Canadian Transport Sourcebook

Pathmakers.

After the pathfinders, the pathmakers.

A mighty work was theirs, a work worthy of the Trojans. For nigh three thousand miles these builders built, spanning a continent with a line of steel, hacking and dynamiting their way from ocean to ocean, toiling, sweating, and cursing, but ever going forward. Through forests, over swamps and rivers, over prairies, through rocks and mountains they laid the rails. From all parts of the world were gathered men for the army—Anglo-Saxons, Celts, Teutons, Latins, Slavs, Mongo­lians and Hybrids—a veritable army of construction, with engineers as officers and William Van Horne as Commander-in-Chief.

Two phases of the great achievement stand out, pre-eminent,—the construction of the line along the shore of Lake Superior, and the building through the mountains west of the prairies.

In his preliminary and personal survey of the wilderness on the north shore of Lake Superior, Van Horne found what he afterwards described as "two hundred miles of engineering impossibilities." The country which it was necessary to traverse was a waste of forest, rock and "muskegs," or swamps. Almost every mile of the road had to be hewn, blasted, or filled up. Enemies of the railway cried out that this portion of the line would alone take twenty years to build—if construction were possible.

It was built in four. But the work was tremendous. Of the twelve million dollars expended on the construc­tion of this section of two hundred miles, over two million dollars were literally blown up—in explosives. Twelve thousand men, two thousand teams of horses, and twelve steamers for the transport of material and provisions were employed in the work.

But gigantic as was the task of building the line along the rock-embedded shores of Canada's inland sea, it sinks into comparative insignificance when compared with the stupendous exploit of crossing the mountains. Only the traveller who has journeyed through this mountain zone, with its cloud-splitting peaks, wild and gloomy canyons and roaring mountain torrents can realise—and but vaguely realise—the nature of this unequalled feat of construction.

Every conceivable engineering problem was encountered and overcome. 'Every foot of the mountain division of the road was contested and probably every mile of tunnel and track was sealed with the blood of men. The bridging of fathomless chasms and the piercing of many mountains were accomplished only after Herculean labour. There are bridges on this mountain division that hang in air—mere spider webs of iron—three hundred and odd feet above the river they span. There are places where masonry is plastered, so to speak, against the solid rock of mountains, There are ledges midway between heaven and earth, and elevation where the whirling trains plunge headlong into clouds and deep, cool ravines where the road bed disputes with the darkness the realms of mysterious mountain torrents. There are miles of tunnels and bridges without number.'

The mountain portion of The Canadian Pacific Railway stands for all time as a monument to the dauntless hearts and daring genius of its engineer-builders, giants among men.

Among the rank and file of the army of construction in the mountains was a young man, known by the nickname of "Texas," an appellation bestowed upon him by a working companion by reason of the huge brimmed hat he wore. Obviously a man of education, the Englishman had become 'Arbiter elegantiarum' for the particular gang of which he was a member, and in the evening he and his companions would gather around the fire, exchanging yarns, singing songs, and in other ways manifesting their appreciation of the hours of rest after the hard work of the day.

"Texas" has narrated his experiences in the Canadian Pacific railroad camps. But his readers know him by his real name—Morley Roberts.

'We were a strange gathering at night-time,' the author muses, 'and not without elements of the picturesque, I fancy, in our strange interior of log-hut and its confused forms on blocks of wood before the fire, which burnt brightly and threw a glare on the darkness through the entrance, that did not boast a door, but only a rude portière of sewed sacks. We sang at times strange melancholy unknown ditties of love in the forests, songs of Michigan or Wisconsin, redolent of pine odour and sassafras, or German Liede, for we were more cosmopolitan than a crowd of Englishmen would be at home, and did not insist only on what we could understand. I myself often sang to them both English and German and Italian songs, and it seems strange to me now to think that those forests heard from me the strains of Mozart's "L'Addio," sung doubtless out of tune, as it was also out of place, perhaps, and the rigorous tune of "La donna è mobile." But even songs like these were appreciated, and often called for, with "Tom Bowling," or some other English sea songs. Then we would tell each other stories or yarns, and I would repeat some of my travels in Australia for them, or explain how large London was, or tell those who had never seen the ocean, stories of my own and my brother's voyages or those of the great English sea-captains.

'Such evenings came to be a recognised institution. . I wrote for them a song which was very much admired as the culmination of genius. It was a song of the C.P.R., or Canadian Pacific Railroad, and all I remember is the chorus, which was:

'From which specimen,' the author is careful to explain, 'the reader will not estimate my poetical powers so highly as the simple railroad men.'

