the  country — if 
not  of  the  continent. 

"Ned" — Hon.  Edward  Farrer. 

There  had  been  no  better  known  newspaper  man  in 
Canada  than  Ned  Farrer,  and  none  more  popular  with 
those  who  knew  him.  He  was  a  brilliant  writer,  an 
interesting  conversationalist  with  an  unlimited  fund  of 
information  and  humor,  and  knew  so  many  stories  and 
told  them  so  often  that  he  actually  believed  them  him- 
self. 

While  Ned  had  been  chief  editorial  editor  of  the  To- 
ronto Mail  and  the  Toronto  Globe,  he  was  also  on  the 
Winnipeg  Times,  succeeding  me  as  editor-in-chief  in 
1882,  and  in  later  years  he  became  a  free  lance  and 
wrote  for  many  papers,  chief  amongst  which  was  the 
London  Economist,  and  he  was  also  employed  by  large 
corporations  on  account  of  his  grasp  of  subjects  and 
the  readiness  of  his  pen.  A  better  writer  I  never  knew 
who  could  put  a  case  more  clearly  and  succinctly  than 
he  could,  and  his  great  mind  could  see  both  sides  of  a 
question,  so  that  he  could  reply  to  his  own  arguments 
without  any  difficulty,  and  then  controvert  them  to  the 
Queen 's  taste.    His  style  was  incisive  and  telling. 

Once  when  Chief  Justice  Wallbridge,  of  the  Mani- 
toba bench,  who  had  reached  a  good  old  age,  fiercely 
denounced  the  reflections  of  the  Winnipeg  Times  on 
the  court,  Ned  made  very  brief  reference  to  it,  and 
concluded:  "Senility  has  its  privileges."  That 
repartee  has  been  quoted  to  me  many  a  time  since. 
He  had  been  in  earlier  years  on  the  New  York  press, 
but  wandered  to  Canada  where  his  services  were 
always  in  demand. 

So  greatly  were  his  talents  appreciated,  and  so 
esteemed  was  he  by  Sir  John  Macdonald  and  Sir  Wil- 


172  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

f rid  Laurier  that,  it  is  said,  lie  wrote  the  platforms  for 
both  political  parties  on  one  occasion.  While  we  were 
most  intimate  for  more  than  forty  years  he  never  ad- 
mitted it  to  me,  but  what  he  didn't  tell  of  himself  was 
monumental.  No  one  except  his  wife  and  myself  knew 
that  he  was  the  Honorable  Edward  Farrer,  and  that 
he  was  a  nephew  of  Archbishop  0  'Donnell  of  Cork. 

Many  is  the  story  he  has  told  me  of  how  he  was  the 
intermediary  between  the  Archbishop  and  the  chief  of 
the  Irish  Constabulary  in  dealing  with  the  Fenians 
when  they  were  the  disturbing  element  in  Ireland.  If 
the  suspect  was  a  pretty  decent,  harmless  fellow  the 
Archbishop  would  arrange  for  him  to  be  freed  and 
sent  home;  if  he  was  a  dangerous  character  and  an 
undesirable,  he  would  be  shipped  to  America,  with  pas- 
sage paid  and  sufficient  money  to  give  him  a  fair  start 
in  the  new  world. 

How  he  himself  happened  to  come  to  America  is  a 
queer  story  and  has  never  before  been  told  in  print,  for 
I  promised  not  to  tell  it  until  he  had  passed  away. 
While  at  college  in  Eome  where  he  was  studying  for 
the  priesthood,  he,  with  a  brother  student,  as  remark- 
ably clever  as  Ned,  were  taking  a  stroll  the  afternoon 
before  the  day  of  their  ordination. 

One  asked  the  other:  "Do  you  want  to  be  a  priest?" 
and  both  agreed  they  didn't.  Just  then,  a  little  breeze 
blew  a  piece  of  an  Italian  newspaper  against  Ned's 
leg  and  picking  it  up  he  read  an  advertisement  for  two 
interpreters — English  and  Italian — applications  to  be 
made  to  the  captain  of  a  ship,  then  in  port.  They 
hastened  to  the  vessel,  but  the  captain  seeing  their 
student's  garb  at  first  refused  to  engage  them  on  the 
ground  that  the  college  authorities  missing  them  would 
search  and  find  them  before  they  could  get  away.  They, 
however,  persuaded  him  that  they  could  hide  in  the 
forecastle  until  the  ship  sailed,  which  they  did.  Shortly 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  173 

before  the  advertised  time  of  departure,  the  captain 
saw  the  searching  party  heading  for  the  ship,  and,  al- 
though the  tide  was  unfavorable,  immediately  cast  off 
ropes  and  started — landing  the  two  young  men  in  New 
York  almost  penniless. 

They,  however,  quickly  procured  employment,  and 
later  Ned  became  one  of  the  most  powerful  newspaper 
writers  in  Canada,  sought  after  by  prominent  poli- 
ticians of  both  parties.  Besides  Sir  John  and  Sir  Wil- 
frid, Sir  Richard  Cartwright  was  a  close  personal 
friend,  and  many  members  of  the  different  cabinets 
sought  his  sound  advice  and  pleasant  company.  At 
Washington,  he  had  many  friends  in  high  political 
positions,  Jas.  GL  Blaine,  Senator  Hoar  and  Congress- 
man Hitt  being  amongst  those  most  intimate  with  him. 

Ned  was  a  good  cricketer  in  his  earlier  days,  and 
later  an  enthusiastic  baseball  fan.  He  played  in  cricket 
matches  in  England  against  some  noted  players,  and 
would  travel  long  distances  to  see  a  league  baseball 
game  in  Canada  or  the  United  States.  And  he  dearly 
loved  a  game  of  cards — Black  Jack  or  Catch  the  Ten, 
an  old  Irish  game,  being  his  special  favorite.  He  used 
to  wire  me  Saturday  mornings  to  come  up  sure — the 
first  one  being  that  Clifford  Sifton  wanted  to  see  me. 
When  I  reached  his  home  in  Ottawa  that  evening,  I 
naturally  asked  what  Sifton  wanted  to  see  me  about. 
And  he  looked  apparently  amazed,  and  asked : 

' '  What  Sif ton  !" 

"Why,  the  Minister  of  the  Interior.' ' 

"Never  heard  of  him,"  he  replied. 

"But,"  I  said,  handing  him  his  dispatch,  "here's 
your  telegram."  He  took  it,  scrutinized  it  carefully, 
and  returning  it  casually  remarked: 

"Can't  you  see  that's  not  my  handwriting — it's  a 
forgery." 


174  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

And  then  we  would  play  Black  Jack  until  three  or 
four  in  the  morning  and  important  visitors  would  be 
told  that  "Mr.  Farrer  was  very  busily  engaged,  and 
could  not  see  them."  He  was  very  busy — trying  to 
beat  me,  which  he  usually  did. 

I  couldn't  tell  you  all  the  rich  stories  about  Ned 
Farrer,  but  one  will  suffice.  The  two  of  us  with  Mrs. 
Farrer  were  on  a  westbound  C.P.R.  train.  Ned  was  an 
early  riser,  so  I  asked  him  to  awaken  me  when  he  got 
up  as  I  was  very  tired. 

He  and  Mrs.  Farrer  were  in  lower  11  and  I  was  in 
lower  7.  After  they  had  retired  a  young  lady  from 
Yale,  B.C.,  whom  I  knew,  entered  the  sleeper  and  after 
a  few  minutes'  conversation  told  me  that  she  didn't 
know  where  she  was  going  to  sleep  that  night.  I  told 
her  that  I  did — in  lower  7.  She  said  that  she  had  no 
berth  SGeured,  and  I  explained  that  lower  7  was  her's, 
although  it  had  been  mine  but  I  had  another.  In  the 
middle  of  the  night  Mrs.  Farrer  had  occasion  to  visit 
the  toilet,  and  on  her  return  accidentally  got  into  the 
berth  of  our  Mr.  Cambie,  of  Vancouver.  Then  trouble 
commenced.  She  told  him  to  lie  over,  and  he  told  her 
to  get  out  of  the  berth.  "Don't  be  a  fool,  Ned,  get  over 
farther,"  was  followed  by  Mr.  Cambie  saying,  "My 
name  is  not  Ned."  Then  came  a  half-suppressed 
shriek,  and  the  flitting  of  a  female  form  to  lower  11.  All 
this  I  enjoyed  from  the  upper  berth  in  which  I  was  sup- 
posed to  repose.  In  the  morning,  I  heard  Ned  pat- 
tering down  the  aisle,  and  saw  him  pull  aside  the  berth 
curtains  and  give  the  poor  innocent  occupant  a  well- 
directed  slap  in  the  proper  part  of  her  anatomy, 
accompanied  by :  "Get  up,  you  old  devil,  you." 

I  think  I  put  nearly  all  of  one  of  the  pillows  in  my 
mouth  to  silence  the  laughter  that  was  racking  my 
body. 

"George,"  the  porter,  having  been  duly  instructed, 


EBMINISCENCBS  OF  A  RACONTEUR  175 

explained  to  the  lady  that  a  lunatic  had  escaped  from 
the  day  coach,  but  had  been  recaptured  and  handcuffed 
— and  the  rest  of  the  day  I  held  Ned  in  awed  subjection 
by  threatening  to  point  him  out  to  the  lady  as  the 
person  who  had  committed  the  assault,  and  in  dire  fear, 
the  well-known  editor  spent  most  of  the  day  and  part 
of  the  night  in  the  baggage  car,  occasionally  sending 
to  the  rear  to  find  out  if  the  female  was  still  vengeful, 
or  if  she  had  got  off  the  train,  receiving  emphatic  as- 
surances of  "Yes"  and  "No"  with  the  necessary 
verbal  frills  each  time. 

I  breakfasted  with  the  lady  and  then  afterwards  told 
E.  F.,  who  sat  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  diner,  that  she 
had  been  informed  that  "the  big  florid-faced  man  at 
the  end  table  was  the  guilty  party ' '  and  that  ' '  she  was 
laying  for  him"  when  he  went  into  the  sleeper.  Which 
he  did  not  do  until  I  finally  explained  matters  and 
then  dove-like  peace  reigned  once  more. 

One  Good  Friday  night,  while  in  Toronto,  I  got  a 
wire  from  Mrs.  Farrer  to  come  to  Ottawa  at  once  for 
Ned  was  dying.  I  stayed  with  him  to  the  end,  and 
when  he  passed  away,  one  of  the  brightest  minds  and 
one  of  the  greatest  journalists  of  his  time  was  lost  to 
the  world. 

Theatkical  Recollections. 

No  visit  to  Toronto  in  my  early  days  was  complete 
unless  you  had  an  evening  at  the  Royal  or,  to  give  it 
its  full  title,  the  Royal  Lyceum,  on  the  south  side  of 
King  between  Bay  and  York.  This  theatre  was  not  the 
first  to  be  built  in  the  city.  Its  immediate  predecessor, 
if  I  am  rightly  informed,  was  on  the  south  side  of  King 
between  Bay  and  Yonge.  Here  Denman  Thompson, 
McKee  Rankin,  and  Cool  Burgess  got  their  start.  All 
became  famous  on  the  American  stage.  Cool,  by  the 
way,  was  one  of  the  best  of  the  earlier  burnt  cork 


176  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

artists,  his  Nicodemus  Johnson  being  irresistibly 
funny.  He  began  as  a  local  song  and  dance  performer, 
lending  added  humor  to  his  terpsichorean  efforts  by 
reason  of  the  length  of  his  feet,  which,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say,  were  artificially  prolonged.  Soon  his 
fame  spread  throughout  the  States,  and  he  is  said  to 
have  literally  coined  money  there. 

Keport  has  it  that  when  brother  workers  adjourned 
from  the  theatre  to  blow  in  their  earnings  in  liquid  re- 
freshments or  card  games,  Cool  went  to  his  bed  and 
his  money  went  home.  So  that,  in  his  advanced  years, 
when  the  stage  had  lost  its  charm  for  him  or  vice 
versa,  he  was  a  well-to-do  citizen  of  Toronto,  enjoying 
a  life  of  ease.  Denman  Thompson  created  "The  Old 
Homestead,"  from  which  he  made  a  barrel  of  money. 
His  play  was  the  precursor  of  "Way  Down  East," 
which  is  now  playing  to  fine  houses  in  a  movie  in  New 
York. 

The  Koyal  was  made  famous  by  the  Holmans  who 
managed  it  and  played  in  it  for  years.  The  family  was 
highly  talented  and  exceedingly  well  balanced  from  the 
point  of  view  either  of  the  drama  or  the  opera.  There 
were  two  girls,  Sally  and  Julia,  who  sang  like  nightin- 
gales, and  two  brothers,  Alf  and  Ben,  also  singers  and 
actors  of  more  than  average  ability.  The  former  one 
was  also  a  rattling  snare-drummer.  Mrs.  Holman, 
the  mother,  was  an  accomplished  pianist,  and  an  all- 
round  musician.  At  first  the  Holmans  played  the  stock 
dramas  with  Sally  as  leading  lady,  and  Alf  as  the 
heavy  villain.  But  ultimately  they  went  into  opera  and 
made  a  success  of  the  venture.  A  night  at  the  Royal 
certainly  was  a  treat  for  the  boys.  The  house  was  not 
at  all  gorgeous,  nor  was  it  outrageously  clean.  The 
mastication  of  tobacco,  a  popular  method  of  enjoyment 
in  those  days,  gave  the  floors,  particularly  in  the  gal- 
lery where  the  twenty-five  centers  assembled,  a  pattern 


TORONTO    TO-DAY. 

The     three     tallest     buildings     in     the     British     Empire.      The     C.P.R.     Building 

in    the    centre. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  177 

and  an  odor  not  to  be  experienced  in  the  modern 
theatres,  where  chewing  gum  is  employed  and  indis- 
criminately parked.  How  the  habits  of  the  people  have 
changed ! 

The  beginning  of  the  performance  was  heralded  by 
the  appearance  of  a  "supe"  who  amidst  cheers  light- 
ed with  a  taper  the  gas  jets  which  provided  the  foot- 
lights. Then,  Mrs.  Holman,  wearing  a  comfortable 
white  woollen  shawl,  squeezed  through  the  musicians ' 
trap  door  and  made  the  piano  lead  the  modest  orches- 
tra in  the  tunes  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  Up 
went  the  green  baize  curtain  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
the  play  was  on.  Applause  for  Sally  and  Julia  was 
continuous  and  well-deserved.  Hushed  during  the 
intermissions  when  the  male  section  of  the  audience  ad- 
journed to  the  nearby  bars  for  the  purpose  of  acquir- 
ing fresh  inspiration,  it  broke  out  with  renewed  vigor 
when  the  performance  was  resumed. 

Old-timers  will  remember,  too,  that  the  celebrated 
bass  singer,  Crane,  of  Robson  and  Crane,  made  his 
debut  with  the  Holmans. 

Fire  brought  the  business  of  the  Royal  to  a  stand- 
still and  the  Holmans  gave  summer  performances, 
either  in  the  pavilion  of  the  Horticultural  Gardens,  or 
in  a  temporary  structure  on  Front  street,  just  west  of 
the  Queen's.  Since  then  the  Royal  has  been  rebuilt  and 
burned  again.  After  the  second  burning  it  stayed 
burned,  and  the  business  of  catering  to  the  public  in 
a  dramatic  or  operatic  way  passed  to  the  Grand,  which 
was  managed  for  years  by  Mrs.  Morrison,  whose  hus- 
band, Dan  Morrison,  had  edited  the  Colonist.  They 
had  good  bills  at  the  Grand.  Once  when  Sir  Henry 
Irving  was  there  it  was  given  out  that  the  distinguished 
tragedian  required  the  assistance  of  a  body  of  young 
men  to  play  the  part  of  soldiers  in  one  of  his  Shakes- 
perean  plays.    The  boys  volunteered  by  the  hundred. 

(13) 


178  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

They  were  going  to  see  Sir  Henry  at  close  quarters  and 
on  the  cheap.  When  the  great  night  came  they  were 
assembled  in  the  basement,  uniformed,  and  provided 
with  pikes — machine  guns  not  having  been  invented  at 
that  period  in  which  they  were  engaging  in  war. 

After  a  long  wait  for  Act  3,  scene  something  or  other, 
they  were  marched  upstairs  and  hustled  across  the 
stage  a  few  times,  yelling  as  instructed.  Then  the  door 
of  the  basement  opened  and  they  descended  to  disrobe 
and  make  for  the  street  without  once  having  cast  eyes 
on  Sir  Henry,  and  without  seeing  a  fragment  of  the 
play. 

The  contrast  between  the  theatrical  equipment  of 
Toronto  in  my  early  days  and  now  is  really  marvellous. 
Then  there  was  one  struggling  theatre.  Now  there  are 
three  devoted  to  the  legitimate,  four  given  up  to  vaude- 
ville, two  to  burlesque,  fifteen  huge  picture  houses, 
and  a  host  of  small  moving  picture  places  too  numer- 
ous to  count.    The  city  certainly  loves  pleasure. 

Bonifaces  of  the  Old  Days. 

The  Queen's  and  the  Eossin  were  the  swagger  hotels. 
The  names  of  McGaw  and  Winnett  are,  and  have  been 
for  years,  intimately  connected  with  the  former,  and 
the  latter  is  now  the  Prince  George.  There  were  also 
the  Albion,  which  John  Holderness  and  James  Crocker 
at  different  times  managed;  Lemon's;  Palmer's;  the 
American;  the  Walker;  the  Metropolitan,  Revere  and 
many  others  which  were  comfortable  hostelries  and 
also  the  Temperance  Hotel  on  Bay  street,  which  was 
not  so  comfortable  nor  so  clean  as  those  which  had 
bars  attached.  Then  there  was  the  old  Bay  Horse  and 
Cherry's  beyond  the  north  end  of  the  city — a  popular 
road  house. 

Eddie  Sullivan's,  Fred  Mossop's,  the  Merchants  on 
Jordan  street  (first  run  by  Jewell,  then  by  Morgan  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  179 

till  its  close  by  good  old  John  Cochrane)  were  favorite 
places  of  public  resort,  not  only  for  leading  To- 
rontonians,  but  for  people  from  all  parts  of  Canada. 
Eddie's  was  at  the  corner  of  King  street  and  Leader 
Lane,  and  has  been  demolished  to  be  replaced  by  an 
annex  to  the  King  Edward.  Fred's  wlas  the  Dog  and 
Duck  on  Colborne  street,  and  he  afterwards  ran  the 
Mossop  House  on  Yonge  street,  until  the  O.T.A.  put 
him  out  of  business.  When  these  three  disappeared 
it  was  a  distinct  loss  to  the  eating  public. 

Then  there  was  Carlisle  &  McConkey's  on  King 
street  with  a  huge  terrapin  shell  on  the  sidewalk  as  an 
inviting  sign.  Other  places  were  Eddie  Clancy's — 
he's  now  running  the  Wellington  Hotel  at  Guelph;  Gus 
Thomas'  English  Chop  House;  Sam  Eichardson's  at 
the  corner  of  King  and  Spadina,  diagonally  opposite 
which  was  Joe  Power 's  Power  House.  When  in  Toronto 
in  the  early  90 's  I  used  to  go  up  to  see  Sam,  and  enjoy 
a  good  glass  of  ale,  and  it  was  there  that  a  fine  body  of 
mechanics  nightly  gathered.  They  found  pleasure  in 
a  glass  of  bitter,  and  didn't  argue  or  discuss 
revolutionary  questions,  as  too  many  of  them,  deprived 
of  their  harmless  tipple,  do  now.  On  Yonge  street 
there  were  the  Athletic,  run  by  John  Scholes,  the 
champion  boxer ;  the  Trader  by  Douglas  &  Chambers ; 
the  St.  Charles,  which  was  managed  by  James  O'Neil, 
until  the  O.T.A.  came  into  force;  and  on  King  street 
was  Headquarters  run  by  the  Purrse  Bros.  They  all 
had  their  convivial  patrons. 

Of  course,  I  do  not  pretend  to  remember  all  the 
places  or  all  the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the 
Queen  City — no  person  could — but  I  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  a  ride  on  the  upper  deck  of  a  horse-drawn 
street  car;  of  the  Great  Western  Railway  Station  at 
the  foot  of  Yonge  street,  now  converted  into  a  fruit 
market;   of  the   old   St.   Lawrence  Market   with   its 


180  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

wonderful  display  of  meats;  of  the  lacrosse 
grounds,  and  of  the  Queen's  Park,  where  I  first  played 
lacrosse  with  the  newly  organized  Whitby  club 
against  the  old  Ontarios  in  the  early  days  of  that  great 
national  game. 

I  also  remember  Capt.  Kerr  of  the  then  wonderful 
steamboat,  Maple  Leaf,  which  was  lost  when  going  to 
New  York  during  the  civil  war,  having  been  purchased 
by  the  American  Government,  and  I  have  not  forgotten 
Capt.  Bob  Moodie,  of  the  little  Fire  Fly,  nor  the  old 
lake  liners,  Highlander,  Banshee,  and  Passport,  the 
fastest  vessel  on  the  lake,  whose  engines  are  still  in 
active  service. 

In  my  frequent  visits  to  Toronto  nowadays  I  meet 
a  lot  of  old  friends,  and  many  new  ones,  but  I  sadly 
miss  Charlie  Taylor,  of  the  Globe;  Bob  Patterson,  of 
Miller  &  Kichard's;  Josh  Johnston,  of  the  Toronto 
Type  Foundry;  John  Shields,  the  contractor;  Davy 
Creighton,  who  was  the  first  manager  of  the  Empire, 
and  Lou  Kribbs,  his  right  hand  man;  Charlie  Ritchie, 
the  lawyer,  Moses  Oates,  who  lived  on  Isabella  street, 
and  told  me  ghostly  stories  until  my  hair  stood  on 
end ;  ex- Aid.  Crocker ;  Cliff  Shears,  of  the  Rossin ;  ex- 
Ald.  Jack  Leslie;  Ned  Clarke,  Jack  Ewan  and  Tom 
Gregg,  the  newspaper  men;  John  Henry  Beatty,  who 
was  a  fast  personal  friend  of  Sir  John  Macdonald; 
Johnny  Small,  the  collector  of  customs ;  John  Maughan, 
father  of  Col.  Walter  Maughan  of  the  C.P.R.;  Lud 
Cameron,  the  King's  Printer;  Ned  Hanlan,  Harry 
Hill,  secretary  of  the  Exhibition,  Detective  Murray 
and  I  really  don't  know  how  many  other  princes  of 
good  fellows. 

But  I  occasionally  come  across  T.  C.  Irving  of  Brad- 
street's,  who  can  tell  two  funny  stories  where  there 
was  only  one  before ;  Peter  Ryan,  who  has  retired  into 
official  life;  Fred  Nichols,  then  on  the  Globe,  now  a 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  181 

senator;  Arthur  Wallis,  formerly  of  the  Mail,  now 
registrar  of  the  Surrogate  Court ;  the  Blachf ords,  who 
played  lacrosse  in  Winnipeg  in  the  early  days ;  M.  J. 
Haney,  the  contractor,  under  whose  direction  the 
Crow's-Nest  Pass  Ry.  was  built ;  Hartley  Dewart,  the 
leader  of  the  Liberal  party  in  the  local  legislature ;  the 
Bengoughs;  Geo.  H.  Gooderham;  Col.  Noel  Marshall; 
Acton  Burrows;  Col.  Grasett,  Chief  of  Police;  Col. 
George  T.  Denison,  the  police  magistrate,  whose  print- 
ed reminiscences  make  very  interesting  reading; 
Arthur  Rutter,  of  Warwick  Bros.  &  Rutter ;  William 
Little  John,  the  city  clerk;  and  of  course,  His  Worship 
Mayor  Thomas  Church,  and  a  big  bunch  of  other  live 
and  hospitable  citizens. 

No  matter  how  large  or  how  small,  every  city  has 
something  or  other  of  which  it  is  pardonably  proud. 
Halifax  has  it  harbor,  its  citadel  and  its  Point  Pleas- 
ant Park;  St.  John  has  its  big  fire,  its  high  tides  and 
Reversible  Falls;  Montreal,  its  splendid  situation 
Mount  Royal  and  its  Royal  Victoria  Hospital ;  Ottawa, 
its  Parliament  Buildings  and  Chaudiere  Falls ;  Vancou- 
ver, its  Stanley  Park ;  Quebec,  its  romantic  history,  its 
citadel,  its  Dufrerin  Terrace  and  its  Chateau  Front- 
enac;  Moncton,  its  "bore";  Peterboro,  its  big  Trent 
Canal  lift  lock — the  biggest  in  the  world;  Kenora,  its 
ten  thousand  islands;  Lake  Louise,  in  the  Canadian 
Rockies,  its  enchanting  beauty ;  Oshawa  and  Gait  their 
manufactures ;  but  Toronto  's  great  boast  is  that  it  pos- 
sesses the  biggest  fair  on  the  continent  and  the  tallest 
building  in  the  British  Empire. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Scarlet  and  Gold — The  Rough  Riders  of  the  Plains 
— The   Fourth   Semi-Military   Force  in   the 
World — Its  Wonderful  Work   in   the 
Park — Why   the   Scarlet   Tunic 
Was  Chosen — Some  Curious 
Indian  Names — Primi- 
tive   Western 
Justice. 

THE  famous  Royal  North  West  Mounted  Police  of 
Canada,  whose  record  constitutes  a  strikingly 
romantic  chapter  in  the  history  of  Canada,  was 
called  into  being  in  1873  to  preserve  British  law  and 
order  in  the  vast  wildernesses  lying  between  the  Great 
Lakes  and  the  mountain  ranges  of  British  Columbia. 
The  newly-formed  Dominion  of  Canada  had  but  recent- 
ly acquired  these  huge  preserves  from  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  subsequently  to  convert  them  from  the 
Northwest  Territories  into  the  Provinces  of  Alberta, 
Saskatchewan  and  Manitoba. 

It  was  the  duty  of  the  little  force,  some  300  strong, 
known  as  the  North  West  Mounted  Police — destined 
to  gain  an  imperishable  name  throughout  the  civilized 
world  for  its  remarkable  efficiency  and  valor — to  ad- 
minister the  law  and  to  represent  supreme  authority 
over  this  immense  area  of  undeveloped  Canadian  ter- 
ritory. Intrepid  pioneers  were  pushing  their  way  into 
Western  Canadian  fastnesses  hitherto  unknown  except 
to  the  aboriginial  Indians,  explorers,  and  agents  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.    As  may  be  imagined,  the 

182 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  183 

R.N.W.M.P.  had  to  exercise  extraordinary  discretion 
and  courage  in  dealing  with  the  free  and  easy  fore- 
runners of  civilization  and  the  fierce  and  untamed 
Indian  tribes.  Most  of  the  people  feared  neither  God 
nor  man,  and  a  man  had  to  stand  upon  his  own  naked 
merit  and  strength  of  character. 

Mere  mention  of  the  Mounted  Police  recalls  scores  of 
men  whose  names  were  for  long  and  should  be  for 
ever  household  words  in  the  west.  For  instance,  there 
is  Lieut.-Col.  George  A  French,  R.A.,  the  first  Com- 
missioner, who  personally  commanded  the  expedition 
of  1874,  which  opened  up  the  southern  section  of  the 
country  and  cleaned  out  the  worst  of  the  Yankee 
whiskey  trading  forts.  Col.  French  was  Inspector  of 
Artillery  and  in  command  of  A  Battery,  R.C.A.,  Kings- 
ton, when  appointed  to  command  the  police — a  soldier 
possessing  a  combination  of  dash  and  disregard  of  red- 
tape  which  proved  very  useful.  After  returning  to  the 
army,  he  served  in  Australia  and  reorganized  the  de- 
fensive forces  of  that  country,  retiring  from  the  ser- 
vice as  Sir  George  French. 

Lieut.-Colonel  James  F.  Macleod,  C.M.G.,  who  was 
Assistant  Commissioner  under  Col.  French,  and  suc- 
ceeded him  as  Commissioner,  became  better  known  as  a 
judge  perhaps  than  as  a  police  officer,  as  he  administer- 
ed justice  in  the  West  for  many  years.  Fort  Macleod 
was  named  after  him.  He  had  been  an  officer  in  the 
Ontario  militia  and  was  Assistant  Brigade  Major  of 
Militia  in  the  Eed  River  Expedition  of  1870,  receiving 
the  C.M.G.,  for  his  services.  Col.  Macleod  was  pre- 
eminently a  practical  administrator  of  justice. 

The  first  year  the  police  were  in  southern  Alberta 
(1874-75),  Col.  Macleod  acted  as  commanding  officer  of 
the  police  and  stipendiary  magistrate.  His  men  were 
almost  frozen  in  their  beds  for  lack  of  proper  clothing. 
A  raid  upon  one  of  the  more  or  less  notorious  Yankee 


184  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

traders'  "forts,"  which  had  been  doing  a  roaring  trade 
in  Indian  horses  at  a  rate  of  a  gallon  of  rot-gut 
whiskey  per  head,  produced  a  welcome  supply  of  buf- 
falo robes ;  and  besides  exacting  from  the  illicit  traders 
fines  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law,  Col.  Macleod 
judiciously  seized  the  robes,  and  issuing  them  to  his 
men  solved  a  problem  which  at  one  time  threatened 
serious  results. 

The  gallant  officer's  influence  over  the  Indians  was 
very  great,  and  resulted  in  Treaty  No.  7  (1877)  )with 
the  Blackfeet  and  Blood  Indians.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  his  services  were  not  adequately  appreciated  by 
the  Canadian  Government,  and  his  widow  and  children, 
who  had  faithfully  shared  in  the  hardships  of  his 
pioneer  life,  were  never  provided  for.  Governments 
are  proverbially  ungrateful. 

Col.  Irvine's  Services  Against  Eiel. 

Lieut.-Col.  A.  G.  Irvine,  who  was  Commissioner  of 
the  force  during  the  Eiel  Kebellion  of  1885,  was  also 
a  Ked  River  Expedition  man,  having  gone  out  as  sec- 
ond in  command  of  the  Quebec  Rifles.  He  was  Col. 
Macleod 's  successor  (1882)  and  possessed  the  same 
excellent  qualities  as  his  predecessor  in  dealing  with 
the  Indians  at  critical  times,  and  was,  like  Col.  Macleod, 
idolized  by  his  men.  When  Sir  Garnet  Wolseley  re- 
turned east  a  provisional  battalion  of  militia  was  left 
in  the  Red  River  and  Col.  Irvine  had  command  of  it. 
When  the  Fenian  filibusterer,  O'Neil,  made  his  raid 
across  the  Manitoba  frontier,  Col.  Irvine  had  command 
of  the  expedition  despatched  to  the  frontier,  but  before 
the  line  was  reached  United  States  troops  had  solved 
the  difficulty  by  the  simple  process  of  seizing  O'Neil 
and  his  gang.  Col.  Irvine  was  a  thorough  gentleman, 
and  those  who  knew  him  sympathized  heartily  with  him 
when  the  impression  somehow  or  other  got  abroad  that 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  185 

his  services  had  not  been  satisfactory  during  the  Eiel 
rebellion.  Those  who  are  in  possession  of  the  facts 
give  the  Colonel  credit  for  splendid  service  to  the 
country  upon  that  occasion. 

Previous  to  the  outbreak  he  repeatedly  drew  the 
attention  of  those  in  authority  to  the  trouble  brewing, 
and  when  the  outbreak  occurred  he  showed  great  abil- 
ity in  conducting  the  march  of  his  force  of  100  police- 
men from  Kegina  to  Port  Albert.  With  the  temperature 
below  zero,  he  covered  291  miles  of  prairie  trail  in 
seven  days,  and  the  half-breeds  were  preparing  to 
intercept  this  force  at  Batoche  when,  to  their  amaze- 
ment and  disgust,  they  learned  that  Col.  Irvine  had 
discreetly  made  a  detour,  had  crossed  the  Saskatch- 
ewan at  Agnew's  Crossing,  some  distance  down,  and 
was  within  a  few  miles  of  Prince  Albert.  Armchair 
critics  thought  that  Col.  Irvine  should  not  have  re- 
mained in  Prince  Albert,  but  should  have  joined  Gen- 
eral Middleton.  However,  after  the  rebellion,  Gabriel 
Dumont,  while  in  the  East,  confided  to  me  that  had  it 
not  been  for  Col.  Irvine's  force  in  Prince  Albert  and 
the  patrols  he  kept  out,  the  rebels  would  have  attacked 
the  unguarded  supply  posts  and  wiagons  in  the  rear  of 
Gen.  Middleton 's  column,  which  would  have  forced  that 
officer  to  halt  or  retire,  for  he  had  never  more  than 
two  or  three  days '  rations  with  him  at  the  front.  The 
half  breeds  were  afraid  to  leave  their  camp  and  women 
at  Batoche  open  to  attack  by  Col.  Irvine  for  an  ad- 
venture in  rear  of  Gen.  Middleton 's  force. 

Commissioner  Lawrence  Herchmer  who  was  a  very 
efficient  head  of  the  forces  had  served  as  subaltern  in 
the  British  Army  and  had  later  acted  as  commissariat 
officer  on  the  staff  of  the  International  BoundryCom- 
mission.  I  was  in  the  Ottawa  press  gallery  and  on  the 
day  of  his  appointment  received  a  wire  from  a  friend 
in  Chicago  announcing  the  fact.    I  rushed  over  to  Fred 


186  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

White,  then  Comptroller  of  the  force  ,and  showed  him 
the  message.  He  was  astounded  that  the  news  should 
have  come  from  Chicago  for,  he  told  me, ' '  the  appoint- 
ment was  made  only  ten  minutes  ago."  I  asked  if  it 
wasn  't  William  who  had  been  appointed,  but  he  said : 
"No,  it's  Lawrence." 

A.  Bowen  Perry,  the  present  Commissioner,  was  one 
of  the  first  class  of  students  at  the  Royal  Military  Col- 
lege, winning  a  commission  in  the  Royal  Engineers  on 
graduation,  but  serving  only  a  few  years  in  the  Army. 
He  came  to  the  front  in  the  Riel  rebellion  under  Gen- 
eral Strange.  He  had  a  nine-pounder  gun  in  his 
charge  and  risked  his  life  to  save  it  when  crossing  the 
Red  Deer  River.  There  being  no  other  means  of  cross- 
ing Major  Perry  decided  to  make  a  raft  to  carry  his 
gun  and  equipment  over.  Owing  to  the  extemporized 
moorings  breaking,  the  raft,  with  gun  and  ammunition 
on  it,  ran  away  and  was  drifting  down  the  swift  cur- 
rent when  Major  Perry  managed  to  get  the  end  of  a 
rope  fast  to  an  overhanging  tree  and  it  held.  Owing 
to  the  peculiar  position  of  raft,  rope,  tree  and  current 
had  the  rope  parted  again,  Major  Perry  must  have  been 
crushed  to  death  or  drowned.  He  took  the  risk  and 
won. 

Assistant  Commissioner  C.  Starnes,  who  is  a  nephew 
of  the  late  Hon.  Harry  Starnes,  of  Montreal,  joined  the 
force  in  '86,  having  previously  been  adjutant  of  the 
65th  Montreal  Battalion  of  Montreal,  his  native  city, 
during  the  rebellion  of  '85.  He  served  in  different 
parts  of  the  Northwest  and  on  Hudson  Bay,  and  was  in 
the  Yukon  during  the  winter  of  1897-8  and,  relieving 
Supt.  Constantine  at  Dawson  until  the  arrival  of  Supt. 
Sam  Steele.  He  was  loaned  to  the  militia  during  the 
war,  and  did  excellent  service  in  Quebec.  His  promo- 
tion came  in  December,  1919,  and  he  is  now  second  in 
command  at  Ottawa. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  KACONTEUR  187 

Superintendent  Gr.  E.  Saunders  was  one  of  several 
officers  of  the  force  who  splendidly  showed  by  their 
records  that  officers  who  wear  monocles  and  bestow 
careful  attention  upon  personal  appearance  are  none 
the  less  good  men,  and  efficient,  confidence-inspiring 
officers.  Severely  wounded  in  South  Africa,  he  again 
saw  service  in  the  Great  War  and  rendered  a  splendid 
account  of  himself.  He  was  perhaps  one  of  the  hand- 
somest officers  in  a  force  which  was  largely  composed 
of  good-looking  men. 

I  recall  a  number  of  former  officers  of  the  force 
whom  it  was  a  treat  to  look  upon. — Assistant  Commis- 
sioner J.  H.  Mcllree,  as  plucky  and  as  courteous  as  he 
was  good-looking;  Superintendent  Frank  Norman, 
alert,  eagle-eyed  and  active;  Superintendent  E.  B. 
Deane,  one  of  the  fine  old  school  of  officers,  formerly  of 
the  Eoyal  Marines ;  Superintendent  J.  D.  Moodie,  who 
was  the  first  Mounted  Policeman  to  command  a  deep 
sea  naval  expedition,  namely  that  to  Hudson  Bay ;  Col. 
Walker,  of  Calgary,  is  still  in  the  flesh,  and  like  his 
namesake,  Johnny  Walker,  still  going  strong. 

Inspector  W.  D.  Jarvis  was  another  of  the  original 
officers  of  the  force,  he  having  gone  out  as  Inspector 
in  command  of  A  Division  and  having  had  charge  of 
the  column  which  proceeded  via  Qu'Appelle,  Touch- 
wood, Batoche,  Carlton  and  Pitt  to  Edmonton  while 
Col.  French  and  Col.  Macleod  were  marching  through 
Southern  Saskatchewan  and  Alberta.  Inspector  Jarvis 
was  much  beloved  in  the  force.  It  will  be  interesting 
to  many  friends  and  admirers  of  the  late  Sir  Sam 
Steele  to  know  that  Inspector  Jarvis  was  largely 
instrumental  in  securing  a  commission  for  that  gallant 
officer.  Sir  Sam,  who  had  been  a  non-commissioned 
officer  in  A  Battery  under  Col.  French,  was  sergeant- 
major  of  A  Division  of  the  Police  on  Jarvis 's  march  to 
Edmonton  in  1874.    Forage  and  rations  gave  out  and 


188  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

rotten  weather  was  experienced.  It  was  then  that 
Sam  Seele  's  pluck  and  energy  showed  np  and  Inspector 
Jarvis  in  his  official  report  spoke  very  highly  of  his 
services,  especially  mentioning  that  he  had  done 
manual  labor  of  at  least  two  men.  Sir  Sam's  services 
at  turbulent  railhead  camps  during  the  construction  of 
the  C.P.K.  through  the  mountains,  at  Loon  Lake  and 
Frenchman's  Butte  in  1885,  in  the  Yukon  in  the  gold 
rush  days,  in  South  Africa  while  commanding  Lord 
Strathcona  's  Horse,  and  in  England  during  the  recent 
war,  are  too  well  known,  or  should  be,  to  require  refer- 
ence to  them  here. 

Superintendent  A.  R.  Macdonnell  was  one  of  the  old- 
timers  who  knew  how  to  handle  the  noble  red  man  and 
the  half-breed.  Upon  one  occasion  in  1885,  he  set  out 
with  three  or  four  men  to  get  eight  Indian  horse 
thieves,  and  located  them  in  a  camp  of  45  lodges  near 
Wood  Mountain.  The  chief  man  in  the  camp  presum- 
ing to  make  threats,  Supt.  Macdonnell  simply  covered 
him  with  his  revolver,  ordered  the  thieves  to  be  pro- 
duced, triumphantly  took  them  and  the  stolen  horses 
out  of  the  camp,  and  on  returning  to  headquarters 
tried  the  prisoners  and  sentenced  them.  Superinten- 
dent Macdonnell  was  commonly  known  as  ' '  Old  Paper 
Collar,' '  a  name  bestowed  upon  him  for  his  alleged 
partiality  to  that  very  practical  and  at  one  time 
economical  article  of  attire. 

Treating  With  Sitting  Bull. 

Among  the  giants  of  those  days  Major  James  M. 
("Bob")  Walsh  was  noted  as  one  of  outstanding  cour- 
age and  wisdom  in  dealing  with  white  men  or  Indians. 
His  word  was  law  and  he  never  broke  his  word.  His 
cool  fearlessness  and  his  integrity  gained  for  him  the 
absolute  confidence  and  the  high  regard  of  the  Indian 
chiefs  throughouut  the  Northwest  Territories,  and  this 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  189 

enviable  esteem  stood  him  in  good  stead  upon  the 
memorable  occasion  of  his  dealing  with  the  great  Sioux 
chief,  Sitting  Bull,  following  the  Custer  massacre  in 
1876.  Gold  had  been  discovered  in  the  U.S.  territory 
allotted  to  the  Indians.  Prospectors  and  miners  had 
invaded  the  Indians'  hunting-grounds  with  the  result 
that  trouble  ensued  between  the  white  men  and  the 
Indians.  Sitting  Bull  and  his  braves  finally  came  into 
conflict  with  the  U.S.  authorities,  and  Gen.  Custer  and 
his  men  were  exterminated  at  the  battle  of  the  Little 
Big  Horn  River  in  Montana  in  June,  1876. 

After  the  battle  Sitting  Bull  and  many  of  his  war- 
riors fled  northward  and  entered  Canada  near  Fort 
Walsh,  a  police  post  founded  by  Major  Walsh  in  1874 
among  the  Cypress  Hills.  Sitting  Bull  was  pursued  by 
a  party  of  U.S.  troopers,  who,  incensed  by  the  Custer 
disaster,  were  disposed  to  follow  him  into  British  ter- 
ritory and  wreck  vengeance  upon  the  Sioux  chief. 

But  Sitting  Bull  claimed  sanctuary  under  the  British 
flag,  and  it  was  at  this  critical  juncture  that  Major 
Walsh's  courage,  sagacity  and  sound  judgment  pre- 
vented an  awkward  and  dangerous  international  situa- 
tion. Major  Walsh,  under  the  instructions  of  Col. 
Macleod  and  Col.  Irvine,  had  naturally  kept  himself 
closely  and  accurately  informed  concerning  the  war- 
fare between  Sitting  Bull  and  the  U.S.  authorities,  and 
was  aware  not  only  of  the  Custer  massacre  but  also  of 
Sitting  Bull's  flight  toward  Canada.  He  was  promptly 
on  hand  when  the  Sioux  chief  and  his  band  of  warriors 
crossed  the  boundary  line,  and  warned  the  pursuing 
U.S.  forces  not  to  invade  Canadian  territory  or  the 
N.W.M.P.  would  be  compelled  to  deal  vigorously  with 
the  situation.  Major  Walsh  was  widely  known  person- 
ally and  by  repute  on  both  sides  of  the  boundary  by 
white  men  and  Indians,  by  the  civil  and  militjary 
authorities.    The  U.S.  troops  halted  at  the  border. 


190  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Major  Walsh,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  sergeants, 
rode  into  the  camp  of  Sitting  Bull  to  ascertain  his  in- 
tentions and  discuss  the  situation.  The  Sioux  chief 
and  his  men  were  in  a  dangerous  mood  after  the  Custer 
engagement  and  their  harsh  treatment  by  the  United 
States,  and  were  ready  to  fight  to  the  last  man  if  need 
be.  They  did  not  know  if  Major  Walsh  came  as  friend 
or  foe,  and  he  certainly  took  his  life  in  his  hand  when 
he  rode  into  Sitting  Bull's  camp.  But  the  Major  told 
Sitting  Bull  that  he  and  his  people  might  remain  in 
Canada  so  long  as  they  obeyed  the  laws  and  created  no 
disturbance,  as  indeed  they  did  remain,  more  or  less 
happily,  for  the  rest  of  their  days. 

Sitting  Bull  maintained  an  intense  hatred  for  the 
United  States  which  he  claimed  had  persecuted  him 
infamously  and  had  callously  violated  its  treaties  with 
him  repeatedly.  But  he  became  a  firm  friend  and 
ardent  admirer  of  Major  Walsh,  and  in  after  years  it 
was  the  Major  who  arranged  and  presided  over  inter- 
views between  Sitting  Bull  and  sundry  American 
journalists  and  politicians.  John  J.  Finnerty,  one 
time  war  correspondent  of  the  Chicago  Times,  has 
given  a  graphic  description  of  such  a  meeting,  and  the 
Major  in  his  scarlet  uniform  is  a  conspicuous  figure  in 
the  group. 

