Canadian Transport Sourcebook

Chapter IV

British Columbia (continued)

Victoria is a lovely spot to live and die in. It is also a delightful place to be quartered in even temporarily. I will not go into rhapsodies over its heavenly climate and describe how it lies so peacefully, sleepily basking in the sunlight, overshadowed by the icy peak of Mount Baker sixty miles away, because this has been so often done by other more gifted scribes.

In 1874, British Columbia, but especially the Capital, had scarcely awakened to the fact that she had been taken into the matronly bosom of Confederation. She still fancied herself as a British Crown Colony and rather resented the first invasion of the Eastern Canadianism. This mean us to a great extent. The inhabitants of Victoria were nearly all British or of British extraction, old Hudson Bay officers and their families, like the Warks and Finlaysons, etc.; half-pay officers—Navy and Army—who loved the mild climate, so much like some parts of England, the fishing and shooting to be had on the Island and the flowers that bloomed all the year round. There were a few Americans from across the Sound who had drifted in with an eye to business, but they were barely tolerated. Anything in the shape of a "hustler" was destested.

The dolce far niente methods of the ordinary Victorian shopkeeper were unique and most confiding, for they hated to be bothered with business, especially if there was a cricket match on, and they would all shut up shop in the event of a horse race.

I remember quite well going once into one of the principal shops to buy a hat when the proprietor and some of his assistants were busy playing a game of cards in the back office and were not to be disturbed. I made my wants known, but the boss merely looked over his shoulder with a yawn and told me to "see if I could find one that fitted me."

I heard of an occasion when a very busy deputation of Yankees came across with the idea of establishing a great shoe factory in the heart of the city, and having submitted the proposition, most likely to the Town Council or some other civic body, and represented its huge financial advantages to the dear sleepy old town, the thousands of men they would employ, and the enormous pay roll this industry would involve, etc., etc., they were simply asked if they couldn't go away and hunt up some other place for their darned old factory and leave the Victorians alone in peace.

Theirs was a happy, peaceful, somnolent community, bathed in sunshine midst the fragrance of flowers, when we first rudely disturbed the serenity of their slumbers.

They had one of the best hotels in America but I don't think they ever knew it. The old Driard House was a perfect hostelry in those days, and was presided over by my friend Louis Ridon, an ex-Parisien chef of wonderful ability. The food and cooking were sublime. You had only to give your order for dinner to Louis and then to leave the rest to him:—fresh salmon, small coppery oysters like English natives, a few hours out of the sea, English pheasant, beautifully cooked, splendid crabs, every known vegetable, a real masterpiece of a sweet by Louis himself, all washed down by the very finest vintages that ever came "round the Horn," and then such cigars and such coffee! There never was anything like the dear old Driard! It was here we were quartered for a week or so while busily engaged all day signing on our crew. This took some time as every man was medically inspected.

The Commissariat Department was busy getting the supplies together and the merry hum at the C.P.R. offices was the loudest noise to be heard in the land.

Our next move was on board the steamer Enterprise, which plied between Victoria and New Westminster, near the mouth of the Great Fraser River. From there were were transported up the river to Yale, on board a stern-wheeler, a flat-bottomed craft in command of the well-known Captain Johnnie Irving, who was a celebrated character in those days and the best of pilots, and who is, I believe, still living.