In these musical gatherings the men had the example of their chief; for is it not recorded that sometimes after night-fall the strains of some classic aria would float out over the wild mountain passes—strains from a violin played by William Van Horne, greatest of railroad builders?

Song and music awakened the echoes of the mountains as the shadows of night fell on the railway camps, but hard and strenuous work was the order of the day. Morley Roberts depicts this, the all-important phase of the railroaders' life, as experienced by him.

'In the daytime there was the usual labour, such as drilling holes in the rock to blast it with powder, whose explosion sometimes threw the heavy stones a hundred yards into the torrent of the foaming river. We would dodge behind trees and get into all sheltered places till the shot was fired, then come out again and away the débris, hammering the larger blocks to pieces and shovelling up the smaller into the carts. Then there were slopes to make smooth and round rocks and stones to be picked up from the borders of the Kicking Horse, to make a "rip-rap" or stone wall at the bottom of the embankment, where the river would shape it when swollen with melted snow. It was often laborious and wearisome, and I never looked at the scenery except, perhaps, when clouds gathered overhead, and rain-mist crawled along the ramparts of the hill, filling the valley, until a shower would come upon us suddenly and as suddenly depart; for then, when the mountain wind rolled up cloud and mist, the sun shone bright upon the hills above, dazzling our eyes with a sheet of new snow that had fallen on us below as rain.

'Our camp was right on the banks of the river, which ran in a sharp curve round the base of the hill through which the tunnel was being cut. The Kicking Horse was furious as usual there, rushing at the rocks which impeded its course and breaking about them in foam, or leaping with a swing and a dive over the lower and more rounded boulders. Beyond it, on the other bank, was a thick wall of pine and fir, and overhead the vast slope of mountain. Our side was decorated with a medley of various-shaped tents, round and square and oblong, so that it was difficult at night for a stranger to avoid tripping himself up with the pegs and ropes, or half strangling himself with the stays carried from the ridge-poles to the trees growing about all the encamp­ment. Besides the tents there were two large log-huts or shanties, built out of half-squared timbers with the bark only partly removed, and up a little slope, on the other side or the road which ran through the camp, stood a little log-house and kitchen for the accommo­dation of some of the "bosses" and the head con­tractors. Beyond this the hill ran up gradually into a maze of fallen timber, with one little melancholy cleared space, where a simple and rude grave held the body of an unknown and friendless man who had been killed some short time before I came. And still further on was the summit of the low hill under which the tunnel was to be, and above again mountain piled on mountain.

'The work was of a hazardous and dangerous character. The hill was being attacked on both sides at once, and at the west end, down stream, the tunnel was advanced to some distance, but at the east end, though there, too, the hole had been run into the hill, the work was to do over again, owing to the tunnel having "caved" in, in spite of the huge timbers.

'The hill was composed of gravel on the top, then a thick stratum of extremely tenacious blue clay, and beneath that a bed of solid concrete which required blasting. We had to remove the immense mass of clay and gravel which had come down when the "cave" had occurred, and to cut back into the hill some distance until it appeared solid enough for the new tunnel to be commenced. As the cut into the hill was now very deep, we worked on three "benches." . . . The highest gang worked in comparative safety; the next in some peril, as they had to look out for the rocks that might fall in their own bench and for those from the upper bench as well; but the lowest gang were in danger of their lives all the time, as from both benches above them came continually what rocks escaped the vigilance of those working over their heads.

I worked here myself, and without any exaggeration I can say I never felt safe, for every minute or so would come the cry: "Look out below!" or "Stand from under!" and a heavy stone or rock would come thunder­ing down the slope right amongst us.'

'In the gray half-light of the early morning,' narrates another worker in the mountains, 'but little imagination would have been needed to believe that the dimly-seen forms which peopled the rocky river banks were the advance guard of an army making its laborious way towards some naturally fortified strong­hold. So at least it seemed to me as each morning I pursued my difficult and often dangerous path to the particular part of the work on which I was engaged. Here, in the mountains, the right of way followed the rivet canyons, sometimes close down to the edge of a torrent, again pressing high up on the side of some tremendous valley, every here and there crossing a deep ravine, mere clefts in the gigantic towering bulk of rocks, at the bottom of which, perhaps hundreds of feet below our path, ran turbulent, brawling streams of wonderfully clear, ice-cold water.