Another  characteristic  incident  occurred  in  1877 
when  bands  of  the  Saulteaux  and  Assiniboine  Indians 
became  involved  in  a  tribal  fight  near  Fort  Walsh. 
Major  Walsh  and  a  handful  of  policemen  rode  into  the 
Cypress  Hills  direct  to  the  headquarters  of  the  warring 
tribes — many  hundreds  of  them — arrested  the  ring- 
leaders, told  them  he  intended  to  take  them  to  Fort 
Walsh  to  be  tried  by  the  law  of  their  Mother,  the  Great 
White  Queen,  and  at  once  brought  about  peace  and 
quietness  among  the  fierce  and  reckless  warriors. 
Those  who  know  the  character  of  the  Indians  there  in 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  191 

those  days  appreciate  the  risk  run  by  Major  Walsh  and 
his  few  policemen. 

Major  Walsh  had  various  titles  among  the  Indian 
tribes  of  the  great  West.  By  some  he  was  known  as 
"Wahonkeza,"  meaning  "Long  Lance",  while  the 
Piegans  called  him  "The  White  Chief  of  the  Assini- 
boines."  The  Assiniboines  called  him  " The-one-that- 
ties"  from  the  fact  that  on  his  first  official  visit  to  the 
Piegans  he  shackled  four  of  the  wrong-doers  with 
great  promptness.  He  negotiated  the  cession  of 
Assiniboia  by  the  Indian  chiefs  to  the  Canadian  Gov- 
ernment. 

Major  Walsh  and  the  late  Dr.  G.  W.  Beers,  of  Mont- 
real, were  often  classed  together  as  fathers  of  modern 
lacrosse  in  Canada. 

Assistant  Commissioner  W.  H.  Herchmer  was  dearly 
beloved  in  the  force  as  a  dare-devil  and  there  was  con- 
siderable expression  of  surprise  in  some  quarters 
when  his  brother,  Lawrence  Herchmer,  was  made  Com- 
missioner in  1886,  instead  of  him.  "Old  Bill" 
Herchmer,  as  he  was  known,  came  into  public  notice 
first  as  commanding  officer  of  Lord  Lome's  escort 
on  his  western  tour,  and  again  attracted  attention 
as  Chief  of  Staff  to  Colonel  Otter  during  the  1885 
campaign.  He  commanded  for  many  years  at  Calgary, 
where  his  sadly  tragic  death  was  deeply  regretted. 

Inspector  G.  A.  Brisbois  was  known  in  the  force  as 
the  founder  of  Calgary.  He  commanded  B  Division 
under  Col.  French  and  was  sent  up  to  the  forks  of  the 
Bow  and  Elbow  to  watch  some  trading  posts  establish- 
ed near  there.  He  had  rough  barracks  built,  which 
were  the  first  permanent  buildings  on  the  site  of  the 
present  city.  Inspector  Brisbois  dated  his  first  official 
report  in  1875  from  "Fort  Brisbois,"  and  for  some 
time  the  barracks  were  so  designated,  Popularly 
Calgary  was  known  by  a  variety  of  names  as  "The 


192  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Mouth, ' '  ' '  Elbow  Eiver, ' '  « '  The  Junction, ' '  etc.  Con- 
fusion resulting,  Colonel  Macleod  was  deputed  by  Sir 
John  Macdonald  to  confer  a  name  on  the  post  and  he 
called  it  by  the  name  of  his  paternal  home  in  Scotland, 
1  i  Calgarry, ' '  which  is  Gaelic  for  "  Clear  Eunning 
Water.' '  The  spelling  reformer  has  since  been  busy, 
and  so  we  now  have  the  name  with  the  single  "  r. ' ' 

Of  course,  there  are  many  others  of  the  former  of- 
ficers and  men  of  the  force  one  could  and  would  like  to 
write  about  did  space  permit — men  like  Supt.  Gries- 
bach,  the  first  to  join  the  ranks  as  a  buck  policeman, 
and  whose  son  is  now  representative  of  Edmonton  in 
the  Dominion  parliament;  Lawrence  Fortesque, 
C.M.G.,  I.S.O.,  who  enlisted  as  a  buck  policeman  and 
rose  to  the  comptroller  ship  of  the  force — he  is  now 
retired  and  living  in  England,  but  he  pays  occasional 
visits  to  Canada  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  renewing 
old  acquaintance  with  him  the  other  day  in  Ottawa; 
Major  Winder;  Jacob  Carvell;  Dalrymple  Clarke,  a 
nephew  of  Sir  John  Macdonald ;  Supt .  Shortcliff  e ; 
Capt.  Jack  French,  who  was  shot  at  Batoche  in  '85, 
while  attacking  a  Metis  stronghold,  and  whose  post- 
humous son  is  an  officer  of  the  force  and  won  the 
I.S.O.  for  service  in  the  arctic  regions ;  Dr.  Kittson,  the 
original  surgeon,  a  member  of  Commodore  Kittson's 
family;  Dr.  G.  H.  Kennedy,  from  Dundas,  Ont.,  who 
succeeded  Dr.  Kittson;  Dr.  Dodds ;  Dr.  Jukes,  who  was 
possessed  of  a  remarkable  memory,  and  had  high 
literary  tastes;  Veterinary  Surgeon  Burnett,  who  has 
been  34  years  with  the  force  and  is  a  horseman  with 
very  few  equals  anywhere ;  Supt.  Gagnon,  27  years  in 
the  force,  who  married  Hon.  Joseph  Royal's  daughter, 
who  received  the  surrender  of  Big  Bear  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  overseas;  Supt.  L.  N.  F.  Crozier, 
who  commanded  at  the  action  at  Duck  Lake  in  1885, 
and  whose  reports  to  the  Government  previous  to  the 


ROUGH  RIDERS  OF  THE  PLAINS— WINTER  UNIFORM  OF  THE  R.N.W.M.L\ 
—AN  INDIAN  POLICEMAN — INDIAN  CAMP. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  193 

rebellion,  if  acted  upon,  might  have  prevented  any  up- 
rising; Inspector  Joe  Howe,  the  nephew  of  the  great 
Nova  Scotia  statesman,  who  was  wounded  at  Duck 
Lake  and  later  rendered  distinguished  service  in  South 
Africa;  Assistant  Commissioner  "Zack"  Wood,  who 
was  an  officer  in  the  90th  in  1885,  did  great  service  in 
the  Yukon,  and  is  now  stationed  in  the  arctic  regions ; 
Charlie  Constantine ;  Wroughton ;  Belcher ;  Shortcliff  e, 
Morris,  who  commanded  the  post  at  Battleford  during 
the  Kiel  trouble ;  Routledge ;  Supt.  Alfred  Dickens,  son 
of  the  distinguished  Loyalist,  who  held  Fort  Pitt  to  the 
last  and  then  escaped  the  Indians  by  rafting  down  the 
river;  Strickland;  poor  Chalmers,  who  died  a  hero's 
death  while  trying  to  save  the  life  of  his  comrade 
Saunders  in  South  Africa ;  Jack  Cotton ;  Inspector 
Jack  Allen,  who  figured  in  the  final  incident  of  the  "  Al- 
mighty Voice' '  tragedy  in  May,  1897,  was  a  born  fight- 
er, and  has  seen  service  since  the  early  sixties — at 
Windsor  (Ont.)  border,  during  the  Civil  War,  and  dur- 
ing the  Fenian  raid  in  '66,  and  was  through  the  South 
African  war  and  did  great  service  in  Great  Britain 
during  the  recent  Great  War ;  Supt.  Cecil  R.  Denny,  of 
a  distinguished  Irish  family ;  Col.  Osborne  Smith,  after 
whom  Fort  Osborne  in  Winnipeg  was  named,  and 
who  was  temporary  commissioner  of  the  force  for  a 
brief  period  in  1873,  Major  Charles  F.  Young,  a  Brit- 
ish officer  who  fought  in  the  Maori  war  in  New  Zea- 
land, and  is  now  police  magistrate  in  Prince  Albert,  (a 
man  of  convivial  habits,  but  with  a  stern  sense  of  duty 
— a  sort  of  kind-hearted  official  who  would  shed  tears 
when  illicit  liquor  was  destroyed  at  his  command) ; 
Asst.  Commissioner  John  A.  McGibbon,  from  Mont- 
real; J.  0.  Wilson,  of  Dundas,  Ont.,  who  did  excel- 
lent service  in  the  Kiel  rebellion;  Inspector  Cuthbert, 
whose  father  was  one  of  the  seigneurs  of  the  province 

(14) 


194  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

of  Quebec ;  Supt.  Snider  from  Peterborough,  who  made 
a  high  reputation  in  different  parts  of  the  country; 
Supt.  Primrose,  from  Pictou,  N.S.,  who  is  now  a  police 
magistrate  at  Edmonton;  Supt.  Moffat,  of  Toronto; 
Inspector  Antrobus;  Charlie  Wood,  who  rose  from  a 
buck  policeman  to  be  editor  of  the  Macleod  Gazette, 
and  is  now  a  judge  in  Saskatchewan;  Supt.  E.  W. 
Jarvis,  who  later  was  a  member  of  the  lumber  firm  of 
Macauley  &  Jarvis  in  Winnipeg,  and  commanded  the 
Winnipeg  Field  Battery  during  the  Eiel  Eebellion; 
Victor  Williams,  who  won  honor  and  fame  during  the 
late  world  war  and  was  a  worthy  son  of  a  distinguished 
father,  Col.  Williams  of  Port  Hope,  Ont.,  who  died  at 
the  front  in  '85;  Asst.  Commissioner  Routledge,  of 
Sydney,  C.B.,  who  died  in  1919 ;  Inspector  Ed.  Allen — 
and  others  whose  names  are  deserving  of  recognition 
in  the  scroll  of  fame,  but  memory  fails  me,  I  regret. 
But  some  day  when  a  full  and  complete  history  of  the 
force  is  written,  they  will  not  be  forgotten. 

One  name,  however,  will  be  emblazoned  in  bright 
letters — that  of  Col.  Fred  White,  for  years  comptroller 
of  the  force,  to  whom  is  due  the  gratitude  of  not  oniy 
the  members  of  the  force,  but  of  the  people  of  the  Do- 
minion and  the  Empire  for  his  eminent  services. 

To  tell  a  tithe  of  the  heroic  deeds  performed  by  the 
Old  Rough  Riders,  of  their  daring  adventures,  of  their 
courage  and  fearlessness  under  any,  and  all  circum- 
stances, no  matter  how  hazardous,  would  fill  a  huge 
volume.  The  taking  of  a  culprit  from  a  hostile  camp 
of  500  or  1,000  warriors  by  one  or  two  buck  policemen, 
the  bringing  of  murderers  and  violent  lunatics  a  thous- 
and miles  through  pathless  regions,  in  the  depths  of 
winter,  evidenced  the  long  arm  and  the  strong  arm  of 
British  law,  and  gave  the  force  a  glory  that  can  never 
fade. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  195 

The  Why  of  the  Scarlet  Tunic. 

The  adoption  of  the  scarlet  tunic  for  the  Mounted 
Police  was  an  inspiration,  and  knowing*  something  of 
the  denseness  of  the  official  mind,  I  often  wondered 
why  such  a  really  sensible  thing  had  been  done  by 
officialdom  in  selecting  a  uniform  for  the  Mounted 
Police.  It  appears  that  in  1872  the  government  sent 
Colonel  Robertson  Ross,  commanding  the  militia,  to 
reconnoitre  the  far  west,  and  he  made  the  trip  over- 
land from  Winnipeg  to  the  Pacific.  In  his  report, 
which  recommended  the  organization  of  a  mounted 
force  to  open  up  the  western  country,  he  explained  that 
prejudice  existed  among  the  Indians  against  the  color 
of  the  dark  green  uniform  worn  by  the  men  of  Irvine  's 
provisional  (rifle)  battalion  at  Fort  Garry. 

Many  of  them  had  asked:  "Who  are  those  soldiers 
at  Red  River  wearing  dark  clothes  ?  Our  brothers  who 
lived  there  many  years  ago  (belonging  to  a  wing  of 
H.M.  Sixth  Regt.  of  Foot  sent  to  Red  River  in  1846) 
wore  red  coats,  and  we  know  that  the  old  king's 
soldiers  who  fought  against  the  Yankees  wore  red 
coats  and  that  the  soldiers  of  our  Great  White  Mother 
wear  red  coats  now.  The  soldiers  who  wear  red  coats 
are  friends  of  the  Indians,  and  if  the  men  in  Red  River 
wore  red  coats  we  would  know  that  they  are  the  Great 
White  Mother's  warriors,  and  we  would  not  be  sus- 
picious of  them."  Sir  John  Macdonald  appreciated 
the  force  of  this  argument  and  ordered  that  the  color 
for  the  Mounted  Police  tunic  be  scarlet  instead  of  rifle 
green  as  at  one  time  proposed. 

By  the  way,  the  term  "fort"  as  used  in  the  far  west 
at  this  time  was  found  to  be  very  much  of  a  misnomer. 
Any  kind  of  an  old  log  hut  which  a  trader  made  his 
headquarters  was  dignified  by  the  designation  of 
"Fort."  These  forts  were  usually  named  after  the 
trader  who  built  them — Fort  Kipp,  Fort  Hamilton,  etc. 


196  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Forts  " Whoop  Up"  and  " Stand  Off"  were  in  their 
day  central  depots  or  warehouses  for  several  smaller 
posts  and  travelling  "outfits,"  and  "Whoop  Up"  was 
in  comparison  with  most  of  the  others  a  real  fort  with 
bastions  and  defensible  barricades. 

In  1886,  when  out  for  the  Toronto  Mail  to  enquire 
into  an  expected  Indian  rising,  I  wrote  an  article  favor- 
ing the  use  of  barbed  wire  around  the  alleged  forts  as 
a  means  of  entanglement  for  the  Redskin  enemy,  and  a 
great  many  people  looked  upon  it  as  a  weak  sort  of 
joke.  The  great  part  barbed  wire  played  in  the  recent 
war  showed  that  the  Mounted  Policemen  and  pioneers 
who  had  suggested  the  idea  to  me  thirty-four  years  ago 
knew  what  they  were  talking  about. 

I  do  not  think  it  is  generally  known  now  that  the  late 
Henri  Julien,  probably  the  most  brilliant  newspaper 
artist  ever  produced  in  Canada,  accompanied  French's 
expedition  into  the  West,  attached  to  the  staff.  Julien's 
sketches  appeared  in  the  Canadian  Illustrated  News 
and  did  much  to  draw  attention  to  the  then  unknown 
West.  He  did  more  than  sketch,  for  in  the  Commis- 
sioner's diary  of  September  3,  1874,  which  I  had  the 
privilege  to  look  over  the  other  day,  appears  the  fol- 
lowing: "Julien  ran  a  buffalo  and  killed  him.  I  came 
in  for  the  finish  and  had  the  beast  cut  up  and  brought 
in  on  an  ox  cart.  I  had  the  meat  placed  in  one  of  the 
water  barrels  and  well  salted." 

For  many  years  the  North  West  Mounted  Police 
were  under  the  administration  of  Sir  John  Macdonald, 
in  his  capacity  as  President  of  the  Privy  Council.  An 
instance  of  the  ready  wit  of  the  "old  man"  came  under 
my  observation  in  my  early  days  in  the  Press  Gallery. 
The  Mounted  Police  estimates  were  under  considera- 
tion in  Committee  of  Supply.  Sir  Richard  Cartwright, 
who  was  following  the  proceedings,  had  spotted  a  sus- 
picious-looking   item   in    the    annual    report   of    the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  197 

Mounted  Police,  and  thought  he  saw  an  opportunity  of 
badgering  Sir  John.  "I  note  in  the  report  of  the  officer 
commanding  the  detachment  at  Macleod,"  said  Sir 
Richard  in  his  most  pompous  manner,  "an  extra- 
ordinary statement  regarding  the  disappearance  of 
stores.  Will  the  right  hon.  gentleman  deign  to  inform 
the  House  how  he  accounts  for  this  extraordinary  para- 
graph, '  2,000  bushels  of  oats,  10  kegs  of  nails — eaten  by 
rats/  "  The  old  man  rose  with  a  smile  on  his  counten- 
ance, and  quickly  replied,  "The  explanation  which  I 
have  to  offer  to  my  honourable  friend,  for  what  he 
considers  an  extraordinary  circumstance,  is  a  very 
simple  and  reasonable  one.  The  rats,  having  gorged 
themselves  upon  the  2,000  bushels  of  oats,  evidently 
felt  that  they  were  in  need  of  an  iron  tonic. ' '  The  com- 
mittee burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  in  which  Sir 
Richard  himself  heartily  joined. 

To-day,  as  in  the  early  70 's  and  ever  since,  those  of 
us  who  know  the  valorous  deeds  of  the  Rough  Riders  of 
the  Plains  will  ever  take  off  our  hats  to  one  of  the 
greatest  semi-military  forces  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

^         Western  Justice  As  It  Was. 

In  the  days  of  the  Cariboo  gold  rush  sixty  thous- 
and miners,  adventurers  and  all  the  riff-raff  that  fol- 
low in  the  wake  of  a  great  mining  excitement,  filled  the 
Cariboo  country  in  Central  British  Columbia.  The 
C.P.R.  had  not  been  built  in  those  days,  and  the 
Argonauts  crowded  in  overland  through  the  Yellow- 
head  Pass  and  down  the  Fraser  to  Quesnel,  or  from 
Victoria  to  Yale  by  steamer,  thence  on  foot,  horseback, 
stage  or  any  other  way  up  the  Cariboo  Road. 

Barkerville  became  a  larger  city  than  Victoria,  the 
seat  of  government,  500  miles  away.  Yet  with  all  this 
rabble  of  people,  rough  characters  and  law-abiding 
men  drawn  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  Cariboo 


198  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

was  maintained  as  an  orderly,  safe  district  through 
the  efforts  of  one  man,  Sir  Mathew  Begbie,  who  was 
judge  and  various  other  officials  all  in  one.  He  ad- 
ministered justice  with  a  ready  and  iron  hand,  and  put 
fear  into  ihe  hearts  of  those  of  lawless  tendencies.  On 
one  occasion  he  had  convicted  and  fined  a  malefactor 
$200. 

" That's  dead  easy,"  flippantly  said  the  culprit, 
"I've  got  it  right  here  in  my  hip  pocket." 

" — and  six  months  in  jail.  Have  you  got  that  in 
your  hip  pocket,  too?"  came  the  ready  amendment  to 
the  sentence,  thus  vindicating  the  dignity  of  the  court 
and  proclaiming  to  all  and  sundry  that  a  British  court 
of  justice,  even  though  held  under  a  pine  tree,  was  not 
to  be  trifled  with. 

This  story  has  been  told  and  retold,  credited  to 
magistrates  and  judges  mostly  in  the  southern  States, 
but  it  really  happened  in  Sir  Mathew  Begbie 's  court 
in  Cariboo  in  the  early  seventies.  At  least  one  man  is 
living  to-day  who  was  present  on  the  occasion  and  that 
is  my  old  friend,  Colonel  Robert  Stevenson,  the  pioneer 
prospector,  of  Similkameen,  B.C. 

Another  characteristic  incident  is  told  of  the  Judge. 
A  sandbagger,  who  was  haled  before  him  for  assault 
and  battery  and  against  whom  the  evidence  was  pretty 
clear,  was  found  "not  guilty"  by  the  jury — to  the 
Judge's  utter  disgust.  In  disposing  of  the  case,  he 
said  to  the  prisoner : 

"You  are  guilty,  and  I  know  you  are  guilty,  but 
this  precious  jury  has  decided  that  you  are  not.  You 
are  free — free  to  go  out  and  sandbag  every  blessed 
juryman  that  has  let  you  off.    Now  go!" 

Another  story  illustrating  Judge  Begbie 's  ready  re- 
sourcefulness and  sense  of  justice,  combined  with  a 
contempt  for  precedent,  was  a  case  where  two  partners 
in  the  ownership  of  a  mining  claim  quarreled  and  then 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  199 

had  a  dispute  over  the  division  of  their  ground.  After 
listening*  to  a  lot  of  tall  swearing  and  contradictory 
evidence,  Judge  Begbie  stopped  the  trial  and  turning 
to  the  litigants  said: 

"You,  Jones  and  Brown" — that  wasn't  their  names 
but  nobody  remembers  now  who  they  were — "are 
agreed  that  you  want  to  divide  this  ground  1 ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  you  can't  agree  on  how  the  lines  are  to  be 
run. ' ' 

"No,  sir — "  but  they  got  no  further. 

"Very  well,  Jones,  you  go  out  to  the  ground  and  run 
a  line  dividing  it  the  way  you  think  it  should  be 
divided. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  exultant  Jones. 

"And,  Brown." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"To-morrow  you  go  out  and  take  your  choice  of  the 
two  halves  as  Jones  divides  it." 

Probably  not  since  the  days  of  Solomon  has  a  legal 
dispute  been  more  equitably  or  effectually  settled  than 
was  that  by  Judge  Begbie — an  Englishman  just  out 
from  the  Old  Country,  in  a  wild  frontier  mining  camp. 

Judge  Rouleau  held  court  at  widely-scattered  points 
throughout  the  Northwest  Territory  and  he  was  noted 
for  the  rough  and  ready,  but  shrewdly-just,  quality  of 
his  decisions.  On  one  occasion  a  half-breed,  Louis 
Frechette,  was  charged  before  Judge  Rouleau  and  a 
jury  with  the  theft  of  a  mule.  The  evidence  was  not 
very  convincing — hardly  sufficient  for  a  Carolina  mob 
to  hang  a  nigger  on — but  the  jury  evidently  believed 
somebody  ought  to  be  convicted  of  stealing  the  mule. 
There  was  no  doubt  the  mule  had  been  stolen.  That 
was  the  only  point  that  there  was  no  doubt  about.  How- 
ever, the  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "guilty"  much 


200  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  the  chagrin  of  the  judge,  who  thereupon  was  bound 
to  sentence  the  accused  which  he  did  as  follows : 

' ' Louis,  stan'  up.  Louis,  you  have  been  convict'  of 
steal  de  mule.    I  sentence  you  to  'tree  mont'  in  the 

polis  Barracks  at  Regina.    An'  Louis,  d you,  if  I 

t'ink  you  guilt'  of  steal  dat  mule  I  would  give  you 
t  'ree  year. ' ' 

Thus  did  the  good  judge  vindicate  the  law  and  at 
the  same  time  express  his  contempt  for  the  jury's 
verdict. 

Another  time  when  a  half-breed  was  up  for  some 
offence  or  other,  the  evidence  was  very  conflicting  and 
barely  warranted  a  conviction,  if  that.  But  he  was 
found  guilty  and  the  judge,  addressing  the  prisoner, 
said : 

"Boy,  I  am  not  altogether  sure  you  are  guilt',  an' 
so  I  will  be  lenient  wit'  you.  I  sen'  you  to  de  penitent' 
for  five  years. ' '  Goodness  only  knows  what  penalty 
would  have  been  inflicted  upon  the  unfortunate  culprit 
if  the  judge  had  been  absolutely  sure  of  the  prisoner's 
guilt.  But  the  judge  was  not  so  far  wrong,  after  all — 
he  sentenced  the  disreputable  man  on  general  princi- 
ples, that  if  he  wasn't  guilty  of  this  particular  crime, 
his  everyday,  dissolute,  good-for-nothing  life  would  be 
all  the  better  for  a  little  enforced  retirement,  and  the 
countryside  would  also  materially  benefit  by  it. 

Passing  Death  Sentence  on  a  Nuisance. 

In  another  case  of  "Western  justice,  I  myself  was 
the  presiding  magistrate  in  the  Winnipeg  police  court, 
owing  to  the  unavoidable  absence  of  Colonel  Peebles, 
the  regular  distributor  of  justice.  A  worthless  drunken 
pirate,  who  had  the  championship  for  being  the  best 
all-round  nuisance  in  whatever  locality  he  happened  to 
be,  was  brought  up  charged  with  being  drunk  and 
disorderly.    The  evidence  was  clear,  and  I  felt  that  full 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  201 

justice  should  be  sternly  administered.  So  I  put  on  my 
black  Derby  hat,  and  ordered  the  prisoner  to  stand  up. 

"George,"  I  said  with  dignity  and  solemnity,  "you 
have  been  found  guilty  of  being  a  general  trouble  pro- 
vider and  a  universal  nuisance.  The  sentence  of  this 
court  is  that  you  be  taken  from  the  place  from  whence 
you  came,  immediately  after  breakfast  next  Friday 
morning,  and  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  sure 
enough  dead,  and  may  the  good  Lord  have  mercy  on 
your  alleged  Protestant  soul." 

George  stood  aghast,  but  just  then  the  good  old 
Colonel  came  in,  and  intimated  to  me  that  I  couldn't 
hang  a  man  for  being  drunk,  even  if  he  was  a  con- 
founded nuisance. 

"I  can't,  eh?  What  on  earth  am  I  here  for,  tell  me 
that,  Colonel  Peebles?" 

Chief  Murray  and  other  court  officials  corroborated 
the  Colonel's  statement  and,  as  I  am  always  willing  to 
oblige,  I  immediately  relented  and  ordered  the  prisoner 
to  still  stand  and  also  to  stand  still. 

"George,  some  warm  if  misguided  friends  have  in- 
tervened in  your  miserable  behalf,  and  have  pleaded 
with  me  to  be  merciful.  I  shall — instead  of  sentencing 
you  to  the  gallows,  where  you  should  go — I  shall  banish 
you  off  the  face  of  the  earth.    Now  get ! ' ' 

And  George  did,  but  before  he  got  very  far  he  came 
over  to  St.  Boniface,  where  I  had  an  office,  and  bor- 
rowed $6.00  from  me  to  take  him  to  Pembina,  which  is 
just  across  the  international  boundary  and  outside  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Winnipeg  courts.  I  warmly  con- 
gratulate myself  that  that  was  the  only  time  I  ever 
"committed  a  nuisance." 

Gkand  Old  John  Kikkup. 

In  the  early  days  of  railway  construction  in  British 
Columbia,  John  Kirkup  was  greatly  in  evidence  in  the 


202  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

cause  of  public  peace  and  order.  He  was  generally  at 
the  end  of  the  line  where  the  toughs  congregated. 
John  was  a  'big  husky  fellow,  strong  as  an  ox,  tender 
as  a  child,  and  wore  a  very  pleasant,  smiling  counten- 
ance. He  was  a  police  force  all  by  himself  and  a  terror 
to  law-breakers.  One  night  while  a  couple  of  C.P.R. 
civil  engineers  were  playing  billiards  in  one  of  the 
camps,  three  toughs  from  across  the  boundary  came 
in  and  began  rolling  the  billiard  balls  around.  John 
was  on  hand,  and  quietly  advised  the  interlopers  to 
desist.  When  they  wanted  to  know  what  business  it 
was  of  his,  he  coolly  told  them  that  if  they  continued 
annoying  the  players  he  would  have  to  arrest  them. 
They  laughed  sardonically  and  spread  themselves  in  a 
triangular  position  to  lick  him.  Before  they  knew  it, 
every  mother's  son  of  them  was  on  the  floor.  John, 
with  lightning  rapidity,  had  effectively  stunned  the 
trio  with  his  baton,  and  before  they  recovered  from 
their  surprise,  he  had  them  handcuffed  and  kicked 
them  all  the  way  to  the  skookum  house,  where  they  did 
time  in  a  chain  gang  for  a  month. 

Another  time,  in  the  early  '90  's,  John  and  I  were 
strolling  down  the  main  street  of  Eossland  when  we 
came  across  two  tramps  who  were  engaged  in  a 
violent  vocabulary  duel.  After  listening  a  moment  to 
their  unparliamentary  language,  boisterously  address- 
ed to  each  other,  John  interfered : 

"Here,  you  fellows,  follow  me." 

He  led  them  to  a  quiet  vacant  lot,  a  block  or  so  away. 

"Now,  strip  off  your  coats  and  go  to  it,  and  be 
mighty  quick  about  it,  too." 

They  did,  and  it  was  one  of  the  finest  bits  of  hit,  bite 
and  kick  and  catch-as-catch-can  that  I  ever  beheld. 
When  they  were  nearly  exhausted,  John  tapped  them 
on  the  soles  of  their  boots,  and  pulled  them  apart. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  203 

"Now,"  he  said,  "hit  the  trail,  both  of  you,  and  if 
I  catch  you  again,  I'll — " 

But  they  didn't  wait  to  hear  what  John  would  do. 
They  were  off  for  the  great  United  States  and  they 
stood  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going. 

John  Kirkup  was  one  of  the  outstanding  figures  in 
the  early  days  of  British  Columbia,  and  while  he  was 
rewarded  for  his  admirable  services  by  the  appoint- 
ment to  a  gold  commissionership,  his  great  reward  for 
the  good  he  had  done  on  earth  awaited  him  in  the  Great 
Beyond. 

A  Lethbridge  Pirate. 

Strange  to  relate,  a  man  at  Lethbridge  stole  a  row- 
boat  which  was  tied  up  to  the  shore  of  the  lake  which 
is  just  south  of  that  enterprising  town.  He  was  arrest- 
ed, and  brought  before  a  local  justice  of  the  peace,  who 
decided  that  according  to  high  authority,  as  set  forth 
in  the  legal  tomes  dealing  with  such  cases,  it  was  a  case 
of  piracy — and  naturally  so,  to  feloniously  steal  a 
vessel  off  the  high  seas.  There  was  nothing  to  do,  ac- 
cording to  the  code,  but  to  sentence  the  offender  to 
death.  The  J.P.  was  a  tender-hearted  man,  and  de- 
ferred sentence  until  he  had  consulted  with  higher  legal 
authority,  wihich  he  did,  and  the  culprit  fortunately 
escaped  the  gallows. 

The  Mounted  Police  To-Day. 

The  force  to-day  is  1,800  strong,  six  times  its  original 
strength,  and  its  operations  are  extended  all  over  the 
Dominion.  Amongst  the  newly-recruited  force,  like 
the  first  command,  are  a  large  number  of  the  brightest 
and  bravest  of  young  Britishers,  many  of  whom  are 
sons  of  distinguished  families,  and  they  are  maintain- 
ing the  enviable  high  prestige  that  the  force  has  gained 
since  its  organization  nearly  half  a  century  ago. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

In  the  Hospital — Averting  a  Shock — A  Substantial 

Breakfast — A    Gloomy   Afternoon — Down  in 

Washington — The   Gridiron  Dinners — 

A  Spanish- American  War  Panic — 

A  Few   Stories — Canadian 

Club. 

EVER  been  a  patient  in  a  hospital?  No?  Weil, 
I've  been  in  them  six  times — and  not  always  a 
patient.  Sometimes  I  was  an  impatient.  For  a 
person  really  ill  or  injured  the  hospital  is  the  proper 
place.  My  first  experience  in  one  was  at  the  Montreal 
Western  Hospital  in  1905.  I  had  just  arrived  from  the 
Pacific  Coast  by  way  of  St.  Paul  and  Toronto,  suffering 
most  intense  pain,  but  utterly  oblivious  of  the  cause  of 
the  trouble.  At  Glenwood  Lake  in  Dakota  we — I  was 
with  a  party  of  United  States  newspaper  men  from 
W ashington,  D.C. — stopped  for  a  sail  on  that  beautiful 
water.  The  craft  was  a  gasoline  motor  and  the  boat 
round  and  about  the  engine  was  saturated  with  gaso- 
line. The  combined  captain,  pilot  and  crew  was  an 
inveterate  cigarette  fiend,  and  the  way  he  lit  his  ' '  coffin 
nails"  and  unconcernedly  threw  the  still-burning 
matches  on  the  deck  was  a  holy  fright.  I  said  to  Jerry 
Jermayne,  of  the  Seattle  Times,  who  sat  beside  me,  as  I 
pointed  to  the  overcast  sky,  ' '  I  wonder,  Jerry,  what 's 
beyond  those  clouds f"  "Why  do  you  ask!"  he  in- 
quired. Backed  with  pain  my  rejoinder  came,  "Well, 
if  that  fellow  keeps  on  throwing  those  lighted  matches 

204 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  205 

on  this  tinder  wood,  we'll  be  going  up  there — if  we 
don 't  go  the  other  way ! ' ' 

But  nothing  happened,  and  after  a  couple  of  days 
and  nights  of  agonizing  pain,  we  reached  Toronto, 
where  good-by  and  God-speed  were  wished  to  o un- 
American  friends.  Next  morning  I  was  home  and  still 
unaware  of  what  painfully  ailed  me.  I  sent  for  Dr. 
England,  who  hurriedly  called  in  consultation  Dr.  Jim 
Bell,  as  good  an  authority  on  the  human  anatomy  as 
ever  lived.  Naturally,  I  watched  their  faces  as  they 
returned  from  the  consultation  after  having  examined 
me,  and  I  saw  from  their  drawn  facial  expression  that 
trouble  loomed  ahead.  They  told  me  I  had  appendicitis 
and  that  an  operation  to  remove  the  appendix  was 
absolutely  and  immediately  necessary.  My  father  had 
died  of  appendicitis — only  it  wasn't  known  by  that 
name  then,  but  as  inflammation  of  the  bowels — and  my 
eldest  son,  Van,  succumbed  to  an  operation,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  " Three  times  and  out."  But  out  loud  I 
mentioned  to  the  doctors:  "Well,  if  you  have  to  take 
out  my  appendix,  go  on  and  do  your  worst,  but  for 
goodness  sake,  leave  me  my  preface  and  table  of  con- 
tents." 

Shortly  after,  the  operation,  which  was  a  serious  one, 
was  performed.  I  will  never  forget  the  awful  dark- 
ness that  overshadowed  me  as  the  opiate  took  effect. 
My  last  thought  was :  ' '  This  is  eternity. ' '  When  I  re- 
covered from  the  effects  of  the  opiate,  I  found  my- 
self in  a  darkened  room  and  wondered  where  I  was 
and  what  it  was  all  about.  The  kindly-featured  nurse 
quickly  discovered  that  my  consciousness  had  returned, 
and  came  to  my  bedside,  and  then  I  remembered  every- 
thing. "But  why  this  dark  room.  It  was  early  morn- 
ing when  they  operated  on  me,  but  now  it  can't  be 
night." 


206  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  seriously  responded,  "but  we 
were  afraid  of  the  shock  you  might  get. ' ' 

"Why,  what  shock ?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  big  fire  just  across  the  street  and 
we  were  afraid  if  you  awoke,  and  saw  the  flames,  you 
might  think  that  the  operation  hadn't  been  successful. ' ' 

That  shows  you  what  it  is  to  have  a  reputation. 

A  Eeally  "Substantial"  Breakfast. 

Two  years  later  I  was  in  the  hospital  again  for  an 
operation  for  hernia,  and  an  incision  was  made  in  the 
same  place  as  the  previous  one.  The  morning  of  the 
operation,  I  arose  early  and  hobbled  down  stairs  for  a 
bath,  to  do  which  I  had  to  pass  the  bedroom  door  of 
the  matron — the  sister  of  a  high-titled  Canadian  now  in 
London.  You  know,  or  perhaps  you  don't  know,  that 
just  previous  to  an  operation,  the  patient  is  given  no 
more  food  than  would  keep  a  sparrow  from  starving. 
But,  like  a  son  of  Belial,  I  rapped  thunderingly  at  the 
matron's  door,  and  she  hopped  out  of  bed  and  rushed 
to  answer  the  apparently  important  summons.  When 
she  saw  me  she  anxiously  wanted  to  know  what  was 
the  matter. 

"The  matter — well,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you  keep 
a  mighty  punk  boarding-house.    My  breakfast — " 

"What,"  she  exclaimed  in  holy  horror,  "did  they 
give  you  a  breakfast  this  morning?" 

• '  Of  course  they  did. ' ' 

"And  what  did  they  give  you?" 

"Oh,"  I  said  nonchalantly,  "I  had  a  shave,  and  bath, 
a  glass  of  water,  and  a  copy  of  this  morning's 
Gazette." 

When  next  the  matron  saw  me  I  was  languidly 
smoking  a  cigarette  and  dangling  my  legs  on  the  oper- 
ating table.  And  the  look  she  gave  me  was  as  sharp 
as  the  doctor's  knife.    In  a  week's  time,  I  was  taken 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  207 

home  in  an  ambulance  and  several  cart  drivers,  out 

of  morbid  curiosity,  jumped  off  their  vehicles  and  on 

to  mine,  but  when  the  third  one  impudently  glared  at 

me,  I  yelled  out  "smallpox"  and,  they  all  instantly 

skedaddled.    One  fellow,  thank  goodness,  bruised  his 

epidermis. 

An  Afternoon  or  Gloom. 

The  next  time  the  hospital  wards  housed  me  was  out 
in  Vancouver,  where  I  had  acquired  a  pretty  badly 
smashed  knee  while  witnessing  a  lacrosse  match  at  New 
Westminster  where  that  club  played  the  Shamrocks  of 
Montreal.  Thanksgiving  Day  came  round  about  a  week 
after,  and  it  was  a  dour,  gloomy  day,  and  my  game  leg 
ached  worse  than  ever.  After  a  very  light  lunch, 
Denah  O'Connor,  my  pretty  Irish  nurse,  quietly  in- 
formed me  that  I  was  to  have  no  evening  meal.  I 
thought  that  dreary  afternoon  would  never  come  to  an 
end,  and  conjured  up  all  sorts  of  things.  Would  they 
cut  off  my  leg  above  the  knee,  or  below  the  thigh,  and 
would  not  it  be  better  and  save  a  lot  of  bother  if  they 
knifed  me  around  the  neck.  Five-thirty  came — six 
o  'clock — six-thirty — seven  and  no  visible  signs  of  even 
tea  and  toast.  I  was  sure  then  what  was  coming  and 
when  I  heard  a  bustling  outside  I  said  to  myself, 
"There  come  my  executioners,  and  they're  bringing 
the  undertakers  with  them  just  to  save  time."  *  *  *  * 
These  asterisks,  kind  reader,  represent  my  unprintable 
thoughts.  And  then  the  door  opened  and  in  came  two 
Japanese  boys  with  a  huge  hamper  sent  to  me  by  the 
people  of  the  Vancouver  hotel.  The  hamper  contained 
everything  from  soup  to  nuts,  and  there  was  enough 
to  feed  a  dozen  people.  The  nurses  and  some  other  pa- 
tients were  called  in,  the  banqueting  board  was  spread, 
the  aching  pains  thoughtfully  diminished,  and  we  had 
a  whale  of  a  time.  I  was  out  of  the  hospital  three  days 
later. 


208  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Down  in  Pictou,  Nova  Scotia,  I  was  laid  up  with  a 
very  serious  attack  of  rheumatism,  and  my  attending 
physician  was  Dr.  McMillan,  a  brother  of  Duncan  Mc- 
Millan, then  M.P.  for  Meddlesex,  Ontario,  whom  I  knew 
very  well.  After  the  third  daily  visit,  the  doctor  came 
two  or  three  times  a  day,  and  I  anxiously  asked  him 
one  day  if  I  was  so  seriously  ill  that  such  frequent 
visits  were  necessary.  "Not  at  all,  old  man,  not  at 
all.  But  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  of  the  doings  at  Ottawa 
and  of  my  brother  Duncan.  You  '11  be  out  in  a  couple 
of  days. ' ' 

Thus  doubt  and  uncertainty  and  anxiety  were  quickly 
dispelled. 

To  be  " Queen  or  the  May" 

Out  in  the  Winnipeg  hospital,  where  I  had  an  attack 
of  pneumonia  for  a  change,  another  patient  was  enjoy- 
ing the  weird  pleasures  that  only  delirium  tremens  can 
furnish  the  devotees  of  Bacchus.  He  would  insist  on 
visiting  me,  and  quickly  ascertaining  that  the  arm  of  a 
big  chair  was  loose,  always  grabbed  it,  and  the  way  he 
slashed  it  around  was  a  caution.  I  had  plenty  of  exer- 
cise dodging  that  chair-arm  without  leaving  my  bed. 
Of  course,  he  wouldn't  have  hit  me  for  the  world,  but 
people  with  the  D.  T.  's  have  a  largely  distorted  vision, 
and  I  didn't  know  exactly  at  what  juncture  he  would 
mistake  my  pillow  for  a  whale  or  myself  for  a  fiery 
dragon.  He  compromised  when  the  matron  came  in, 
and  led  him  out  by  the  ear,  notwithstanding  his  inces- 
sant pleading  that  he  owned  the  hospital,  and  that  I 
was  to  be  Queen  of  the  May.  So  you  see,  even  illness 
has  its  compensating  advantages. 

Of  course  other  accidents  happened  to  me  and  there 
was  no  hospital  to  give  treatment.  A  broken  foot  in  a 
football  game,  a  broken  finger  at  cricket,  and  a  couple 
of  broken  ribs  in  a  bath-tub  were  amongst  them.    The 


EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  209 

latter  occurred  on  a  fine  Sunday  morning  when  I  was 
getting  ready  to  go  to  the  train  to  meet  Miss  Agnes 
Laut,  the  well-known  Canadian  writer,  who  was  then 
living  in  New  York.  A  piece  of  soap — now  I  know  why 
so  many  hate  soap — and  kerflump  I  went  against  the 
side  of  the  porcelain  tub.  It  pained  a  good  deal,  but 
I  didn't  know  the  full  meaning  of  my  mishap  until 
evening  when  the  doctor  came  and  telling  me  I  had  two 
broken  ribs,  proceeded  to  put  that  part  of  my  body  in 
plaster.  Just  then  I  remembered  an  appointment 
made  with  Brent  Macnab  for  next  day,  and  sent  a  note 
that  I  had  been  laid  up  with  a  couple  of  broken  ribs  and 
informing  him  that:  " While  it's  not  as  bad  a  smash  as 
that  of  the  Ville  Marie  bank,  I  was  in  plaster  and  never 
felt  so  stuck  up  in  my  life. "  Which  made  Brent  snicker. 

Down  in  Washington 

Washington,  the  capital  of  the  great  United  States, 
is  one  of  the  finest  cities  in  the  Union.  It  is  well  laid 
out,  has  fine  residential  and  business  sections,  and  the 
Capitol  itself  occupies  a  commanding  position.  The 
city  is  the  great  political  centre  of  the  Eepublic  and  a 
swell  social  centre  as  well.  It  is  a  pleasant  place  to 
visit,  especially  if  one  has  lots  of  friends  like  I  have — 
the  boys  of  the  press  gallery  and  some  who  'are  just 
ordinary,  and  a  few  who  are  not  ordinary  statesmen. 
Before  the  Civil  war,  it  was  an  almost  entirely  southern 
city — but  of  course  it  is  not  now. 

Under  the  big  dome  of  the  Capitol  is  a  rotunda  on 
whose  walls  are  pictured  historic  scenes.  One  is  of 
Pocahontas,  where  one  of  the  figures  has  six  fingers 
on  the  one  hand,  and  in  another  work  of  art  two  girls 
are  painted,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  one  of  them  hasn't 
got  three  arms — one  hanging  by  her  side  and  another 
around  her  companion's  waist  and — the  third  around 
that  young  lady's  neck.    Suppose  the  artist  didn't  like 

(15) 


210  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  lay  of  the  second  arm  and  after  painting  the  third 
forgot  to  remove  the  other.  The  artist's  error  has 
never  been  corrected. 

The  dinners  of  the  Gridiron  Club  at  "Washington 
were  swell  affairs,  and  the  press  men  had  as  their 
gnests  some  of  the  biggest  men  in  the  land.  One  time  I 
was  present.  It  was  during  the  scandal  when  promin- 
ent people  for  obvions  reasons  were  accused  of  paying 
big  money  to  have  their  portraits  published  in  the  New 
York  Town  Topics.  Elihu  Eoot,  perhaps  the  brainiest 
man  in  the  United  States  political  life  of  the  time,  but 
whose  cast  of  countenance  was  the  reverse  of  jovial, 
began  a  speech  this  way:  "At  the  last  Cabinet  council 
(President  Eoosevelt  quickly  looked  at  him  in  surprise 
at  his  publicly  mentioning  the  doings  of  a  cabinet  in 
private  session)  when  you,  Mr.  President,  and  we  con- 
sidered (the  President  very  uneasily  twisted  and  turn- 
ed in  his  chair)  that  is,  we  were  considering  the  advisa- 
bility (Mr.  President  looked  daggers  at  him  for  daring 
to  publicly  repeat  what  was  always  considered  confiden- 
tial, but  Mr.  Eoot  went  unconcernedly  on)  the  advisa- 
bility of  getting — of  getting  our  pictures  in  Town 
Topics — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  wild  hilarious 
shouts  that  rilled  the  room. 

William  H.  Taft,  afterwards  President  Taft,  and  a 
man  of  great  humor,  spoke  at  another  gathering.  He 
was  then  a  member  of  the  Eoosevelt  cabinet — and  he 
claimed  that  his  "rotundity  of  person  was  looming 
larger  in  the  public  eye  than  the  President's  teeth." 
and  Teddy  did  have  prominent  molars. 

I  heard  Mr.  Harriman,  the  widely  known  railway 
magnate,  try  to  make  a  speech,  and,  after  a  minute  or 
so,  get  entirely  lost,  stick  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
aimlessly  wander  around,  vainly  endeavoring  to  say 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  211 

something  or  other,  which  he  couldn't  remember.  He 
was  a  man  of  brains,  but  not  of  gab.  Then  Pierpont 
Morgan,  able  as  he  was,  couldn't  make  an  after-dinner 
speech,  for  while  he  was  long  on  money,  he  was  short 
on  language.  But  everybody  was  vociferously  ap- 
plauded all  the  same. 

Case  of  "Much  Wants  More" 

During  the  Spanish- American  war  there  was  great 
excitement  in  Boston  and  all  along  the  coast  of  the  New 
England  states.  A  cruiser  which  had  patrolled  the 
coast  was  suddenly  ordered  elsewhere  and  the  New 
Englanders,  fearing  a  hostile  visit  from  the  enemy, 
deluged  Washington  with  telegrams  and  letters  and 
delegations  demanding  protection  at  once.  I  happened 
to  be  in  Washington  at  the  time,  and  was  accompanying 
Eddie  Hood,  of  the  Associated  Press,  in  his  daily  round 
of  the  Government  offices.  We  dropped  into  the  office 
of  Mr.  John  Hay,  Secretary  of  State,  and  there  met 
his  assistant,  Mr.  John  Bassett  Moore,  who  afterwards 
succeeded  Mr.  Hay.  He  looks  like  an  Englishman,  but 
isn't  one.  After  a  short  stay  we  were  about  to  leave 
when  Mr.  Moore  asked  us  to  wait  a  minute,  and  disap- 
peared into  an  adjoining  room.  On  returning,  a  minute 
or  so  later,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  meet  Mr.  Hay, 
and  immediately  ushered  me  into  his  presence.  Mr. 
Hay  had  a  keen  piercing  eye,  and  he  looked  at  me 
searchingly.  Then  he  said,  "Mr.  Ham,  you  are  from 
Canada.  Would  you  do  me  a  favor?"  Of  course  I 
would  if  I  could.  "Well,"  he  went  on,  "the  people  of 
Boston  and  New  England  are  deluging  me  with  all 
sorts  of  messages  and  delegations  and  demanding  that 
a  cruiser  that  patrolled  their  coast  line,  which  we  had 
to  send  elsewhere,  should  be  replaced  at  once.  That  is 
impossible,  but  I  want  to  assure  them  that  they  will  be 


212  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

protected  from  any  Spanish  fleet.  Could  yon  get  me  a 
daily  message  from  Halifax  reporting  the  approach  of 
any  Spanish  men-of-war  1 ' ' 

I  told  him  I  would  try,  and  he  gave  me  the  address  to 
which  the  messages  were  to  be  sent.  I  looked  it  up  and 
it  was  the  residence  of  Mr.  Wilkie,  the  head  of  the  U.  S. 
secret  service — although  his  was  not  the  name  given. 
I  went  to  Halifax,  and  saw  Charlie  Philps,  the  local 
C.P.R.  representative,  who  arranged  with  the  look-out 
men  at  the  signal  station  to  keep  him  informed.  Every 
morning  a  wire  was  sent:  "All's  well."  On  the  first 
of  every  month,  a  man  came  into  my  office  and  handed 
me  an  envelope  in  which  was  $100  in  brand  new  U.  S. 
currency  which  had  never  before  been  used.  There 
was  no  name,  but  I  had  a  number,  which  identified  me 
at  Washington.  This  money  was  forwarded  to  Halifax 
to  be  divided  between  the  four  signal  men.  All  went 
smoothly  until  all  danger  of  an  attack  was  past,  when 
I  was  notified  that  there  was  no  further  necessity  for 
the  messages.  When  I  conveyed  this  intelligence  to 
the  look-out  men,  instead  of  thanks  for  putting  what 
is  called  "velvet"  in  their  pockets,  I  received  a  letter 
abusing  me  like  a  pickpocket  for  not  continuing  the 
service.  Oh,  well — perhaps  I  may  get  a  war  medal  or 
some  other  decoration  from  Washington  some  of  these 
days,  but  I  am  not  banking  on  it. 

At  the  old  Willard  Hotel,  Jimmy  Anderson,  the 
colored  porter,  put  one  over  me.  My  room  was  chilly, 
and  Jimmy  came  daily  and  lighted  a  fire.  He  told  me 
a  sad,  sad  tale  about  his  wife  and  children  having  in 
the  far  past  been  stolen  by  the  Georgia  men  (men  from 
Georgia)  and  his  life  had  been  one  of  long  sorrow  and 
lonesomeness  ever  since.  The  tears  trickled  down  his 
wrinkled  cheeks  and  he  appealed  to  me  so  pitifully  that 
I  gave  him  a  couple  of  dollars  and  temporarily  soothed 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  213 

his  saddened  heart.  In  'about  a  year  I  was  again  at  the 
old  Willard,  and  roomed  on  the  same  floor.  Meeting 
the  motherly  housekeeper  one  morning,  I  asked  her 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Jimmy.  She  enquired  if  I 
wanted  to  see  him,  to  which  I  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
The  tale  Jimmy  told  me  of  his  kidnapped  family  had 
scarcely  been  commenced,  when  she  laughingly  inter- 
rupted by  saying,  "And  he  told  you  that  terrible  story 
of  his  wife  and  children  being  stolen?  Why,  the  old 
rascal  is  over  at  Atlantic  City  now  with  his  wife  and 
eleven  youngsters,  all  fat  and  hearty. "  Whereat  we 
both  laughed  and  my  deep  interest  in  Jimmy  and  his 
woes  took  a  decided  slump. 

One  day  Ned  Farrer  and  I  were  wandering  around 
Chevy  Chase,  just  outside  the  city,  when  we  casually 
ran  across  a  fine  old  type  of  a  Southern  gentleman. 
Entering  into  conversation  he  told  us  we  were  on 
historic  ground;  it  was  here  a  group  of  Confederate 
soldiers  during  the  Civil  War  gathered,  coming  by  way 
of  Georgetown,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  making  a 
quick  dash  on  the  White  House,  kidnapping  President 
Lincoln,  and  hurriedly  carrying  him  away.  That  night 
was  a  misty  one,  and  the  scouts  sent  out  mistook  the 
haycocks,  which  were  in  plenty,  for  the  tents  of  the 
northern  soldiers.  Imagining  that  their  venture  could 
not  be  successfully  carried  out,  they  quickly  retreated, 
and  sadly  said  our  new-found  friend:  "I  don't  under- 
stand how  we  ever  made  such  an  awful  blunder. ' ' 

He  had  been  one  of  the  foiled  Southern  troops  and  a 
Colonel  at  that. 

Some  Anecdotes 

A  warm  personal  friend,  who  had  been  reading  these 
reminiscences,  very  kindly  writes  me  his  appreciation 
of  them,  and  adds  a  few  incidents  which  he  thinks  I  had 


214  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

forgotten.  Here  they  are  in  all  their  glory  and  exag- 
geration.   He  says : 

"I  ran  across  an  American  mining  man,  Col.  Jack 
Ormsby,  in  Toronto,  who  told  me  a  typical  *  George 
Ham  Story.'  It  appears  that  the  two  colonels  were 
travelling  together  from  New  York  to  Washington. 
Never  having  met  up  before,  they  introduced  each 
other  in  Western  fashion.  And  after  having  said: 
'Well,  what  do  you  say  if  we  have  another  one?'  which 
they  had,  the  American  colonel  loosened  up  and  ex- 
plained that  he  had  just  come  from  Arizona  to  report 
to  J.  Pierpont  Morgan  on  a  mining  proposition,  (this 
was  in  1905)  and  the  'Old  Man'  was  so  pleased  that 
when  his  report  was  handed  Mr.  Morgan,  and  passed, 
Mr.  Morgan  presented  the  Colonel  (not  George)  with  a 
cheque  for  $15,000,  the  larger  portion  of  which  was 
given  as  a  bonus. 

"  'I  showed  Mr.  Ham  the  cheque,'  said  Colonel  Jack, 
'and  he  asked  me  if  he  might  tear  a  small  piece  off  the 
corner,  and  when  I  enquired  what  for?'  he  said: 
'Well,  if  that  whole  bit  of  paper  is  worth  $15,000,  a 
small  piece  of  it  must  surely  be  worth  a  few  thousands 
— and  I  need  the  money. ' 

' '  The  American  colonel  who  told  me  this  story  add- 
ed: 'Now  that  struck  me  as  a  funny  thing;  but  not  any 
funnier  than  the  mild  and  innocent  expression  on  Mr. 
Ham's  face  when  he  made  the  droll  remark'." 

And  another  one : 

"Here  is  something  which  you  have  probably  for- 
gotten. Robert  Lincoln  O  'Brien,  of  the  Boston  Herald, 
is  responsible  for  it.  You  were  'meeting'  Theodore 
Roosevelt  in  the  White  House,  the  morning  after  the 
Gridiron  Club  dinner,  back  in  1904,  I  think.  'Teddy' 
was  then  President,  and  was  in  a  very  talkative  mood, 
standing  outside  his  office  in  the  ante-room  addressing 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  215 

his  remarks  especially  to  you,  stating  that  when  he 
got  clear  of  his  present '  job/  he  intended  to  take  a  trip 
through  Canada. 

"  'I  hope  you  do,'  said  G.  H.  H.  cordially,  ' there's 
only  one  man  in  the  world  who  would  "be  better  or  more 
cordially  received  than  you,  Mr.  President — and  that 's 
King  Edward. '  Whereat  President  Eoosevelt  smiling- 
ly showed  his  teeth,  seeing  as  how  he  generally  knew 
a  good  thing  when  he  heard  it." 

And  still  another : 

"Sam  Blythe — he  of  Saturday  Evening  Post  fame — 
will  vouch  for  this  one.  Mr.  Ham,  under  his  chaperon- 
age  was  being  escorted  through  the  different  congres- 
sional members '  rooms  (States  headquarters)  in  the 
Capitol  at  Washington.  There  was  '  apple-jack '  in 
the  Jersey  room;  ' moonshine '  in  the  Tennessee  tee- 
pee; peach  brandy  and  honey  in  the  Delaware  'hang- 
out,' and  'Bourbon'  in  the  Blue  Grass  state  apart- 
ments. 

"  'How  many  States  are  there  in  this  blooming 
Union  of  yours  anyway,  Sam?'  asked  G.  H.  H. 
anxiously. 

"Some  one  said,  'Not  more  than  fifty.' 

"  G.  H.  H.  looked  relieved :  '  Oh,  is  that  all — lead  me 
to  it.' 

"Afterwards  there  was  a  steamed  clam  luncheon  at 
Shoemaker's;  and  Samuel  said  that  George  put  them 
all  to  bed." 

Guess  that's  all  right  —  but  even  Ananias  would 
exaggerate. 

Canadian  Club 

Of  course  everybody  who  goes  south  does  not  linger 
in  Washington.  As  a  matter  of  fact  a  great  many 
Canadians  flock  to  Florida  during  the  winter  months — 
thousands  of  them — and  St.  Petersburg  on  the  western 


216  ,        REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

coast  is  a  favorite  resort.  They  are  greatly  in  evidence 
everywhere,  and  last  January,  on  a  very  warm  day,  I 
strolled  over  to  the  City  Park,  which  was  thronged  with 
merry-makers.  The  band  was  playing  popular  airs, 
and  many  Canadians  were  indulging  in  dominoes, 
checkers,  euchre,  and  other  old-fashioned  card  games, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  boyhood  days  I  saw  quite 
a  number  pitching  quoits  with  horse-shoes.  I  took  a 
hand  in  the  game,  and  nearly  hit  the  man  that  beat  the 
big  drum,  goodness  knows  how  many  yards  away. 

It  was  a  grand  day.  The  Canadians  are  there  during 
the  winter  in  such  strong  force  that  they  have  a  club 
room  for  themselves,  and  on  the  door  was  a  card  which 
read :  ' '  Canadian  Club, ' '  and  beneath  it,  "7 :30 ' ' — sig- 
nifying that  a  club  meeting  was  to  be  held  that  evening 
at  that  hour.  Mike  Heenan,  the  Michigan  Central 
Railway  detective  of  Detroit,  who  is  well-known 
throughout  Western  Ontario,  and  who  was  visiting  St. 
Petersburg,  didn't  read  it  exactly  in  that  light. 

"Holy  Smoke,"  he  said,  "Canadian  Club— 7:30, 
Minny's  the  bottle  I've  bought  for  a  dollar-tin,  aye 
and  for  ninety  cents. ' ' 

And  then  everybody  smiled. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Christmas  and  Its  Cheer — Will  Sell  Anything  for 
Gin    But    Children's    Christmas    Stockings — 
Santa  Claus  No  Myth — Dreary  Christmas — 
Mr.  Perkins'  Cutter — A  Lively  Christ- 
mas Gathering — Tiny  Tim's 
Blessing. 

WHEN  my  hair  was  lighter  but  not  so  gray,  and 
a  great  deal  thicker  than  it  is  now,  Christmas- 
tide  was  the  greatest  and  the  happiest  time  of 
all  the  year.  We  kids  counted  the  days  for  a  month  or 
six  weeks  before  the  Day  of  Days,  and  were  filled  with 
pleasant  anticipation  of  the  coming  glorious  event, 
which,  it  was  conveyed  to  our  infantile  minds,  meant 
" Peace  on  Earth,  Good  Will  Toward  Men." 

They  were  halcyon  days,  and  Santa  Claus  was  a 
mysterious  and  benificent,  sanctified  being  who  scat- 
tered lovely  gifts  with  riotous  profusion  upon  all  the 
little  ones  the  world  over.  Christmas  Eve  was  an 
ecstatic  evening,  and  when  the  stockings  were  hung 
up,  and  we  all  were  bundled  off  to  bed,  but  not  to 
sleep,  our  little  noddles  were,  filled  to  overflowing  with 
the  happiest  conjecture  and  surmises  as  to  what  good 
Old  Santa  would  bring  us.  And  we  wondered  how  on 
earth  he  got  down  the  chimney,  especially  in  those 
houses  which  had  no  fireplaces,  and  if  his  reindeers 
were  really  truly  live  animals.  And  when,  after  a  rest- 
less night,  there  was  a  rush  for  the  stockings  in  the 
early  dawn,  joy  filled  our  hearts  and  a  pandemonium  of 
unrestricted  pleasure  reigned  as  we  gathered  our  trea- 

217 


218  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

sured  gifts,  and  really  enjoyed  the  sugar  sticks  and 
sweet  bull's  eyes  which  didn't  make  us  ill,  as  they 
doubtless  would  to-day.  We  lovingly  caressed  the 
beautiful  dolls  and  exuberantly  played  with  the  plea- 
sure-giving toys,  free  of  all  care  and  full  of  genu- 
ine juvenile  enthusiasm.  Happiness  was  supreme 
throughout  many  a  household,  and  breakfast,  for 
which  sturdy,  hungry  youngsters  were  usually  eager, 
was  listlessly  eaten  with  no  particularly  keen  appe- 
tite. 

Of  course,  then  as  now,  there  were  many  houses  in 
which  the  youngsters  were  not  so  prodigally  humored 
by  Santa  Claus,  but  in  nearly  all  their  childish  wants 
were  partially  supplied.  How  many  of  us  wish  we 
could  turn  back  the  clock  and  enjoy  those  happy  days 
again.  Our  sublime  faith  in  good  Old  Santa  Claus 
was  far  beyond  infantile  human  comprehension  and 
we  gloriously  revelled  in  our  all-abiding  blissful  illu- 
sion. 

But  the  time  came  naturally,  as  we  grew  up,  when 
our  innocent  eyes  were  opened,  and  we  learned  to 
our  sorrow  and  dismay  that  Santa  Claus  was  really 
no  travelling  angel  in  disguise,  but  our  own  matter- 
of-fact  parents.  It  was  a  sad  awakening.  Mine  came 
accidentally.  I  was  looking  for  something  or  other, 
and  climbed  on  a  closet  shelf,  where  I  found  a  whistle 
and  a  rocking-horse  and  a  variety  of  other  lovely 
things  which  I  knew  would  not  ordinarily  be  there.  I 
discreetly  kept  my  mouth  shut,  but  when  Christmas 
morn  came,  and  all  these  same  presents  were  arrayed 
in  the  parlor,  I  knew  Santa  Claus  was  a  myth.  But 
I  didn't  let  on.  My  father  and  mother,  I  figured  out, 
were  merely  the  earthly  representatives  of  the  prince- 
ly gift-giver.  Between  you  and  me,  I  can  conscien- 
tiously say  I  actually  convinced  myself  of  this  fact 
against  my  will.    But,  later  on,  when  I  knew  it  all,  I 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  219 

thought  that,  as  is  done  in  this  later  materialistic  age, 
it  is  a  damnable  crime  for  anyone,  man,  woman  or 
child,  to  break  a  little  one's  faith  in  Santa  Claus — as 
great  a  crime  as  it  is  for  an  iconoclast  to  destroy  the 
faith  of  a  child  in  its  prattling  prayer  at  the  loved 
mother's  knee: — 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  Pray  the  Lord,  my  soul  to  take." 
A  crime it  is  diabolically  fiendish! 

Pawn  All  But  Christmas  Stockings. 
One  time,  over  in  London,  England,  I  met  Rev. 
Mr.  Webb  and  his  charming  wife,  who  had  lived 
in  Canada,  and  who  were  willing  and  energetic 
workers  amongst  the  poor  of  London's  awful  slums. 
Do  you  know  what  a  wretched  life  these  poor 
folk  have?  It  would  horrify  you  if  you  saw  their 
misery  and  poverty  and  wretchedness.  Mrs.  Webb 
told  me  that  in  all  her  wide  experience  there  was 
nothing  you  could  give  them  that  was  pawnable  that 
they  wouldn't  pawn  for  liquor — except — except  the 
Christmas  stockings  filled  with  sweets  and  toys  for 
the  children.  These  were  sacred  even  to  these  hard- 
ened sinners.  Then  why  should  the  illusions  of  these 
poor  unfortunate  kids  be  ruthlessly  destroyed?  Why 
not  let  them,  in  their  dire  poverty  and  distress,  have 
one  little  ray  of  sunshine  in  their  belief  in  the  exist- 
ence of  Santa  Claus  I 

The  day  before  one  Christmas  in  Winnipeg,  I  was 
endeavouring  to  convince  my  children  that  there  was 
a  real  sure-enough  bona  fide  Santa  Claus.  The  house 
had  been  put  in  apple-pie  order  for  Christmas  Day, 
when  later  in  the  afternoon,  it  was  discovered  to  be 


220  EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

in  a  deplorable  condition.  Stove  pipes  had  been 
taken  down  and  the  soot  scattered  all  over  the  floors. 
It  happened  this  way:  Jack  McGinn  dropped  in,  and 
when  closely  questioned  by  the  children  as  to  the  re- 
ality of  Santa  Claus,  and  how  he  could  get  into  houses 
that  had  no  big  chimneys  and  fireplaces — guess  they 
didn't  believe  me — fully  explained  that  Santa  could 
suit  himself  according  to  circumstances,  and  squeeze 
through  a  keyhole  if  necessary.  He  also  informed  his 
eager  listeners  that  Santa  always  dressed  in  pure 
white,  and  wouldn't  go  down  dirty  pipes.  Then  hav- 
ing accomplished  his  diabolical  purpose,  he  left,  and 
the  kids  took  down  the  sooty  stove  pipes  and  scat- 
tered the  soot  on  the  floors  to  ensure  a  visit  from  good 
St.  Nicholas.    Of  course,  he  came. 

Personally,  while  my  younger  days  were  blissful  at 
Christmas,  in  later  years  some  were  not  so  pleasant. 
One  Christmas  at  Winnipeg,  we  were  all  disturbed  at 
an  early  hour  by  a  conflagration  which  destroyed  the 
city's  fire  hall — fire  engine  and  all — and  it  was  a  cold 
and  comfortless  day  that  followed.  Another  time  I 
was  stormbound  at  Myrtle  station  on  the  old  C.P.R. 
line  between  Toronto  and  Montreal.  I  had  driven  out 
from  Whitby  to  catch  the  midnight  train,  and  arrived 
early  at  the  station  and  spent  quite  a  little  while  in 
gazing  at  the  coal  fire  and  reading  Folder  A,  which 
combined  to  make  superb  scenery  and  admirable  and 
instructive  literature.  Then  the  village  folk  began  to 
gather — just  why  they  should  spend  Christmas  Eve 
at  a  lonely  C.P.R.  station  is  beyond  me,  unless  it  was 
to  look  af  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  and  see  the  trains 
go  by.  But  they  did,  and  all  they  talked  about  was 
Mr.  Perkins'  new  cutter,  which  he  had  brought  from 
Toronto  that  day.  Finally,  Mr.  Perkins  himself 
arrived  and  when  questioned  a  score  or  so  of  times, 
proudly  corroborated  the  satisfying  statement  that  it 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  221 

was  the  finest  cutter  purchasable  in  Toronto,  and 
that  it  was  a  real  bang-up  Jim-dandy.  For  two  solid 
hours  I  was  regaled  with  descriptions  of  that  wonder- 
ful vehicle,  and  its  superiority  over  any  other  cutter 
that  had  ever  come  out  of  the  west.  It  cost — well,  Mr. 
Perkins  didn't  say  exactly  how  much  it  cost,  but  the 
dealer  didn't  get  the  best  of  him,  anyway.  He  ad- 
mitted that  after  a  whole  lot  of  haggling  as  to  the 
price,  he  was  finally  asked  how  much  money  he  had 
with  him,  and  when  he  produced  his  wad,  they  said 
that  that  was  what  it  would  cost  him.  And  then — and 
then — the  train  came  in  and  the  conductor  and  the 
porter  wished  me  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  in  the  re- 
cesses of  my  berth  I  dreamt  that  the  blessed  old  cutter 
was  in  my  stocking,  which  was  hanging  up  on  my  left 
foot.    It  was  a  lovely  Christmas  Eve. 

About  the  liveliest  Christmas  I  ever  experienced 
was  when  dear  dead  and  gone  Mina  Macdonald,  ever 
the  good  friend  of  the  Boys'  Club  of  Montreal,  gave 
a  "sunshine"  feed  to  the  newsboys  of  the  city  in 
Victoria  Hall,  Westmount.  It  was  a  rare  treat.  The 
speakers  of  the  evening  were  a  certain  judge  and  a 
Montreal  newspaper  man.  How  these  grave  gentle- 
men had  prepared  cautionary  and  exemplary  address- 
es for  the  betterment  of  the  immature  Hebrews,  who, 
in  the  main,  made  up  the  audience!  How,  after  eat- 
ing the  bountiful  fare,  the  little  Isaacs,  Jacobs  and 
Abrahams,  listened  dutifully  to  the  judge,  as  was 
proper!  But  when  the  editor  appeared,  they  could 
contain  themselves  no  longer — but  I  anticipate. 

My  good  editorial  friend  had  kindly  asked  me  to 
accompany  him  to  the  intended  feast  of  reason  and 
flow  of  almost  everything  else.  I  went.  He  was  all 
togged  up,  even  to  fresh  underclothing,  and  I  accom- 
modatingly put  on  clean  collar  and  a  new  necktie,  and 
we  hied  ourselves  to  the  hall. 


222  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  as  we  entered  the 
well-filled  spacious  public  room.  There  were  also 
plentiful  signs  of  rank  disorder.  Kids  with  blouses 
loaded  with  apples  and  cakes  and  other  species  of 
effective  missiles  predominated.  Amicable  hostilities 
had  already  commenced,  and  the  boys  just  wallowed 
in  the  riot  of  disorderly  merrymaking.  I  discreetly 
retired  to  a  back  bench  where  I  vigilantly  dodged 
volleys  of  fruit  and  gooey  cake  approaching,  and  my 
friend  went  on  the  stage.  Order  having  been  partial- 
ly restored — in  spots— the  speaking  part  of  the  pro- 
ceedings commenced.  The  editor's  introduction  was 
greeted  with  the  same  sort  of  uproarious  applause 
that  was  given  to  the  previous  speaker,  which  was 
accentuated  by  the  smashing  of  a  lot  of  crockery 
through  the  falling  of  a  table.  He  said  he  was  de- 
lighted to  be  with  them  to-night,  and  to  show  by  his 
presence.     .      .     . 

" Where  are  they?"  eagerly  demanded  a  score  of 
urchins. 

" Where  are  what?"  queried  the  speaker. 

"The  presents." 

"Presents  nothing!  I  am  alluding  to  my  being 
with  you."     {Signs  of  disapproval.) 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  journalism.  "It  is  a  noble 
profession — (Say,  boys,  please  keep  quiet) — a  noble 
profession — (order,  please) — and  while  you,  my  brave 
lads,  are  merely  (will  you  kindly  keep  still?)  are 
merely  now  on  the  lower  rung — (silence,  please) — 
lower  rung,  the  ladder  leads  to  high  places 
— (for  goodness '  sake,  keep  order!) — to  high  places 
which — (great  Caesar,  listen  to  me) — high  places 
which  have  been  reached  by — (say,  won't  you  listen 
to  me?) — reached  by  men  who — (hang  it  all,  boys, 
keep  still!) — men  who  once  occupied  the  positions — 
(for  the  love  of  Mike,   order!   order!   I   say!) — the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  223 

humble  positions  you  do  now — (continued  uproar) — 
you  are  all  part — (I  say,  great  jumping  Jerusalem! 
won't  you  listen  to  me!) — all  part  and  parcel  of  the 
great  work  of  producing — (say  Mr.  Chairman !  Where 
in  blazes  is  the  chairman?' 

"I  was  going  to  say  that  you  boys  were — (Oh,  shut 
up,  you  red-headed  heretical  whelps!) — you  boys 
were — (say,  am  I  making  this  speech  or  is  it  a  uni- 
versal recital  by  the  newsies?) — you  boys,  let  me  say 
— (Mr.  Chairman — Oh,  Mr.  Chairman — where  is  that 
blooming  fool  of  a  chairman?) — Mr.  Little,  Mr.  Little, 
that  is  " Billy"  Little,  our  circulation  manager,  told 
me — (Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  sit  still  a  minute) — he 
told  me  that  you — (say,  Swipesy,  sit  down) — that  you 
were — (Holy  smoke,  are  you  ever  going  to  keep 
quiet?)  Billy  Little  says — (well,  what  next?  Shut 
up,  you  infernal  rowdies,  you!)  The  Sunshine  So- 
ciety is  doing  good  work,  and — (say,  if  you  don't  stop 
that  whooping  I'll  come  down  and  pound  the  tar  out 
of  you) — the  Sunshine  Society — (keep  still  there) — 
has  given  you  a  great  treat  to-night,  a  splendid  supper 
and  a — (will  you  keep  quiet,  you  pestiferous  little 
hoodlums,  you!)  a  splendid  banquet  and  a  delightful 
drive — (Oh,  Holy  Moses,  what  am  I  up  against?) — 
and — (shut  up,  will  you?)  and  you  ought  to  be  grate- 
ful for — (damn  you,  shut  up!) — for  their  Christian 
kindness — (now,  keep  still,  you  young  slobs)  — 
" Billy,"  that  is,  Mr.  William  Little,  the  Star's  cir- 
culation manager,  tells  me  the  newsboys  of  Montreal 
— (oh,  say,  boys,  keep  still!)  the  newsboys  of  Mon- 
treal are  the  best  in  America,  and  if  that  is  so,  it 
is  something — (shut  up,  will  you?) — it  is  something 
you  should — (shut  up,  shut  up,  do  you  hear  me!) — 
you  should  be  proud  of  and  we  all — oh  go  to  blazes, 
the  whole  blooming  bunch  of  you,  Sunshine  Society 
and  all.     I  am  going  down  to   the  Windsor  for   a 


224  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

drink."      (Sounds    of   uproarious    applause,    amidst 
which  we  went.) 

Everybody  Should  Believe  in  Christmas. 

Dreary  Christmases  I  have  spent,  as  have  many 
others,  in  country  hotels  or  on  the  road,  but 
the  utter  loneliness  and  longing  for  home  were 
invariably  lightened  by  the  cheerfulness  and  com- 
radeship of  fellow  travellers,  who,  while  utter  strang- 
ers, were  filled  with  the  spirit  of  Christmas,  and 
if  it  was  not  a  merry  one,  it  was  not  altogether 
a  miserable  day.  Many  can  recall  some  of  their  earli- 
er Christmases,  as  many  experience  them  now-a-days, 
when  they  had  need  of  Mark  Tapley's  irrepressible 
disposition  in  order  to  enable  them  to  be  jolly  under 
rather  unpleasant  circumstances.  To  those  who  catch 
the  spirit  of  the  anniversary  in  anything  like  its  full- 
ness, Christmas  comes  with  rich  rewards.  It  is  the 
grand  festival  of  the  year,  is  one  for  all  mankind,  and 
for  all  ages  to  come,  full  of  pleasant  memories,  of 
kindliest  feelings  and,  above  all,  of  that  large  hearted 
noble  charity  which  blesses  giver  and  receiver  alike. 
It  is  the  season  which  should  make  all  hearts  glad — 
a  day  of  universal  rejoicing,  for  it  is  the  celebration 
of  the  greatest  event  in  the  history  of  the  world — the 
coming  of  the  meek  and  lowly  One,  who  "brought 
light  to  the  Gentiles,' '  and  "salvation  unto  the  ends 
of  the  earth. ' '  Greetings,  greetings,  greetings,  and  in 
the  immortal  words  of  Tiny  Tim:  "God  bless  us, 
every  one." 


BROTHER  ANDRE  AND  THE  ORATORY  OF  ST.  JOSEPH. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The    Miracle   Man   of    Montreal — Brother   Andre 
Whose  Great  Work  Has  Done  Great  Good — 
A  Youth  With  a  Strange  Power — Authen- 
tic Accounts  of  Some  of  the  Miracles 
— All  Faiths  Benefited  by  Him. 

THE  day  of  miracles  is  not  past.  Ever  since 
Christ  raised  the  dead,  healed  His  suffering 
suppliants,  gave  voice  to  the  dumb,  sight  to  the 
blind,  and  hearing  to  the  deaf;  ever  since  He  turned 
water  into  wine  at  the  marriage  feast  at  Cana  and 
fed  the  multitude  with  five  loaves  of  bread  and  two 
small  fishes,  down  through  the  long  ages,  miracles 
have  been  wrought.  There  were  many  sincere  be- 
lievers in  them,  but  there  were  more  scoffers  and 
doubters.  As  it  was  then,  so  it  is  with  the  world  to- 
day. Time  was,  especially  in  recent  years,  that  many 
non-Catholics  sincerely  believed  that  these  alleged 
miracles  existed  merely  in  the  untutored  minds  of  the 
superstitious  followers  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church. 

But  the  wonderful  works  of  divine  healers  of  the 
Protestant  faith — notably  Rev.  Mr.  Hickson,  an  Ang- 
lican, and  Mrs.  McPherson,  of  another  Protestant 
denomination,  in  different  places  in  Canada  and  the 
United  States — have  largely  dispelled  that  idea,  and 
thousands  of  intellectual  people  of  different  nation- 
alities and  of  different  creeds  are  to-day  firmly  con- 
vinced that  the  healer  has   an  almost  supernatural 

(16)  225 


226  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Divine  power  which  is  exercised  for  the  benefit  of  suf- 
fering humanity. 

Shrines  throughout  the  world  have  existed  for  cen- 
turies, and  some  of  them  gained  a  world-wide  reputa- 
tion for  the  remarkable  cures  and  conversions  that 
have  been  claimed  for  them.  Of  these,  perhaps 
Lourdes  in  France  and  Sainte  Anne  de  Beaupre, 
near  the  city  of  Quebec,  have  acquired  the  greatest 
fame.  It  is  not  of  these,  however,  that  I  am  writing, 
but  of  the  unpretentious  little  shrine  of  St.  Joseph  on 
Mount  Royal  at  Montreal,  where  Brother  Andre,  the 
Miracle  Man,  whose  great  work  relieving  the  suffering 
of  their  ills  for  many  years  has  been  testified  to  by 
hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  people  who  have  been  re- 
stored to  health  and  happiness  by  his  intercession  and 
prayers.  He  is  a  remarkable  man,  with  no  preten- 
sions whatever  of  being  other  than  the  humble  instru- 
ment of  a  higher  power  through  which  he  is  permit- 
ted to  do  good  to  his  fellow-men.  He  is  not  the  Miracle 
Man  of  the  movies,  which  is  screened  from  Frank 
Packard's  remarkable  book.  Mr.  Packard,  who  is  an 
old  friend  of  mine,  told  me  that  his  miracle  man  was 
a  creation  of  his  own  brain. 

A  Man  Who  Mastered  Self. 

Alfred  Bassette  was  born  at  St.  Gregoire  d 'Iber- 
ville, P.Q.,  on  August  9th,  1845,  and  in  his  early 
youth  was  always  known  as  "a  good  quiet  boy." 
He  was  a  most  dutiful  son,  a  regular  attend- 
ant at  religious  exercises,  and  in  every  way  was 
looked  upon  as  an  exemplary  youth.  After  the  death 
of  his  mother,  he  entered,  in  1870,  the  Congregation 
of  the  Holy  Cross,  a  famous  teaching  order  of  the 
Catholic  Church;  was  assigned  to,  and  faithfully  per- 
formed for  upwards  of  forty  years,  the  duties  of  a 
porter,  messenger,  etc.,  at  the  Cote  des  Neiges  Boys' 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  227 

College,  located  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city  of  Mon- 
treal. He  had  not  the  advantage  of  an  education  that 
is  given  freely  to  the  youths  of  to-day,  but  he  pos- 
sessed other  marvellous  qualities  that  have  brought 
him  prominently  before  the  world.  He  is  still  of  a 
modest,  retiring  disposition,  a  recluse  who  knows  the 
full  meaning  of  scanty  fare — dry  bread  and  water 
with  sometimes  a  little  fruit — and  a  hard  pallette. 
But  the  long  years  of  fasting  and  praying,  and  deal- 
ing continuously  with  the  most  distressing  cases  of 
disease,  accident  and  trouble,  have  not  given  him  a 
gloomy  disposition.  He  looks  upon  earthly  things 
with  bright  eyes,  is  light-hearted,  jovial  at  times,  and 
hugely  appreciates  a  good  joke.  His  position  is  no 
sinecure,  for  at  the  shrine  he  is  kept  busy  from  early 
morning  till  late  into  the  night  listening  to  the  sad 
tales  poured  out  by  the  sick  and  the  maimed  and  the 
blind.  So  heavy  has  the  work  become,  that  in  addi- 
tion to  Brother  Andre,  six  priests,  as  secretaries,  and 
five  brothers  are  constantly  engaged  in  receiving  and 
acknowledging  the  never-ending  stream  of  letters 
from  all  over  the  civilized  world,  imploring  temporal 
and  spiritual  assistance.  Sometimes  as  many  as  four 
hundred  communications  a  day  have  been  received. 
These  bequests  are  read  to  Brother  Andre  and  are 
also  repeated  at  the  daily  services  in  the  church 
where  the  congregation  unite  in  prayers  for  all  those 
imploring  aid. 

Youth  With  Strange  Power. 

As  Alfred  Bassette  (who  had  taken  in  religion 
the  name  of  Brother  Andre)  grew  up,  he  dis- 
played a  mysterious  power  that  was  soon  her- 
alded around  the  countryside.  Amongst  his  earli- 
est miracles  was  that  of  healing  several  victims 
of  smallpox  during  the  epidemic  of  forty-seven  years 


228  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ago.  Another  is  mentioned  as  having  occurred  over 
thirty  years  ago,  when  a  young  student  was  badly  in- 
jured in  a  game  of  ball.  Before  medical  assistance 
could  be  secured  Brother  Andre  successfully  applied 
" first  aid  to  the  injured/'  and  when  the  doctor 
arrived  the  patient  was  again  playing  ball.  Other 
cures  of  a  minor  nature  were  effected  by  him,  and 
these  gave  him  a  local  notoriety.  The  first  major 
miracle  that  brought  him  wider  fame  occurred  in 
1910,  when  Mr.  Martin  Hannon,  a  C.P.R.  employee 
at  Quebec,  who  was  the  victim  of  a  serious  accident 
two  years  previously  by  which  his  legs  and  feet  were 
terribly  crushed  through  heavy  marble  blocks  falling 
upon  them,  visited  him.  Hannon  had  been  unable  to 
walk  without  crutches,  and  on  crutches  he  went  to 
Brother  Andre,  who  rubbed  his  mangled  limbs  with 
holy  oil  and  prayed  over  him,  and  then  told  him  to 
throw  his  crutches  away,  for  he  was  cured.  Hannon 
dispensed  with  his  crutches  and  walked  then  and 
since  without  even  the  use  of  a  cane.  The  following 
day  he  visited  La  Patrie  office,  told  of  his  miraculous 
cure,  and  Brother  Andre's  reputation  as  a  Miracle 
Man  spread  afar.  I  could  not  tell  you  of  the  multi- 
tudes that  have  sought  Brother  Andre's  intercession 
and  prayers,  comparatively  few  unavailingly,  but  I 
have  seen  two  instances  myself,  in  each  of  which  what 
appeared  to  be  serious  cases,  were  restored  to  health. 
One,  a  young  lady  from  Piatt sburg,  N.Y.,  who  had 
walked  on  crutches  for  seventeen  years,  after  a  visit 
to  Brother  Andre,  handed  her  crutches  to  her  maid 
and  walked  several  yards  to  her  automobile.  An- 
other was  a  young  lady  from  near  Tupper  Lake,  N.Y., 
who  was  cured  of  paralysis,  and  who  told  me  in 
Windsor  St.  station  how,  after  seeing  Brother  Andre, 
she  was  able  for  the  first  time  in  several  years,  to  use 
her  limbs  freely.    But  a  still  greater  miracle,  to  my 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  229 

lay  mind,  was  one  of  more  recent  date,  and  word  of 
it  came  from  London,  England,  in  a  letter  from  an 
old  friend  who  is  the  wife  of  an  Irish  nobleman,  once 
a  member  of  the  British  House  of  Commons,  and  who 
while  visiting  Montreal  last  autumn,  accompanied  me 
to  the  shrine,  and  carried  away  with  her  oils  and 
images  of  St.  Joseph  and  other  souvenirs.  But  here 
is  her  letter  referring  to  the  miracle: 

"I  have  a  little  story  you  may  like  to  tell  Brother 
Andre.  When  I  came  home  in  November,  I  found  a 
letter  from  a  young  friend  I  had  not  seen  since  he 
was  in  a  perambulator.  It  was  to  ask  my  prayers  for 
his  mother  who  was  dying  from  the  effects  of  an  acci- 
dent. Her  foot  caught  as  she  was  going  down  a  very 
steep  flight  of  stairs  to  the  Underground  Railway,  at 
Baker  street,  and  she  fell  the  whole  length  of  it,  hit- 
ting her  head  and  one  of  her  knees  very  badly.  When 
she  was  conscious  she  was  taken  home,  and  for  three 
or  four  days  declared  she  was  only  severely  bruised 
and  shaken.  Then  suddenly  she  went  clean  out  of  her 
senses  and  knew  no  one  and  raved  about  people  dead 
long  ago,  and  she  called  for  me  in  my  maiden  name, 
as  I  used  to  know  her  when  I  was  a  girl.  It  was  that 
that  put  it  into  her  son's  head  to  write  to  me  that  she 
was  not  supposed  to  live  very  long,  and  the  doctors 
had  very  little  hope  of  her.  I  was  told  she  was  in  a 
mental  hospital,  and  that  she  did  not  know  her  son 
when  he  went  to  see  her.  I  asked  permission  to  go 
there,  and  was  given  leave.  They  told  me  she  could 
utter  nothing  but  gibberish,  and  was  very  weak.  When 
I  came  to  her  bedside,  I  would  not  have  recognized 
her,  but  I  looked  straight  into  her  eyes  and  told  her 
I  was  ' Alice.'  Then  she  caught  my  hand  and  held  it 
convulsively,  and  her  poor  tongue  and  lips  were  utter- 
ing an  incomprehensible  jumble  over  and  over  again. 
At  last  I  hit  upon  it ;  she  was  repeating  over  and  over 


230  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

again  a  prayer  in  Polish  her  mother  had  taught  her 
as  a  child.  I  recognized  two  of  the  words  (her  mother 
was  a  Pole,  a  Princess).  .  .  I  told  the  nurse  she 
was  saying  a  prayer  in  Polish  and  she  was  not  able 
to  say  anything  else.  I  sat  by  her  for  some  time,  and 
as  her  memory  of  years  ago  seemed  to  be  the  only 
workable  part  in  her  brain,  I  asked  her  in  French  was 
she  suffering  pain!  And  at  once  she  responded  and 
said  'No,  not  at  all,'  and  then  went  off  in  the  ejacu- 
latory  prayer.  The  nurse  moved  off,  and  I  put  my 
hand  into  my  pocket  and  brought  out  Frere  Andre's 
little  bottle  of  blessed  oil,  and  I  made  the  sign  of  the 
Cross  with  a  little  of  the  oil  on  her,  and  St.  Joseph's 
medal  in  my  hand.  And  I  just  asked  if  there  was  any 
merit  in  Frere  Andre's  prayers  that  this  poor  woman 
might  be  restored  to  health  for  her  only  son's  sake. 
I  came  away.  The  nurse  thought  it  a  bad  case.  I 
went  to  Ireland  for  three  weeks,  and  on  my  return 
sent  a  'phone  message  to  the  son,  fearing  he  would 
tell  me  his  mother  was  dead.  But  to  my  joy  he  said 
she  had  completely  recovered,  and  was  now  at  a  rest 
home  to  get  up  her  strength.  Tell  Brother  Andre 
that.  You  must  also  tell  him  to  pray  for  peace  in 
Ireland. ' ' 

All  Faiths  Among  Patrons. 

You  would  be  surprised  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that, 
in  proportion  to  the  number  that  have  applied,  prob- 
ably more  Protestants  than  Roman  Catholics  have 
successfully  procured  aid  at  this  now  well-known 
shrine.    And  yet  it  is  true. 

From  the  primitive  little  Oratory  of  St.  Joseph,  on 
the  western  slope  of  Mount  Royal,  there  has  grown  a 
?rypt  of  large  dimensions,  in  which  divine  service  is 
daily  held,  and  in  the  magnificent  stained  glass  win- 
dows, the  statuary,  and  other  handsome  offerings  are 


REMINISCENCES  OP  A  RACONTEUR  231 

evidences  of  the  deep  and  fervent  gratitude  of  those 
who  have  been  made  whole.  Overshadowing  this  is 
shortly  to  be  erected  an  imposing  massive  structure 
which  is  to  be  dedicated  as  a  Basilica  in  honor  of  St. 
Joseph,  the  holy  Patriarch  of  Nazareth,  and  which  is 
to  be  one  of  the  world's  grandest  and  most  magnifi- 
cent edifices,  and  to  which  immense  pilgrimages  of  the 
maimed  and  the  halt  and  the  sick  and  the  distressed 
and  heavy-burdened  will  hopefully  come  for  spiritual 
comfort  and  bodily  relief. 