'Looking ahead it would seem as if the grade must inevitably run straight into some one of the stupendous mountains which barred its progress, but inevitably there was some way round. Perhaps the river would be crossed suddenly, and the road lie along the farther bank, only to re-cross the stream a few hundred yards farther on, seeming to spring from the last foothold on the steep slope ending in a sheer precipice, to the rocky abutment on the farther side which offered a fresh chance of clinging to its weather-beaten crags. Or, perhaps, a tunnel would have to be cut through a seemingly impassable spur of rock overhanging the river bed itself, and again a new valley would open up for the road to follow.

'The work proceeded in the winter as in the summer, but with increasing discomfort. Steadily, steadily every day, the white soft snowflakes fell, so soft, so wet, and so impalpable that one hardly knew whether it was snowing or raining except that, as one climbed wearily over the path back to camp in the dark, an incautious mis-step proved that the depth was greater than in the morning.

'Long before daylight the men would start down the path, each in turn stopping before the door of the powder house to pick up a keg of powder, or, if he was unlucky, a box of dynamite.

'Then to work, and, perhaps, a wait till it got light enough to see to smite the drill fairly on the head. The darkness cleared away slowly. The wet flakes, instead of striking invisibly, could now be distinguished from the air by sight. Next, the timber at the far side of the river loomed out from the river mists, and the mists themselves seemed to clear off and hang like a ceiling across from the trees on one side to the rough rock on the other.

'Presently the chant arose, and clink! clink! the hammers went on the drill, stopping every now and then while the drill-holder scraped out the powdered rock from the depths of the hole with a long thin rod flattened at the end. Perhaps the hole was too deep or striking, and then a long chum-drill came into use: left, half-turn, downward drive; left, turn again, and so on, boring its way twenty, or even thirty feet into the solid rock.

'When a row of such holes had been drilled, and the drilling gang moved on to fresh work, the holes would be all charged with powder, fuses placed in position, and the charges tightly "tamped" down with clay. Then, while the call: " Fire, Fire, F-i-r-e!" warned all and sundry to get to cover, the fuses were touched off. A second later the whole face of the rock heaved outwards to the river, and the valley roared with the echoes of the terrific explosion. How the echoes rang, too! First, concussion of the blast and the near-by echoes of the woods, river, and foggy pall; then rattle and bang up and down the valley, gradually dying away to nothing, only to start into renewed life as the sound reached some distant, tremendous precipice, the new crash echoing and re-echoing from every crag that had been awakened by the first explosion, till one would swear that the whole valley was full of big guns, and that an artillery duel was at its height.'

From the Pacific eastwards to Kamloops, a distance of two hundred and thirteen miles, seven thousand men, mostly Chinese, were meanwhile vigorously hewing their way. This part of the railway was con­structed by the Dominion Government. The contrac­tors had a formidable task. Between Yale and Litton the Fraser River had cut its way through the Cascade Mountains, plunging in foaming cataracts through deep lateral gorges, flanked in places by spurs of per­pendicular rock, and offering a continuous resistance to the pathmakers. Along nineteen miles of the route thirteen tunnels had to be pierced. In many places the roadway had to be hewn out of the rock. The work was of a dangerous nature, the men being often lowered hundreds of feet down almost perpen­dicular cliffs for the purpose of blasting a foothold on the mountain side.

Supplies had to be sent to the camps on pack animals over trails 'never before deemed practicable except by Indians, and by them only with the aid of ladders.' As the work advanced transportation became even more difficult, until it was resolved to attempt the passage of the ferocious Fraser canyon to the navigable water above, and a steamer was built for the purpose.

But where could be found the daring navigators who would pilot the vessel through the turbulent and angry waters of the wildest of all the world's canyons? It was a task to strike terror to the heart of the boldest.

'One captain after another, looking at the tiny craft and at the "Scylla and Charybdis" beyond, declared the feat impossible,' records Begg. 'At length two brothers consented to undertake the task. With a steam winch and capstan, and several large hawsers, they set forth on their voyage, with a crew of seventeen men, the steamer being in charge of a skilled engineer. The severest struggle was at a point called China Riffle, where the power of the engines and steam winch, with fifteen men at the capstan, and a hundred and fifty Chinamen laying hold of one of the ropes, barely sufficed to pull the vessel over the shoals. Overcoming the difficulty and passing through Hell Gate and Black Canyon, where the stream runs at some twenty miles an hour, the Skuzzy was able to convey her first load of freight frown Boston Bar.'

Work on the prairies proceeded with a rapidity unparalleled in the history. of railway construction. In fifteen months' time, notwithstanding a winter's interruption, over seven hundred miles of track were laid by the contractors, a feat which roused the admiration of the vigorous Van Horne himself.