And  all  this  magificent  grandeur  of  marble  and 
gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones,  picturesquely 
environed  by  the  wealth  of  the  scenic  splendor  of  the 
historic  mountainside,  springs  from  the  unfathomable 
work  of  the  poor  little  habitant  lad  whose  whole  sim- 
ple life  has  been  devoted  to  humbly  and  faithfully 
following  in  the  footsteps  of  the  Master. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Political   Life   in   Canada — Its   Tragedies   and   Its 
Pleasantries — The    Great    Outstanding    Fig- 
ures of  the  Past — The  Social  Side  of  Par- 
liament— Mixed  Metaphors  and  People 
Who    Were    Not    Good    Mixers — A 
Second  Warwick — The  Wrong  Hat 
— And  Other  Incidents. 

POLITICS  in  Canada  wax  warm  when  the  gen- 
eral elections  are  on,  but  the  average  man  is 
fairly  sane  the  rest  of  the  time.  At  Ottawa, 
however,  especially  during  the  sessions  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  air  fairly  seethes  with  party  argumentation. 
There,  of  course,  the  raw  material  for  the  next  cam- 
paign is  always  being  made.  The  two  hundred  and 
thirty-five  members  of  the  House,  with  the  ninety-six 
Senators,  and  the  army  of  officials,  together  with  the 
correspondents  in  the  Press  Gallery,  are  busy  in  the 
manufacture  of  issues  for  the  people  to  quarrel  about 
later  on.  But  while  the  work  proceeds  there  are  other 
things  to  sweeten  life.  The  five  o 'clocks,  the  dances 
and  dinners,  the  bridge  parties  and  the  generous  hos- 
pitality of  Eideau  Hall  combine  to  form  an  agreeable 
diversion  from  the  serious  business  of  Parliament. 

It  so  happened  that  I  was  sent  down  from  Winni- 
peg to  the  Press  Gallery  in  1886  and  for  several  fol- 
lowing years,  and  as  a  consequence  I  mixed  a  great 
deal  in  politics  and  with  politicians,  without  acquir- 
ing bad  habits.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  use  this  ex- 
perience as  a  pretext  for  writing  a  history  of  Canada, 

232 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  233 

or  for  commenting  upon  political  questions.  All  I 
want  to  do  is  to  speak  of  some  happenings  that  in- 
terested me  and  of  some  of  the  great  men  and  personal 
friends  with  whom  I  came  in  contact.  One  could 
not,  of  course,  look  down  upon  Parliament  at  that 
time  without  recognizing  the  leadership  of  Sir  John 
Macdonald  and  Edward  Blake,  who  were  then  the 
great  combatants.  The  two  statesmen  contrasted 
strangely  with  one  another.  Mr.  Blake,  at  the  open- 
ing of  Parliament  in  a  slouch  hat  and  a  tweed  suit  that 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  very  good  fit,  was  the  very  oppo- 
site of  Sir  John,  who  came  in  attired  in  his  Windsor 
uniform. 

The  Conservatives  had  a  life-sized  portrait  of  Sir 
John  wearing  this  uniform  painted  for  their  retiring 
room.  The  chieftain  was  fairly  gorgeous  in  gold 
braid,  and  the  cocked  hat  he  held  in  his  hand  was  sug- 
gestive of  a  Lord  High  Admiral.  One  day  Clarke 
Wallace  was  admiring  it  when  in  came  Sir  John. 
"Well,  Clarke,  how  do  you  like  it!"  enquired  the 
chieftain. 

"It's  all  right,' '  responded  Clarke,  "but  don't  you 
think  you  look  sort  of  stiff  in  it!" 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Sir  John,  "the  first  time  I 
wore  that  was  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  came  to  this 
country.  They  told  us  from  Downing  street  that  all 
the  Ministers  would  have  to  get  into  uniform,  and  we 
did.  The  morning  we  assembled,  all  decked  up  to  re- 
ceive the  Prince,  we  looked  a  set  of  guys." 

"Vankoughnet  was  there"  (Mr.  Vankoughnet  was 
one  of  the  pre-Confederation  ministers)  "and  I  said 
to  him:  'Van,  you  don't  look  well  in  a  cocked  hat;  a 
cocktail  would  suit  us  all  better. '  ' ' 

The  cocktail,  I  understand,  was  a  species  of  bever- 
age obtainable  at  that  time,  and  much  in  demand  by 
epicures. 


234  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Political  Tragedies. 

Edward  Blake  was  a  commanding  figure,  and 
a  great  master  of  detail.  But  he  did  not  pull 
with  his  entire  party.  Some  thought  he  was  not  a 
good  enough  mixer,  and  Sir  Richard  Cartwright 
who  ought  to'  have  been  his  right  hand  man  was 
never  one  of  his  admirers.  In  a  short  time  Mr. 
Blake  resigned  the  leadership.  His  departure  was 
really  tragic.  After  so  many  years  of  labor  it  was 
universally  thought  to  be  a  pity  in  view  of  what  he  had 
done  to  pull  the  party  together  that  he  should  pass  out 
of  Canadian  public  life  altogether.  Alexander  Mac- 
kenzie, who  sat  near  him,  was  another  tragedy.  Mr. 
Mackenzie  had  led  the  House.  He  had,  indeed,  been 
the  leading  man  of  the  country.  His  voice  echoed 
through  Parliament,  as  in  his  hey-day  he  discussed 
public  matters.  Now  he  was  weak  in  voice  and  in 
body,  and  his  comings  and  his  goings  were  really 
pathetic.  He  had  sacrificed  himself  to  the  public 
service. 

There  were  other  tragedies.  The  party  pot  was 
boiling  all  the  time,  and  efforts  were  made  to  sub- 
merge public  men  in  a  torrent  of  scandal.  When  a 
Government  is  old  in  office  the  opportunities  for  this 
style  of  warfare  are  multiplied.  The  popular  form  of 
scandal  at  that  time  consisted  of  the  charge  that  the 
member  had  profited  through  the  transactions  in  pub- 
lic lands.  Charlie  Rykert,  member  for  Lincoln,  who 
was  a  fighter  from  the  word  "go,"  was  the  leading 
figure  in  one  of  these.  Charlie  kept  a  scrap-book,  and, 
with  its  aid,  was  able  to  prove  his  leading  opponents 
guilty  of  inconsistency  on  almost  any  question  that 
might  be  under  discussion.  In  Parliament  he  irritat- 
ed the  Opposition  beyond  measure  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, was  thoroughly  hated  by  that  section  of  the 
House.     It  was,  therefore,  with  considerable  relish 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  235 

that  Sir  Richard  Cartwright  made  charges  against 
him  in  the  session  of  1890.  The  accusation  was  that 
in  1882  or  thereabouts,  he  and  another  party  secured 
from  the  Government  for  a  nominal  sum  a  timber 
limit  in  the  Cypress  Hills  which  was  sold  by  them  to 
an  operator  at  a  profit  of  $150,000,  Charlie  getting 
half  of  the  proceeds.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  trans- 
action was  fully  in  accordance  with  the  law  as  it 
stood,  and  no  such  profit  as  that  reported  was  made. 
Indeed,  it  is  to  be  doubted  that  Charlie  got  enough  to 
pay  him  for  his  trouble.  However,  the  charge  was 
pressed  and  it  ended  Mr.  Rykert's  political  career, 
for  he  resigned  his  seat  before  the  session  closed. 
While  it  was  being  debated  in  the  House,  Charlie  sat 
silent  and  alone  in  his  room,  into  which  I  happened  to 
stray.  He  was  particularly  downcast  and  worried, 
for  Sir  John  Thompson,  the  then  Minister  of  Justice, 
and  some  other  members  of  the  party  were  assailing 
him.  He  asked  me  to  keep  him  posted  as  to  what  they 
were  saying,  and  for  some  time  I  would  run  into  the 
gallery,  listen  briefly  to  the  debate,  and  then  report 
progress  to  him.  I  shall  never  forget  his  agonized 
look  as  he  cried,  "And  he,"  (referring  to  some  un- 
friendly 'friend')  "he  got  his  share  of  the  cam- 
paign funds  and  wanted  more."  Whatever  his  faults 
may  have  been,  he  was  a  hard  worker  in  the  political 
field,  doing  yeoman  service,  and  the  gratitude  he 
looked  for  was  wanting  when  he  needed  it. 

Another  tragedy  was  that  of  Thomas  McGreevy 
and  Mike  and  Nick  Connolly.  In  this  Sir  Hector 
Langevin  was  mixed  up.  The  Connolly  Brothers 
were  contractors  for  the  Quebec  harbor  works  and  the 
graving  dock  at  Esquimalt.  Israel  Tarte  brought 
against  them  the  accusation  that  they  had  over- 
charged, and  had  contributed  to  the  Quebec  election 
funds,  by  way  of  Thomas  McGreevy,  and  with  the 


236  REMINISCENCES  OP  A  RACONTEUR 

consent  of  Sir  Hector.  This  cause  celebre  drove  Sir 
Hector  out  of  the  Cabinet,  and  Tom  McGreevy  ont  of 
Parliament,  while  it  sent  the  Connolly  Brothers  to 
jail.  Of  those  who  may  have  benefited  not  one  came 
to  the  assistance  of  the  accused  men.  Nobody  turned 
a  finger  in  their  behalf  in  their  time  of  trouble.  Mike 
and  Nick  Connolly  went  to  jail  rather  than  turn 
Queen's  evidence. 

The  way  in  which  politicians  may  be  misunderstood 
and  suffer  in  consequence  is  illustrated  in  the  case 
of  James  Beaty,  member  for  West  Toronto  at  this 
time.  He  was  solicitor  for  men  who  were  interested 
in  a  western  branch  railway  line.  In  a  letter  written 
by  him,  he  was  alleged  to  have  said  that  some  pro- 
position that  was  made  was  not  acceptable  because 
" there  is  nothing  in  it  for  the  boy."  The  changes 
were  rung  in  on  this.  Mr.  Beaty  was  pursued  under 
the  nick-name  of  ' '  the  boy, ' '  and  it  was  inferred  that 
"the  boy"  was  looking  for  something  for  himself  to 
which  he  was  not  entitled.  His  explanation,  as  he 
gave  it  to  me,  was  that  his  written  words  were 
"There  is  nothing  in  it  for  the  Co'y."  It  was  of  the 
company  that  he  was  speaking,  and  not  of  himself. 

A  lot  more  could  be  told  of  members  being  ostra- 
cised for  exhibiting  independence,  on  either  side  of 
the  House,  or  of  members  who  have  labored  for  their 
party  being  deserted  in  the  time  of  stress. 

A  Wit-Provoking  Stairway. 

But,  cui  bono?  Let's  to  more  pleasant  incidents. 
After  the  great  disallowance  debate  over  that  part 
of  the  C.P.R.  contract  which  prevented  United 
States  railways  from  entering  the  Northwest  to 
tap  the  business,  Sir  John  A.  Macdonald  met  W. 
B.  Scarth,  M.P.  for  Winnipeg,  with  myself  and 
several  others,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  237 

restaurant.  After  a  cheery  salutation,  Sir  John  re- 
marked, "Well,  boys,  don't  you  think  we  have  had 
enough  of  disallowance1?  Let's  go  down  and  take  our 
allowance."    And  we  went. 

The  stairway  to  the  restaurant  seems  to  have  been 
provocative  of  wit,  for,  it  is  said,  that  on  this  very 
spot  Sir  John  once  met  Bob  Watson,  as  strong  a  party 
man  of  the  Liberal  type  as  you  could  find,  and  asked 
him  what  was  going  on  in  the  House.  "Why,"  said 
Bob,  "Cartwright  is  pitching  into  Foster  on  the 
tariff." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,  that  they  should  be  so  partisan 
up  there,"  said  Sir  John.  "I  tell  you,  Bob,  if  they 
were  all  as  independent  as  you  and  I  are,  this  country 
would  soon  get  some  blankety  fine  legislation." 

Speaking  of  Sir  John,  I  remember  years  ago,  when 
he  came  from  North  Ontario  to  Whitby  during  a  cam- 
paign, and  regaled  himself,  as  was  the  custom  of 
those  days,  with  a  drink  at  the  bar  of  Jake  Bryan's 
hotel.  The  crowd  naturally  joined  in  the  "refresh- 
er," and  as  Sir  John — (he  was  then  only  John  A.) — 
lifted  his  glass,  a  friend  drew  his  attention  to  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  fly  in  his  grog. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  quickly  replied.  "It's  meat 
as  well  is  drink,  and  I'm  hungry." 

That  caught  the  crowd,  and  the  remark  spread  far 
and  wide.  The  Tory  majority  in  Whitby  was  never 
so  large  as  it  was  in  that  election. 

The  Old  War  Horse  From  Cumberland. 

Sir  Charles  Tupper  was  really  the  fighting  man  of 
the  Conservative  party  in  those  days,  and  he  dearly 
loved  a  scrap.  His  command  of  the  English  language 
was  complete,  and  his  declamation  was  powerful.  A 
good  field  day  by  Sir  Charles  in  the  House  gave  you 
something  to  see  and  hear.    He  was  outspoken  even 


238  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  friends.  When  some  Portage  la  Prairie  support- 
ers, who  were  dissatisfied  with  something  or  other  he 
had  done,  wired  him  from  Manitoba  that  they  could 
not  see  theii  way  to  support  him  in  this  particular 
measure,  they  received  a  curt  message  in  reply 
which  read:  "You  had  better  vote  Grit." 

The  Portage  people  went  home,  but  did  not  vote 
that  way  at  the  next  election.  During  the  campaign 
of  1900,  when  Sir  Charles  had  came  over  to  rehabili- 
tate the  disorganized  Conservative  party,  I  happened 
to  be  on  the  C.P.K.  train  which  was  taking  him  to 
Nova  Scotia.  Visiting  his  private  car,  I  found  him 
resting  in  bed.  I  remarked  in  course  of  conversation, 
"I  suppose  you  are  going  back  to  Cape  Breton." 
He  was  a  candidate  there. 

"No,  no,"  he  said.  "I  am  going  to  Western  Nova 
Scotia  to  help  our  friends  there."  And  then  he  told 
me  he  could  be  elected  by  acclamation  in  Cape  Breton 
if  he  would  consent  to  let  Alex  Johnston,  recently 
Deputy  Minister  of  Marine  and  Fisheries,  and  a 
strong  Liberal,  be  his  fellow  member.  This  was 
offered  him  by  those  who  controlled  the  political  situ- 
ation on  the  other  side. 

"But,"  said  Sir  Charles,  CtI  absolutely  refused  the 
offer,  and  told  them  it  would  be  either  two  Conserv- 
atives or  two  Liberals ;  besides,  as  leader  of  my  party, 
I  could  not  show  such  an  example  to  my  loyal  follow- 
ers. We  must  sink  or  swim  together.  If  we  win  and 
I  should  lo'se  in  Cape  Breton,  another  seat  can  easily 
be  found  for  me ;  if  we  are  beaten,  there  are  others  to 
take  up  the  fight."  The  old  Cumberland  war-horse 
was  game  to  the  last. 

Sir  Hibbert  Tupper,  his  son,  was  also  a  fighter  of 
the  first  rank,  but  when  the  Bowell  Government  was 
disrupted  he  was  among  the  first  to  return  when 
peace  was  declared,  and  announced  his  entry  into  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  239 

Council  Chamber  with,  "The  cat's  come  back!"  which 
was  a  slang  phrase  of  those  days. 

Sir  John's  Trusted  Lieutenant. 

Sir  John's  most  trusted  lieutenant  for  years  was 
Hon.  John  Henry  Pope,  of  Compton,  father  of  Senator 
Rufus  Pope.  "John  Henry,"  as  he  was  familiarly 
called,  had  all  the  shrewdness  and  foresight  of  the 
statesman,  and  materially  assisted  in  directing  the 
policy  of  the  party.  He  was  not  a  polished  or  verbose 
speaker,  but  when  he  spoke  the  few  words  he  uttered 
always  meant  something.  Once  when  fiercely  attacked 
by  Sir  Richard  Cartwright  in  the  House,  he  made  the 
shortest  but  most  effective  speech  ever  delivered  in 
the  Green  Chamber.  When  Sir  Richard  had  taken  his 
seat  amidst  the  loud  applause  of  his  followers,  Mr. 
Pope  slowly  rose  and  quaintly  said:  "Mr.  Speaker, 
there  ain't  nothin'  to  it." 

The  House  cheered  wildly,  and  Sir  Richard  warmly 
joined  in  the  expressions  of  admiration.  That  ended 
the  discussion. 

I  recall  that  Bob  White,  one  of  the  active  members 
of  the  Parliamentary  Press  Gallery,  and  one  time 
member  for  Cardwell,  got  off  a  joke  at  Mr.  Pope's 
expense  about  this  time.  In  those  days  tolls  were 
charged  on  the  St.  Lawrence  Canal  System.  A  strong 
deputation  came  down  from  the  Niagara  Peninsula 
in  the  month  of  October  to  ask  that  the  Welland 
Canal  tolls  be  lifted  for  the  balance  of  the  season, 
but  "John  Henry"  was  obdurate.  There  was  to  be 
no  change  in  the  Government's  policy  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  Mr.  White  was  present  when  the  depu- 
tation was  presenting  its  case,  and  when  they  went 
away  after  receiving  the  Minister's  answer,  Bob,  sit- 
ting in  his  place  in  the  Press  Gallery,  sent  a  note  to 


240  EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  Minister  of  Railways  and  Canals  to  the  following 
effect : — 

"In  connection  with  the  Welland  Canal  de- 
putation, how  would  it  do  to  to  remove  the  tolls 
from  December  to  April V9  (when  the  canal  is 
closed.) 

The  old  man  missed  the  point  of  the  joke  and 
solemnly  wrote  back  to  Bob: — 

"I  see  no  reason  to  change  the  view  which  I 
expressed  to  the  deputation. 9  9 

Latimer's  Magnetic  Personality. 

Sir  Wilfred,  then  Mr.  Laurier,  in  his  early  fifties 
was  one  of  the  outstanding  figures  of  the  House. 
His  commanding  presence,  whether  in  Parliament 
or  in  the  lobbies,  or  on  the  streets  of  Ottawa, 
irresistibly  attracted  the  stranger.  I  well  remem- 
ber his  great  speech  in  the  Eiel  Debate  of  1886. 
While  I  did  not  agree  with  Mr.  Laurier 's  views,  yet 
on  re-reading  that  speech  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I 
agree  with  what  a  distinguished  publicist  has  stated: 
that  his  address  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  ever 
delivered  in  Canada's  legislative  halls.  As  an  ex- 
ample of  pure  eloquence  it  cannot  be  excelled. 

Two  Tom  Whites. 

There  have  been  two  Thomas  Whites  in  the  House, 
and  both  of  them  distinguished  members.  It  is  not 
of  the  later  meteoric  Sir  Thomas  White,  who  did 
such  great  work  in  finance  during  the  war  that  I  am 
writing,  but  Hon.  Thomas  White,  of  the  Montreal 
Gazette,  who  represented,  as  later  did  his  son,  Eobert 
S.,  the  Ontario  constituency  of  Cardwell,  now  merged 
into  Dufferin.     In  1885,  he  entered  Sir  John  Mac- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  241 

donald's  Cabinet  as  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  his 
excellent  administration  of  the  affairs  of  that  depart- 
ment brought  him  many  friends  among  staunch 
Liberals.  He  was  frank  and  outspoken  in  his  words, 
and  while  he  displeased  many  westerners  by  openly 
telling  them  that  they  were  spoon-fed,  his  honest  and 
courageous  course  in  dealing  with  intricate  western 
matters  won  their  admiration.  He  was  a  pleasing  and 
convincing  speaker  and  had  always  a  full  grasp  of  his 
subject.  When  he  passed  away,  Canada  lost  a  great 
statesman. 

It  was  in,  July,  1886,  that  he  visited  the  Pacific 
Coast,  and  one  day  in  Vancouver,  he  accosted  me  with, 
"Oh,  George,  I  am  going  over  to  Port  Moody  (then 
the  western  terminus  of  the  C.P.R.)  to  meet  the 
mayor  and  citizens.  Come  along. ' '  When  we  reached 
Port  Moody  there  was  a  goodly-sized  crowd  who  en- 
thusiastically welcomed  Mr.  White.  Mayor  Scott, 
togged  out  in  his  Sunday  best,  proceeded  to  read  the 
usual  address,  and  when  he  had  finished  reading  it, 
he  turned  to  Mr.  White  and  remarked,  "Mr.  White, 
you  will  excuse  this  short  but  brief  address." 

Of  course  a  lot  of  us  couldn't  help  but  snicker,  but 
Mr.  White,  with  a  suppressed  smile  on  his  beaming 
countenance,  never  blinked  an  eye-lash,  and  made  a 
happy  reply,  which  was  received  with  such  loud  ap- 
plause that  he  had  time  to  laugh  all  by  himself. 

A  Few  Veterans. 

Another  veteran  was  Sir  Mackenzie  Bowell,  that 
grand  old  man  whom  everybody  liked.  He  entered  the 
House  in  1867  and  continuously  sat  for  Hastings  un- 
til he  was  elevated  to  the  Senate,  became  Premier, 
and  was  in  harness  until  called  away  by  death  at  a 
ripe  old  age.  He  was  genial  and  kindly  and  had  a 
host  of  riends,  amongst  whom  he  counted  many  Rom- 

(17) 


242  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

an  Catholics,  although  at  one  time  he  was  Grand 
Master  of  the  Orange  Lodge  of  Canada. 

Sir  Mackenzie  was  publisher  of  the  Belleville 
Intelligencer,  now  successfully  carried  on  by  his  son, 
Charlie.  In  the  early  '90 's,  he  took  a  trip  over  the 
Intercolonial  in  a  private  car,  and  I  happened  to 
meet  him  at  Truro,  N.S.  He  complained  of  the  lack 
of  newspapers,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would  like  a 
copy  of  the  Intelligencer  of  the  previous  day's  date. 
He  expressed  his  great  delight  at  the  possibility  of 
getting  a  real  live  newspaper,  and  with  due  gravity, 
I  handed  out  a  copy  of  the  " yesterday"  Intelligencer 
— only  it  had  been  printed  twenty  odd  years  before. 
I  had  found  it  amongst  some  old  papers  that  had  been 
sent  me,  but  Sir  Mackenzie  read  it  with  great  interest. 

John  McMillan,  who  represented  South  Huron  for 
many  years,  was  born  in  Dumfriesshire,  Scotland. 
Although  he  came  to  Canada  as  a  lad  the  Doric  was  al- 
ways on  his  tongue,  possibly  due  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  settled  in  the  essentially  Scotch  section  of  On- 
tario. He  was  a  first-class  farmer  and  stock  raiser 
and  attained  affluence  through  his  activity  in  the  ex- 
port cattle  industry,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  pion- 
eers. Pressure  of  Parliamentary  duties,  and  stal- 
wart sons  grown  to  manhood,  induced  him  to  pass 
over  the  export  cattle  trade  to  the  latter,  with  the 
result  that  John  did  not  make  as  frequent  trips  across 
the  Atlantic  as  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  industry. 
After  a  lapse  of  15  years  Mr.  McMillan  made  what 
proved  to  be  his  last  journey  to  the  Old  Land,  and 
told  the  story  of  his  visit  to  Dumfriesshire  to  Mrs. 
Sedgwick,  wife  of  Mr.  Justice  Sedgwick,  the  following 
session.  This  was  the  only  social  call  he  made  during 
the  Parliamentary  term.  In  Mrs.  Sedgwick  he  found 
a  lady  who  sympathized  with  Scotland,  which  meant 
everything  to  John.    In  her  genial  way  over  a  cup  of 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  243 

tea  one  afternoon,  she  asked  Mr.  McMillan  if  he  had 
found  many  changes  in  the  Old  Land  on  his  recent 
visit.  "Aye,"  he  answered,  "I  foond  that  mony  of 
my  auld  freends  had  passed  awa\" 

"And  those  whom  you  met  and  told  about  Canada, 
what  astonished  them  most?" 

"Aweel,  Mistress  Sedgwick,  I  am  boond  (to  say 
that  they  were  vera  mooch  surpreezed  at  mah  Amuri- 
can  occent." 

After  John  McMillan  passed  out  of  Parliament  the 
recollection  of  his  genial  presence  and  kindly  nature 
lingered  long  with  those  who  knew  him. 

The  Jims. 

As  some  dyed-in-the-wool  Grits  liked  some  double- 
dyed  Tories,  on  the  other  hand  there  were  Opposition 
members  who  were  liked  personally  by  their  oppon- 
ents. James  Trow,  of  South  Perth,  was  one  of  them. 
He  could  have  had  a  portfolio  in  Sir  John's  Cabinet 
had  he  wished,  and  had  there  been  room.  While  he 
was  a  staunch  Liberal  he  was  moderate  in  his  views, 
and  personally  very  agreeable.  My  old  friend,  Jim 
Trow,  was  one  whom  to  know  was  to  honor  and  re- 
spect for  his  many  kind  qualities  of  head  and  heart. 
Mr.  Trow  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  Northwest  in 
the  early  days,  and  he  was  the  champion  of  that 
country  on  the  Liberal  side  when  eastern  men  were 
cold  and  critical.  The  Opposition  in  Parliament  at 
that  time  was  wonderfully  well  supplied  with  ' '  Jims ' ' 
of  whom  Mr.  Trow  was  one.  In  addition  to  Jim 
Trow,  it  could  boast  Jim  Somerville,  Jim  Rowand, 
Jim  McMullen,  Jim  Lister,  Jim  O'Brien,  Jim  Arm- 
strong, Jim  Edgar,  Jim  Livingston,  Jim  Innes,  Jim 
Piatt,  Jim  Yeo,  and  Jim  Sutherland. 

There  was  no  better  liked  man  in  the  House  than 
the    last    of    the    "Jims"    I    have    mentioned — Jim 


244  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Sutherland,  of  Woodstock,  Ontario,  the  chief  Liberal 
whip  and  afterwards  Minister  of  Public  Works  in  the 
Laurier  administration.  He  was  a  Grit,  first,  last 
and  all  the  time.  But  he  had  lots  of  friends  among 
the  Tories,  and  I  was  one  of  them.  To  show  his 
kindness  to  me,  he  one  day  led  me  into  his  private 
office  and  told  me  he  wanted  to  enrich  my  library 
with  one  of  the  greatest  volumes  that  had  ever  been 
printed.  Thereupon  he  ostentatiously  presented  me 
with  that  beautiful  little  red  covered  book  which  con- 
tained the  Liberal  platform  of  1893,  with  a  full  and 
presumably  accurate  account  of  the  proceedings  of 
the  Liberal  convention  of  that  year.  Gratitude  was 
fully  expressed  by  me,  and  I  treasured  the  valued 
volume.  Later  on,  Ned  Clarke,  the  member  for  West 
Toronto,  and  ex-Mayor  of  the  city,  came  to  me  and 
begged  me  to  give  it  to  him.  Imagining  I  could  re- 
place it  I  gave  it  to  him.  Several  months  after- 
wards I  met  Jim  and  told  him  Ned  Clarke  had 
swiped  my  precious  present  and  asked  for  another 
copy.  By  this  time,  as  many  will  remember,  the  plat- 
form had  been  pretty  well  shot  to  pieces.  Jim  ex- 
pressed his  deep  regret;  at  my  loss  of  the  pamphlet, 
and  told  be  that  the  party  had  a  family  gathering  a 
few  nights  previously  and  had  celebrated  the  event 
with  a  bonfire  for  which  the  red  covered  books  fur- 
nished the  fuel.  It  is  impossible  to  beg,  borrow  or 
steal  a  copy  of  his  famous  work  that  the  unregenerate 
Tories  declared  rare  fiction,  and  that  is  why  my 
library  is  not  complete  today.  When  the  Liberal 
Committee  met  in  Ottawa  in  1919  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  their  convention  the  only  copy  available 
was  one  borrowed  from  a  former  Conservative  news- 
paperman. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  245 

A  Soured  Senator 

While  in  the  House  members  on  both  sides  were,  as 
a  rule,  kindly  disposed  toward  their  opponents,  the 
same  conditions  were  not  general  in  the  Senate. 

Among  the  Senators  was  George  Alexander  from 
Western  Ontario,  an  old  Conservative  who  left  the 
party  for  some  real  or  fancied  grievance.  He  had  a 
special  antipathy  to  Sir  David  Macpherson,  who  was 
at  one  time  Speaker  of  the  Senate  and  at  another  a 
member  of  the  Macdonald  Cabinet.  In  the  corridors 
of  the  Senate  Chamber  were  oil  portraits  of  past 
Speakers,  some  living,  some  no  more,  and  all  of  a  uni- 
form cabinet  size.  When  Sir  David  Macpherson 's 
portrait  was  added  to  the  collection  it  was  a  full 
length  picture  and  about  twice  the  size  of  the  others. 
Senator  Alexander,  who  everlastingly  took  me  for  T. 
P.  Gorman,  the  Globe  correspondent,  and  was  always 
giving  me  pointers  which  the  Globe  did  not  print,  and 
then  giving  Gorman  fits  because  they  were  not 
printed  by  the  Globe,  pointed  out  to  me  one  day  the 
traits  and  peculiarites  of  the  statesmen  who  had 
been  reproduced  in  oil.  All  went  well  until  we  reached 
the  outstanding  full-length  portrait  of  Sir  David. 
"That,  that,"  he  muttered  in  tones  of  disgust, 
"that — why  you  could  cut  that  picture  in  two  and  it 
wouldn't  make  the  slightest  difference  which  half  you 
took  away."  And  the  irate  old  gentleman  snorted 
vindictively  and  went  off  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen. 

Familiar  Faces  in  the  Old  Days. 

Among  the  leading  men  in  the  House  was  Sir 
George  Kirkpatrick,  an  ideal  Speaker  of  the  Com- 
mons. He  was  the  son-in-law  of  Sir  David  Mac- 
pherson, the  bete  noir  of  Senator  Alexander.  In  one 
of  the  earlier  sessions  Sir  George  presided  over  the 


246  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Commons  while  his  father-in-law-to-be  was  Speaker 
of  the  Senate. 

A  conspicuous  figure  was  the  energetic  and  much- 
loved  member  from  Hamilton,  Adam  Brown.  Mr. 
Brown  had  been  prominent  in  public  affairs  before 
entering  Parliament  and  was  one  of  the  many  fathers 
of  the  N.P.  The  members  of  the  Press  Gallery  had 
no  better  friend.  Mr.  Brown  is  one  of  the  few  sur- 
vivors of  that  Parliamentary  period,  and  was  actively 
serving  as  postmaster  of  Hamilton  until  recently, 
when  he  retired.  Born  in  1826,  he  is  now  95,  and  his 
friends  are  wishing  him  many  more  happy  years. 

Dr.  George  Landerkin,  of  Grey,  was  one  of  the  wits 
of  the  House.  He  had  many  bouts  with  Nicholas 
Flood  Davin,  but  Davin  was  the  more  expert  in  the 
use  of  language.  He  was  also  quick  at  repartee;  as 
for  example,  when  Jim  McMullen,  irritated  by  some 
of  his  remarks,  interrupted  him  to  say  that  he  had 
rooms  to  let  in  his  upper  story,  he  quietly  replied,  ' '  So 
have  you;  but  mine  are  furnished."  Jim  McMullen, 
a  very  hard-working  member,  was  known  as  the  ' '  Tall 
Sycamore  from  Mount  Forest."  His  specialty  was 
the  scrutiny  of  the  minor  expenditures.  His  enemies 
used  to  say  that  his  visits  to  Rideau  Hall  were  im- 
proved by  a  stocktaking  of  the  spoons  with  a  view  to 
discovering  whether  or  not  there  was  extravagance 
in  viceregal  circles.  But  this  was  an  unkind  reflection 
upon  his  public  services  which  were  useful  in  that 
they  helped  to  keep  expenditures  down.  A  member 
with  whom  he  often  came  into  conflict  was  Samuel  R. 
Hesson,  from  Perth.  Mr.  Hesson  was  very  much  in 
earnest  as  a  public  man — not  a  bad  fault — and  was  so 
demonstrative  that  he  could  not  refrain  during  the 
heated  party  debates  from  expressing  his  disapproval 
with  the  aid  of  the  lid  of  his  desk,  or  his  approval  by 
loud  shouts  of  approval.    A  neighbor  of  Mr.  Hesson 's 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  247 

was  Jean  Baptiste  Morin,  the  short  and  rotund 
French- Canadian  from  Dorchester,  Que.  Jean 
Baptiste  was  always  elected  by  large  majorities,  but 
he  denied  ever  having  purchased  a  vote.  He  ex- 
plained, however,  that  he  always  had  a  fine  imported 
bull  on  his  farm,  and  when  an  election  was  expected 
he  got  another.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  his 
was  a  thoroughly  agricultural  constituency. 

One  of  the  promising  Liberal  members  was  George 
Casey,  from  Elgin.  It  was  sometimes  said  that  he 
spoke  too  freqently.  But  he  was  well  informed.  His 
chief  end  in  political  life  was  to  accomplish  Civil  Ser- 
vice reform.  Curiously  enough,  when  his  constituents 
listened  to  other  voices  he  reformed  the  Civil  Service 
by  entering  it.  He  dearly  enjoyed  a  fight  with  Dr. 
Sproule  of  Grey.  The  Doctor  was  none  too  mind- 
ful of  the  rules  of  debate,  and  was  often  called  to  order. 
For  this  reason,  his  election  to  the  office  of  Speaker,  to 
enforce  the  rules  of  order,  when  the  Conservatives  got 
back  to  power  in  1911,  was  an  unusual  example  of  the 
unexpected.    But  he  was  a  good  Speaker. 

Then  there  was  Sir  George  Foster,  from  Kings, 
N.B.,  who  is  still  in  harness,  and  after  nearly  forty 
years'  service  delivered  a  magnificent  speech  in  the 
House  last  year  with  all  the  vigor  and  eloquence  of  his 
early  days.  By  the  way,  Sir  George,  like  a  good  old 
scout,  has  surprised  the  boys  by  again  jumping  the 
broomstick — the  bride  being  Miss  Jessie  Allen,  who 
is  a  lady  of  high  attainments. 

Others  were  J.  G.  H.  Bergeron,  the  boy  orator  of 
Beauharnois,  Sir  John  Macdonald's  special  pet,  who 
died  while  postmaster  of  Montreal ;  Dalton  McCarthy, 
from  Simcoe,  who  broke  away  from  his  party  on  the 
Manitoba  School  question,  an  able  lawyer,  who  was 
the  father  of  the  McCarthy  liquor  license  act,  which 
was  declared  ultra  vires  a  week  after  it  came  into 


248  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

operation;  Hon.  Edward  Dewdney,  a  member  of  the 
Government,  who  chose  Pile-of -Bones  Creek,  on  the 
wide,  treeless  prairie,  as  the  capital  of  the  Northwest 
Territories,  and  named  it  Regina;  Hon.  Sidney 
Fisher,  from  Brome,  a  gentleman  farmer,  who  was 
Minister  of  Agriculture  in  the  Laurier  Administra- 
tion ;  Walter  Shanly  from  Grenville,  a  great  engineer, 
who  built  in  the  wonderful  Hoosac  tunnel,  and  who 
was  a  warm  friend  of  my  father  and  myself;  Pat 
Purcell,  from  Glengarry,  whose  body  was  stolen  by 
ghouls  from  a  vault  east  of  Cornwall  and  was  re- 
covered near  Stanley  Island,  the  grave  robbers  being 
sorely  disappointed  in  not  securing  the  blackmail  they 
expected  for  its  return;  Hon.  J.  C.  Patterson,  who 
afterwards  became  Lieut-Governor  of  Manitoba; 
Harry  Ward,  of  Port  Hope — " Handsome  Harry,' '  he 
was  called — one  of  the  most  popular  members  of  his 
time;  Hon.  Desire  Girouard,  of  Jacques  Cartier,  who 
defeated  that  strong  fighting  Liberal,  Hon.  R.  La- 
flamme,  and  who  retired  from  politics  to  take  a  seat 
on  the  bench  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Canada.  Mr. 
Justice  Girouard  was  the  author  of  a  most  interesting 
book,  "Lake  St.  Louis  and  the  Parishes  Around," 
which  is  a  historical  work  of  great  value;  "Bob" 
Watson,  from  Marquette,  now  Senator  Watson,  who 
had  the  distinction  for  years  of  being  the  only  Liberal 
from  west  of  the  Great  Lakes ;  Joe  Kinney,  who  was 
the  only  Conservative  elected  in  Yarmouth  in  forty- 
four  years;  Hon.  J.  J.  Curran,  afterwards  Judge 
Curran,  who  could  sit  up  later  hours,  sing  "Old  King 
Cole"  more  acceptably,  and  be  brighter  next  morning 
with  nothing  stronger  than  ginger  ale  as  a  stimulant 
than  any  other  person  I  ever  knew;  M.  H.  Gault  was 
also  a  distinguished  member  of  the  House;  James 
Innis,  from  South  Wellington,  one  of  the  old  stock, 
whose  paper,  the  Guelph  Mercury,  is  still  prospering 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  249 

under  the  guidance  of  his  nephew,  Innis  Mcintosh; 
John  Charlton,  of  North  Norfolk,  who  was  one  of  the 
big  guns  and  most  effective  speakers  of  the  Liberal 
party;  Capt.  Walsh,  from  Prince  Edward  Island, 
whose  hospitality  was  unbounded,  and  who  told  the 
Minister  of  Customs,  whom  he  was  entertaining  at 
his  residence  with  a  lot  of  the  rest  of  us,  that  his 
liquor  had  never  passed  through  the  ganger's  hands. 
A  blue  flag  off  the  mouth  of  Montague  River  showed 
an  excellent  fishing  spot,  and  by  pulling  up  the  flag 
up  would  come  a  keg  of  rare  old  vintage.  Dr.  Jenkins 
was  another  Prince  Edward  Islander,  whom  it  was  a 
delight  to  know,  and  who  was  a  high  class  physician. 
At  any  rate  he  cured  a  gnarled  muscle  in  my  left  hand 
by  giving  it  a  quick,  smashing  blow,  the  operation 
taking  place  on  the  front  street  of  Charlottetown. 
"Doc"  Jenkins  was  a  brawny  athlete  in  his  younger 
days.  While  in  the  House  he  always  captained  the 
Parliamentary  cricket  team  which  annually  tried  con- 
clusions with  the  Press  Gallery.  I  recall  an  amusing 
incident  which  happened  one  Saturday  just  before  the 
annual  match  commenced.  There  was  a  great  crowd 
of  spectators  and  it  was  difficult  to  keep  them  off  the 
field  of  play.  Mr.  Kimber,  the  little  gentleman  usher 
of  the  Black  Rod,  who  thought  he  owned  the  Parlia- 
ment buildings,  strenuously  resented  being  ordered 
behind  the  ropes  and  the  crowd  of  onlookers  greatly 
enjoyed  the  polite  but  forcible  way  in  which  Dr. 
Jenkins  enforced  the  rules  against  the  irate  little 
gentleman.  Then  there  was  S.  J.  Dawson,  "Smooth 
Bore"  Dawson,  they  called  him,  for  the  quiet  slick- 
ness  of  his  speech,  who  was  the  builder  of  the  Dawson 
Road,  which  first  opened  the  way  from  the  head  of 
Lake  Superior  through  hundreds  of  miles  of  wilder- 
ness to  the  Red  River.  There  was  also  J.  Israel  Tarte, 
who,  when  a  Conservative,  was  defeated  in  Quebec,  if 


250  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

I  remember  aright,  by  his  Liberal  opponents  scatter- 
ing thousands  of  his  photographs  with  him  wearing  a 
masonic  apron.  One  of  Mr.  Tarte  's  trite  sayings  was, 
when  accused  of  corrupting  a  constituency,  "Elec- 
tions are  not  won  with  prayers.' ' 

The  Socal  Side  of  the  House. 

Parliament  has  its  social  side,  and  I  found  in  the 
years  I  was  at  Ottawa  that  friendships  did  not  re- 
spect party  lines  there,  as  was  commonly  supposed. 
The  case  of  David  Mills  and  Sir  John  Macdonald,  al- 
ready mentioned,  is  on  illustration.  There  we  had  a 
repetition  of  the  story  of  David  and  "John-A-than." 
Sir  John  loved  to  hear  David  hold  forth  on  con- 
stitutional questions  and  would  listen  to  him  by  the 
hour,  although  he  once  called  him  "a  mass  of  undi- 
gested information. ' '  Often  the  two  would  talk  mat- 
ters over  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  House,  and  it 
was  an  open  secret  that  the  Honorable  David  might 
have  had  a  portfolio  in  Sir  John's  cabinet  any  time  he 
desired. 

One  of  the  men  who  helped  personal  friendships  in 
a  very  practical  manner  was  Alonzo  Wright,  known  to 
the  House,  if  not  to  the  country,  as  the  "King  of  the 
Gatineau."  Alonzo  was  comfortably  situated  so  far 
as  this  world's  goods  are  concerned.  He  was  de- 
scended from  the  first  owner  of  the  site  of  the  city  of 
Hull,  and  he  had  married  the  granddaughter  of  the 
first  owner  of  the  site  of  the  city  of  Ottawa.  At  his 
fine  estate  at  Ironsides  up  the  Gatineau  River,  he 
gathered  every  Saturday  members  of  Parliament 
from  both  sides  of  the  House.  He  was  a  veritable 
John  Bull  in  personal  appearance,  and  his  hospitality 
was  of  the  John  Bull  kind.  Party  bitterness  gave 
way  in  the  presence  of  the  "King  of  the  Gatineau," 
and  many  a  politician  found  that  the  member  on  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  251 

opposite  side  of  whom  at  first  he  did  not  think  mnch 
was  not  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all. 

The  rnmor  was  current  that  it  was  here  that  Sir 
Adolphe  Caron  and  Sir  William  Mulock  formed  their 
interesting  friendship.  Sir  Adolphe  was  Minister  of 
Militia,  and  Sir  William  was  the  Opposition  critic  of 
the  Militia  Department.  When  the  Militia  vote  was 
coming  up  in  Supply,  Minister  and  critic  would  some- 
times dine  together  before  settling  down  to  the  hard 
hitting.  Sir  John  Macdonald,  by  the  way,  had  a  good 
opinion  of  Sir  William,  and  is  credited  with  having 
said  that  if  he  were  only  ten  years  younger  he  "  would 
get  Bill  over  to  the  Tory  side."  This  was  about  the 
time  when  Mr.  Mulock  was  restive  under  the 
interpretation  put  upon  the  party  policy  of  unre- 
stricted reciprocity,  and  had  moved  his  resolution 
affirming  the  loyalty  of  the  people  of  Canada  to  the 
Throne.  Sir  John  had  his  Saturday  night  dinners  at 
which  politicians  of  both  sides  figured.  These  he  held 
up  to  the  day  before  the  fatal  stroke  which  carried 
him  off.  It  was  at  the  last  dinner  he  gave  that  he  got 
off  the  Chinaman's  description  of  the  electric  street 
car,  to  the  discomfiture  of  the  ladies  present.  Every- 
body knows  it — "got  no  horsee;  got  no  steamee;  goes 
like  hellee."  It  must  not  be  supposed  from  this  that 
Sir  John  indulged  in  extreme  language.  Far  from 
it.  If  he  made  use  of  an  expression  that  was  slightly 
out  of  the  ordinary,  it  was  in  a  tone  of  humorous  re- 
luctance. 

Within  the  precincts  of  the  House  the  members 
were  given  to  entertaining  one  another.  D.  W.  Davis 
from  Stand  Off  in  the  wild  and  wooly  west,  was 
especially  valuable  in  this  connection.  When  the 
Mounted  Police  in  1874  first  arrived  in  the  far  west 
and  expected  to  be  met  by  a  gang  of  desperadoes,  they 
found  D.  W.,  a  trusted  official  of  the  big  firm  of  I.  G. 


252  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Baker  &  Co.,  behind  the  counter  of  the  store  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  unconcernedly  smoking  a  cigar  and  when 
they  made  known  their  mission,  pleasantly  bid  them 
search  the  place  for  liquor,  which  they  unavailingly 
did — but  it  was  there  all  the  same.  Coming  from  the 
west  he  knew  the  Indian  down  to  the  ground,  and  he 
used  to  delight  the  members  at  their  sing-songs  with 
imitations  of  the  Indian  dance  interlarded  with  war- 
whoops  that  threatened  to  disturb  the  cogitations  of 
the  more  sedate  statesmen  who  were  arguing  or  sleep- 
ing in  the  Commons  chamber. 

Sleeping !  Well,  they  were  not  likely  to  be  sleeping 
if  William  Paterson,  of  Brant,  familiarly  known  as 
" Billy  Paterson,"  after  the  man  who  was  struck  by 
some  unknown  person,  had  the  floor.  Mr.  Paterson 
was  the  possessor  of  the  most  thunderous  voice  in 
Parliament.  It  used  to  be  said  that  he  could  be  heard 
away  down  in  the  Eideau  Club.  One  of  Dr.  Lander - 
kin's  jokes' at  the  expense  of  a  new  member  was  to 
arouse  his  interest  in  Mr.  Paterson's  eloquence,  and 
then  advise  him  to  occupy  the  seat  immediately  in 
front  of  Mr.  Paterson,  so  that  he  could  hear  him  well 
because  he  had  such  a  poor  voice.  The  newcomer 
usually  fell  for  this,  with  the  result  that  when  Mr. 
Paterson  was  going  under  a  full  head  of  steam,  the 
new  arrival  had  to  slink  away  in  order  to  protect  his 
ear  drums.  All  the  House  watched  the  "freshie"  as 
he  selected  his  "good  seat"  in  front  of  the  orator, 
and  loud  was  the  laughter  when,  after  a  few  vocal 
blasts  from  Billy  Paterson,  the  astonished  listener 
beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

"Billy"  after  being  a  Minister  for  some  years  de- 
cided to  give  a  dinner  to  his  Parliamentary  friends 
of  both  Houses.  The  list  was  so  lengthy  that  instead 
of  one  function  there  had  to  be  two.  By  the  "old- 
timers"  they  were  acknowledged  to  have  been  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  253 

liveliest  gatherings  ever  held  in  the  old  Parliamentary 
restaurant  presided  over  by  Sam  Barnett.  Mr.  Pater- 
son  stipulated  to  "Jim"  Sutherland,  who  was  making 
the  arrangements  for  him,  that  the  dinner  should  be 
conducted  on  strictly  temperance  principles,  but  some- 
one must  have  given  Sam  Barnett  the  wink.  Scotch 
and  rye  were  supplied  in  ginger  ale  bottles  and  within 
an  hour  there  was  more  hilarity  than  one  finds  at  ten 
ordinary  banquets.  Mr.  Paterson  was  greatly  pleased 
at  the  success  of  the  function  and  remarked  to  Sir 
Eichard  Cartwright,  who  was  sitting  next  to  him  at 
the  first  dinner :  ' i  Cartwright,  I  have  always  said  you 
could  get  as  much,  or  more,  fun  out  of  a  temperance 
dinner  than  one  where  liquor  is  served;  you  have  a 
demonstration  of  it  to-night. "  Sir  Richard,  who  was 
wise  to  what  was  going  on,  smilingly  acquiesced  in  the 
remark  but  refrained  from  enlightening  his  host.  To 
the  day  of  his  death,  Mr.  Paterson  never  knew  of  the 
arrangements  that  Jim  Sutherland  and  Bill  Galliher 
had  made  to  make  the  banquets  a  howling  success. 

Not  Good  Mixers. 

Two  members  of  the  House,  Hon.  Edward  Blake 
and  Sir  Ricnard  Cartwright,  were  not  "good  mixers." 
It  is  said  of  the  former  that  when  a  friend  remon- 
strated with  him  for  his  chilliness  towards  his  sup- 
porters and  advised  him  to  be  more  chummy  with 
them,  he  asked  what  he  was  to  do.  "Why,  be  more 
sociable  and  crack  a  joke  or  two  with  them."  "How 
do  you  mean?"  enquired  Blake.  "Well,  for 
instance,  it's  snowing  out  now,  and  if  someone  should 
pass  a  remark  on  the  weather,  you  say  'Oh,  it's  snow 
matter.'  "  And  sure  enough  a  few  days  later  a  good 
Grit  follower  overtaking  the  Honorable  Edward  on 
the  broad  walk  remarked  that  it  had  been  snowing 
hard.    Mr.  Blake,  suddenly  remembering  the  pointer 


254  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

lie  had  received  about  cracking  a  joke,  but  having  for- 
gotten the  cue,  promptly  replied,  "Oh,  it's  quite  imma- 
terial." Mr.  Blake  was  a  great  lawyer — a  much 
greater  lawyer  than  he  was  a  politician. 

When  Hansard  " Mixed' '  Metaphors. 

Sir  Kichard  was  a  past-master  of  the  art  of 
invective;  a  scholarly  speaker,  his  English  was  per- 
fect, and  he  could  flay  a  political  opponent  in  five 
minutes  by  the  clock.  He  also  had  a  grim  sense  of 
humor,  and  when  he  spoke  one  day  of  " having  dipped 
into  the  political  Styx,"  and  it  appeared  in  the  un- 
revised  edition  of  Hansard  as  "having  dipped  into  the 
political  Stinks,"  he  laughed  as  immoderately  as  he 
did  when  in  another  speech  he  referred  to  "the 
ancient  Themistocles, "  which  Hansard  transformed 
into  "The  ancient  Peter  Mitchell,"  who  had  just  pre- 
viously passed  away.  He  was  a  Tory  of  the  old  school 
until  Sir  Francis  Hincks  was  appointed  Finance  Minis- 
ter instead  of  another  person  whom  he  thought  was 
better  qualified  for  the  position.  A  scholarly  speaker 
and  a  deep  thinker,  his  disposition  w)as  vitriolic.  The 
second  volume  of  his  Memoirs  was  never  printed  for 
obvious  reasons.  Sir  Eichard  was  a  constant  sufferer 
from  rheumatism  which  doubtless  warped  his  disposi- 
tion and  made  his  utterances  so  bitter. 

Some  or  the  Other  Good  Fellows. 

It  is  difficult  to  remember  all  the  good  fellows  and 
their  peculiarities  at  this  length  of  time  but  I  can  re- 
call handsome  Hon.  J.  D.  Hazen,  Mr.  C.  N.  Skinner, 
Major- General  Hugh  H.  McLean  and  Hon.  John 
Costigan  from  New  Brunswick,  who  were  popular  on 
both  sides  of  the  House.  Sir  Douglas  Hazen  was 
afterwards  premier  of  his  native  province,  and  now 
is  ornamenting  the  bench ;  Sir  Clifford  Sif ton,  who  in- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  255 

augurated  the  first  real  immigration  policy;  Captain 
J.  B.  Labelle,  from  Richelieu,  commander  of  the  R. 
&  0.  steamer,  Montreal,  was  a  social  lion  and  one  of 
the  best  dressed  men  in  the  House.  His  soil  is  General 
Labelle,  of  the  Montreal  Harbor  Commission.  Sir 
Adolphe  Chapleau  ranked  among  the  most  brilliant 
orators  of  that  day,  and  Honorable  C.  C.  Colby,  of 
Stanstead,  was  one  of  the  ablest  lawyers  in  the  House 
and  personally  was  very  popular,  as  was  Donald 
MacMaster,  now  Sir  Donald,  a  distinguished  member 
of  the  British  House  of  Commons.  Then  there  were 
good  old  Billy  Smith  from  South  Ontario,  still  in 
the  Parliamentary  pink;  George  Guillet,  from 
Northumberland,  Ontario;  Peter  Mitchell,  from 
Northumberland,  N.B.;  Colonel  Tisdale,  from  South 
Norfolk;  Dr.  Ferguson,  from  Welland;  Fred  Hale, 
from  CarletoH,  N.B. ;  J.  A.  Mara,  James  Reid,  Thomas 
Earle ,  E.  Crow  Baker,  who  recently  passed  away,  aud 
the  late  E.  G.  Prior,  recently  Lt.-Gov.  of  British 
Columbia,  from  which  Province  they  all  came ;  Mahion 
Cowan,  the  fighting  man  from  Essex,  Ont. ;  David 
Henderson  of  Halton;  W.  C.  Edwards,  from  Russell, 
the  real  old  genuine  free  trader  of  the  house;  Uriah 
Wilson,  from  Lennox,  a  member  of  high  standing; 
Hon.  John  Haggart  and  Dr.  Montague,  he  of  the 
silver  tongue,  who  were  bosom  friends,  the  latter 
coming  to  a  tragic  end  in  Winnipeg;  George  Taylor, 
the  Tory  whip  from  Gananoque;  Josiah  Wood,  from 
Westmoreland,  who  owns  a  railway,  was  afterwards 
Lieutenant-Governor  of  New  Brunswick  and  is  father- 
in-law  of  Eddie  Nichols,  the  newspaperman,  of  Win- 
nipeg. A.  W.  Ross,  the  real  estate  boss,  and  W.  F. 
McCreary  from  Manitoba;  Hon.  Tom  Daly  from 
Brandon,  who,  like  his  father,  was  a  broth  of  a  boy; 
Senator  J.  B.  Plumb,  from  Niagara,  a  royal  entertainer 
when  Speaker  of  the  Senate ;  Hon.  John  Carling,  whose 


256  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

election  contests  with  his  brother-in-law  in  London 
were  as  fierce  as  any  in  the  whole  Dominion ;  big  Dun- 
can C.  Fraser,  the  giant  from  Nova  Scotia,  who  like  A. 
G.  Jones,  another  Nova  Scotian  member,  who  was 
charged  with  having  said,  "Haul  down  the  flag"  at 
Confederation,  filled  the  position  of  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor of  that  Province ;  John  V.  Ellis  from  St.  John, 
one  of  the  ablest  members  of  the  House,  whose  news- 
paper, the  Globe,  still  flourishes  under  the  manage- 
ment of  his  son  Frank;  G.  E.  E.  Cockburn,  from  To- 
ronto, a  fine  type  of  an  Old  Country  gentleman ;  Hon. 
Mr.  Pref ontaine,  mayor  of  Montreal,  who  died  in  Eng- 
land ;  Jacques  Bureau,  whose  life  is  devoted  to  politics 
and  mirth  and  Ernest  Lapointe;  Billy  Northrup,  of 
Hastings,  (now  clerk  of  the  House)  a  fighter  from  'way 
back,  like  Billy  Bennett  of  Simcoe ;  H.  H.  Cook — "I  bet 
you  Cook" — who  claimed  a  toll  of  $10,000  was  de- 
manded of  him  to  obtain  a  senatorship,  which  caused 
him  to  retire  from  his  party  of  which  he  had  previously 
been  a  staunch  supporter. 

Who  could  ever  forget  Major  Tom  Beatty,  of  Lon- 
don, whose  death  left  a  great  blank  that  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  fill?  Or  Clarke  Wallace,  from  York,  as  genial 
a  soul  as  ever  lived,  whose  successor  in  the  House  was 
his  good-natured  son,  the  late  Capt.  Tom?  And  there 
was  Senator  John  Yeo,  from  Prince  Edward  Island, 
who  for  sixty-two  years  continuously  has  been  a  mem- 
ber either  of  the  Legislature  of  the  Island,  or  of  the 
Commons  or  Senate  of  Canada.  Then  there  was  Dr. 
Piatt,  of  Kingston,  who  was  afterwards  warden  of 
the  Portsmouth  penitentiary,  and  declared  that,  owing 
to  his  official  duties,  he  was  the  "closest  confined  per- 
son in  the' pen."  And  Jim  Metcalfe,  who  was  a  dead 
game  sport  of  the  political  kind,  came  from  Kingston 
too ;  and  what  shall  I  say  of  Hon.  W.  S.  Fielding,  the 
father  of  reciprocity,  still  an  active  member  of  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  257 

House  ?    Or  of  Hon.  James  Domville,  a  meteoric  mem- 
ber,  still  in  active  life  in  the   Senate;   of  Kennedy 
Burns,  of  Gloucester,  who  owned  the  Caraquet  Kail- 
way,  that  runs  from  Bathurst  to  Shippegan;  of  Dr. 
Keid,  from  Grenville,  now  Minister  of  Eailways;  of 
John  F.  Stairs  and  Thos.  E.  Kenny,  of  Halifax,  the 
latter  a  West  Indian  merchant ;  of  Harry  Corby,  from 
Belleville,  who  had  no  personal  enemies;  of  Senator 
Billy  Gibson  from  Lincoln ;  of  poor  George  Moffatt  of 
Kestigouche,  who  at  a  convivial  banquet  where  every- 
thing was   Irish — tobacco,   pipes,   wfhiskey,   potatoes 
and  all — a  little  affair  given  by  A.  W.  Ross,  M.P.  for 
Selkirk — entrusted  me  with  an  envelope  to  keep  for 
him,  in  which  was  a  draft  for  £5,000  sterling — George 
was  always  for  "Safety  first/ '  and  he  knew  I  would 
keep  sober  if  anybody  could;  of  W.  G.  Perley,  father 
of  Sir  George  Perley,  Canada's  High  Commissioner  at 
London ;  of  dear  old  Alex.  McLaren,  the  Cheese  King, 
and  Rufus  Stephenson  from  Kent,  of  Sir  Louis  Davies, 
now  Chief  Justice  of  Canada,  who  made  rip-roaring 
speeches,  and  Al.  Lefurgey  and  Donald  Nicholson  and 
Mr.  McLean,  from  "The  Island",  of  Col.  Owney  Tal- 
bot from  down  Quebec  way;  of  Alex.  McKay,  Adam 
Brown's  running  mate  from  Hamilton,  and  wee  Johnny 
Small,    Toronto 's   pet ;    of   George   W.    Ganong,   the 
Chocolate  King  from  Charlotte,  N.B.,  who  was  as 
sweet  as  his  chocolates;  of  Henry  Cargill  and  John 
Tolmie,  two  dear  old  friends  from  Bruce?    And  we  all 
reverently  doff  our  hats  to  that  able  statesman,  Sir 
John  Thompson,  the  only  Conservative  ever  elected  in 
Antigonish,  who  safely  piloted  the  ship  of  state  through 
troubled  waters,  and  died  a  tragic  death  at  Windsor 
Castle ;  and  to  Hon.  J.  J.  C.  Abbott,  who  controlled  the 
destinies  of   Canada  when  rare   statesmanship  was 
needed.     Mr.  Abbott  was  one  of  the  ablest  lawyers 
that  ever  sat  in  the  House,  and  to  him  was  entrusted 

(18) 


258  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

the  preparation  of  the  contract  with  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Eailway  Co.,  the  consummation  of  which  has 
been  of  the  greatest  value  to  the  Dominion. 

Memory  also  recalls  the  gallant  Col.  Williams,  of 
Port  Hope,  who  gave  up  his  life  on  the  hanks  of  the 
Saskatchewan  from  fever  in  1885;  Big  Eory  Mac- 
lennan,  the  contractor,  one  of  the  world's  greatest 
athletes,  Darby  Bergin  of  Cornwall,  John  Moncrieff* ,  of 
Simcoe,  J.  D.  Edgar,  of  Toronto,  Geo.  H.  Macdonnell, 
of  Algoma,  John  White,  of  East  Hastings,  who,  when 
fiercely  attacked  by  Edward  Blake,  floored  that  gentle- 
man completely  by  recalling  how  when  the  great  Lib- 
eral leader  had  arrived  at  Quebec  from  an  ocean 
voyage  so  engrossed  was  he  in  his  political  affairs  that 
he  left  his  poor  wife  to  the  tender  mercies  of  his 
political  opponent  and  that  he  had  to  neglect  his  own 
business  to  look  after  her.  He  also  recalled  a  pathetic 
incident  of  the  ocean  trip  when  the  Honorable  Edward 
was  leaning  heavily  over  the  taffrail  of  the  ship,  pay- 
ing his  devotions  to  Neptune,  that  he,  John  White,  of- 
fered consolation  and  encouragement  by  timely  ad- 
vising him :  "Let  her  go,  my  boy,  let  her  go,  there's  lots 
of  room."  And  base  ingratitude  was  the  return  for 
his  kindness. 

Some  Well-known  Membees. 

Although  I  left  the  Press  Gallery  in  the  early  90  's 
my  connection  with  it  did  not  entirely  cease,  and  I  was 
frequently  a  visitor  within  its  sacred  precints,  and  so, 
as  new  members  came  in,  new  friends  were  made.  To 
mention  them  all  would  be  impossible,  but  I  remember 
kindly  Hon.  Rodolphe  Lemieux,  one  of  the  best  speak- 
ers on  the  Liberal  side;  Hon.  Hugh  Clarke,  the 
inimitable  wit  from  Kincardine,  whose  Scotch  humor 
was  infectious;  Ed.  Lewis,  from  Huron,  who  was 
eternally  initiating  new  legislation ;  Clarence  Jameson, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  259 

from  Digby,  who  could  imitate  Sir  Robert  Borden  bet- 
ter than  Sir  Robert  could  himself ;  Billy  Weichel  from 
Kitchener,  who  was  afterwards  defeated  because  he 
wasn't  German  enough  for  his  constituents;  A.  C. 
Boyce,  the  bright  boy  from  the  Soo ;  Sir  George  Perley, 
from  Argenteuil,  who  did  great  service  for  Canada  in 
London  during  the  war ;  J.  G.  Turriff,  from  Assiniboia, 
who  afterwards  became  a  Senator;  Dr.  Cash,  from 
Qu'Appelle;  Lloyd  Harris  and  W.  F.  Cockshutt,  from 
Brantf ord,  two  very  prominent  members ;  Col.  Geo.  H. 
Baker,  from  Brome,  who  kave  up  his  life  in  the  Great 
War ;  John  Tolmie,  from  Bruce ;  Luggy  McCarthy,  R. 
B.  Bennett  and  John  Herron,  amongst  the  brightest 
from  the  west;  John  Stanfield,  the  Government  whip 
from  Truro,  and  now  a  senator,  and  F.  B.  McCurdy, 
now  a  member  of  the  Government;  Billy  Sloan  and 
Herb.  Clements,  two  genial  gentlemen  from  Comox, 
Alberni ;  Speaker  Rhodes  and  Hance  Logan  from  Cum- 
berland, N.S. ;  Theodore  Burrows,  an  old  friend  from 
Dauphin,  Manitoba;  Andy  Broder,  the  David  Harum 
of  the  House  from  Dundas;  A.  B.  Ingram  and  David 
Marshall  from  East  Elgin,  and  Tom  Crothers,  after- 
wards Minister  of  Labor,  from  West  Elgin;  R.  F. 
Sutherland,  now  Justice  Sutherland,  who  is  an  orna- 
ment to  the  Bench,  and  my  old  friend,  Wm.  McGregor, 
both  from  South  Essex;  the  redoubtable  Jim  Conmee 
and  his  successor,  J.  J.  Carrick,  from  Thunder  Bay; 
A.  B.  Crosby,  the  late  Senator,  from  Halifax,  as  was 
the  late  lamented  Senator  Dennis;  Gus  Porter  from 
Hastings.  Then  there  were  my  old  friends  Senator 
John  Fisher,  who  defeated  Billy  Paterson ;  Wm.  Harty, 
from  Kingston;  Fred  Pardee,  the  genial  Liberal  whip 
from  Lambton;  Billy  Buchanan,  of  Lethbridge;  Bob 
McPherson  from  Vancouver;  R.  L.  Richardson,  of 
Lisgar,  and  Dr.  Rutherford  of  Macdonald,  Manitoba, 
who  is  efficient  as  a  railway  commissioner  and  pro- 


260  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

ficient  in  the  art  of  anecdotal  side-splitters  in  the 
Scotch  vernacular .  There  was  also  the  fighting  Lib- 
eral trio  from  the  Maritime  Provinces — Williani  Pugs- 
ley,  Ed.  Macdonald  and  Frank  Carvell.  Then  there 
was  D.  A.  Macdowell  and  Tom  Davis  from  Saskatch- 
ewan, Walter  Scott  and  W.  D.  Perley  from  Assiniboia ; 
Simon  Cimon  from  Charlebois,  and  Hugh  John  Mac- 
donald (now  Sir  Hugh),  son  of  the  chieftain,  was  as 
popular  a  member  as  ever  sat  in  the  House. 

And  who  can  forget  Sam  Hughes  (now  Sir  Sam,  but 
the  same  old  Sam)  who  first  came  to  the  House  in 
18921  He  was  very  vigorous  and  aggressive,  and  abuse 
him  as  you  will,  everybody  will  acknowledge  that  his 
feat  of  sending  33,000  well-equipped  stalwart  Canadian 
troops  across  the  sea  in  two  months  was  something 
few  men  could  accomplish — and  none  other  did. 

For  over  half-a-century,  the  Parliament  of  the  Do- 
minion of  Canada  has  existed.  It  will  continue  in- 
definitely, and  while  there  may  be  carping  criticism 
and  factious  condemnation  of  the  powers  that  be,  the 
average  thoughtful  citizen  will  credit  the  great  ma- 
jority of  its  members  with  being  honestly  endeavoring 
to  legislate  in  what  they  conscientiously  believe  to  be 
the  best  interests  of  the  whole  country. 

Appointing  a  Governor. 

If  Warwick  was  a  King  Maker,  I  couldn't  say  that 
while  I  didn't  aspire  to  be  his  rival,  I  wasn't  in  his 
class.  At  any  rate,  I  was  the  humble  means  of  aiding 
in  appointing  Senator  John  Schultz  to  the  Lieutenant- 
Governorship  of  Manitoba.  I  was  in  the  Ottawa  Press 
Gallery  at  the  time,  and  in  the  course  of  my  reportorial 
duties  frequently  met  the  Senator.  One  day,  the  ques- 
tion of  the  Governorship  of  Manitoba  incidentally 
came  up  between  us.  This  position  had  always  been 
held  by  an  eastern  man,  and  of  all  the  names  mentioned 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  261 

as  a  possible  appointee,  none  conld  be  proved 
to  be  acceptable  to  the  Manitobans,  and  this  phase  of 
the  question  arose. 

"Why  don't  you  take  it  yourself,  Senator ?"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"Haven't  a' chance,"  he  replied. 

"Not  now,  perhaps,  but  if  you'll  accept  it,  wait  till 
to-morrow. ' ' 

I  knew  that  the  Governorship  was  the  Senator's 
ambition,  so  when  I  reached  the  Press  Gallery  I  told 
the  boys  that  ' '  Senator  Schultz  's ' '  appointment  to  the 
Manitoba  governorship  was  being  favorably  con- 
sidered." This  was  sent  off  to  the  different  newspapers 
with  a  little  stronger  one  to  the  Winnipeg  Free  Press, 
which  had  all  along  been  antagonistic  to  the  Senator, 
and  it  came  out  with  a  corking  editorial  in  his  favor. 
That  settled  it.  The  Conservative  Government  feared 
the  Liberal  Free  Press  more  than  any  other  western 
paper  and  the  appointment  was  shortly  afterwards 
made. 

It  was  nothing  but  the  solemn  truth  I  told  the  press 
boys  about  the  Senator's  elevation  to  the  Governorship 
being  favourably  considered.  Both  he  and  I  were 
favourably  considering  it,  weren't  we! 

"Some  One  Blundered." 

Apropos  of  the  unrestricted  reciprocity  proposal  in- 
troduced by  Sir  Richard  Cartwright  in  1888  it  is  in- 
teresting to  recall  the  fact  that  reply  to  Sir  Richard — 
the  first  speech  in  criticism  of  the  reciprocity  project — 
was  delivered  by  Robert  S.  White,  then,  as  now,  editor 
in  chief  of  the  Montreal  Gazette.  "Bob"  White  was 
but  a  lad  in  those  days,  and  had  just  succeeded  his 
father  as  member  for  Cardwell.  His  speech,  coming 
immediately  after   Sir   Richard  had  concluded,  was 


262  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

brimful  of  information  regarding  the  trade  of  the 
country,  and  became  the  basis  of  the  anti-reciprocity 
argument  of  later  days. 

While  personal  friendship  refused  to  observe  party 
lines,  personal  dislike  often  manifested  itself  among 
men  who  on  the  surface  were  political  friends.  Edward 
Blake  and  Sir  Richard  Cartwright,  for  instance,  as 
has  already  been  mentioned,  were  not  at  all  friendly. 
Mr.  Blake  did  not  like  Sir  Richard's  unrestricted  reci- 
procity proposition,  and  Sir  Richard  thought  Mr. 
Blake  overdid  it  when  he  made  his  great  attack  upon 
the  Orange  Bill  on  March  17.  This  Orange  question, 
by  the  way,  was  a  thorn  in  the  side  to  more  persons 
than  one.  Mr.  McMullen  found  it  to  be  such  in  his  case 
during  a  bye-election  in  Wellington.  On  his  way  to  the 
village  in  which  he  was  to  speak,  a  scoundrel  told  him 
he  was  going  into  quite  a  Catholic  settlement.  So  he 
thought  he  would  improve  the  opportunity  thus  pre- 
sented to  him  to  win  a  few  votes  by  dwelling  upon  the 
attitude  of  the  party  towards  the  Orangemen.  He  had 
not  gone  far  when  he  experienced  a  decided  coolness 
on  the  part  of  the  audience,  following  which  there  was 
an  uproar  which  convinced  him  that  "some  one  had 
blundered/' 

On  the  Government  side  also  there  were  divisions 
which  threatened  the  party.  Dalton  McCarthy  was 
forming  his  group  which  developed  into  the  element 
that  made  it  impossible  for  Sir  Charles  Tupper  to  go 
on  with  the  Manitoba  School  bill  in  1896.  It  was 
thought  at  the  time  that  McCarthy  was  disgruntled  be- 
cause Sir  John  Thompson  had  been  brought  in  over 
his  head  as  Minister  of  Justice.  That  is  merely  what 
Dame  Rumor  said.  Then,  while  the  English-speaking 
section  of  the  Conservative  party  was  up  against  a 
possible  division,  the  French  section  was  not  happy. 
The  Chapleau  wing  was  dissatisfied  with  the  leadership 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  263 

of  Sir  Hector  Langevin,  and  the  long  reign  of  that 
statesman  was  coming  to  an  end.  Everything  seemed 
to  be  moving  in  the  last  session  I  was  at  Ottawa  to- 
wards readjustment.  And  within  a  year  the  readjust- 
ment came.  Sir  John  Macdonald  died,  in  the  middle 
of  the  following  session,  and  Sir  Hector  went  out  as 
a  result  of  a  scandal. 

The  Wrong  Hat. 

Two  bosom  friends  were  Messrs.  H.  McMillan,  of 
Vaudreuil,  and  J.  C.  Wilson,  the  paper  manufacturer, 
who  represented  Argenteuil.  They  were  a  second 
edition  of  Damon  and  Pythias,  the  only  difference  be- 
ing that  these  Canadians  always  wore  shiny  plug  hats 
and  D.  and  P.  didn't.  But  one  day,  at  the  Russell 
House,  when  Mac  didn't  arrive  by  the  usual  train,  his 
room  was  temporarily  given  to  Mr.  Wilson,  who  re- 
tired, and  was  enjoying  a  snooze  when  his  colleague 
came  on  the  scene,  a  little  annoyed  at  not  being  able 
to  procure  a  room,  and  specially  this  particular  room 
of  his.  So  he  awoke  Mr.  Wilson,  and  told  him  to  get 
out,  and  at  once  threw  his  valise  out  through  the  door- 
way into  the  corridor,  which  was  followed  by  his 
umbrella  and  his  cane  and  finally  by  a  plug  hat  which 
was  smashed  beyond  repair  by  its  contact  with  the  op- 
posite wall.  Mr.  Wilson  laughed  heartily,  and  quickly 
grabbed  the  other  plug.  When  Mac  wanted  to  know 
'  *  what  in  thunder' '  was  the  cause  of  so  much  hilarity 
he  was  blandly  informed  that  in  his  anger  he  had,  in 
mistake,  thrown  out  his  own  hat,  Whereupon  they  ad- 
journed to  the  Russell  bar  and  hostilities  ceased. 

A  Telephone  for  Each  Language. 

Hon.  Joseph  Royal,  a  brilliant  politician,  sat  in  the 
House  at  the  time  I  am  writing  of,  and  was  afterwards 
elevated  to  the  Lieut.-Governorship  of  the  Northwest 


264  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Territories,  as  was  Charlie  Mcintosh,  the  urbane  editor 
of  the  Ottawa  Citizen,  who  was  one  of  the  cleverest 
writers  on  the  Canadian  press.  Hon.  A.  A.  C.  Larviere, 
afterwards  a  senator,  also  came  from  Manitoba,  where, 
in  the  local  legislature,  he  had  been  a  Cabinet  Minister. 
He  once  nearly  had  to  defend  himself  against  the  very 
grave  charge  of  having  two  telephones  in  his  office,  but 
he  was  saved  the  trouble  by  Kenneth  Mackenzie,  an  out- 
and-out  Grit,  who  came  to  his  rescue  and  claimed  the 
minister  was  perfectly  justified  in  having  two  tele- 
phones— one  to  talk  through  in  English  and  the  other 
in  French — and  this  convinced  the  House. 

Old-timers  often  compare  present  day  members  with 
those  of  Parliament  when  there  were  notable  outstand- 
ing figures  like  Macdonald,  George  Brown,  Tilley,  Tup- 
per,  Mowat,  Howe,  Cartwright,  Chapleau — and  wonder 
whether  their  successors  are  of  lighter  calibre,  or  if 
the  people  have  grown  up  nearer  to  their  standard.  If 
I  were  asked  my  own  opinion,  I  would  truthfully  say, 
I  really  don't  know.  But  Parliament  during  the  time 
I  was  at  Ottawa  and  was  able  to  take  observations  was 
composed  of  great  men — the  pick  of  the  intelligence 
and  progressiveness  of  the  Dominion — men  of  whom 
any  country  might  be  justly  proud.  Most  of  them  have 
gone;  but  their  work,  the  completed  Canada,  remains, 
and  is  their  best  monument. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Great  Northern  Giant — The  Early  Days  of  the 
C.P.R.  and  its  Big  Promoters — Where  the  Aristo- 
cracy of  Brains  Ruled — A  Huge  Undertaking 
and  a  Broad  Policy — A  Conspicuously  Cana- 
dian    Enterprise — Something    About     the 
Men  Who   Ruled — My  Fidus  Achates — 
Captains  Courageous — The  Active  Men 
of  To-Day — And  Interesting  Facts 
About  the  C.  P.  R. 

THE  completion  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  railway 
placed  Canada  prominently  on  the  map  of  the 
world  and  magically  transformed  a  widely  scat- 
tered Dominion  into  a  prosperous  and  progressive 
nation. 

It  was  in  1857 — sixty-four  years  ago — that  the 
search  for  a  path  across  British  North  America  was 
begun  by  the  British  Government.  Other  schemes  had 
been  promulgated  which  involved  a  diversion  through 
the  United  States  to  avoid  the  rock-bound  north  shore 
of  Lake  Superior,  and  the  St.  Paul  and  Pacific  rail- 
way was  projected  to  connect  the  Minnesota  city  with 
the  Pacific  coast  through  the  prairies  and  mountains 
of  Canada.  But  it  was  to  be  an  all-Canadian  route,  and 
in  the  early  days  of  its  construction  a  policy  of  utilizing 
the  waterways  was  adopted — a  futile  one  in  the  light 
of  after  events.  The  building  of  3,000  miles  partly 
through  an  unknown  territory  was  a  gigantic  under- 
taking, and  the  very  boldness  of  the  scheme  engendered 

265 


266  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

a  feeling  of  doubt  which  was  only  dispelled  by  the 
inexorable  logic  of  facts. 

The  great  national  work  was  first  assumed  by  the 
Federal  government,  but  on  February  15th,  1881 — just 
forty  years  ago — a  charter  was  granted  to  the  Can- 
adian Pacific  railway  company,  and  through  that  com- 
pany's untiring  energy,  unceasing  efforts,  unflagging 
perseverance  and  boundless  faith  in  the  undertaking, 
the  success  of  the  great  work  was  completely  assured. 
Ten  years  were  specified  for  the  completion  of  the 
railway ;  in  five  years — and  five  years  ahead  of  the  con- 
tract time — the  road  was  completed  from  ocean  to 
ocean. 

The  marvellously  rapid  construction  of  the  road  was 
one  of  the  grandest  achievements  of  the  age.  The 
engineering  difficulties  were  appalling.  The  granite 
hills  of  the  east  and  the  fastnesses  of  the  Rockies  were 
pierced,  and  river,  lagoon,  coulee,  morass,  rocky  defile 
and  broad  stretching  prairie  were  crossed  and  covered 
with  an  iron  trail,  over  which  daily  speeds  the  iron 
horse  with  its  long  train  of  heavily  laden  coaches. 

Big  Undertaking,  Broad  Policy. 

For  completing  this  herculean  task,  the  present  com- 
pany was  given  a  subsidy  of  $25,000,000  and  25,- 
000,000  acres  of  land,  the  larger  portion  of  which  was 
practically  worthless  then,  owing  to  its  inaccessibility. 
This  land  grant  has  been  frequently  quoted  as  a 
munificent  gift  to  the  Company  by  the  people  of  Can- 
ada. Its  greatly  enhanced  value,  however,  is  attribut- 
able to  the  inauguration  of  a  liberal  immigration  policy 
by  the  C.P.R.  and  the  expenditure  of  millions  of  dol- 
lars in  advertising  and  peopling  the  land.  In  its  early 
days,  the  company  was  at  times  sorely  pressed  fin- 
ancially, but  through  wise  administration  and  careful 
management,   its   difficulties  completely  disappeared 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  267 

and  to-day — well,  it's  the  "C.P.R.,"  of  which  in  former 
times  its  worst  detractors  at  home  were  when  abroad 
the  londest  boasters  about  its  marvellous  success. 

The  policy  of  the  company  has  of  necessity  been 
somewhat  broader,  by  reason  of  the  variety  of  its 
activities,  than  that  of  a  purely  railway  enterprise,  and, 
under  Lord  Mount  Stephen,  Sir  William  Van  Home 
and  Lord  Shaughnessy,  its  affairs  have  been  ad- 
ministered with  what  Sir  John  Willison  terms  "A 
Nation  Vision,' '  and  this  is  largely  responsible  not  only 
for  the  company's  own  success,  but  for  the  unique 
position  which  it  occupies  in  Canada  and  abroad.  In 
fact,  it  was  due  largely  to  this  broadness  of  view  that 
the  company's  prestige  in  America,  England  and 
Europe  has  reached  such  a  high  pinnacle.  If  there  was 
anything  necessary  to  add  to  this  it  was  the  extra- 
ordinarily important  work  which  the  company  was 
privileged  to  do  during  the  late  war,  involving 
activities  so  numerous  as  to  be  beyond  the  scope  of 
any  ordinary  enterprise?.  The  company  had  more 
points  of  contact  with  the  war  than  any  other  enter- 
prise outside  of  Great  Britain. 

It  is  now  in  the  fortieth  year  of  its  existence,  and  has 
had  four  presidents  during  that  period — Lord  Mount 
Stephen,  who  occupied  the  position  for  seven  years; 
Sir  William  Van  Home  for  eleven  years,  Lord 
Shaughnessy  for  nineteen  years;  and  the  present  in- 
cumbent for  two  and  a  half  years. 

The  company  was  fortunate  in  possessing  chief 
executives  whose  personal  qualities  and  official  abilities 
were  such  as  to  make  them  specially  fitted  for  the  prob- 
lems which  had  to  be  met  during  their  particular  term 
of  office.  It  is  safe  to  say,  however,  that  the  problems 
of  to-day  are  without  parallel  in  the  previous  history 
of  the  company,  and  therefore  require  different  meth- 
ods and  different  men. 


268  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Conspicuously  Canadian. 

The  policy  of  the  future  will  be  an  extension  of  the 
policies  of  the  past,  namely  that  the  company  should 
be  a  good  citizen  of  Canada,  which  means  contribut- 
ing to  Canada's  advancement  and  its  own  success, 
and  taking,  as  it  always  has,  its  share  of  the  country's 
burden.  In  this  democratic  age  it  is  possible  that 
methods  may  be  adopted  which  would  not  be  thought 
of  in  previous  times.  It  is  certain  that  the  company 
and  its  patrons  will  be  closer  together  than  ever  be- 
fore, because  a  greater  mutual  understanding  is  ne- 
cessary if  the  unique  problems  of  the  present  time 
are  to  be  dealt  with  satisfactorily. 

Historically,  that's  pretty  nearly  all  that  is  going 
to  be  said  about  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway,  ex- 
cept that  when  rail  communication  was  established 
between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceans  in  November, 
1886,  the  company  had  4,306  miles  of  track.  To-day 
it  operates  or  controls  more  than  18,000  miles.  That's 
going  some.  But  it's  not  all.  A  magnificent  ocean 
service  has  been  established  on  the  Atlantic  and  the 
Pacific,  and  on  the  inland  lakes  and  rivers  of  Canada 
its  craft  ply.  It  has  become  the  "World's  Greatest 
Highway,"  carrying  the  traffic  of  three  continents. 
It  lodges  and  feeds  globe-trotters,  so  that  a  person 
may  travel  from  Great  Britain  to  China  and  Japan 
exclusively  under  its  protecting  care,  on  its  trains, 
ships  and  hotels.  It  has  developed  fishing,  mining 
agricultural,  immigration,  forestry  and  other  re- 
sources and  industries.  It  is  not  a  mere  transport- 
ation company,  as  all  railways  were  before  its  con- 
struction.   It  is  an  Empire  builder. 

Let  me  speak  now  of  those  courageous  captains  of 
industry  to  whose  activities  and  counsel  are  due  the 
great  success  which  has  crowned  their  indefatigable 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  269 

efforts  to  make  the  Canadian  Pacific  the  wonder  of 
the  world. 

The  First  President. 

George  Stephen — now  Lord  Mount  Stephen — who 
came  to  Montreal  from  Scotland,  an  unknown  youth, 
was  its  first  president.  He  was  an  earnest  worker  and 
a  wise  counsellor,  as  was  his  fellow  director,  R.  B. 
Angus.  In  all  the  hazardous  conditions  and  financial 
worries  of  his  presidency  he  never  lost  heart.  He, 
with  his  co-workers,  pledged  their  entire  fortunes  to 
ensure  the  company's  very  existence.  There  were 
dark  days,  darker  perhaps  than  the  world  will  ever 
realize,  with  apparently  a  hopeless  future  to  face,  but 
their  courage  never  failed  them.  Their  grandest 
monument  is  the  C.P.E. 

Lord  Mount  Stephen  was  possessed  of  that  caution 
which  is  proverbial  of  the  Scotch.  His  was  a  broad 
mind  and  a  far-seeing  vision,  dependable  in  any  em- 
ergency ;  self-sacrificing  and  thoughtful  of  others.  He 
was  of  a  modest,  retiring  disposition  and  his  favorite 
sport  was  fishing  in  his  salmon  pools  in  New  Bruns- 
wick. Like  infinitely  few  others  he  did  not  accumu- 
late his  great  wealth  exclusively  for  his  own  personal 
enjoyment,  but  years  ago  generously  gave  large  sums 
and  valuable  properties  to  those  of  his  kin.  None  were 
overlooked.  He  is  spending  the  evening  of  his  life 
at  Brocket  Hall  in  his  native  land.  His  large  statue 
in  Windsor  Street  station  is  a  testimony  of  his  life's 
work — a  mute  reminder  for  years  to  come  that  to  him 
Canada  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  it  never  can  repay. 

A  Temporary  President. 

The  C.P.R.  once  had  a  temporary  president  in  the 
person  of  Rev.  Father  Lacombe,  O.M.I.,  the  well- 
beloved  missionary  of  the  farther  west.    The  arrival 


270  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

of  the  first  through  train  from  Winnipeg  to  Calgary 
was  the  occasion.  At  luncheon  in  President  Stephen's 
private  car,  at  which  were  several  directors  and 
Father  Lacombe,  it  was  playfully  suggested  that  in 
recognition  of  his  invaluable  services  during  the  build- 
ing of  the  road  through  an  unknown  country,  largely 
peopled  by  savages,  the  good  priest  should  be  elevated 
to  the  presidency  of  the  C.P.E.  An  emergency  meet- 
ing of  the  directors  was  hastily  called.  Mr.  Stephen 
resigned  his  office,  and  Father  Lacombe  was  elected 
in  his  stead.  His  term  of  office  lasted  exactly  one  hour, 
during  which  he  installed  Mr.  Van  Home  as  general 
manager,  but  did  not  enunciate  any  particular  policy, 
and  gracefully  retired  without  drawing  his  salary. 
Then  Mr.  Stephen  was  reinstalled  as  president. 

Sir  William  Van  Horne. 

Prominent  amongst  the  men  connected  with  the  con- 
struction and  completion  of  the  C.P.E.  was  Sir  William 
Van  Home,  who  was  the  first  general  manager  of  the 
road,  and  afterwards  succeeded  Sir  George  Stephen 
in  the  presidency.  To  splendid  personal  executive 
ability,  indomitable  perseverance  and  wide  experience 
are  largely  due  the  great  successs  which  crowned  his 
unceasing  labors.  Sir  William  was  unconventionality 
personified,  and  whether  in  his  palatial  residence  in 
Montreal  or  at  his  desk  or  in  his  private  car,  was  a 
perfect  host. 

He  was  a  man  of  great  versatility — a  railroad  or- 
ganizer, practical  engineer,  surveyor,  electrician,  an- 
tiquarian, painter,  author,  geologist,  botanist  and 
student  of  history  and  men  and  a  mind-reader.  He 
generally  was  seen  in  private  with  a  long  Havana  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  he  usually  accentuated  his  language 
by  extra  big  puffs  of  circling  cigar  smoke.  The  con- 
struction of  the  C.P.E.  within  five  years  of  its  incep- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  271 

tion  now  seems  to  have  been  an  impossible  task,  but 
it  was  accomplished,  and  accomplished  under  frequent- 
ly most  discouraging  conditions.  After  he  had  re- 
signed the  presidency  in  1899,  instead  of  retiring  from 
active  life,  he  built  another  line  of  railway  which  tra- 
versed the  island  of  Cuba. 

Sir  William  loved  to  indulge  in  reminiscenses,  and 
dwell  on  the  hardships  of  early  days.  One  story  he 
delighted  in  telling  was  of  the  dark  days  of  '84,  when 
Jack  Frost  had  played  hob  with  the  wheat  crop  of  the 
west.  Grain  was  selling  at  a  mere  song  and  to  in- 
crease the  price,  Alex  Mitchell,  an  experienced  grain 
man  of  Montreal,  was  sent  up  to  Winnipeg  by  the  C. 
P.R.,  but  not  publicly  as  a  representative  of  the  com- 
pany. On  his  arrival,  prices  took  a  jump  upwards  and 
he  bought  and  bought  and  kept  on  buying  until  all  the 
available  storage  facilities  could  hold  no  more,  and  the 
wheat  was  stacked  in  bags  or  dumped  in  huge  piles 
at  stations.  The  enemies  of  the  C.P.R. — and  there 
were  lots  of  kickers  in  those  days — not  knowing  the 
circumstances — had  these  piles  of  Wheat  photographed, 
and  sent  all  over  the  country  to  show  the  awful  ex- 
tremity of  the  farmers  and  their  ill-treatment  by  the 
C.P.R.    And — yes,  it  was  C.P.R.  wheat  all  the  time. 

He  Helped  Make  History. 