The camp of each considerable 'outfit' on the prairies presented an almost military appearance. One or two large dining-tents, with the cooks' quarters and the office tent were generally in the centre. All round stood orderly lines of small two-men tents, and at one side the big horse tents and the rows of wagons. 'Early dawn brought the cry of " Roll out, teamsters," from the "corrall boss," and by the time the men had shaken themselves out of their blankets the horses—herded during the night by "horse wranglers "—had been driven in ready to be caught and fed. Then breakfast, followed by the cry of " Hook up" from the foremen, and the whole force would commence its first five-hour stretch of work. "Unhook" at noon, and dinner; another five hours' work before supper; and then—the blankets, till the morning of a new day.'

Thus progressed the mighty work of conquering a wilderness.

While the army of railway builders were fighting their way victoriously through mountains and forests, over plains and rivers and swamps, the organizers of the Company were fighting their own grim battles in the realms of finance—fighting for the money which was to supply the sinews of war.

The story of their struggles and ultimate victory is as thrilling as the story of construction. Ere victory was secured George Stephen, and his cousin, Donald Smith had mortgaged their very homes, but through all vicissitudes the flag was held high.

In the terms of the contract—the most eventful contract ever entered into between a Government and a commercial corporation—the Dominion Govern­ment agreed 'to complete and hand over to the Canadian Pacific Railway Company the line between Port Arthur and Winnipeg and the line from Savona's Ferry to Port Moody, and a branch already complete from Emerson to Winnipeg; also to grant the Company a cash bonus of twenty-five million dollars and twenty-five million acres of land.' The Company on their part pledged themselves to build the intervening portions—comprising over three-fourths of the trans­continental main line—within a period of ten years.

The history of the agreement is told by Sir Charles Tupper in his "Recollections of Sixty Years," written two years before the aged statesman's death in England, in 1915. Sir Charles Tupper, who became Premier of Canada, was Minister of Railways during the early stages of the building of the railway.

'Sir John A. Macdonald, in forming his Cabinet, in 1878, tendered me the portfolio of Railways and Canals, and assigned to me the chief task of inaugurating a vigorous policy in regard to the building of the line from the head of the Great Lakes to the Pacific Coast.'

The 'vigorous policy' soon bore good fruit. When Macdonald was returned to power a portion only of the line between Port Arthur and Winnipeg had been placed under contract, it being the policy of his predecessor, Mackenzie, to place steamboats on the intermediate water-stretches through the Lake of the Woods, leaving a gap in the railway of over two hundred miles. The new Government at once decided to link up this gap and immediately placed the contracts for the additional construction, thus providing an all-rail route from Port Arthur to the Red River.

Two years later the Minister of Railways awarded the contracts for building the line from Yale to Savona, near Kamloops, and later for the work from Yale to Port Moody, the Pacific terminus.

Afterwards the Company, 'of their own volition and at their own expense,' extended the line farther westward along Burrard Inlet, thereby laying the foundations of the city of Vancouver.

The Government had strong opposition to overcome in the maintenance of their railway policy, but they kept to their chosen path. Sir Charles Tupper was an especially valiant and strenuous champion of the great enterprise.

'Sir John A. Macdonald, who was also Minister of the Interior, observed in Council that he had made up his mind that a system of local railways was needed in the North-West in order to attract immigration. He spoke of his intention of going to England that summer for the purpose of enlisting capital in the project. "I want you all to meet me here this day week with any suggestions or advice you can offer," was his injunction to his colleagues.

'"Sir John," I replied, "I think the time has come when we must take the advance step. I want to submit a proposition for building a through line from Nipissing in Ontario to the Pacific Coast."

'"I'm afraid, Tupper, that's a rather large order. However, I shall be pleased to consider anything you have to submit," was his genial comment.'

On the appointed day Sir Charles Tupper presented his report to Council. He recommended, in brief, that the contract be entered into with a responsible company for the completion of a transcontinental railway on the terms already recorded. ' I gave reasons for my belief that the undertaking could be carried to a successful conclusion, and that strong men could be induced to take hold of the enterprise. "I heartily agree with you," declared Sir John in the whole-souled, generous spirit that always characterised him after I had concluded my remarks in favour of a through line, to be built, owned, and operated by a chartered company. Our colleagues concurred, and the report was unanimously adopted.'

The 'strong men' were found. 'We entered into an agreement with a number of capitalists, who later became known as the "Canadian Pacific Railway Syndicate," to build the transcontinental railway on the precise basis of my report and recommendation to the Government.'