When  the  Riel  rebellion  broke  out  in  the  early  spring 
of  '85  the  C.P.R.  was  not  completed  and  the  troops 
from  the  east  could  not  be  sent  through  the  United 
States.  The  gaps  between  the  two  ends  of  the  track 
on  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Superior  aggregated  many 
miles,  and  the  weather  was  severe.  But  Sir  William's 
genius  was  greatly  in  evidence.  He  ordered  all  the 
construction  gangs  to  make  their  sleighs  as  comfort- 
able as  possible  with  straw  and  blankets,  and  estab- 
lished camps  at  convenient  distances,  where  coffee  and 


272  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

a  bite  to  eat  were  freely  dispensed.  Without  any  parti- 
cular hardship  the  'eastern  volunteers  were  carried 
over  the  gap,  and  the  much-needed  reinforcments  to 
the  western  troops  hurriedly  forwarded,  by  which 
means  the  rebellion  was  more  quickly  suppressed. 

Having  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  once  he  built  a  spur- 
line  from  near  the  station  at  Winnipeg,  to  Silver 
Heights,  a  summer  residence  of  Sir  Donald  Smith, 
afterwards  Lord  Strathcona.  When  that  personage 
arrived  one  day  shortly  after,  and  wanted  to  leave 
the  car  at  Winnipeg,  he  was  asked  to  remain.  "When 
the  special  train  ran  over  the  new  track  for  a  while 
Sir  Donald  noticed  familiar  objects,  and  when  he 
reached  Silver  Heights,  he  grasped  his  head  and  won- 
dered if  he  had  gone  crazy.  He  couldn't  understand 
that  where  there  had  been  no  railway  track  before 
there  was  one  now. 

A  Well  Informed  Porter. 

Jimmy  French  was  Sir  William's  faithful  porter  on 
the  private  car  "  Saskatchewan, ' '  and  Jimmy  was  a 
character.  One  day,  down  at  St.  John,  en  route  to 
Sydney,  Cape  Breton,  a  couple  of  newspaper  reporters 
unceremoniously  rushed  into  the  car  seeking  an  inter- 
view and  met  Jimmy. 

"Where's  Sir  William,  and  where  is  he  going!" 

"Don'  you  peoples  know  that  a  privat'  cah's  a  man's 
house,  and  you  wouldn't  go  inta  a  genleman's  house 
without  rappin ',  now  would  ya  f "  indignantly  demand- 
ed Jimmy. 

The  reporters  mollified  him,  and  then  Jimmy  en- 
lightened them:  "Don'  know  where  Sir  William  is, 
but  I  Ho  know  he's  goin'  down  fishin'  to  Great 
Britain." 

Another  time  when  Hon.  Edward  Blake,  who  had 
been  retained  by  the  company  in  an  important  case  in 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  273 

British  Columbia,  accompanied  Sir  William  in  his 
car  to  the  Pacific  coast,  Jimmy,  whose  ordinary 
language  was  somewhat  lurid,  had  been  warned  not  to 
use  any  cuss  words  in  Mr.  Blake's  presence,  as  he  was 
a  very  religious  man,  and  abhorred  profanity.  All 
went  well,  until  at  a  divisional  point  in  the  west,  the 
car  was  being  watered.  By  some  accident,  the  water 
went  the  wrong  way,  and  instead  of  filling  the  tanks, 
deluged  Jimmy,  who  thereupon  broke  out  in  a  violent 
torrent  of  abuse  and  consigned  the  culprit  to  the  lowest 
depths  of  the  sultry  place,  where,  they  say,  there  is 
eternal  punishment.  The  air  was  blue.  Being  over- 
heard, he  was  taken  to  task  for  his  pyrotechnical 
language,  and  ordered  by  Sir  William  to  apologize  to 
Mr.  Blake.  Jimmy  was  in  a  bad  fix,  and  thought 
thoughts,  but  didn't  go  near  Mr.  Blake.  Finally  he 
was  commanded  to  apologize,  and  he  went  meekly  to 
Mr.  Blake  and  penitently  began  the  apology. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mistah  Blake,  that  I  swore  and  cussed 
as  I  did,  an'  I've  gotta  'pologize,  but  ye  see,  Mistah 
Blake,  that  blankety,  blank  son  of  a  black,  blank  his 
blank  eyes,  soaked  me  good  an'  hard  wif '  his  blankety 
blank  ol'  water  an' — " 

But  he  got  no  further,  for  Mr.  Blake,  convulsed  with 
laughter,  said  it  was  all  right.  And  Jimmy  told  me 
afterwards  that  it  was  a  hell  of  an  apology. 

Eakly  Advertising. 

When  the  passenger  service  of  the  C.P.R.  was  in- 
augurated, the  citizens  of  Montreal,  Toronto,  Ottawa 
and  other  large  centres  were  puzzled  and  astonished 
one  morning  on  seeing  numerous  billboards  decorated 
with  streamers  on  which  were  printed:  "Said  the 
Prince  to  the  Duke :  'How  high  we  live  on  the  C.P.R. '  " 
and  "What  the  Duke  said  to  the  Prince:  'All  sensible  J 
people  travel  by  the  C.P.R.'  "  "Parisian  Politeness 

(19) 


274  KEMINISCENCES  OF  A  KACONTEUR 

on  the  C.P.B."  "Great  Salome  on  the  C.P.R."  "Wise 
Men  of  the  East  Go  West  on  the  C.P.R."  and  "By 
Thunder-Bay  passes  the  C.P.R.,"  the  final  four  words 
of  the  latter  being  in  comparatively  small  type. 

They  created  quite  a  little  stir  at  the  time,  being 
something  novel  in  advertising.  Twenty-five  years 
later  an  advertising  man  recalled  the  advertisements 
and  gave  as  his  opinion  that  they  were  no  good,  and 
also  intimated  that  they  were  really  idiotic.  "And 
yet  you  remember  them  for  a  quarter  of  a  century! " 
I  asked.  "They  must  have  been  pretty  good  adver- 
tising. '  - 

And  they  were. 

His  Work  in  Cuba. 

At  the  time  that  Sir  William  Van  Home  was  con- 
structing his  railroad  in  Cuba,  the  ' '  Foracker  Resolu- 
tion''  was  in  force,  and  its  terms  prohibited  any  pub- 
lic concession  to  build  railroads  or  other  public  works 
during  the  life  of  the  U.S.  Interventory  Government. 
In  spite  of  this,  however,  Sir  William  went  ahead  with 
the  Cuba  railroad,  by  getting  private  right-of-way 
agreements  with  owners  of  land  over  which  the  rail- 
road was  to  run.  He  skipped  all  public  roads  and  lands, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  office  of  the  Interventory 
Government,  the  Cuban  Administration  authorized  the 
road  so  that  the  missing  stretches  were  constructed, 
and  the  road  went  into  operation  almost  immediately. 

When  Sir  William  was  constructing  this  railroad, 
he  decided  to  install  a  typical  railroad  hotel  in 
Camaguey,  and  with  his  keen  eye  for  detail  he  had  an 
idea  for  its  decoration. 

"Why  not  fit  up  one  of  the  parlors,"  said  he,  "with 
panellings  of  the  beautiful  native  woods  of  the  island! 
It  seems  to  me  that  such  a  room  would  interest  visitors 
greatly,  and  give  a  handsome  effect. ' ' 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  275 

His  suggestion  was  carried  out  to  the  letter.  Next 
time  he  arrived  in  Camaguey  the  hotel  was  practically 
complete,  and  Sir  William  recollected  his  hardwood 
room  and  expressed  a  desire  to  see  it.  There  was  a 
singular  lack  of  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the  officials, 
and  they  didn't  make  any  effort  to  hurry  out  Sir 
William,  who  was  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  to  the  beauty 
of  the  weather,  the  excellence  of  the  service,  and  the 
sudden  death  of  anybody's  great-grandmother.  He 
wanted  to  see  that  hardwood  room,  and  with  droop- 
ing eyes  and  ears,  everybody,  checkmated,  led  him 
to  it. 

It  had  been  panelled  in  all  the  different  varieties  of 
beautiful  native  hardwoods,  according  to  schedule, 
from  ceiling  to  floor.  It  had  given  a  beautiful  effect, 
as  Sir  William  had  foreseen.  And  then  a  gang  of 
native  painters,  putting  finishing  touches  on  halls  and 
corridors,  had  wandered  in,  observed  its  painless- 
ness, and  given  it  two  heavy  coats  of  ivory  white. 

Like  the  black  on  a  colored  person,  it  wouldn't  wash 
off,  and  ivory-white  that  parlor  still  is  and  provoked 
Sir  William's  great  disgust  to  his  dying  day. 

When  Sir  William  passed  away,  there  was  general 
sorrow,  and  a  feeling  that  in  his  death  Canada  and  the 
world  had  lost  a  great  man  whose  name  will  live  in 
history. 

Lord  Shaughnessy. 

T.  G.  Shaughnessy  was  the  natural  and  logical  suc- 
cessor to  the  presidency.  He  had  made  a  name  and 
acquired  distinction  in  railway  circles  through  the 
great  purchasing  system  which  he  formulated,  and 
which,  by  the  way,  was  adopted  by  the  city  of  New 
York.  It  had  been  a  life's  study  with  him,  and  begin- 
ning at  the  age  of  fifteen  with  the  Milwaukee  road,  he 
quickly  rose  in  the  service  and  was  selected  in  1882 


276  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

to  take  charge  of  the  purchasing  department  of  the 
C.P.R.  In  two  years  he  was  made  assistant  to  the 
general  manager,  and  in  five  became  assistant  to  the 
president.  In  1891  he  became  a  director  and  vice- 
president.  Then  came  the  presidency  to  him  in  less 
than  eight  years,  and  with  it  honors  from  the  King, 
who  created  him  a  Knight  Bachelor,  a  Knight  Com- 
mander of  the  Victorian  Order,  and  greatest  of  all,  a 
Peer  of  the  Realm — Baron  Shaughnessy,  K.C.V.O., 
pf  Montreal,  Canada,  and  of  Ashford,  County  Limer- 
ick, Ireland.  In  another  way  he  has  gained  an  equally 
high  distinction  in  that  of  being  "the  greatest  living 
Canadian,' '  as  he  is  claimed  to  be  by  those  who,  know- 
ing him  best,  appreciate  his  many  estimable  qualities 
of  head  and  heart,  his  great  executive  ability,  his  un- 
erring business  judgment,  his  untiring  energy,  and  his 
undoubted  honesty  and  integrity.  He  ever  enjoyed  the 
fullest  confidence  of  his  board  of  directors  and  of  his 
subordinates,  and  was  always  "the  court  of  last  re- 
sort' 9  in  cases  of  disagreement  between  the  company 
and  its  employees,  owing  to  his  high  sense  of  honor 
and  fair  play. 

While  Lord  Shaughnessy  has  acquired  wealth,  it 
was  not  for  money  alone  he  labored  unceasingly,  but 
from  an  earnest  and  honest  endeavor  to  benefit  Canada, 
through  making  his  railroad  a  powerful  factor  in  its 
development.  Many  instances  could  be  given  where 
the  interests  of  the  country  overshadowed  those  of 
the  company,  and  Lord  Shaughnessy  never  hesitated 
a  moment  as  to  what  course  to  pursue  when  duty  called. 
For  instance,  during  the  continued  strikes  some  years 
ago  in  the  western  coal  mines,  there  was  every  pros- 
pect of  a  dire  scarcity  of  coal  on  the  prairies.  Regard- 
less of  cost,  he  instructed  that  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  tons  of  Pennsylvania  anthracite  should  be  pur- 
chased  and   distributed   at   advantageous    points    to 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  277 

furnish  the  settlers  with  fuel  should  the  threatened 
shortage  materialize.  Fortunately,  the  strikes  were 
called  off  just  in  time  to  avert  the  impending  catas- 
trophe, but  to  ensure  the  settlers  an  ample  supply,  the 
C.P.R.  refused  to  buy  the  cheaper  coal  at  the  mines, 
and  utilized  its  own  more  costly  supply.  And  this  cost 
the  company  a  round  million  of  dollars.  But  it  would 
have  saved  many  a  settler  from  perishing  on  the 
prairies  had  not  the  strikes  been  settled. 

Lord  Shaughnessy's  Big  Heart. 

Maintaining  the  strictest  discipline,  usually  digni- 
fied, he  was  one  of  the  kindest  of  men,  and  frequently, 
looked  leniently  upon  the  errors  of  omission  and  com- 
mission of  those  under  him.  His  generosity  was  un- 
bounded, and  in  helping  many  a  "lame  dog  over  the 
stile' ' — well,  that  was  a  matter  solely  between  the 
benefactor  and  the  benefited.  His  home  life  has  al- 
ways been  an  ideal  one,  with  Lady  Shaughnessy  an 
able  and  kindly  helpmate,  and  dutiful  children  to 
brighten  the  hearth.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  many  an- 
other household,  keen,  bitter  sorrow  has  entered.  I 
shall  never  forget  when  the  news  came  of  the  tragic 
death  of  his  son,  Fred,  who  lost  his  life  in  the  defence 
of  his  country  in  France  in  1916,  how  rapidly  the  heart- 
broken father  had  aged,  and  how  sympathetically  he 
grasped  my  hand,  and  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  recalled 
memories  of  the  dead  boy,  of  whom  I,  too,  was  espe- 
cially fond.  Poor,  dear  Fred,  his  memory  will  linger 
long  with  many,  for  he  was  a  bright  cheerful  lad — 
we  always  looked  upon  him  as  a  boy — with  many  ad- 
mirable qualities.  Nor  shall  I  ever  forget  his  coming 
to  me  when  he  was  in  the  service  of  the  C.P.R.,  and 
bemoaning  his  fate.  "It 's  awful,"  he  would  say  to 
me,  "to  be  the  president's  son.  Of  course,  I  don't 
mind  obeying  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  com- 


278  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

pany,  and  I  work  the  same  hours  as  anybody  else,  but 
hang  it  all,  it's  a  constant  complaint  that  I  am  favored 
because  I  am  the  president's  son,  when,  perhaps,  I  am 
favored  less  than  the  others.  Why,  father  wouldn't 
allow  it.    I  am  going  to  quit." 

And  he  did. 

Of  a  naturally  modest,  retiring  disposition,  except 
when  aggressiveness  demanded  other  qualities,  Lord 
Shaughnessy  disliked  the  limelight  into  which  his  pro- 
minence in  social  and  business  circles  forced  him, 
and  I  doubt  if  he  did  not  enjoy  a  quiet  game  of  soli- 
taire or  a  few  hours  on  the  links  far  better  than  he 
did  the  great  glittering  banqueting  board  or  other 
public  festivities.  He  is  an  ideal  host,  and  enjoys  hav- 
ing companionable  people  with  him.  I  remember  meet- 
ing him  one  morning  wjien  the  Eucharistic  Congress 
was  being  held  in  Montreal.  He  wore  a  bright  cheery 
smile  and  laughingly  remarked:  "Yes,  I  had  a  very 
pleasant  morning.  Met  Cardinal  Gibbons  and  Arch- 
bishop Ireland  at  the  station  and  drove  them  to  my 
house.  When  we  arrived  there,  the  Cardinal  kindly 
remarked,  'Make  yourself  at  home,  Shaughnessy,  we 
are.'  " 

It  was  that  little  touch  of  human  nature  that  ap- 
pealed to  him. 

He  Eschewed  Public  Honors. 

Although  closely  and  prominently  connected  with 
many  public  movements,  especially  those  of  a  patri- 
otic and  charitable  character,  an  exceptionally  able 
and  forcible  speaker,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
world's  affairs,  Lord  Shaughnessy  could  never  be  in- 
duced to  enter  political  life,  although  he  was  frequently 
\  approached  with  tempting  offers  to  devote  himself 
\to  public  affairs.  He  could  have  at  different  times 
been  a  Cabinet  Minister  or  the  leader  of  the  Opposi- 


BARON    SHAUGHNESSY,    K.C.V.O. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  279 

tion,  but  he  invariably  declined.  The  presidency  of 
the  C.P.R.  was  the  height  of  his  ambition.  Besides, 
between  you  and  me,  his  ideas  of  how  governments 
should  be  run— on  strictly  business  principles— would 
probably  not  have  retained  the  staunch  support  of  the 
practical  politician  and  the  ward  healer  and  others  of 
that  stripe.  This  incident  may  give  an  idea  of  his 
attitude : 

In  1911,  several  weeks  before  the  general  election, 
a  telegram— prompted,  no  doubt,  by  the  appearance 
of  Sir  William  Van  Home  at  several  of  the  Conserv- 
ative meetings — was  received  from  an  Ontario  news 
agency.    It  read: 

"Sir  Thos.  Shaughnessy, 
Montreal. 

"  Reported  here  that  'C.P.'  behind  anti-reciprocity 
movement.    Is  this  correct  V9 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  following  reply 
was  dictated  and  sent  off: 

"Yes!  'C.P.'  behind  anti-reciprocity  movement — 
'  Canadian  People. '    T.  G.  Shaughnessy. 

He  held  pronounced  views  on  the  temperance  ques- 
tion, and,  while  not  by  any  means  a  total  abstainer, 
believed  that  intoxicants  should  be  greatly  restricted 
and   sparingly  used.     When   the   Montreal    Witness  j 
attacked  the  C.P.R.  for  selling  liquor  on  its  dining-  j 
cars,  I  called  upon  my  good  friend,  John  Dougall,  the  / 
editor  of  that  paper,  and  explained  that  the  flask  had  ' 
almost  entirely  disappeared  from  the  smoking-rooms 
in  the  trains  through  passengers  being  able  to  get  a 
drink  in  the  diner.    It  was  the  same  old  story  of  Adam 
and  Eve  and  the  forbidden  fruit.    My  argument  was 
that  the  C.P.R.  was  as  great  a  temperance  reformer 
as   any   temperance    organization,   for   no   trainman 
was  allowed  to  go  on  his  run  if  there  was  the  slightest 
taint  of  liquor  on  his  breath,  and  sobriety  was  re- 


/ 


280  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

quired  of  all  employees  when  on  duty.  Besides,  when 
one  happened  to  fall  from  grace,  he  was  called  on  the 
carpet,  and  a  repetition  of  his  offence  was  punished 
with  dismissal.  Then  I  instanced  that  once,  out  at 
Moose  Jaw,  when  Lord  Shaughnessy  saw  some  train- 
men entering  the  bar  at  the  company's  hotel,  he  called 
to  Sir  William  Whyte:  "Whyte  close  that  bar." 
Several  hours  passed  and  Lord  Shaughnessy  noticed 
that  the  bar  was  still  open.  Calling  Sir  William,  he 
sharply  said:  " Whyte,  I  told  you  to  close  that  bar. 
Why  wasn't  it  closed?" 

"I  am  going  to  do  so  to-night  at  closing  time." 

"No,  you're  not.    Close  it  now." 

And  it  was  closed  instanter. 

His  Repartee  Like  Rapier  Thrust. 

With  the  sole  object  of  encouraging  the  thorough- 
bred horse  industry  in  the  Province  of  Quebec,  Lord 
Shaughnessy  not  only  became  a  member  of  the  then 
newly-formed  Montreal  Jockey  Club,  but  also  import- 
ed a  fashionably-bred  race  mare.  Although  highly 
recommended  this  mare  "Silk  Hose"  finished  in  most 
of  her  races  a  very  bad  last.  In  one  when  she  had 
galloped  past  the  stand  probably  thirty  lengths  be- 
hind the  other  starters,  Charles  M.  Hays,  then  pre- 
sident of  the  G.T.R.,  who  was  standing  beside  Lord 
Shaughnessy,  remarked,  "That's  a  fast  mare  you 
have,  Shaughnessy." 

"Yes,"  replied  Lord  Shaughnessy,  "she's  about  as 
fast  as  a  Grand  Trunk  train." 

After  her  unsuccessful  racing  career,  "Silk  Hose" 
was  placed  in  the  stud.  Her  first  foal,  a  filly  named 
"Lisle  Hose,"  seemed  to  inherit  the  mother's  hoo- 
doo. She  became  ill  as  a  yearling ;  was  sick  as  a  two- 
year-old,  and  the  following  season — died.  The  morn- 
ing after  she  "kicked  out,"  Tom  Callary,  his  secre- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  281 

tary,  told  his  lordship  that  he  had  bad  news  for  him. 
"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "The  trainer  has  just  told 
me  that  the  filly  died  last  night — " 

"That's  not  bad  news,"  replied  Lord  Shaughnessy. 
"That's  good  news;  we  won't  have  to  feed  the  blessed 
thing  any  longer,  will  we?" 

When  her  second  foal — this  one  a  colt — became  sick 
also  as  a  two-year-old,  and  was  thereby  unable  to  race ; 
and  when,  the  following  spring — unlike  the  maple 
trees — he  did  not  show  the  least  inclination  to  run, 
Lord  Shaughnessy  told  Callary  to  do  whatever 
he  pleased  with  the  colt.  This  colt,  that  had  been 
named  "Silk  Bird,"  eventually  got  to  the  races.  Be- 
fore the  first  start  his  secretary  informed  Lord 
Shaughnessy  that  he  thought  the  colt  had  a  good 
chance  to  win. 

"What  is  it,"  asked  his  lordship,  "a  walking  race?" 

He  never  could  be  persuaded  to  make  a  bet,  remark- 
ing on  one  occasion  "that  he  wouldn't  bet  on  that  horse 
even  if  it  were  alone  in  the  race."  And  yet  this  colt, 
probably  the  best  thoroughbred  raised  in  the  Province 
of  Quebec,  won,  not  only  his  first  start  but  also  nine  or 
ten  other  races,  including  the  King's  Plate  of  1916. 
But  the  winnings  of  that  season,  that  should  have  gone 
to  recoup  the  losses  sustained  during  the  several  lean 
years,  were  distributed  under  his  Lordship 's  direction, 
to  the  hospitals  and  charitable  institutions  most  in 
need  at  the  time.  Many  people  must  have  wondered 
when  they  saw  the  name  "Silk  Bird"  amongst  the  lists 
of  subscribers,  more  especially  as  the  contributions 
were  rather  "hefty."  And  then  to  cap  all,  and,  as  it 
were,  to  make  it  unanimous,  his  Lordship  gave  away 
the  colt. 

As  I  stated  previously,  Lord  Shaughnessy  abso- 
lutely refused  to  bet  on  the  chances  of  his  colt,  but 
there  were  employees  by  the  score  who  backed  "the 


282  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

C.P.R.  horse,' '  (as  lie  was  known  throughout  the 
country)  at  every  start.  And  as  he  won  with  prices 
ranging  against  him  from  ' i  evens ' '  to  as  high  as  forty- 
to-one,  his  supporters,  unlike  his  owner,  came  out  well 
ahead.  No  better  indication  could  be  had  of  the  loy- 
alty to,  and  affection  for,  "the  big  'boss,"  than  by 
the  manner  in  which  all  those  under  his  Lordship 
pulled  so  whole-heartedly  and  so  consistently,  in  good 
years  and  in  bad,  for  the  success  of  the  Shaughnessy 
colors — old  gold  and  scarlet — whenever  and  wherever 
they  appeared  on  the  Canadian  tracks.  On  race  days 
the  secretary  was  bombarded  with  telephone  calls 
from  vice-presidents  right  down  to  call  boys,  enquiring 
as  to  the  colt's  chances,  his  condition,  the  name  of  the 
jockey,  etc,  etc.  But  Lord  Shaughnessy  knew  nothing 
of  this  very  important  feature  of  his  secretary's 
duties. 

Hats  Off  to  the  Chief. 

When  Lord  Shaughnessy  relinquished  the  presi- 
dency, he  became  chairman  of  the  board,  and  is  to  be 
found  in  his  office  every  week-day  when  in  town,  main- 
taining an  active  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  company. 
When  his  successor  was  appointed,  Lord  Shaugh- 
nessy, much  to  Mr.  Beatty's  chagrin,  insisted  upon 
changing  offices  with  him,  and  the  new  president  re- 
luctantly took  possession  of  the  more  pretentious 
quarters.  The  next  day  there  was  a  presentation  of 
a  silver  shield  which  Lord  Shaughnessy  had  given  to 
the  Order  of  St.  John's  Ambulance  Association.  It 
took  place  in  the  board  room  of  the  Windsor  Street 
Station.  The  ex-president  was  a  few  minutes  late,  and 
he  cheerfully  apologized,  quaintly  adding:  "But  it 
makes  no  difference.  I  am  only  a  supernumerary 
now."  And  that  showed  the  kind  of  man  Lord  Shaugh- 
nessy is. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  283 

Beloved  by  all,  with  an  affection  that  permeates  the 
ranks  from  the  higher  to  the  lower  grades,  still  in 
harness,  Lord  Shaughnessy's  evening  of  life -is  plea- 
santly passed,  and  the  hope  is  fervently  expressed,  not 
only  by  those  who  have  grown  grey  in  the  service,  but 
by  thousands  of  others,  that  the  "T.GL"  of  years  ago, 
of  "Mr.  President,' '  of  "Sir  Thomas"  and  "My 
Lord"  will  long  remain  to  be  the  "guide,  philosopher 
and  friend"  of  those,  who,  like  myself,  have  learned 
his  actual  worth,  fully  realize  the  true  nobility  of  his 
character,  and  fondly  cherish  the  inspiring  memories 
of  his  unfailing  loyalty  and  deep-rooted  affection  and 
friendship. 

Hats  off  to  the  Chief,  boys,  hats  off ! 

The  Present  President. 

If  I  were  writing  an  article  about  a  man,  in  which 
I  was  desirous  of  exposing  the  intimate  characteris- 
tics not  generally  known,  I  think  I  would  start  with 
the  fundamentals  of  character,  ability  and  the  most 
obsolete  virtue  of  modesty.  I  would  then  pass  on  to 
the  consideration  of  other  personal  qualities,  such  as 
humanness,  sense  of  humor  and  magnetism,  and  I 
would  tell  the  extent  to  which  they  existed  in  the  sub- 
ject of  the  sketch.  The  next  step  would  be  to  give 
instances  indicating  the  possession  of  the  characteris- 
tics described,  and,  if  anything  further  were  necessary, 
I  would  allow  the  reader  to  assume  some  of  the  char- 
acteristics from  the  number  of  activities  not  connected 
with  his  official  position  that  he  indulged  in. 

There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  of  the  presiding 
genius  of  the  C.P.R.  in  this  way.  -To  be  the  youngest 
president  of  the  greatest  transportation  company  in 
the  world  is  something  to  be  proud  of.  But  Edward 
Wentworth  Beatty  would  be  the  very  last  one  to  boast 
of  that  or  any  of  the  other  high  honors  that  have  been 


284  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

showered  upon  him.  Why  his  head  wasn't  turned  at 
the  overwhelming,  fulsome  flattery  and  never-ending 
high  compliments  and  congratulations  and  beautiful 
bouquets  that  were  lavishly  thrown  at  him  by  voice 
and  pen,  is  a  wonder  to  those  who  do  not  know  the 
man.  It  could  be  said  that  a  mighty  big  percentage 
of  ordinary  humanity  would  have  at  once  affected  an 
English  accent,  donned  a  monocle  and  taken  to  spats. 
He  didn't  even  flicker  an  eyelash.  He  must  have  at- 
tended scores  upon  scores  of  schools  in  his  youth, 
and  spent  most  of  his  time  playing  football  all  over 
the  universe,  for  I  have  met  a  mighty  multitude  of 
his  school-fellows,  and  a  regular  regiment  of  brother 
chasers  of  the  pigskin,  every  blessed  one  of  whom 
claims  to  know  him  well.  All  this  doesn't  feaze  him 
either.  He  keeps  on  the  even  tenor  of  his  way  serenely, 
familiarly  calls  his  close  associates  by  their  first  names 
and  is  far  more  approachable  than  the  average  man  in 
a  similar  position  of  lofty  responsibilities.  High 
honors  have  not  affected  him  in  the  slightest.  He  has 
the  same  old  familiar  spirit  of  his  youth  and  early 
manhood,  with  all  the  same  kindly  good-natured  chr 

acteristics  and  the  same  creditable  creed to  do  well 

whatever  there  is  to  be  done.  He  is  the  " Prince  Eddie 
of  Wales  of  the  C.P.E.  and  of  Canada." 

His  Father  a  Transportation  Pioneer. 

Born  in  Thorold,  Ontario,  on  October  16,  1877,  his 
father  being  Henry  Beatty,  a  well-known  steamboat 
man  on  the  Great  Lakes,  whose  steamers  of  the 
Beatty  Line  were  amongst  the  pioneers  of  navigation 
on  those  inland  waters,  his  early  youth  was  spent  at 
Thorold,  where  he  was  an  apt  scholar  in  the  town 
school.  At  ten  years  of  age  his  family  moved  to 
Toronto  where  he  attended  the  Model  School,  Harbord 
Collegiate,  Toronto  University  and  Osgoode  Hall,  and 


E.    W.    BEATTY,    K.C. 
President  of  the  C.P.R. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  285 

in  1898  was  articled  as  a  law  student  with  the  law 
firm  of  McCarthy,  Osier,  Hoskin  &  Creelman.  On  the 
appointment  of  the  last  named  as  chief  counsel  of  the 
C.P.R.  at  Montreal  in  1901,  Mr.  Beatty  went  with  him 
and  five  years  later  was  appointed  his  assistant.  He 
was  elevated  to  the  chief  solicitorship  in  1910.  Four 
years  later,  on  the  retirement  of  Mr.  Creelman,  he 
succeeded  to  the  office  of  chief  counsel,  and  also  made 
a  vice-president  of  the  company.  Mr.  Beatty 's  high 
ability  had  already  been  fully  recognized,  and  on  Lord 
Shaughnessy's  retirement,  he  was  chosen  to  succeed 
him.  Everyone  will  candidly  admit  that  it  is  a  diffi- 
cult task  to  fill  Lord  Shaughnessy's  shoes,  but  the  ex- 
president  will  as  candidly  admit  that  they  fit  his 
successor  admirably. 

The  president  makes  no  pretence  to  oratory,  but  he 
is  a  forceful  public  speaker,  who  says  what  he  means 
clearly  and  succinctly,  and  has  the  magnetism  to  hold 
his  audience  deeply  interested.  The  kind  of  speech 
that  he  makes  is  one  that  is  frequently  punctuated  with 
applause,  and  his  enthusiastic  reception  on  rising  is 
invariably  magnified  into  an  ovation  when  he  closes 
his  peroration.  He  always  catches  the  crowd.  He 
has  no  fads,  and,  well,  he  just  has  an  old  head  on 
young  shoulders.  He  still  enjoys  witnessing  athletic 
sports  which  he  indulged  in  during  his  boyhood  days, 
likes  a  good  play  at  the  theatre,  though  I  am  afraid 
grand  opera  may  be  a  little  too  much  for  him,  delights 
in  a  horse  race,  and  plays  solitaire  and  other  card 
games  which  require  four  or  more  players.  He  still 
pays  the  bachelor  tax,  and  I  don't  believe  he  would 
refuse  a  drink  of  Scotch  in  Quebec  or  British  Colum- 
bia, but  he  wouldn't  chase  off  to  Mexico  or  Cuba  to 
get  one.  His  politics  are  "Canada  and  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Kailway."  He  enjoys  the  unbounded  confi- 
dence of  his  large  circle  of  friends,  and  the  100,000 


286  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

officials  and  employees  of  the  company  look  to  him  as 
one  pre-eminently  fitted  to  fill  the  high  position  which 
came  to  him  because  of  his  great  personality,  clean 
forceful  character,  and  his  many  estimable  qualities 
of  head  and  heart. 

David  McNicoll  of  the  Old  Guakd. 

Amongst  the  old  guard  of  the  C.P.R.  the  name  of 
David  McNicoll  will  long  be  remembered.  He  was 
with  the  company  almost  since  its  inception,  joining 
the  staff  in  1883.  He  had  previous  railway  experience 
in  Scotland  and  in  Canada,  to  which  country  he  came 
when  a  young  man,  and  when  he  joined  the  C.P.R., 
at  the  age  of  thirty-one  years,  his  energy  and  ambi- 
tion found  the  vent  they  could  not  find  in  the 
positions  he  had  previously  occupied.  Passenger 
agent,  passenger  traffic  manager,  assistant  general 
manager,  vice-president  and  general  manager,  he 
graduated  from  the  comparatively  humble  position  to 
that  in  which  he  exerted  plenary  authority,  and  always 
to  the  advantage  of  the  company. 

His  judgment  was  sound,  his  observation  keen,  his 
knowledge  of  the  C.P.R.  in  all  its  ramifications  re- 
markable ;  his  perspicacity  notable.  Close  to  his  desk 
was  a  series  of  maps.  These  he  studied  by  the  hour 
when  a  policy  of  expansion  was  to  be  decided  upon. 
He  knew  every  bit  of  rail  on  the  system ;  he  made  the 
west  his  familiar  companion;  he  was  wedded  to  the 
great  corporation  to  which  he  gave  his  best  powers. 
A  tireless  worker,  he  never  spared  himself,  and  mas- 
tered even  the  minutest  detail  in  all  his  labors,  and  it 
was  this  constant  attention  to  his  duties  that  broke  his 
health.  While  generous  to  a  fault,  he  had  full  pos- 
session of  the  proverbial  Scotch  thrift,  so  that  no  one 
was  surprised  when  it  was  told  of  him  that  in  a  certain 
office  there  were  five  clerks  and  only  four  desks,  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  287 

another  desk  was  required,  he  wanted  to  know  if  it 
wouldn't  be  better  to  fire  the  extra  clerk  instead  of 
buying  a  new  desk.  He  had  also  Scotch  reliance  and 
determination,  and  Was  a  hard  man  to  bluff. 

A  bank  manager,  with  a  real  or  fancied  grievance, 
angrily  bounced  into  his  office  one  day  and  threatened 
that  if  a  certain  thing  wasn't  done  and  done  P.D.Q., 
he  would  give  orders  that  not  a  single  passenger  or 
pound  of  freight,  or  express  parcel  or  telegraph  mes- 
sage would  be  given  to  the  C.P.R. 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  McNicoll,  "Just  let  me 
know  when  you  issue  that  order,  will  you,  and  I'll 
issue  an  order  to  all  C.P.R.  agents  to  refuse  the.  bills 
of  your  confounded  old  bank. ' ' 

The  bank  manager  discreetly  pulled  in  his  horns. 

Mr.  McNicoll  was  one  of  the  builders  of  the  C.P.R., 
and  he  should  be  accorded  a  fair  measure  of  the  glory 
which  attaches  to  those  who  helped  to  bring  the  com- 
pany up  to  its  present  proud  position. 

Vice-President  Ogden. 

Prominent  among  the  high  officials  is  I.  G.  Ogden, 
who  is  known  as  the  financial  genius  of  the  C.P.R. 
During  his  long  connection  with  the  company,  dating 
from  1881,  forty  years  ago,  when  he  started  as  auditor 
on  western  lines,  with  headquarters  at  Winnipeg,  until 
to-day,  when  he  is  vice-president  in  charge  of  finances, 
Mr.  Ogden  has  steadily  risen  in  official  positions.  In 
1883  he  was  appointed  auditor  for  the  entire  system,  in 
1887  was  comptroller,  and  in  1901  became  vice-presi- 
dent. There  is  no  more  popular  official  in  the  com- 
pany's service,  and  many  a  grateful  heart  there  is  for 
his  help  in  hour  of  financial  depression.  Of  his  abili- 
ties— why,  he  wouldn't  have  been  where  he  is  if  he 
were  not  big  enough  for  the  job.  Of  course,  he  is 
not  as  young  as  he  used  to  be,  but  his  years  fall  lightly 


288  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

upon  him,  and  he  trips  along  the  corridors  as  if  he 
were  a  care-free  lad,  and  tackles  large  questions  with 
a  full  knowledge  of  the  details  and  great  comprehen- 
sion of  his  responsibility. 

"I.G.,"  whose  initials  on  the  corner  of  a  cheque 
and  at  the  bottom  of  many  a  pay  roll  have  dissemin- 
ated happiness  and  sunshine  to  thousands,  was  honored 
by  having  the  immense  Ogden  works  near  Calgary 
named  after  him.  He  doesn't  take  very  many  holidays, 
but  when  he  does  the  waters  of  the  Rideau  Lakes  are 
considerably  lowered  by  the  big  catches  he  pulls  out 
at  his  camp  on  the  shores  of  that  lake.  Mr.  Ogden  has 
always  surrounded  himself  by  capable  men  like  John 
Leslie,  the  kindly  and  always  tactful  Comptroller,  W. 
J.  Moule,  whose  untimely  death  was  a  distinct  loss  to 
the  Company,  H.  L.  Penny,  Ernie  Lloyd,  J.  H.  Shear- 
ing, C.  J.  Flanagan,  Jim  Steele,  Charley  Black,  the  late 
F.  E.  Shrimpton,  G.  C.  Gahan;  the  affable  and  ever- 
green George  Jackson,  W.  J.  Percival,  W.  H.  Lang- 
ridge,  H.  J.  Dalton,  W.  M.  Taylor,  E.  J.  Bulgin,  W.  H. 
Blackaller,  W.  J.  SudclifTe,  E.  Emery,  W.  J.  Cherry, 
B.  Arnum,  R.  Urwin,  and  others  who  have  grown  old 
or  are  getting  gray-haired  in  the  Accounting  depart- 
ment. 

In  the  early  evening  of  his  life — because  years  do 
not  always  make  age  with  some — he  is  as  genial  and 
jovial  as  ever,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  humor- 
ous. His  frequent  sallies  always  provoke  laughter.  One 
of  his  best  was  when  some  time  after  the  formation  of 
the  Montreal  millionaire  club,  the  Mount  Royal,  which 
led  to  the  desertion  of  some  of  the  habitues  of  the  well- 
known  fashionable  St.  James '  Club  for  the  new  attrac- 
tion, one  day  a  friend,  who  had  been  conspicuous  by 
his  absence  from  the  St.  James  and  presence  at  the 
Mount  Royal,  dropped  in  casually  at  the  former,  and 
when  Mr.  Ogden  saw  him  gaily  greeted  him  with, 
"  Hello,  old  man,  slumming  again  V9 


■ 


I.  G.  OGDEN  D.  McNICHOLL 

R.  B.   ANGUS 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  289 

Mr.  Ogden  is  an  indefatigable  worker,  and  seldom 
is  away  from  his  office  unless  called  to  New  York  or 
elsewhere  on  business — or  to  Rideau  Lake. 


My  "Fidus  Achates. 


j  > 


There  could  be  no  warmer  friend  or  congenial  spirit 
or  lovable  companion  than  William  Stitt,  general  pas- 
senger agent  of  the  C.P.R.,  who  represented  the  com- 
pany in  Winnipeg  and  Montreal  and  for  several  years 
in  Sydney,  Australia.  He  had  a  great  personality,  was 
generous  to  a  fault,  and  had  a  happy  knack  of  making 
and  keeping  friends.  A  pleasant-faced  Scotchman 
from  Kirkcudbrightshire,  which  he  always  contended 
I  could  never  pronounce  properly,  though  I  could — 
"Kirk-cu-brig-sheer" — he  was  happily  mentioned  by  a 
lady  writer  in  one  of  the  Australian  papers  upon  leav- 
ing that  country:  "No  man  could  possibly  be  as  inno- 
cent as  William  Stitt  looks."  That  was  William  to 
a  T.  Full  of  Scotch  wit,  always  affable,  and  pleasant 
spoken,  he  had  gained  the  undying  friendship  of  a  host 
of  friends,  amongst  whom  was  myself.  Circumstances 
frequently  brought  us  together  in  our  work  in  Windsor 
Street  Station  and  on  the  road.  To  tell  all  our  ex- 
periences would  require  a  volume  by  itself,  but  a  few 
incidents  should  be  recalled : 

Once  we  were  occupying  a  drawing-room  on  the  C. 
P.R.  train  to  Quebec.  During  the  night,  I  went  to  the 
toilet,  and  the  opening  of  the  door  awakened  him. 

"What  time  is  it,  George V9  he  drowsily  asked. 

"It's  4.10,  Weelum,?'  I  replied.  I  always  called  him 
"Weelum"  after  the  character  in  "Bunty  Pulls  the 
Strings." 

Weelum  immediately  resumed  his  slumbers,  but  I 
didn't,  and  after  tossing  around  for  half-an-hour  or  so, 
I  grabbed  him  by  the  hand — he  was  sleeping  opposite 
me — and  cried,  "Weelum,  Weelum,  wake  up." 

(20) 


290  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

He  accommodatingly  did,  and  then  I  very  seriously 
said  to  him:  "Weelum,  do  you  know  that  when  I  said 
it  was  4.10  it  wasn't.    It  was  4.15.' ' 

"Oh,  go  to  blazes,  you  old  heathen  you.  What  did 
you  want  to  wake  me  up  for  to  tell  me  that?" 

"Weelum,  say,  Weelum," — but  he  would  not  listen 
to  what  I  had  to  say. 

Finally  I  managed  to  make  him  hear  me,  and  I  ex- 
plained that  I  had  been  brought  up  by  good  God-fear- 
ing parents,  who  had  admonished  me  never  to  go  to 
sleep  with  a  lie  on  my  lips,  and  that  my  conscience 
wouldn't  let  me  sleep  until  I  had  confessed  my  sin. 

His  unmistakable  directions  as  to  my  immediate 
destination,  which  wasn't  Quebec,  were  forcibly  given, 
and  to  the  sweet  music  of  his  impassioned  declamation 
as  to  the  innumerable  varieties  of  a  blithering  idiot 
that  I  was,  I  peacefully  fell  asleep,  while  his  continued 
sarcastic  remarks  were  rendered  inaudible  by  the  roar 
of  the  wheels. 

Flooked  James  Oborne. 

On  another  occasion,  we  were  out  in  James 
Oborne 's  private  car  through  the  Muskoka  country. 
James,  as  you  know,  besides  being  general  superin- 
tendent of  the  C.P.R.  was  a  total  abstainer,  and  as 
pernickety  as  they  make  them  on  the  liquor  question. 
As  James  and  I  were  sitting  together  one  morning  in 
the  rear  end  of  the  car,  Weelum 's  name  came  up  in- 
cidentally, and  I  remarked  quite  off-hand-like: 

"Weelum  is  a  grand  man,  a  nature's  nobleman,  but 
—but—" 

"But,  what!"  demanded  James. 

"Oh,  I  don't  like  to  tell,  but,  between  you  and  me, 
Weelum  crooks  his  elbow  too  much." 

James  was  astounded;  it  wasn't  possible,  and  he 
wanted  to  know  if  he  drank  very  heavily. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  291 

"Like  a  fish,"  I  mendaciously  retorted. 

Just  then  Weelum  entered,  and  James  Oborne  im- 
mediately informed  him  of  what  I  had  told  him. 

" Oborne,' '  said  Weelum,  "did  he  say  that?  And 
I  suppose  he  told  you  he  never  touched  a  drop  himself. 
Oh,  but  he's  an  awful  liar.  Did  you  notice  how  fre- 
quently he  goes  into  his  bedroom?"  And  James 
bowed  affirmatively.  "Well,  the  old  villain  has  a 
bottle  of  Scotch  in  there.  That's  why.  Do  you  know 
that  the  last  time  he  was  in  my  place,  he  drank  up 
every  drop  of  liquor  there  was  in  the  house?" 

James  reproachfully  looked  at  me  and  silently 
awaited  some  sort  of  an  explanation. 

"It's  true,  James,  alas,  it's  only  too  true,"  I  un- 
blushingly  remarked.  "But  he  hasn't  told  you  the 
whole  story.  You  know  what  a  charming  woman 
Mrs.  Stitt  is.  Now,  I  leave  it  to  you,  James,  I  leave 
it  to  you,  what  would  you  do  if  a  lovely  woman  like 
Mrs.  Stitt  came  up  and  put  her  arms  around  your 
neck  and  with  tears  streaming  down  her  rosy  cheeks 
would  say  to  you:  'For  goodness'  sake,  George,  drink 
up  all  the  whiskey  there  is  in  this  house,  or  William 
will  have  the  D.T.'s?" 

Mr.  Oborne  was  completely  obfuscated,  and  to 
the  day  of  his  death  was  undecided  whether  I  was  an 
inveterate  liar  or  William  a  confirmed  drunkard. 