And fortunate it was for Canada that the syndicate included such men as George Stephen and Donald Smith, for the test was great, and the efforts required to achieve success almost superhuman. The Dominion was not known to the world as it is to-day, and the population of the country was but four million people, with little, if any, superfluous capital at their disposal. When the United States, with a population of forty millions, linked Omaha with the Pacific coast, it was heralded as a stupendous achievement. How much more stupendous was this achievement of the organizers of the Canadian Pacific!

The year 1884 was a critical one in the history of the Company. The enormous expenditure involved in the building of the railway during the preceding three years resulting from the magnitude of the work had emptied the coffers. They endeavoured strenuously to secure more money in London, but their efforts came to naught. In New York they met with a similar fate.

'I had gone to Birmingham,' narrates Tupper, 'to propose a vote of thanks for an address on Canada to be delivered by the Marquis of Lorne, a former Governor-General. Lord Norton, the Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies when federation was carried, presided, and it had been arranged that I was to spend a holiday with him at his country seat at Hams. During the course of the Lecture I received a cable from Mr. Pope, acting Minister of Railways, informing me that the Canadian Pacific Railway was in financial difficulties, and urging me to return home at once. At that time I was acting High Commissioner, but still held the portfolio of Railways and Canals.'

Sir Charles Tupper crossed the Atlantic by the first steamer available. On reaching Ottawa he sent for an expert accountant in the Government service, and the Government Chief Engineer, and instructed them to proceed to Montreal to examine the books of the Company. 'As soon as they had reported I recom­mended that Parliament be asked to authorise the government to advance the Canadian Pacific Railway thirty million dollars for four years at four per cent. per annum on the condition that the Company agreed to finish the road five years sooner than the contract called for—namely, by 1886, instead of 1891. In Parliament I advocated the granting of the loan on that ground.'

The loan was granted and for a time all went well. But not for long. The railway absorbed money as a sponge absorbs water, and ere a year had passed the coffers were again empty. The outlook was black indeed, for the Premier refused to sanction another Government loan to the Company. At this juncture the President of the Company and his associate, Donald Smith, flung their entire fortunes into the undertaking, determined as ever to maintain the work of construction. But again the coffers were emptied.

The situation had now become desperate. Ruin stared the two cousins in the face, but they fought on and the flag still flew. The President went frequently to Ottawa for the purpose of inducing the Premier to render the assistance which had become vitally essential to victory, but Macdonald, to whom credit is due for his powerful co-operation in the earlier stages of the Company's history, was seemingly relentless. Senator Smith, a member of the Cabinet, and a man of much political and personal influence, joined forces with Stephen and pleaded strenuously with the Premier on behalf of the afflicted railway.

William Van Horne joined also in the financial fray. 'The Company were within a day of the due date of a large amount of liabilities,' a writer, who was acquainted with much of the inner history of the Canadian Pacific in its earlier years, states. When Van Horne was advised of the situation he rushed to Ottawa by a special train that made a record trip and put the circumstances squarely before the then Minister of Railways and Canals, the Hon. J. N. Pope, who was so impressed by the vigorous presentation of the facts, and of what a continued refusal would result in, that he at once sought Sir John Macdonald, and, aided by Sir Frank Smith, secured the Premier's acceptance of the Company's proposals and a guarantee to the Company's bankers, which enabled them to tide over the financial difficulties.'

Van Horne afterwards described the scene to his friends. In a room next to that in which the discussion—a discussion momentous in its conse­quences to the Company and to Canada—took place, he sat with several of the others vitally concerned, awaiting the Government's decision.

'I guessed that sound would come best to me if I stood in the room opposite the glass door which would help to act as a resonator. But though I could hear each voice as it spoke, I was unable to make out clearly what anyone said. It was an awful time. Each one of us felt as if the railway was our own child and we were prepared to make any sacrifice for it, but things were at a dead-lock and it seemed impossible to raise any more money. We men ourselves had given up twenty per cent. of our salaries and had willingly worked, not overtime but double-time, and as we waited in that room, we thought about these things and wondered whether all our toil was going to be wasted or not, and what would happen if Canada were ruined. . . .

'At last Joe Pope came in with a yellow paper in his hand. He said that the Government were prepared to back the Bank of Montreal to the extent then required.

'I think we waited till he left the room,' Van Horne said, 'I believe we had that much sanity left us! And then we began. We tossed up chairs to the ceiling; we trampled on desks; I believe we danced on tables. I do not fancy any of us knows now what occurred, and no one who was there can ever remember anything except loud yells of joy and the sound of things breaking!'

Victory was now assured. All obstacles had been overcome and construction work on the great transcontinental railway proceeded with the utmost vigour.

The day of triumph loomed close.