Don't  think  I  got  the  best  of  it  every  time.  Weelum 
generally  evened  up  on  me.  One  day  at  a  little  gather- 
ing, sombody  or  other  remarked  that  everybody  knew 
me  and  that  I  knew  everybody. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  says  Weelum.  "Not  a  word 
of  truth  in  it.  He's  an  awful  faker.  Why  I  went  to 
see  some  prominent  people  who  were  about  to  make 
a  trip  to  the  coast,  and  I  told  them  that  George  would 
be  on  the  train,  but  they  didn't  know  him  at  all.    I 


292  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

called  in  the  colored  porter,  and  explained  that  this 
party  was  going  out,  bnt  that  George  Ham  would  be 
on  the  train,  and  to  see  him  about  them.  The  porter 
said:  'George  Ham — who  is  he?  Never  heard  of 
him."' 

And  Weelum  led  in  the  laughter  in  which  everybody 
joined. 

Haunted  by  Presentiment. 

When  Weelum  passed  away  suddenly  on  April  1st 
four  years  ago,  I  was  in  Los  Angeles,  -and  could  not 
sleep  the  previous  night.  There  was  a  premonition  of 
impending  misfortune  haunting  me,  so  I  hurried  to  the 
local  C.P.R.  office  next  morning  where  Polly — Mr.  A. 
A.  Polhamus — handed  me  two  telegrams.  While  I  am 
nearly  as  blind  as  a  bat  without  spectacles,  I  hastily 
and  distinctly  read  the  despatches  without  glasses. 
One  was  from  Charlie  Foster,  saying  that  Mr.  Stitt  was 
dangerously  ill;  the  other  of  later  sending  was  from 
my  secretary,  Bessie  James,  that  he  had  died  that 
morning  in  Captain  Walsh's  office,  adjoining  mine. 
I  was  grief-stricken,  and  sadly  walked  over  to  where 
Alex.  Calder  and  John  McKechnie,  two  dear  old  Win- 
nipeg friends  of  both  Weelum  and  myself,  were  await- 
ing me,  and  wistfully  whispered:  "William  Stitt  is 
dead. ' '  Their  sorrowing  downcast  looks  were  pathetic. 
There  was  a  sickening  tugging  of  the  heart-strings 
and  tear-dimmed  eyes,  for  we  mourned  as  many  an- 
other did  over  the  passing  away  of  one  of  the  dearest 
souls  God  ever  put  life  in. 

Captains  Courageous. 

Vessels  of  the  C.P.E.  plough  the  waters  of  two 
oceans,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  lakes  and  rivers, 
but  enough  to  require  a  large  fleet.    Let  me  tell  you 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  293 

something  about  the  sailors  bold  who  have  been  for 
years  in  the  company's  service,  and  some  of  whom 
distinguished  themselves  during  the  great  war. 

Capt.  Troup,  now  manager  of  the  B.C.  coast  steam- 
ers, was  a  "-swift- water"  man  whose  early  training 
among  the  rapids  of  the  Columbia  River  served  him 
in  good  stead  on  the  Columbia  and  Kootenay  lakes. 
He  has  made  a  wonderful  success  of  our  coast  fleet, 
and  is  still  going  strong.  His  able  assistant  was  Capt. 
Gore,  who  is  now  pensioned. 

Capt.  Rudhlin,  who  was  of  the  original  crew  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company's  Beaver,  the  first  steamship 
to  ply  the  waters  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  served  many 
years  with  the  C.  P.  Navigation  Company,  and  after 
amalgamation  with  the  C.P.R.,  he  was  the  first  com- 
mander of  the  crack  Princess  Victoria.  Capts.  Hickey 
and  Griffin  keep  the  boats  on  the  triangular  run  go- 
ing with  such  regularity  in  all  weather  that  residents 
of  Vancouver,  Victoria  and  Seattle  set  their  watches 
by  the  Princess  boats. 

Of  the  transpacific  officers,  Capt.  Marshall  brought 
the  Empress  of  India  out  in  1890,  and  after  success- 
fully sailing  her  for  many  years  was  appointed  an 
Elder  Brother  of  Trinity  House,  the  highest  honor 
open  to  men  of  the  mercantile  marine.  Capt.  Lee  com- 
manded the  Abyssinia,  when  first  chartered  for  the 
China  trade,  and  took  the  Empress  of  Japan,  when 
built  in  1891,  and  had  great  success  with  her  until  his 
retirement  on  a  well-earned  pension. 

Capt.  Harry  Mowatt  fitted  out  the  Athenian  for  the 
Skagway  trade  when  the  Klondyke  firs  opened  up. 
He  made  a  wonderful  record  for  his  ship  as  a  horse 
and  troop  transport  to  the  Philippines  during  the 
Spanish-American  war,  and  went  to  Liverpool  as 
marine  superintendent  when  the  Atlantic  Steamships 
Line  was  inaugurated  in  1903,  where  he  did  yeoman 


294  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

service  during  the  early  anxious  years  of  the  new 
venture. 

Capt.  William  Stewart,  a  fine  example  of  the  old 
school  North  Atlantic  skipper,  was  in  command  of  the 
Lake  Champlain  when  first  acquired  by  the  company. 
He  took  over  the  Empress  of  Britain,  when  built. 
Originally  a  ship's  carpenter,  he  helped  to  build  and 
was  the  first  commander  of  the  barque  Lake  Sirncoe. 
She  was  also  his  first  ship.  Going  home  on  the  Britain 
on  his  last  voyage  before  retirement  a  vessel  on  fire 
was  sighted.  Approaching  closer,  the  barque  was 
found  to  be  abandoned  but  was  identified  as  the  Lake 
Sirncoe.  He  and  his  first  ship  ended  their  career 
together. 

Capt.  Frank  Casey,  first  commander  of  the  Empress 
of  Ireland,  with  a  humorous  cock  to  his  eye  and  the 
most  delightfully  soft  Irish  brogue,  was  popular  with 
passengers  and  greatly  beloved  by  his  brother  offi- 
cers. Crossing  the  banks  of  Newfoundland  in  dense 
fog  he  could  always  smell  ice,  and  while  he  took  regu- 
lation soundings  his  officers  say  it  was  only  a  matter 
of  form  for  he  would  call  the  depth  and  bottom  be- 
fore it  was  officially  reported. 

Capt.  Murray,  who  succeeded  to  the  Empress  of 
Britain,  was  very  popular,  highly  respected  and  is 
deeply  regretted.  He  was  killed  in  the  Halifax  ex- 
plosion while  engaged  in  war  transport  work  for  the 
Government. 

Capt.  Walsh,  who  was  taken  over  with  the  Elder 
Dempster  fleet  in  1903,  still  remains  as  manager  of 
the  C.P.O.S.  at  Montreal.  He  has  sailed  the  seas  over 
for  many  a  year,  and  was  in  the  Gold  Coast  of  Africa 
trade  before  joining  the  C.P.R. 

And  then  there  was  Capt.  Evans,  "Bully"  Evans, 
not  nicknamed  as  you  might  suppose,  but  from  his 
many  years  of  piloting  cattle  ships.    He  had  a  keen 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  295 

sense  of  humor  and  a  wonderfully  hearty  and  infec- 
tious laugh.  His  gruff,  bass  voice  and  sometimes 
frowning  eyebrows,  hid  one  of  the  kindest  hearts  that 
ever  beat,  and  now,  alas,  it's  stilled  for  ever. 

Capt.  Smith  sailed  the  Milwaukee  for  years.  She 
went  a  long  way  in  a  long  time.  Early  in  her  career, 
before  his  command,  she  lost  her  nose  in  an  argument 
with  the  east  coast  of  Scotland.  The  new  one  supplied 
by  the  generous  owners  served  a  purpose,  but  did 
not  add  to  her  speed,  and  although  she  was  credited 
with  9.2  on  her  trials  her  fair  sea  average  was  nearer 
2.9.  Capt.  Smith  was  heading  her  out  into  the  broad 
Atlantic,  when  a  submarine  broke  water  on  his  star- 
board bow.  He  was  unarmed  save  for  a  ten-foot  log 
of  wood  he  had  mounted  on  the  bow,  and  some  detonat- 
ing caps.  Swinging  his  ship  bow  on,  he  trained  his 
" ordnance' '  and  one  cap  exploded  so  realistically 
that  the  sub.  promptly  ducked.  A  few  hours  later  the 
Hesperian  went  to  the  bottom  through,  it  is  supposed, 
the  same  submarine. 

Capt.  Boothby,  whose  brother  is  the  English  author, 
Guy  Boothby,  and  Capt.  Hodder,  who  stood  six  feet 
two  inches  in  his  stocking  feet  and  weighed  three  and 
a  half  pounds  for  every  inch  of  his  height,  were  born 
of  the  sea.  I  nearly  "beat  up"  Capt.  Hodder  once, 
but  explained  afterward  I  had  refrained  principally 
on  account  of  his  size  and  his  sex;  One  of  his  boys 
was  torpedoed  three  times,  and  he  thought  the  last 
time  was  particularly  hard  luck  as  the  boy  only  saved 
his  pyjamas  and  a  red  flannel  undershirt. 

Capt.  Gillies  brought  the  Keewatin  out  from  the 
Clyde  on  her  way  to  her  home  on  the  Upper  Lakes. 
Like  Silas  Wegg,  he  occasionally  dropped  into  poetry 
and  could  see  a  joke  less  slowly  than  most  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen.  He  was  less  concerned  about  the  subs, 
than  he  was  about  the  instructions  for  avoiding  them. 
His  verses  on  the  trials  of  the  commander  of  a  con- 


296  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

voyed  ship  are  amusing  now,  but  at  the  time  of  writing 
they  contained  as  much  truth  as  they  did  poetry. 

Capt.  Jimmy  Turnbull,  who  served  with  great  dis- 
tinction in  the  great  war,  was  decorated,  mentioned  in 
despatches,  and  has  since  been  promoted  to  the  highest 
commissioned  rank  in  the  R.N.R.,  that  of  full  captain. 
Multum  in  parvo  with  a  vengeance. 

Capt.  Clews,  whose  jovial  face  and  perennial  smile 
compel  a  return  in  kind,  was  going  to  New  York  for 
a  few  days,  and  hearing  that  except  for  an  uncle  he 
was  without  friends  in  the  American  metropolis,  I 
offered  some  letters  of  introduction.  On  his  return, 
he  apologized  for  not  having  presented  them,  but  ex- 
plained he  found  it  impossible  to  get  away  from  his 
uncle.  Long  afterwards  it  developed  that  the  uncle 
in  question  was  Henry  Clews,  the  great  banker. 

Capt.  Griffiths,  now  on  the  Empress  of  Britain, 
Capt.  Griffith  Evans,  now  I  think  the  senior  of  the 
Ocean  Service  shippers,  and  Capt.  Parry,  are  all 
fellow  countrymen  of  Lloyd  George,  and  very  properly 
proud  of  it.  Capt.  Webster  is  also  well  among  the 
seniors,  but  as  fit  and  hearty  as  ever.  Capt.  Kendall, 
to  whom  belongs  the  credit  of  the  capture  of  Dr.  Crip- 
pen,  Capt.  Murray,  who  was  chief  officer  on  the  Lake 
Champlain  when  I  crossed  on  her  sixteen  years  ago, 
bore  a  gallant  part  in  the  action  and  was  severely 
wounded  when  the  Carmania  sank  the  Cap  Trafalgar. 

Masters  of  the  Inland  Seas. 

On  the  Great  Lakes  Capt.  E.  B.  Anderson  was  as 
well  known  as  the  Manitoba  was  popular  with  the 
travelling  public.  He  never  told,  if  he  ever  knew,  the 
date  of  his  birth,  but  it  is  believed  he  was  nearer  eighty 
than  seventy  when  he  retired.  It  would  have  required 
much  stronger  proof  than  his  appearance  to  credit  him 
with  more  than  fifty  summers. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  297 

F 

Capt.  Jim  McAllister  commanded  the  Alberta  for 
many  years  and  afterwards  lived  in  Vancouver  and 
Fort  William.  To  the  day  of  his  death  he  stoutly 
maintained  that  there  not  only  had  never  been,  but 
there  never  could  be,  the  equal  of  the  Alberta. 

Capt.  Louis  Payette  was  on  the  bridge  of  the  Assini- 
boia  making  his  ship  fast  in  the  Canadian  lock  one  day 
in  1909  wihen  the  Perry  Walker  smashed  the  lock  gates 
and  let  both  the  Assiniboia  and  Crescent  City  drop 
down  eighteen  feet  with  the  full  force  of  Lake  Superior 
behind  them.  There  was  an  anxious  few  minutes,  but 
Capt.  Payette's  coolness  and  good  steamanship  mini- 
mized the  damage  and  he  was  able  to  finish  his  voyage 
with  passengers  and  cargo  intact. 

All  of  the  five  present-day  skippers  on  the  Great 
Lakes  were  born  and  brought  upon  the  shores  of  the 
wonderful  Georgian  Bay — a  Bay  only  in  name,  and  in 
reality  one  of  the  Great  Lakes  and  the  only  one  en- 
tirely Canadian.  Four  of  them  are  of  Highland  Scotch 
descent  and  equally  at  home  in  Gaelic  or  English,  two 
in  fact  had  their  early  education  in  the  weird  but  mu- 
sical language  of  their  forefathers,  and  acquired  the 
tongue  of  the  Sassenach  in  later  years.  Capt.  Malcolm 
McPhee  is  very  proud  of  the  "Keewatin,"  and  the 
reputation  he  has  made  for  her  arrival  on  the  stroke 
of  the  clock  is  a  byword  on  the  Lakes.  Capt.  James  Mc- 
Cannell  of  the  "Assiniboia,"  is  a  Scot  of  Scots,  and 
regrets  that  the  kilt  is  hardly  suitable  for  the  bridge 
during  the  November  gales  on  Lake  Superior.  He 
has  been  known  to  carry  a  private  piper  on  his  crew. 
Capt.  John  Mclntyre  is  one  of  the  seven  boys,  six  of 
whom  are  lake  captains  and  first-class  seamen  all. 
Capt.  Murdoch  MacKay  is  another  stalwart  specimen 
of  Canadian  of  Highland  descent.  His  Gaelic  is  fluent 
and  very  useful  during  moments  of  stress  when  ladies 
are  within  hearing.    Capt.  Frank  Davis  is  of  English 


298  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

descent  and  highly  popular  with  all  who  travel  on  the 
good  ship  "Manitoba.".  Built  in  Owen  Sound,  she 
retains  the  connection  with  the  original  home  port  of 
the  fleet  and  calls  each  week  during  the  season  to  pay 
her  respects  to  the  beautiful  city  of  the  Sound. 

The  Active  Men  of  To-day. 

There  are  so  many  of  the  first  and  second  brigades 
of  the  C.P.R.  men  who  did  yeoman  service  in  building- 
up  the  company  in  its  earlier  days  when  everything 
was  not  so  roseate  as  it  is  to-day,  that  to  recall  them 
all  would  make  this  article  look  like  the  register  of 
the  heavenly  choir.  A  great  deal  more  could  be 
said  of  them  than  the  limits  of  this  writing  would 
permit,  but  it  would  be  unfair  if  they  were  not  men- 
tioned. Amongst  them  are  the  vice-presidents:  W.  R. 
Mclnnes,  who  has  been  with  the  company  since  1885, 
and  who  has  risen  from  a  clerkship  in  the  purchasing 
department;  George  M.  Bosworth,  who  joined  the  staff 
in  1882,  became  freight  traffic  manager  and  vice-pre- 
sident and  is  now  chairman  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Ocean  Services;  Grant  Hall,  who  dated  from  1886, 
but  after  a  few  years'  connection  with  the  I.C.R.  re- 
turned to  his  first  love  and  rapidly  rose  in  the  service 
until  he  reached  his  present  position.  A.  D.  MacTier 
dates  from  1887  as  a  clerk  in  the  baggage  department. 
He  became  a  stenographer  to  the  general  superin- 
tendent, and  filled  other  positions:  general  baggage 
agent,  general  fuel  agent,  assistant  to  the  vice-presi- 
dent, general  manager  of  eastern  lines,  and  finally  vice- 
president.  D.  C.  Coleman  came  into  the  company  in 
1899  as  a  clerk  in  the  engineering  department  at  Fort 
William,  and  afterwards  was  general  superintendent, 
assistant  general  manager  at  Winnipeg,  and  then  his 
present  position.  Harry  Suckling  in  1874  went  with 
the  Credit  Valley  road,  and  the  next  year  became  its 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  299 

secretary-treasurer,  local  treasurer  of  the  C.P.R.  in 
Toronto  in  '83,  assistant  treasurer  at  Montreal  in  '86, 
and  succeeded  Mr.  Sutherland  as  treasurer  in  1908 — 
they  being  the  only  holders  of  the  office.  Fred  L. 
Wanklyn  has  been  chief  executive  officer  for  many 
years.  Col.  John  S.  Dennis  in  1903  inaugurated  the 
irrigation  policy  of  the  company  in  the  west,  by  which 
large  areas  of  land  were  reclaimed.  Working  from 
Calgary,  with  excellent  results,  he  was  promoted  to 
the  office  of  assistant  to  the  president  in  1912,  and  is 
now  Chief  Commissioner  of  Colonization  and  develop- 
ment. It  took  a  few  years  for  J.  S.  to  make  his  irri- 
gation venture  a  success,  and  during  that  time  he 
learned  the  truth  of  the  old  adage  that  "a  prophet  is 
not  without  honor  save  in  his  own  country."  In  1915 
the  consulting  engineers  of  the  U.S.  Department  of 
Agriculture,  who  made  a  thorough  investigation  of  the 
Alberta  irrigation  project,  said,  "Some  day  a  grate- 
ful people  will  honor  this  pioneer  empire  builder  in 
much  the  same  way  as  Italy  has  honored  Count  Cavour 
in  the  valley  of  the  Po."  That  time  has  come  to  pass, 
and  Col.  Dennis  has  lived  to  see  the  success  of  the 
scheme  which  he  worked  so  hard  to  accomplish. 

Robert  Randolph  Bruce,  the  "Pioneer  of  the  Happy 
Valley"  (Columbia),  one  of  the  picturesque  figures  of 
the  West,  was  on  the  payrolls  of  the  company  from  '87 
to  '97.  He  came  to  Canada  straight  from  Scotland. 
When  he  landed  in  New  York  and  walked  up  Broad- 
way, bits  of  purple  heather  still  stuck  to  his  clothes.  He 
had  $40  in  his  jeans  and  under  the  vest,  and  now  he's  a 
mine  owner  and  bloated  capitalist.  W.  B.  Lanigan 
(Billy)  commenced  work  in  1884  with  the  C.P.R.  as  a 
telegraph  operator  at  Sharbot  Lake,  and  got  going  up 
the  scale  rapidly  until  now,  an  expert  freight  man,  he 
is  freight  traffic  manager  of  all  the  C.P.R.  lines.  He 
was  born  at  Three  Rivers,  P.Q.,  the  home  of  Jacques 


300  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Bureau,  M.P.,  and  they  were  schoolmates,  Billy  being 
the  model  boy,  and  Jacques  nothing  of  the  sort,  with 
the  result  that  Billy  naturally  gravitated  towards  the 
C.P.E.,  and  Jacques  just  as  naturally  gravitated  to- 
wards politics.  Associated  with  Mr.  Lanigan  are 
Harry  E.  Macdonell  who  has  seen  service  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  Bob  Larmour,  who  has  been 
stationed  in  the  east  and  the  west  and  the  centre — New 
York,  Fort  William,  Winnipeg  and  Vancouver — and 
is  now  in  Montreal,  Major  William  Kirkpatrick,  who 
after  many  years'  service  is  now  freight  traffic  mana- 
ger at  Winnipeg.  William  C.  Bowles  started  as 
a  clerk  in  the  Soo,  and  now  is  general  freight  agent  at 
Winnipeg,  E.  N.  Todd  and  A.  0.  Secord  at  Montreal, 
H.  A.  Plough  at  Nelson,  W.  B.  Bamford  at  Nelson, 
B.C.,  Marsh  Brown  at  Toronto,  and  Hamilton  Abbott, 
who  was  the  first  freight  agent  at  Calgary.  H.  A. 
Beasley  is  another  veteran  now  managing  the  E.  &  N. 
Railway  (C.P.R.)  in  Vancouver  Island.  A.  Hatton  has 
risen  to  be  general  superintendant  of  transportation. 

Some  of  the  Western  Men. 

In  the  west  is  P.  L.  Naismith,  who  is  1900  was  mana- 
ger of  the  A.  E.  &  I.  Co.,  and  is  now  manager  of  the 
important  department  devoted  to  the  expansion  of  the 
country's  natural  resources.  Allan  Cameron,  now  gen- 
eral superintendent  of  the  Natural  Eesources  branch, 
joined  the  company  in  1883  as  a  clerk  in  the  freight 
department  at  Winnipeg,  and  afterwards  was  pro- 
moted to  the  office  of  assistant  general  freight  agent 
at  Vancouver.  After  spending  four  years  in  the  com- 
pany's service  in  China,  he  was  transferred  to  London, 
England,  and  moved  to  New  York  city,  holding  in  both 
places  the  position  of  general  freight  agent.  From  this 
position  in  1903  he  was  transferred  to  Calgary  where 
he  became  general  superintendent  of  lands,  department 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  301 

of  Natural  Resources.  In  this  department  is  also 
Norman  Rankin,  who  has  been  with  the  company  for 
years  and  has  high  literary  ability.  W.  H.  D'Arcy 
has  been  general  claims  agent  at  Winnipeg  since  the 
memory  of  man,  and  Chas.  Temple  has  recently  been 
promoted  to  chief  of  motive  power  and  rolling  stock  at 
Montreal.  Frank  Peters  joined  the  C.P.R.  staff  in 
1881  in  the  cashier's  office  at  Winnipeg.  The  next 
year  he  was  agent  at  Brandon  and  afterwards  freight 
agent  at  Port  Arthur  and  Winnipeg  and  after  being 
stationed  in  the  Kootenay  became  assistant  to  Vice- 
president  Whyte  at  Winnipeg,  and  is  now  general 
superintendent  of  the  B.  C.  division.  Alfred  Price 
was  operator  and  clerk  in  the  general  offices  of  the 
Credit  Valley  in  1879;  after  being  superintendent  on 
various  divisions  he  is  now  general  manager  of  eastern 
lines  at  Montreal — and  a  mighty  good  one  too,  for  it  is 
said  of  him  that  there  is  no  better  railroader  in  North 
America.  Another  expert,  Charlie  Murphy,  fills  a 
similar  position  on  Western  lines.  Then  there  are 
general  superintendent  John  Scully  of  North  Bay, 
Horace  Grout,  of  Toronto,  Ken  Savage  of  Montreal, 
H.  P.  Timmerman,  now  Industrial  Commissioner  with 
Graham  Curtis  as  his  assistant,  and  Jack  McKay  of 
Saskatoon. 

Tom  Walklate  has  been  buying  lumber  and  ties  for 
the  C.P.K.  since  1885,  and  is  still  buying  them  but  not 
at  the  old  prices.  Chris.  Kyle,  who  was  locomotive 
foreman  in  '89  and  afterwards  master  mechanic,  is 
now  supervisor  of  apprentices  with  headquarters  at 
Montreal.     Bob  Miller  started  railroading  in  1873  and 

iwas  station  agent  at  Windsor  street  station  for  ten 
years,  and  is  now  passenger  train  master  there.     No 
i  one  knows  when  Ed.  Whelan,  at  the  Windsor  Street 
I  Station    started    selling    tickets,    and    is    namesake 
Thomas  at  the  gate  has  a  voice  like  Caruso,  while 


302  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

John  Cullin,  who  looks  after  the  offices,  is  still  to  the 
fore. 

Pkominent  Passenger  Men. 

In  the  passenger  department  are  such  indefatigable 
workers  as  Charlie  Ussher,  who  since  1886  has  been  in 
the  fold.  From  a  comparatively  minor  position  he  has 
steadily  risen  until  now  he  is  passenger  traffic  manager, 
and  also  has  charge  of  the  chain  of  hotels  of  the  entire 
system,  and  spends  the  rest  of  his  time  either  in  his 
office  or  on  the  train.  Charlie  McPherson,  whom  his 
friends  call  Cluny,  came  to  the  C.P.R.  from  the  Kock 
Island  in  1886,  and  has  been  stationed  at  Montreal, 
Boston,  St.  John,  Toronto,  and  is  now  at  Winnipeg, 
Where  he  is  assistant  passenger  traffic  manager.  He  is 
a  Chatham,  Ontario,  boy,  but  wandered  into 
foreign  fields  at  an  early  age.  Then  there  is  Charlie 
Foster,  assistant  passenger  traffic  manager  at  Mon- 
treal. When  I  first  met  him  in  1891  he  was  a  junior 
clerk  at  St.  John,  N.B.  He  has  during  those  thirty 
intervening  years  risen  from  the  ranks,  and  he  is  one 
of  that  kind  of  fellows  whose  future  is  not  behind  him. 

Others  who  have  risen  from  the  ranks  are  W.  H. 
Snell  and  Col.  Walter  Maughan,  of  Montreal;  Harry 
Brodie,  of  Vancouver;  Geo.  Walton,  of  Winnipeg;  W. 
B.  Howard,  and  N.  R.  DesBrisay,  of  St.  John,  N.B.; 
Dave  Kennedy,  of  every  place ;  Dan  Steele,  high  muck- 
a-muck  at  Sherbrooke;  Billy  Fulton  at  Toronto;  Billy 
Grant  an  old  timer  of  the  old  timers  at  Hamilton; 
George  McGlade,  of  Brockville;  "Burroughs,  of  Belle- 
ville ;"  Billy  Mcllroy,  now  stationed  at  Detroit;  J.  B. 
Way,  at  the  Canadian  Soo;  Joe  Carter  at  Nelson; 
Charlie  Philps,  of  St.  John,  N.B.;  and  the  company's 
representatives  in  the  United  States — Fred  Perry  in 
New  York ;  Tommy  Wall  at  Chicago ;  E.  L.  Sheehan, 
at  St.  Louis;  Mike  Malone,  at  Cincinnati;  A.  A.  Pol- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  303 

hamus  at  Los  Angeles ;  Fred  Nason  at  San  Francisco ; 
Teddy  Chesbrough  at  Atlanta,  A.  G.  Albertson,  at  Min- 
neapolis, L.  R.  Hart  at  Boston,  G.  B.  Burpee  at  Cleve- 
land, R.  C.  Clayton  at  Philadelphia,  Clarence  Williams 
at  Pittsburg,  B.  E.  Smeed  at  St.  Paul,  Fred  Sturdee 
at  Seattle,  D.  C.  O'Keefe  at  Tacoma,  E.  L.  Cardie  at 
Spokane,  C.  E.  Phelps  at  Washington,  and  George 
Walton  at  Buffalo,  all  of  whom  have  been  with  the 
company  for  years  and  upheld  the  interests  of  the 
C.P.R.  in  the  land  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Geo.  C.  Wells,  whose  word  is  always  accepted  in 
railway  conferences,  began  as  a  clerk  in  the  passenger 
department  in  Montreal  in  '92,  and  now  he  is  still  at 
work  as  assistant  to  the  passenger  traffic  manager. 

George  Hodge  came  into  the  vineyard  in  1890  as  a 
clerk  in  the  passenger  department,  and  steadily  rose 
officially  until  now  he  is  assistant  to  the  vice-president. 
Fred  Hopkins  came  to  work  earlier  than  George — in 
'82 — in  the  passenger  department  and  rose  to  be  as- 
sistant general  passenger  agent.  Emile  Hebert's  con- 
nection with  the  company  dates  away  back  in  the  '80 's. 
To  him  is  assigned  the  duty  of  looking  after  French- 
Canadian  patrons,  and  he  does  it  so  successfully  that 
many  of  his  compatriots  imagine  that  he  is  the  presi- 
dent of  the  C.P.R.  and  believe  that  Ambroise  Lalonde, 
another  veteran,  is  general  manager. 

Good  old  Alexander  Calder,  of  Winnipeg,  has  been 

associated  with  the  company  ever  since  its  birth,  and 

is  still  doing  business  at  the  same  old  stand.    His  son 

Arthur  has  been  with  the  company  for  very  many 

|  years,  and  now  fills  a  position  on  the  executive  staff. 

Charles  Buell  is  of  the    '95  product,  and  after  a 

quarter  of  a  century's  service  is  now  staff  registrar 

'and  secretary  of  the  pension  department.     "They" 

say  that  Charlie  knows  the  age,  sex  and  previous  con- 


304  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

dition  of  servitude  of  every  blessed  one  of  the  100,000 
employes  of  the  C.P.R. 

Billy  Dockrill,  Harry  Ibbotson,  Jimmy  McKenna, 
and  Walter  Brett  are  veteran  travelling  passenger 
agents  still  on  deck.  E.  J.  Smith,  for  years  with  the 
company,  is  now  chief  ticket  agent  at  Montreal;  Fred 
C.  Lydon,  who  came  as  a  boy,  is  city  ticket  agent  at 
Montreal.  Geo.  Beer  and  Billy  Corbett  are  well  known 
figures  in  the  Toronto  office.  Billy  Jackson,  outside 
ticket  agent  at  Clinton,  is  said  to  be  the  oldest  ticket 
agent  in.  Canada.  W.  H.  C.  Mackay,  St.  John,  N.B., 
and  Jerry  Chipman,  Halifax,  and  Arthur  Shaw,  of 
Montreal,  have  been  with  the  company  for  goodness 
knows  how  long.  Tom  Eiddell  has  been  in  the  claims 
department  since  a  boy,  and  is  still  there. 

The  present  chief  engineer,  John  M.  Fairbairn, 
started  in  1892  as  topographer  on  the  Soo  Road,  and 
quickly  rose  in  position  until  in  1918  he  reached  the 
top  of  the  department.  P.  B.  Motley  came  as  a 
draughtsman  in  the  same  department  in  the  same  year, 
and  is  now  engineer  of  bridges.  And  of  the  others— 
their  name  is  legion,  Angus  McMurchy,  of  Toronto, 
is  perhaps  the  oldest  solicitor  of  the  company,  and  is 
still  in  harness. 

H.  W.  Sweeney  was  an  office  boy  in  the  treasurer's 
department  in  '86,  and  after  being  clerk,  cashier,  pay- 
master he  was  appointed  local  treasurer  at  Winnipeg 
in  1908,  and  still  fills  that  position  most  efficiently. 

Billy  Cooper,  who  is  now  the  head  of  the  sleeping  car 
department,  commenced  work  as  a  clerk  in  the  general 
superintendent 's  office  in  Montreal  in  '91.  He  has  able 
assistants  in  the  other  old-timers,  Bert  Mathews,  of 
Winnipeg,  and  Frank  Tingley,  of  Vancouver,  Sid 
Wertheim,  of  Toronto,  and  Jimmy  Downs,  of  Mon- 
treal, who  can  get  more  lower  berths  for  passengers 
than  any  other  person — and  these  are  all  veterans. 


jflr 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  305 

E.  N.  Bender  entered  railway  work  in  1880  as  secre- 
tary to  the  general  storekeeper  of  the  Quebec,  Mon- 
treal, Ottawa  and  Occidental  Eailway,  now  a  part  of 
the  C.P.R.  system.  In  1902  he  succeeded  A.  C.  Henry 
as  general  purchasing  agent,  and  has  with  him  a  cap- 
able staff,  many  of  whom  are  old-timers. 

James  Manson  (Jim)  began  railroading  with  C.P.E. 
in  1882,  then  rose  to  be  superintendent,  and  after  ex- 
perience in  Winnipeg  and  Toronto  was  transferred  to 
Montreal,  where  he  is  assistant  to  Vice-President 
Grant  Hall.  His  duties  are  manifold,  and  as  varied, 
and  he  is  a  fixture  for  life  in  smoothing  over  the  rough 
edges  of  his  fellow-workers. 

Harry  Oswald  is  an  old-timer,  dating  away  back, 
and- from  a  subordinate  position  is  now  assistant  se- 
cretary, and  secretary  of  no  fewer  than  eighty-one 
subsidiary  companies. 

Teddy  Moore  came  when  he  was  in  the  bloom  of 
youth  which  he  still  retains,  and  has  charge  of  the  in- 
surance of  the  company  which  reaches  up  to  the 
millions. 

George  Jackson,  after  many  years  of  service,  is  now 
auditor  of  claims,  and  Allyn  Seymour  rose  from  a 
minor  position  to  be  general  tourist  agent. 

The  Tkain  Staff. 

Amongst  the  old-time  conductors  still  shouting  "all 
aboard"  are  Davy  Bell,  Ed.  Chapman,  Aaron  Burt, 
Jack  Johnson,  George  Wood,  Charles  Clendenning,  Ab. 
and  Dick  Harshaw — now  promoted  to  superintenden- 
ces, Billy  Hassard,  W.  Goodfellow,  Dan  Cameron, 
Frank  McLean,  now  at  the  gate  of  the  Union  Station 
Toronto,  Sandy  Younger,  Howard  Moore,  the  brothers 
Ed.  and  Duncan  Park,  Oscar  Westover,  Joe  Legros, 
Wm.  Eeilly,  Morley  Munro,  A.  Houle,  John  Sheldon, 
on  the  Boston  run,   Steve  Yates,  Bob   Clarke,  Mac 

(21) 


306  EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  EACONTEUR 

Beaton,  Wm.  Campbell,  A.  Courtney,  0.  Brushey,  Dan 
Carmichael,  Bob  Young,  James  McWilliam,  Ed.  Me- 
Creary,  George  Henderson,  Joe  Lappin  and  Frank 
Norman. 

Amongst  the  oldest  drivers  were  James  Fisher,  who 
ran  an  engine  from  Montreal  to  the  end  of  the  line  iv 
B.C.,  in  the  early  days  (one  trip  only) ;  Harry  Floyd, 
who  had  the  Prince  of  Wales  as  his  companion  on  the 
run  over  the  Trenton  division,  his  Royal  Highness  sav- 
ing Harry  the  trouble  of  blowing  the  whistle;  Dick 
Christopher,  Ed.  Tout,  and  Tom  Leonard,  a  brother  of 
J.  W. ;  Wm.  Wilson,  John  Mclnnerary,  Wm.  Johnston, 
James  Mahoney,  and  John  Douglas.  Alfred  Stewart 
is  now  assistant  superintendent  on  the  Atlantic  divi- 
sion. Roadmaster  Gus  Erickson,  who  has  risen  from 
the  ranks,  told  the  scientific  world  of  Europe,  through 
my  writings,  why  the  mountains  of  the  Canadian 
Rockies  wore  haloes,  and  John  Riordon  (Jerry)  is  still 
on  his  job. 

A  valued  old-timer  is  Ike  McKay,  who  has  been  with 
the  company  for  a  score  or  more  of  years. 

The  Advertising  Men. 

In  the  publicity  department  in  the  early  days  were 
such  men  as  Ed.  Sandys,  Roy  Somerville,  Molyneaux 
St.  John,  Harry  Charlton,  Wilfred  Crighton,  and  now 
the  presiding  genius  is  John  Murray  Gibbon,  who  is 
also  an  author  of  considerable  note,  and  he  has  sur- 
rounded himself  with  a  capable  staff.  During  all  the 
years  some  of  the  best  descriptive  writers  in  the  world 
have  written  up  the  C.P.R.  until,  with  its  newspaper 
advertising,  and  handsomely  printed  booklets,  its  name 
is  known  everywhere. 

Chief  Chamberlain  was  with  the  company  years  ago, 
and  after  being  chief  of  police  in  Vancouver  returned. 
Men  in  his  department  include  Col.  MacLeod,  of  Win- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  307 

nipeg;  J.  P.  Burns,  J.  Cadieux  and  Inspectors  Spragge 
and  McGorman,  of  Vancouver;  Neliher,  at  Calgary; 
Ashman,  at  Winnipeg;  Chesser,  at  Moose  Jaw;  Mac- 
Farlane,  at  North  Bay;  Morse,  at  Toronto;  Catlow,  at 
St.  John,  N.B. ;  and  Logan,  at  Montreal— all  veterans. 

The  Ocean  Service. 

Notable  among  the  officers  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Ocean  Services  are  Wm.  T.  Payne,  manager  for  Japan 
and  China,  who  has  resided  for  many  years  in  Yoko- 
hama, and  has  received  high  honors  from  the  Imperial 
Japanese  Government.  Charlie  Benjamin  joined  the 
traffic  department  in  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  and  rose  to  be 
passenger  traffic  manager  of  the  C.P.O.S.  Weldy 
Annable,  who  started  in  the  Ottawa  ticket  office, 
transferred  to  Montreal,  and  after  a  term  as  general 
baggage  agent  was  promoted  to  his  present  position 
as  general  passenger  agent.  Percy  Sutherland  is  gen- 
eral passenger  agent  in  Hongkong,  a  son  of  J.  N. 
Sutherland,  general  freight  agent  at  St.  John,  N.B., 
and  Toronto  for  many  years.  Billy  Ballantyne  is  the 
capable  and  popular  assistant  general  passenger  agent 
at  Montreal,  and  Willie  Webber,  wjho  welcomes  the 
coming  and  speeds  the  parting  traveller  at  the  gang- 
way of  the  Atlantic  steamers,  smooths  away  their 
troubles  and  spreads  that  gospel  of  service  which  is  the 
motto  of  the  C.P.R.  W.  T.  Marlow,  now  at  the  head  of 
the  Ocean  Services  freight  department,  and  Dick 
Clancy  is  another  popular  old-timer  among  the 
veterans.  The  former  started  in  Toronto  in  the  early 
days  and  served  for  many  years  in  the  Far  East  before 
reaching  his  present  position. 

The  baggage  department,  over  which  Joe  Apps,  a 
veteran  of  the  veterans,  presides,  with  assistants  like 
W.  E.  Allison  and  T.  W.  McGuire,  of  Montreal,  and 


308  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Joe  Sparks,  of  Winnipeg,  and  amongst  other  workers 
Mrs.  Tracey,  who  has  been  ir  the  department  for  years, 
is  an  important  one.  Last  year  the  total  pieces  of  bag- 
gage handled  numbered  6,353,308;  bicycles,  13,317; 
dogs,  21,494 ;  baby  carriages,  27,905 — all  sensible  babies 
travel  by  the  C.P.R. ; — coupes,  3,475 ;  and  cans  of  milk, 
2,831,858.  Space  forbids  mention  of  the  number  of 
cases  of  hard  liquor  carried  into  the  arid  districts  lying 
between  the  Ottawa  River  and  the  summit  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  but — . 

It  can  be  readily  understood  that  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  mention  a  tithe  of  the  names  of  the  thou- 
sands of  C.P.R.  men  whose  long  service  entitles  them 
to  recognition,  but  instances  of  many  will  demonstrate 
that  C.P.R.  men  remained  with  the  company  for  long 
periods,  irrespective  entirely  of  their  walk  in  life. 
Many  joined  when  the  company  was  formed;  others 
came  in  as  the  lines  on  which  they  worked  were  ab- 
sorbed, and  there  are  over  1,000  employees  on  the  pen- 
sion roll,  and  some  of  the  veterans  of  the  early  '80  's 
are  still  at  their  accustomed  posts.  I  am  sorry  I  can't 
recall  them  all. 

On  the  Retired  List. 

Amongst  those  who  have  retired  from  the  service 
but  who  are  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  are  many 
grand  old  veterans :  Mr.  H.  J.  Cambie,  who  did  most 
valuable  work  in  British  Columbia  from  the  earliest 
days  of  the  company,  and  while  not  now  on  active  serv- 
ice acts  in  an  advisory  capacity.  W.  R.  Baker,  C.V.O., 
was  with  the  Canada  Central  at  Ottawa  in  1873,  and 
afterwards  with  the  C.P.R.,  and  then  general  manager 
of  the  Manitoba  &  Northwestern  for  several  years  un- 
til it  became  part  of  the  C.P.R.  system  when  he  was  ap- 
pointed executive  agent  at  Winnipeg  and,  in  1905  he 
became  secretary  of  the  company  and  resigned  in  1917, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  309 

being  succeeded  by  everybody's  friend,  Ernest  Alex- 
ander, who  had  graduated  from  the  president's  office, 
and  still  efficiently  fills  the  position  of  official  scribe 
of  the  company.  Arthur  Piers,  wjio  in  1870  was  with 
the  Great  Western  of  Canada,  in  '82  came  to  the  C.P.R. 
as  assistant  to  the  general  manager  when  the  main 
offices  of  the  company  were  on  Place  d'Armes  Square, 
and  his  office  staff  consisted  of  himself  and  the  office 
boy.  In  1891  he  was  appointed  superintendent  of  the 
company's  trans-pacific  steamships,  and  afterwards 
general  manager  of  all  their  steamship  interests  until 
his  retirement  in  1913,  on  account  of  ill  health.  He  is 
now  residing  on  England,  and  is  just  as  much  a  C.P.R. 
man  as  ever.  His  son,  Arthur,  keeps  up  the  family 
traditions  of  loyalty  and  efficiency  at  his  office  at  Wind- 
sor Street  Station.  My  old  friend,  Mel  Duff,  started  in 
1891  as  the  office  boy  above  referred  to,  and  is  now 
the  very  capable  manager  of  the  Great  Lakes  steamers. 
W.  R.  Callaway,  still  as  young  as  he  used  to  be,  is  now 
with  the  Soo  line.  William  Downie  lives  at  one  of 
my  several  birthplaces,  Whitby,  Ont.  General  Super- 
intendent J.  T.  Arundel  has  taken  to  farming  at  Oak- 
ville,  Ont.  Harry  Charlton  is  now  the  efficient  pub- 
licity manager  of  the  Grand  Trunk  at  Montreal.  Hay- 
ter  Reed  and  his  charming  wife,  who  are  living  at  St. 
Andrews,  left  their  indelible  impress  on  the  entire 
C.P.R.  hotels  system.  Frank  Brady  is  now  one  of  the 
bosses  on  the  Canadian  National  system.  James  Ful- 
lerton,  the  capable  ship's  husband  at  Vancouver,  and 
Sam  Buchanan  who  filled  a  similar  position  for  the 
Great  Lakes  Steamship  service  in  1891,  are  enjoying 
the  luxury  of  a  rest,  and  Reggie  Graves,  of  the  Place 
Viger  Hotel,  is  now  managing  two  hotels  at  Iroquois 
Falls  for  the  Abitibi  Paper  and  Pulp  Company.  Davy 
Brown,  the  evergreen  old  boy  of  Vancouver,  whose 
genial  welcoming  handclasp  is  just  as  warm  as  it  was 


310  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

thirty  years  ago,  is  still  very  much  alive,  and  W.  F. 
Salsbury,  for  many  years  local  treasurer  at  Vancouver, 
has  recently  retired. 

Politics  Interfere  With  Business. 

Fred  Gutelius,  as  good  an  operating  man  as  ever 
lived,  came  from  Heinz 's  lines  in  British  Colum- 
bia, and  when  general  superintendent  in  Montreal  was 
induced  by  the  Hon.  Frank  Cochrane  to  take  charge 
of  the  Intercolonial,  which  he  vainly  endeavoured  to 
run  on  business  principles,  and  resigned  in  disgust  at 
his  dismal  failure  for  political  influence  was  too  great 
to  overcome.  He  is  now  vice-president  of  the  D.  &  H., 
with  headquarters  at  Albany,  N.Y.,  where  his  duties 
are  not  interfered  with  by  every  ward-heeler.  Hugh 
Lumsdun,  an  old  civil  engineer  who  came  to  the  com- 
pany in  1884,  and  after  twenty  years '  service  resigned 
to  accept  the  chief  engineership  of  the  National  Trans- 
continental. He  is  now  living  in  retirement  at  Orillia, 
Ont.  N.  S.  Dunlop,  who  made  the  entire  line  from  St. 
John  to  Vancouver  a  road  of  roses,  still  resides  at 
Westmount.  James  A.  Sheffield  was  superintendent  of 
sleeping,  dining  and  parlor  cars  and  hotels  from  1882 
to  1902  when  he  resigned  on  account  of  ill  health.  Wm. 
Cross  in  1882  was  assistant  mechanical  superintendent 
in  Montreal,  and  became  master  mechanic.  In  1887  he 
was  tranferred  to  the  western  division  and  was  pro- 
moted to  the  office  of  assistant  to  Vice-President 
Whyte,  in  1904,  and  after  a  quarter  of  a  century's 
service  was  pensioned.  Billy  Grant,  now  Col.  William 
A.  Grant,  was  private  secretary  to  Sir  William  Van 
Home  for  many  years. 

H.  H.  Vaughan,  who  was  superintendent  of  motive 
power  and  assistant  to  the  vice-president  for  many 
years,  retired  to  become  head  of  an  industrial  corpor- 
ation.    Col.  George  Burns,  of  the  audit  department, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  311 

resigned  to  be  of  service  to  his  country  during  the  war. 
Driver  Harry  Mills  is  now  Minister  of  Mines  in  the 
Ontario  Government,  and  Andy  Ingram,  who  was  in 
the  baggage  department,  is  chairman  of  the  Ontario 
Eailway  Board.  Frank  McLean  was  at  the  gate  at  the 
Toronto  terminals.  A  great  character  was  Peter 
Stephen,  who  joined  the  merry  throng  in  1880,  aad 
after  years  of  service  at  Smtih's  Falls  was  pensioned 
in  1915.  Conductor  Billy  Brown  of  the  West,  resigned 
to  become  general  superintendent  of  the  C.N.R.,  and 
Ab.  Chapman,  of  Ottawa,  was  presented  with  a  gold 
watch  on  his  retirement  after  fifty  years '  service.  D. 
M.  Telford  was  local  treasurer  at  Winnipeg  three 
years  ago,  and  is  now  living  in  retirement.  Harry 
0  'Connor,  of  Winnipeg,  commenced  with  construction, 
and  ended  as  fire  commissioner.  W.  D.  Evanson,  of 
the  audit  department,  is  now  Comptroller  of  Winnipeg, 
and  Jimmy  Morrison,  who  for  years  was  in  the  passen- 
ger department  is  general  passenger  agent  of  the  C. 
N.E.  John  Morrow,  right-of-way  agent,  retired  some 
years  ago. 

Company  Never  Evicted  a  Settler. 

Fred  T.  Griffin  entered  the  company's  service  in  1883 
as  a  clerk  in  the  land  department,  and  seven  years  later 
succeeded  L.  A.  Hamilton  as  land  commissioner  on 
the  retirement  of  that  gentleman  who  had  initiated  a 
generous  policy  and  it  was  both  his  and  his  successor 's 
boast  that  the  company  had  never  evicted  a  settler, 
but  had  allowed  many  who  had  left  the  country  for 
various  reasons  to  return  and  re-occupy  their  farms  as 
if  nothing  had  ever  happened.  Mr.  Griffin  retired  in 
1917.  H.  L.  Penny  entered  the  audit  department  m 
1881  as  a  clerk,  and  became  general  auditor  in  1889. 
After  thirty-three  years  arduous  service  he  resigned  in 
1914  on  account  of  ill  health.    George  L.  Wetmore  was 


312  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

another  old-timer,  commencing  his  duties  as  foreman 
of  construction  in  1883.  He  became  divisional  engin- 
eer at  several  points  on  the  north  shore  and  St.  John, 
N.B.,  and  was  pensioned  in  1915.  Geo.  H.  Shaw  was 
with  Robt.  Kerr  in  Winnipeg  for  many  years,  and  re- 
signed to  go  with  the  C.N.R.  W.  B.  Bulling,  who  ranks 
amongst  the  pioneers  of  the  C.P.R.,  resigned  some 
years  ago  and  lives  in  Montreal.  Sid  Howard  is  an- 
other old-timer  who  quit  railroading  to  enter  com- 
mercial life.  Ben  Grier  and  Geo.  L.  Courtney  were 
prominent  in  railway  and  steamship  circles  in  Victoria, 
B.C.,  but  both  retired,  and  Ben  is,  or  was,  president 
of  the  local  Board  of  Trade.  John  Corbett,  who  looked 
after  the  export  freight  for  the  C.P.R.  in  Montreal, 
resigned  some  years  ago  and  is  now  living  in  Phila- 
delphia. Eddie  Fitzgerald,  who  when  a  lad  was  a  mes- 
senger in  the  Houseof  Commons,  a  coveted  position  in 
those  days,  became  assistant  chief  purchasing  agent  of 
the  company  and  on  resigning  became  vice-chairman 
of  the  board  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  with  head- 
quarters at  Winnipeg. 

Amongst  other  prominent  men  connected  with  the 
C.  P.  R.  were  E.  H.  McHenry  and  W.  F.  Tye  and  John 
Sullivan,  now  of  Winnipeg,  where  he  was  elected  an 
alderman,  and  amongst  the  real  original  first  ones  was 
J.  M.  Egan,  the  general  superintendent  of  the  road  of 
Winnipeg,  who  left  to  accept  the  presidency  of  the 
Central  of  Georgia  Railway  and  the  Seaboard  Line, 
and  is  now  farming  not  far  from  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Ed.  James  is  another  old-timer.  He  joined  the  C.P. 
R.  in  its  earliest  days,  and  from  a  telegraph  operator 
rose  until  he  became  general  superintendent,  and  after- 
wards accepted  the  general  managership  of  the  Can- 
adian Northern,  from  which  he  resigned  and  is  now 
living  in  Vancouver. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  313 

Col.  E.  W.  P.  Ramsay,  who  made  a  high  record  dur- 
ing the  war,  having  been  mentioned  in  despatches  and 
honoured  with  a  C.M.G.,  was  an  apprentice  in  the  me- 
chanical department  in  his  youth  and  afterwards  en- 
gineer of  construction  of  Eastern  lines — the  building 
of  the  Lake  Ontario  shore  line  being  one  of  his  achieve- 
ments. Charles  W.  Monserrat  in  1889  was  a  draughts- 
man and  later  a  bridge  engineer.  He  had  charge  of 
the  construction  of  the  Quebec  bridge,  having  left  tho 
service  in  1910. 

Other  Old-Timers. 

John  Persse  is  a  prosperous  business  man  of  Winni- 
peg, and  W.  0.  Somers,  of  the  traffic  department,  W. 
J.  Ross,  bridge  builder,  now  of  Port  Arthur ;  of  super- 
intendents James  Murray,  Fred  Jones,  C.  W.  Mile- 
stone, Tom  Kilpatrick,  W.  A.  Perry,  J.  A.  Cameron, 
C.  J.  Ambridge  and  G.  D.  Henderson;  of  old 
conductors  Joe  Fahey,  Leary,  Billy  Fogg,  Larose,  Billy 
Chester,  now  a  prominent  figure  in  labor  circles,  and 
Billy  Brown,  now  general  superintendent  in  the  C.N. 
R. ;  of  engineers,  Ash,  Kennedy,  J.  Brownlee,  Arm- 
strong, H.  Phipps,  Carey,  also  Bob  Willoughby,  Tom 
Carter,  Frank  Nelson,  Mark  Baker  and  Dunham, 
whose  terms  of  service  range  from  twenty-five  to  forty 
years.  Doctors  Good  and  Jones,  Blanchard,  Brett, 
now  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Alberta;  and  Andrew 
Mackenzie,  car  service  agent,  is  now  of  the  Dominion 
Coal  Company. 

Some  Who  Have  Passed  Away. 

There  are  many  men  whom  death  has  called,  bright 
lights  in  the  early  days  of  the  C.P.R.,  and  amongst 
them  Judge  Clarke,  of  Cobourg,  was  one  of  the  orna- 
ments of  the  Canadian  bar.  His  legal  acumen  was  of 
the  greatest  service  to  the  company.    Another  historic 


314  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

personage  was  Mr.  Henry  Beatty,  father  of  the  pre- 
sident, who  designed  and  bnilt  the  original  vessels  for 
the  Great  Lakes.  From  this  nucleus  has  grown  the 
splendid  fleet  of  ocean,  lake,  and  river  steamers,  which 
in  itself  would  entitle  the  company  to  front  rank  among 
the  outstanding  transportation  systems  of  the  world. 
He  was  associated  with  the  company  until  his  death 
in  1914.  Other  outstanding  figures  are  T.  A.  McKin- 
non,  George  Olds  and  Lucius  Tuttle,  of  the  traffic  de- 
partment. Harry  Abbott,  of  Vancouver,  did  invalu- 
able work  in  construction  days  in  the  mountains  of 
British  Columbia,  and  Richard  Marpole,  of  the  same 
city,  who  started  with  the  construction  of  the  road  in 
Algoma  in  1882,  after  many  years'  arduous  and  effi- 
cient labors  in  the  mountains  of  B.C.,  became  the  chief 
executive  officer  on  the  Canadian  Pacific  Coast.  Mr. 
Marpole  had  a  wonderful  grasp  in  railway  matters  and 
died  in  June,  1920,  deeply  regretted. 

Some  Reminiscences. 

W.  Sutherland  Taylor's  connection  with  railways 
commenced  in  1868  when  he  was  secretary  of  construc- 
tion on  the  Toronto,  Grey  &  Bruce  road,  and  after- 
wards treasurer  of  that  company.  When  the  T.,G.  & 
B.  was  absorbed  by  the  C.P.R.  he  became  its  treasurer 
and  retired  in  1908  when  he  was  succeeded  by  another 
old-timer,  Mr.  H.  E.  Suckling,  who  is  still  actively 
and  efficiently  serving  the  company.  Mr.  Sutherland 
Taylor  and  I  were  old  cronies,  and  we  frequently  used 
to  indulge  in  reminiscences.  One  of  his  memories  was 
that  when  a  lad  he  was  going  down  the  Rhine  and  fell 
in  with  a  very  nice  Danish  family  of  father,  mother  and 
several  children.  To  him  they  appeared  to  belong  to 
that  highly  respectable  class  which  consists  of  fairly 
well-to-do  old  families.  He  became  intimate  with  them, 
and  when  a  little  later  he  met  them  again  in  Berlin 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  315 

their  friendship  was  renewed  and  he  was  invited  to 
lunch  at  their  hotel.  During  the  luncheon  one  of  the 
boys,  Master  George,  misbehaved  himself  and  received 
a  gentle  cuff  on  the  ear  and  was  dismissed  from  the 
table.  Years  after  Mr.  Taylor  discovered  that  the  head 
of  the  friendly  family  had  ascended  the  throne  of  Den- 
mark and  was  none  other  than  King  Christian  IX., 
and  that  of  his  youthful  companions,  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter had  been  married  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  had 
become  Queen  Alexandra  of  Britain,  and  her  sister, 
Princess  Dagmar  was  the  Empress  of  Russia,  and  the 
others  were  afterwards  King  Frederick  VIII.,  of  Den- 
mark and  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Wilhelm  of 
Denmark,  and  George  had  occupied  the  throne  of 
Greece,  that  Princess  Lyra  of  Denmark  had  married 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  and  Prince  Vladimar  of 
Denmark  was  wedded  to  Princess  Marie  of  Orleans. 
Never  before  has  a  wandering  young  Canadian  boy 
unconsciously  got  into  so  much  of  the  white  light  which 
beateth  about  the  throne. 

Sir  William  Whyte  came  to  the  C.P.R.  in  its  early 
days,  and  after  filling  several  important  positions  in 
the  east,  went  to  Winnipeg,  where  he  was  Vice-Presi- 
dent, in  which  position  he  exerted  a  wide  influence 
throughout  the  west. 

Then  there  was  Robert  Kerr,  who  as  a  boy  was  con- 
nected with  the  old  Northern  Railway  of  Toronto,  and 
in  1884  entered  the  service  of  the  C.P.R.,  with  head- 
quarters at  Winnipeg  and  afterwards  at  Montreal,  fill- 
ing the  position  of  passenger  traffic  manager.  He  was 
the  son  of  Capt.  Kerr,  an  old  steamboat  man  of 
Toronto,  who  was  in  command  of  the  favorite  Maple 
Leaf,  which  plied  on  Lake  Ontario,  and  with  wjiom  I 
sailed  as  a  non-paying  passenger  many  a  time.  Robert 
Kerr  served  with  great  distinction  during  the  civil 
war,  fighting  for  the  North.    Mr.  James  W.  Leonard, 


316  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

who  passed  away  in  April,  1919,  was  another  old- 
timer  who  is  not  forgotten.  In  his  youth  he  was  con- 
nected with  the  old  Midland  Railway  of  Canada,  and 
afterwards  with  the  Credit  Valley,  and  in  1880,  when 
it  Was  absorbed  by  the  C.P.R.,  he  became  a  superin- 
tendent and  afterwards  general  manager  of  the  road. 
Mr.  Charles  Drinkwater  was  secretary  of  the  railway 
in  1881,  and  in  1908  rose  to  be  assistant  to  the  presi- 
dent. In  his  youth  Mr.  Drinkwater  was  secretary  to 
Sir  John  Macdonald,  and  gained  an  insight  into  parlia- 
mentary matters  that  were  of  great  assistance  to  him 
and  to  the  company  in  matters  of  legislation  in  Ottawa. 

A.  C.  Henry,  who  succeeded  Mr.  Shaughnessy  as 
purchasing  agent,  was  with  the  company  from  its  be- 
ginning, and  died  at  a  comparatively  early  age,  and 
when  he  died  there  was  general  regret  for  he  was 
highly  esteemed. 

One  of  the  oldest  employees  of  the  company  was 
Charles  Spencer,  who  in  1864  was  a  conductor  on  the 
Brockville  &  Ottawa,  and  naturally  was  taken  over  by 
the  C.P.R.  when  that  road  was  purchased  by  the  com- 
pany. He  was  for  year?,  on  the  Montreal-Ottawa  run, 
and  was  a  great  favourite  with  the  travelling  public. 
It  was  not  until  1913  that  he  was  pensioned,  and  he 
died  at  a  ripe  old  age  five  years  later.  He  was  father 
of  Charles  and  H.  B.  Spencer,  two  men  who  were  close- 
ly connected  with  the  C.P.R.  Charlie  became  general 
superintendent  and  resigned  in  1905  to  accept  a  higher 
position  in  the  Canadian  Northern,  and  died  some 
years  ago,  but  Harry,  who  commenced  work  with  the 
Canada  Central  (now  C.P.R.)  in  1870,  as  telegraph 
operator  and  assistant  agent  at  Ottawa,  is  still  on  duty 
on  superintendent  in  his  native  city.  W.  J.  Singleton 
was  another  of  the  early  workers,  being  agent  at 
Ottawa,  in  1882,  and  afterwards  superintendent  until 
1909,  passing  away  early  in  1911. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  317 

E.  J.  Duchesney,  who  did  wonderful  work  at  the  time 
of  the  Frank  disaster;  Molyneux  St.  John,  of  the 
publicity  department,  an  accomplished  writer,  was  as- 
signed to  become  editor  of  the  Winnipeg  Free  Press, 
and  afterwards  was  appointed  Gentleman  Usher  of  the 
Black  Kod  at  Ottawa. 

Others  Gone  But  Still  Remembered. 

P.  A.  Peterson  was  chief  engineer  in  1881,  with  John 
Canadian  as  chief  clerk,  who  composed  nearly  the 
whole  staff,  and  in  1903  was  consulting  engineer,  and 
left  the  service  the  same  year.  The  names  of  Major 
Rogers,  who  found  the  Rogers  Pass,  General  Rosser, 
who  was  the  last  Southern  officer  to  accept  the  inevit- 
able, J.  S.  Schwitzer  and  A.  B.  Stickney,  who  was  chief 
engineer  in  the  West  in  the  early  days,  are  still  re- 
membered, although  they  have  been  laid  at  rest  for 
many  years.  E.  V.  Skinner,  who  represented  the  com- 
pany in  New  York  city  from  1887  to  1908,  was  a  very 
prominent  figure,  and  Horace  Colvin,  who  was  the 
company's  representative  in  Boston  from  1887  to  1903, 
has  also  passed  away.  Another  prominent  figure  was 
Archer  Baker,  who  was  an  accountant  on  the  Brock- 
ville  &  Ottawa  road  in  1870,  and  after  several  promo- 
tions was  stationed  at  London,  England,  and  was 
European  manager  of  the  company  until  his  death  in 
1910.  Alex  Notman  was  a  well-known  figure  and  re- 
presented the  company  at  several  points.  He  was  best 
known  in  Toronto,  and  when  he  died  the  company  lost 
an  energetic  official.  Then  there  were  A.  R.  G.  Heward, 
who  was  with  President  Van  Home  for  many  years; 
Fred  Tiffin,  who  was  the  company's  first  freight  agent 
at  Toronto,  and  resigned  to  join  the  I.C.R.  forces,  he 
being  succeeded  by  J.  N.  Sutherland,  who  has  also 
passed  away.  The  memory  of  J.  Francis  Lee,  of  Chi- 
cago ;  Con  Sheehy,  of  Detroit ;  and  Tom  Harvey,  of  the 


318  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Soo,  Michigan,  all  of  whom  have  gone  to  their  last  rest 
will  not  soon  be  forgotten,  neither  will  Fred  Gauthier, 
of  Winnipeg,  who,  commencing  as  a  freight  clerk  in 
'82,  became  assistant  purchasing  agent  in  1900,  and 
died  in  1919.  Albert  Dana  was  another  one  who  com- 
menced as  general  storekeeper  in  Montreal  in  1881,  and 
in  '86  entered  the  purchasing  department  in  which  he 
reached  a  high  position  and  died  recently.  Jack  Taylor 
came  from  a  family  of  railway  men,  and  began  work  as 
a  train  despatcher  in  Ottawa  in  1878.  In  1911  he  was 
made  general  superintendent  on  several  western  divi- 
sions. General  Superintendent  E.  R.  Jameson,  John 
Niblock  and  J.  A.  McLellan  are  gone. 

Medical  Staff. 

Dr.  Girdwood  was  the  first  chief  surgeon  and  retired 
in  1902.  Among  the  medical  men  on  his  staff  scattered 
along  the  lines  of  the  C.P.B.  were  Dr.  Pringle,  who  for 
many  years  did  excellent  service  on  the  north  shore 
of  Lake  Superior,  and  Dr.  McKid,  of  Calgary;  Dr. 
Orton,  M.P.,  and  Dr.  Brett,  now  Lieutenant-Governor 
of  Alberta,  and  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  and  Dr. 
Kerr,  who  afterwards  was  a  prominent  physician  in 
Washington,  D.C. 

An  old-timer  was  W.  H.  Kelson,  who  was  general 
storekeeper  from  1882  to  1904,  and  Jimmy  Callaghan, 
who  was  with  the  company  from  1886  to  his  death  in 
1912,  and  L.  A.  Genest,  general  storekeeper  at  Winni- 
peg, have  departed  this  life.  Geo.  W.  Henry  was  in  the 
treasurer's  department  for  many  years.  His  father 
was  one  of  the  officers  who  guarded  Napoleon  during 
his  captivity  at  Elba. 

Bob  Morris,  the  general  baggage  agent  at  Montreal, 
Joe  Heffernan,  of  Guelph ;  Joe  Milward,  of  the  freight 
department,  who  was  killed  in  a  bicycle  accident  at 
Boston,  were  connected  with  the  Company  for  years. 


EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  319 

George  Duncan,  of  Ottawa,  who  came  with  the  com- 
pany when  a  boy,  represented  the  C.P.E.  at  Ottawa  for 
many  years  until  his  death.  We  all  remember  Major 
Lydon,  who  formed  the  famed  Highland  Cadets,  and 
who  still  insisted  on  working  after  being  pensioned. 

Memory  also  recalls  Wm.  Harder,  of  Winnipeg; 
John  H.  McTavish,  the  first  land  commissioner,  and 
Alex.  Begg,  his  assistant,  W.  Skead,  and  E.  G.  Barn- 
well, of  the  tie  department,  J.  D.  Farrell,  now  president 
of  the  Oregon  Eailway  and  Navigation  Co.,  and  Dan 
O'Leary,  who  constructed  bridges,  Supt.  Con.  Shields 
and  Wm.  Brown,  brother  of  Davy,  John  Niblock  and 
J.  E.  Cameron,  T.  J.  Lynskey,  the  first  one,  Al.  Perci- 
val  and  Jack  Landers,  old-time  conductors,  and  of 
engineer  Dick  Smith,  Allan  McNab,  one  of  the  pioneer 
locomotive  engineers  of  the  mountains,  Jim  Brownlee 
and  Jim  Stewart,  who  ran  old  "  69. ' ' 

Conductor  Harry  Hall,  after  many  years  of  conduct- 
ing trains,  became  the  representative  of  the  labor  in- 
terests at  Ottawa.  Peter  Stewart  passed  away  after 
many  years  of  service,  and  so  did  Dad  Clarke,  who 
switched  at  the  Toronto  terminals.  Another  Dad 
Clarke — its  wonderful  how  long  they  were  affection- 
ately called  "Dad" — was  for  a  long  time  in  the  pur- 
chasing department  and  died  as  the  result  of  an  acci- 
dent at  Ottawa  several  years  ago. 

Conductors  James  Ferris,  John  Forrester,  A.  St. 
Germain  and  Ed.  Barnes,  all  veterans,  have  passed 
away. 

And  who  can  ever  forget  Charlie  Panzer,  the  road- 
master  ;  old  Gideon  Swain,  who  bossed  the  Winnipeg 
station  for  years ;  Hampton,  of  the  Windsor  Station, 
who  used  words  as  big  as  the  side  of  a  house,  and  that 
dear  old  friend  of  everybody— Constable  Eichards, 
now  guarding  the  pearly  gates  in  the  other  world? 


320  EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Officials  Honored  by  King. 

The  King  has  recognized  the  valuable  service  of 
many  C.P.R.  directors  and  officials  by  giving  honors  to 
Lord  Mount  Stephen,  Lord  Strathcona,  Lord  Shaugh- 
nessy,  Sir  William  Van  Home,  Sir  Thomas  Tait,  who 
did  splendid  railway  work  in  Australia;  Sir  George 
Bury,  for  his  work  in  Eussia;  Sir  George  McLaren 
Brown,  of  London,  England,  for  what  he  did  during 
the  late  war ;  Sir  Arthur  Harris,  Sir  William  Why tc, 
Sir  Augustus  Nanton,  and  Sir  James  Aikins,  of  Win- 
nipeg; Sir  E.  B.  Osier  and  Sir  John  Eaton,  the  mer- 
chant prince  of  Toronto ;  Sir  Vincent  Meredith  and  Sir 
Herbert  Holt,  of  Montreal;  and  for  many  years  an 
official  of  the  company  has  been  and  still  is  Sir  Gilbert 
Johnson,  who  bears  the  Nova  Scotian  baronetcy.  W. 
R.  Baker  was  given  a  C.V.O.  by  King  George,  and  de- 
served higher  honours  for  his  services  during  royal 
visits  to  Canada. 

The  Dominion  Express  Company. 

The  Dominion  Express  Company  has  been  managed 
since  its  inception  by  W.  S.  Stout,  of  Toronto,  the  pre- 
sident, being  ably  assisted  by  T.  E.  McDonnell,  the 
general  manager,  and  W.  H.  Burr,  the  traffic  manager. 
The  names  of  Billy  Walsh,  of  Toronto,  now  passed 
away ;  V.  G.  R.  Vickers,  who  has  retired  to  enter  com- 
mercial life;  Goodwin  Ford,  of  Winnipeg,  and  Jack 
Murray,  of  Toronto,  will  long  be  remembered.  The 
first  president  was  Sir  George  Kirkpatrick. 

The  Live  Wires. 

With  the  telegraph  branch  of  the  C.P.R.  the  name 
of  Mr.  Charles  R.  Hosmer  will  be  long  identified,  for 
he  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  undertaking  at  its  in- 
ception.   He  is  a  director  of  the  company  besides  be- 


J9 


.<**► 


SOUVENIR  OF  THE  DRIVING  OF  THE  LAST  SPIKE  ON  THE  C.P.R.— THE 
FIRST  C.P.R.  LOCOMOTIVE — THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTIVE  IN  TORONTO. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  321 

ing  incidentally  a  capitalist.  Long  associated  with  him 
was  James  Kent,  who  inaugurated  a  press  ser- 
vice and  press  bulletin  for  the  passenger  trains 
in  the  West.  After  thirty  years  in  harness  he 
retired  in  1916,  and  was  succeeded  by  John 
McMillan,  who  has  been  with  the  company  since 
1883,  and  worked  his  way  up  from  a  junior  in 
the  construction  of  telegraphs  to  the  topmost  position. 
The  wires  of  the  C.P.E.  reach  every  part  of  the  civil- 
ized world,  besides  several  countries  that  are  appar- 
ently not  entirely  civilized.  Bill  (W.J.)  Camp,  his 
assistant,  was  a  C.P.R.  electrician  in  1886,  and  there 
are  Geo.  H.  Ferguson  and  many  others  in  this  branch 
of  the  C.P.R.  who  have  been  with  it  for  many  years. 
B.  S.  Jenkins  and  John  Tait  and  Jack  Stronach  were 
old  Winnipeg  workers.  William  Marshall  is  now  as- 
sistant manager  at  that  city,  but  he  has  only  been  with 
the  company  since  1886,  and  other  veterans  are  Jim 
Wilson,  and  Ed.  Grindrod,  the  first  superintendent  and 
inspector  in  B.C.,  who  did  good  service  during  the 
floods  in  the  mountains  some  years  ago. 

Important  "First"  Trains. 

The  first  through  train  to  cross  the  continent  in  Can- 
ada left  Montreal  on  June  28th,  1886,  and  reached  the 
western  terminus,  Port  Moody,  right  on  the  dot  on 
July  4th.  It  was  a  momentous  event,  for  it  was  the 
beginning  of  a  service  that  has  revolutionized  the 
travel  of  the  world.  At  the  send-off,  the  immense 
throng  at  the  old  Dalhousie  Station  was  an  enthusiast- 
ic one,  and  would  have  been  more  so,  but  Col.  Steven- 
son's battery  was  a  little  late  in  arriving  to  fire  a 
parting  salute,  and  time,  tide  and  the  C.P.R.  flyers  wait 
for  no  one.  There  were  only  two  sleepers  attached  and 
they  were  comfortably  filled.  The  only  newspaper  man 
aboard  was  myself,  and  I  had  written  up  the  trip  from 

(22) 


322  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

Montreal  to  Winnipeg  in  advance,  and  sent  it  by  mail 
— for  I  had  been  on  the  road  frequently — only  adding 
the  names  of  the  more  prominent  passengers  by  wire 
from  Ottawa.  When  the  papers  reached  us  on  the 
north  shore  of  Lake  Superior,  Mr.  Dewey,  the  super- 
intendent of  the  postal  service  of  Canada,  who  was 
on  board,  was  astonished  at  the  length  and  accuracy 
of  my  report,  and  wondered  how  and  when  I  had  writ- 
ten it,  and  as  I  did  not  enlighten  him,  except  to  say  that 
he  had  seen  me  writing  on  the  train,  his  mystification 
remained  with  him  until  his  death.  The  trip  was  a 
glorious  one,  and  the  reception  all  along  the  line  was 
like  a  royal  progress.  The  people  of  fire-stricken  Van- 
couver came  over  to  Port  Moody  in  great  numbers  by 
the  old  Yosemite  to  welcome  us.  There  was  no  public 
reception  at  Vancouver,  for  there  wasn't  any  place  to 
hold  one,  the  original  city  having  been  almost  totally 
consumed  by  fire  just  previous  to  our  arrival.  The 
flames  had  destroyed  almost  everything,  but  the  cour- 
age and  hope  and  faith  of  the  pioneers  who  bravely 
struggled  against  the  blighting  effects  of  the  calamity, 
and  they  did  this  successfully,  as  can  be  seen  to-day 
in  the  magnificent  city  which  has  arisen  through  th  e 
splendid  results  of  their  indomitable  energy  and  un- 
ceasing labors  which  made  Vancouver  what  it  is. 

Greeted  Train  With  Music. 

I  have  travelled  on  many  a  " first  train"  since  then, 
but  none  of  more  importance  than  the  first  Imperial 
Limited  which  left  Montreal  for  Vancouver  on  the  eve- 
ning of  June  18, 1899.  The  train  was  the  acme  of  com- 
fort for  the  transcontinental  traveller.  In  order  that 
an  opportunity  might  be  given  of  judging  of  its  equip- 
ment, I  invited  a  number  of  Montreal  and  Quebec  news- 
papermen to  make  the  run  as  far  as  the  Federal  capital 
on  a  special  car  attached  to  the  new  train.    Fred  Cook 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  323 

was  then  the  dean  of  the  Press  Gallery,  and  Parlia- 
ment being  in  session,  I  sent  him  a  wire  telling  him  of 
the  party,  and  asking  him  to  meet  us  at  the  Central 
Station  when  the  train  arrived  at  midnight.  Fred  has 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  organize  a  symposium 
or  birthday  party  in  quick  time,  but  on  this  occasion 
he  did  more  than  I  reckoned.  He  can  also  crack  a 
joke  or  take  one  with  the  best.  I  heard  the  story  later 
of  what  happened  from  his  colleague,  Frank  McNa- 
mara,  who  has  been  for  some  years  in  newspaper  work 
on  the  Pacific  coast.  Showing  my  telegram  to  Mc~ 
Namara,  Cook  said,  "  Frank,  we  have  to  do  this  recep- 
tion in  the  best  style.  Will  you  join?"  McNamara 
said,  "What  is  the  proposal?"  "Well,"  was  the  an- 
swer, "I  will  get  Jimmy  Ellis  (the  Mayor)  to  come 
down  to  tKe  station  and  present  the  keys  of  the  city  to 
George  and  the  press  men,  and  we  will  also  have  a  fine 
band  of  music  to  welcome  the  guests,  and  to  speed  the 
Imperial  Limited  on  its  initial  trip."  "Bah,"  snorted 
McNamara,  "where  are  you  going  to  get  a  band  at 
that  hour?"  "There  has  been  a  band  tooting  around 
the  streets  of  Ottawa  for  the  past  week,  and  for  a  fiver 
I  am  sure  they  will  come  out, ' '  was  the  reply.  It  was 
a  band  of  the  genuine  German  variety  of  five  pieces. 
McNamara  fell  in  with  the  suggestion,  and  both  hied 
themselves  off  to  Billy  Clements'  hotel  on  Besserer 
Street,  where  the  sons  of  the  Fatherland  were  staying. 
They  saw  the  leader,  who  at  first  demurred  at  the 
suggestion,  fearing  trouble  with  the  police.  When  Cook 
told  him  that  the  Mayor  was  to  be  there  and  that  he 
would  guarantee  that  everything  would  be  all  right, 
the  Germans  consented  for  a  ten-spot  to  be  at  the  sta- 
tion with  their  instruments.  And  so  at  midnight  on 
that  eventful  occasion,  the  first  Imperial  Limited  rolled 
into  the  Central  Station  at  Ottawa.  The  special  car 
with  the  press  party  stopped  in  the  yards  owing  to  the 


324  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

length  of  the  train,  and  we  had  to  walk  up  the  cinder 
path  nntil  we  reached  the  platform.  There,  at  the  end 
of  the  platform,  were  those  five  confounded  Germans 
blowing  away  for  all  they  were  worth  ' '  The  Watch  on 
the  Khine."  A  procession  was  formed  and,  headed  by 
the  band,  now  playing  "Rule  Brittania"  (was  it  a 
premonition?)  with  the  mayor  on  my  right  and  the  ex- 
mayor  on  my  left,  and  thirty  newspaper  men  following 
two  by  two,  we  started  up  Sparks  Street  to  the  Parlia- 
ment Buildings  in  which  a  brass  band  played  for  the 
first  time  in  history.  It  was  one  of  the  funniest  of  my 
many  varied  experiences.  Guests  in  the  old  Eussell 
House,  awakened  from  their  slumbers,  stuck  their 
heads  out  of  the  windows  and  gazed  in  wonderment; 
the  bobbies  at  the  street  corners,  seeing  the  mayor  in 
the  party,  stood  and  grinned;  citizens  on  the  streets 
enquired,  "What's  up?"  Swinging  up  Sparks  and 
Metcalfe  Streets,  and  then  across  Wellington  street 
and  up  the  centre  walk,  still  headed  by  the  sons  of  the 
Fatherland,  we  marched  into  the  Parliament  Buildings. 
Of  the  joyous  time  we  had  for  the  next  hour  or  two 
I  say  nothing,  but  next  morning  there  appeared  in  the 
newspapers  all  over  the  world  an  account  of  the  arrival 
of  this  wonderful  train  at  Ottawa;  of  the  civic  recep- 
tion, and  of  the  triumphal  procession  through  the 
streets  led  by  the  band  of  the  "Governor-General's 
Foot  Guards." 

The  world  believed  that  Ottawa  had  stood  still  to 
let  the  Imperial  Limited  pass  through. 

A  Belated  Prosperity. 

Walking  down  Notre  Dame  Street  one  morning  in 
the  summer  of  '92  I  met  Sir  William  Van  Home,  who 
enquired  about  the  Maritime  Provinces,  where  I  was 
then  doing  missionary  work  for  the  C.P.E.  I  told  him 
that  it  was  a  pleasant  country  to  roam  around  in — 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  325 

especially  in  the  summer  time — but  that  until  more 
energy  was  developed  in  public  utilities,  increased 
prosperity  could  not  be  expected.  The  Provinces 
needed  a  great  developing  agency  like  the  C.P.R.,  in- 
stead of  the  Government-owned  road,  and  until  such  a 
developing  factor  was  secured  the  same  old  conditions 
would  prevail.  I  also  told  him  that  while  the  practical 
politicians  of  both  parties  were  strong  advocates  of 
Government  control  of  the  I.C.R.  for  the  peculiar  ad- 
vantages and  influences  it  afforded  the  political  bosses, 
I  didn't  believe  the  great  mass  of  the  people  were  of 
the  same  mind,  but  would  gladly  hail  the  advent  of  the 
C.P.R.  He  said,  "Well,  go  down  and  buy  it."  He 
didn't  give  me  any  money,  but  I  did  try,  and  found  that, 
nearly  three-fourths  of  the  newspapers  there  favored 
a  change.  All  went  well,  with  the  powerful  aid  of  the 
Toronto  Globe  and  other  Western  newspapers,  but  in 
'94  Sir  John  Thompson,  then  Premier  of  the  Dominion, 
declared  that  if  the  control  of  the  I.C.R.  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  C.P.R.  or  any  other  private  corporation, 
he  would  resign.  That  ended  it,  and  the  Maritime 
Provinces  remained  somnolent  until  other  developing 
factors  and  more  capital  infused  life  into  them,  and 
years  after  gave  them  the  prosperity  that  would  have 
been  theirs  a  quarter  of  a  century  sooner. 

An  Old-Time  Roadmastee. 

John  Riordan  was  an  old  and  efficient  roadmaster  of 
the  C.P.R.  western  lines,  and  he  ever  had  an  eye  to  the 
company's  interests.  One  day,  a  navvy  was  taken  ill 
with  cramps,  and  there  being  no  medical  man  within 
hailing  distance,  and  no  proper  remedies,  John  seized 
a  sizzling  hot  mince  pie  and  clapped  it  on  the  suffer- 
ing man's  stomach.  He  quickly  recovered,  and  when 
John  reported  the  matter,  he  was  quizzingly  asked 


326  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

what  he  had  done  with  the  pie,  and  he  naively  said: 
1 '  Shure,  sor,  I  put  it  back  on  the  shelf. ' ' 

John  was  a  thoroughly  loyal  employee,  and  when 
there  was  a  strike  on,  he  wired  his  brother,  then  on 
strike  at  Deloraine,  in  an  effort  to  bring  him  back  to 
the  ranks. 

* '  Tim  Eiordan, 
C.P.R.,  Deloraine, 

You  are  now  roadmaster  for  the  Deloraine  division. 

(Sgd.)  John  Riordan." 

Quickly  came  back  the  answer : 

"John  Riordan, 
C.P.R.,  Winnipeg, 

You  are  a  d liar.    I  am  not. 

Timothy  Riordan." 

When  Coal  Was  Costly. 

Superintendent  Oborne  had  great  economic  ideas. 
He  spent  quite  a  time  in  ascertaining  whether  two  short 
whistles  from  a  locomotive  were  not  cheaper  than  one 
long  one.  He  noticed  one  day  that  a  lot  of  coal  was 
dropped  off  the  tenders  between  Winnipeg  and  Bran- 
don, and  instructed  his  assistant,  Ed.  James,  to  have 
it  gathered  up.  Of  course,  Ed.  strictly  followed  in- 
structions, and  a  week  later  was  asked  how  it  was 
progressing. 

"Fine,"  said  Ed.,  "we've  picked  up  two  tons  al- 
ready, and  are  still  picking.' ' 

"Splendid,"  encouragingly  replied  the  boss.  "And 
how  much  is  it  costing?" 

"$65.00  a  ton. ' '  As  coal  was  then  laid  down  at  Win- 
nipeg at  $4.50  a  ton,  the  collection  of  black  diamonds 
was  instantly  discontinued. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  327 

Gate-Keeper,  I  Hope,  in  Both  Worlds. 

Constable  Richards,  head-gateman  in  the  castellated 
stone  structure  of  the  C.P.R.  at  Windsor  Street  Sta- 
tion, Montreal,  was  everybody's  friend.  A  large  sized, 
well-built,  active  man,  for  many  years  he  more  than 
satisfactorily  fulfilled  his  onerous  duties,  until  at  a 
ripe  age  he  passed  away  mourned  by  all  who  knew 
him.  He  was  an  Englishman  first  and  last,  and  on  St. 
George's  Day,  it  was  for  years  a  great  pleasure  for 
me  to  pin  a  red  rose  on  his  manly  breast.  One  time, 
I  was  away  in  Los  Angeles,  and  didn't  remember  that 
England 's  patron  saint 's  day  was  on  the  morrow.  But 
I  did  think  of  it  in  time,  and  wired  to  N.  S.  Dunlop, 
who  was  then  in  charge  of  the  company's  floral  de- 
partment, to  send  Mr.  Richards  a  rose  with  my  best 
wishes.  When  I  returned  home  a  fortnight  or  so  later, 
Constable  Richards  was  on  duty  at  the  gate,  and  when 
he  saw  me,  he  grasped  by  hand,  shook  it  heartily,  and 
exclaimed:  "I  knew  wherever  you  were,  you  wouldn't 
forget  my  rose.  It^came  all  right,  but  how  could  you 
send  it  by  wireless?"  N.  S.  D.  had  put  on  my  card, 
"By  wireless  from  Los  Angeles." 

My  old  friend  honestly  believed  that  the  C.P.R.  was 
the  only  railway  in  the  world  and  Lord  Shaughnessy 
the  greatest  man.  One  time  in  rearranging  increases 
of  salaries,  he  had  been  overlooked  on  account  of  hav- 
ing passed  the  age  limit,  and  it  was  only  when  Lord 
Shaughnessy  returned  home  and  greeted  him  at  the 
gate  that  he  had  an  opportunity  of  airing  his  griev- 
ance. He  told  the  Baron  the  case,  and  the  next  day 
was  rejoiced  to  find  that  he  had  received  a  substantial 
increase  and  the  back  pay,  which  he  never  knew  came 
from  the  Chief's  own  pocket. 

If  Constable  Richards  is  assistant  to  St.  Peter  as 
guardian  of  the  gate,  I  will  take  my  chances  on  getting 


328  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

in  without  any  difficulty  whatever,  and  will  hear  his 
cheery  voice  resounding  through  watever  is  up  there : 
"Hey,  you  fellows,  make  way  for  the  Colonel." 

Don't  Own  the  Alphabet. 

You  may  realize  from  what  has  been  written  about 
Canada 's  big  corporation,  that  the  C.P.E.  is — But  list- 
en to  this:  It  appears  the  company  issued  notices 
to  some  hotels,  restaurants  and  storekeepers,  protest- 
ing against  the  unauthorized  use  of  its  initials,  ' i  C.P. 
E. ' '  One  such  notice  was  mailed  to  Timothy  0  'Brien, 
who  was  the  proud  proprietor  of  the  "C.P.R.  Barber 
Shop"  in  a  prairie  village.  Tim's  reply  is  entitled  to 
a  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame,  and  is  here  reproduced 
without  comment : 

"Dear  Sir: — I  got  your  notis.  I  don't  want  no  law 
soot  with  yure  big  company,  or  I  don't  want  to  paint  a 
wife  and  family  to  sport.  I  no  yure  company  owns 
most  everything — ralerodes,  steemers,  most  of  the  best 
land,  and  the  time,  but  I  don't  know  as  you  own  the 
hole  alphabet.  The  letters  on  my  shop  don't  stand 
for  yure  ralerode  but  for  sumthin  better.  I  left  a 
muther  in  Ireland,  she  is  dead  and  gawn,  but  her  me- 
mories are  dear  to  me.  Her  maiden  name  was  Christina 
Patricia  Eeardon,  and  what  I  want  to  no  is  what  you 
are  going  to  do  about  it.  I  suppose  you  won't  argue 
that  the  balance  of  my  sine  what  refers  to  cut  rates 
has  got  anythink  to  do  with  yure  ralerodes.  There 
aint  been  no  cut  rates  round  these  parts  that  I  nos  of. 

( Sgd. )        Timothy  0  'Brien .. . . 

The  officials  of  the  big  railroad  are  reported  to  have 
acknowledged  themselves  answered. 

Flour  for  Lady  Macdonald. 

When  John  Niblock  was  superintendent  of  the  C.P. 
R.  at  Medicine  Hat,  Sir  John  and  Lady  Macdonald 


EEMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR  329 

passed  through  to  the  Coast  on  the  second  transcontin- 
ental train  from  the  east.  John  was  out  on  the  line, 
and  missed  the  Chief— but  disappointed  as  he  was,  he 
was  not  altogether  phazed.  He  wired  to  Medicine  Hat 
for  the  agent  to  send  a  bouquet  of  flowers  to  the  Earns- 
cliffe,  the  car  Sir  John  always  used.  The  telegraph 
operator  was  a  green  hand,  and  couldn't  send  very 
well,  so  when  the  wire  reached  Calgary,  it  read : 

"Send  boq  flour  to  Lady  Macdonald  with  my  compli- 
ments.    (Sgd.)       John  Niblock." 

The  operator  couldn't  make  out  what  a  "boq" — the 
contraction  for  bouquet — meant,  and  so  substituted 
"bag."  When  the  agent  lumbered  down  to  the  Earns- 
clifTe,  the  steward  absolutely  refused  the  flour  as  he 
was  already  stocked  up.  So  Lady  Macdonald  lost  both 
the  bouquet  and  the  bag  of  flour. 

Good-bye,  My  Reader,  Good-bye. 

And  now  the  curtain  is  rolling  down,  for  seventy- 
three  years  make  a  very  long  act.  Recalling  three 
score  and  ten  of  them — thirty-three  of  which  have  been 
spent  in  the  service  of  the  company — remembering  the 
all-important  events  that  have  happened  during  that 
period,  and  the  radically  changed  conditions  of  life 
and  living,  remindful  of  the  numerous  retirements  and 
demises  of  fellow-workers  in  the  world-wide  vineyard 
of  the  C.P.R.,  one  cannot  but  realize  that  the  corridors 
of  the  company 's  offices  will  not  long  be  trodden  by  the 
older  ones  of  this  generation,  and  that  many  of  us  will 
soon  perhaps  not  even  be  a  memory.  With  free  one- 
way transportation  to  the  Great  Beyond,  and  a  full 
consciousness  of  all  our  good  deeds  and  misdeeds,  of 
the  things  we  should  have  done  and  have  not  done,  and 
of  the  things  we  should  not  have  done  but  did,  with  no 
pretensions  to  having  been  too  good,  nor  apprehensions 


330  REMINISCENCES  OF  A  RACONTEUR 

of  having  been  too  bad,  and  with  a  solemn  belief  that 
if  we  were  unable  always  to  be  right,  we  sought  to  be 
as  nearly  right  as  we  could,  we  shall  fearlessly  face 
the  great  overshadowing  problem:  " Where  do  we  go 
from  here? °  The  answer  will  come  from  the  unknown 
world. 


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