Pioneering on the C. P. R.

This year, 1933 is Sudbury's fiftieth birthday, and when I tell people that it is also the fiftieth anniversary of my arrival here, they ask in wonder how I came to be here then; so perhaps the best way to begin my story of pioneering days along the Canadian Pacific Railway when it was under construction, will be to answer that question.

If I tell it all, I shall have to go away back to a little school house in my native village, Delhi, Norfolk County, where in the eighteen seventies I was a school girl, and there was a boy attending the same school called Will Howey. Many glances were exchanged between his seat on the boys' side and mine. on the girls' side, and apples and candies found their way mysteriously to my desk. I liked him rather better than any of the other boys but thought him very rough at play—tripping us up with the skipping rope, or throwing a ball too hard, or in the winter he would push us off a hand sleigh or wash our faces in snow. However, after a while he went away to the University and when he returned after his first year, looking so smart and citified I was quite proud of his attentions. And finally we became engaged, and contrary to the old adage the "course of true love" ran very smoothly until one twenty-fourth of May. While at college he had become quite an athlete; I still possess many trophies which he won in foot races, standing high jumps, etc., so when he came home that Spring he entered for some of the sporting events which were being put on in honour of Queen Victoria. He came on the course attired in the very latest style of sport costume, which consisted of almost nothing, "à la McGill". I was shocked, horrified, and worst of all one of the competitors was a black negro. That settled it. If he had no more respect for himself than to appear in public in such a state, and in such company, I was through with him, and in the evening when he came to see me, expecting congratulations on having won the races, I told him so in no uncertain terms. I took off his ring and to finish up thoroughly brought out a package of letters he had written during the winter, and as it was a cool evening, with a small fire in the grate I dropped them on the coals—I have regretted that many times. I still have the letters which I had written him, and which I found in a neat package among his belongings after we were married. They are yellow with age for it is more than half a century since they were written: I had never opened the package. The next day I was sure he would come again in the evening despite such a fierce dismissal, and I felt weak so I took the noon train to Aylmer West, where my sister resided, and gave her a surprise visit. It did not do a bit of good for he arrived on the evening train looking so sad and so dear. That is all. I went home, but if we had not stepped carefully over that bit of rough road in our course, I am sure I should never have been here. In the light of the present time you will probably think I was prudish—but I was a "mid-Victorian" girl, remember.

Dr. Howey graduated in medicine from McGill, Montreal, in 1878, at the immature age of twenty-two. The course occupied only four years then, and I think they turned out very capable doctors. They would take their place very favourably beside those who now grind through seven years. Surgery was very limited and there had never been an internal operation performed at McGill up to the time Dr. Howey graduated.

After receiving his degree he came home, and after observing the professional etiquette expected then, which meant calling on the three established doctors in the village (one of whom had officiated at his birth) to inform them that he thought of opening an office there, and had been cordially received with all good wishes for success, he hung out his shingle beside theirs and sat down to wait for the rush of sick and maimed who were sure to want the benefit of the very latest ideas in medical practice. However, there was no great demand for his up-to-date services, and no noticeable decline in the older doctors' business. The people seemed to prefer age and experience to youth and science.

In the meantime, we had been married on no sounder a financial basis than great expectations. Soon we realized it was time for a change, and my young husband began to look about for a more hopeful district, where there might be fewer doctors and more sick people.

About this time the long talked of, and much scoffed at idea of building a railway across the continent, over the mountains, began to look plausible, and finally the work begun. That is where my story of pioneering begins.

Dr. Howey happened to notice in the Toronto Mail (now the Globe & Mail) that Dr. Girdwood, then professor of Chemistry at McGill, had been engaged by the C.P.R. Construction Company as General Supervising Physician for the men employed on this division, and he was advertising for doctors. His contract was to supply medical necessities, engage a staff to do the work, and see that they did it properly. My husband told me that he thought he could get such a position by applying to Dr. Girdwood, but would I be willing to go with him. His salary would be $75.00 per month, which seemed quite high, those days, and we would have no rent to pay, no taxes, no coal to buy and he thought it was rather good. But we then looked upon this part of the world as a frozen, howling wilderness, and it was too. Owen Sound and Parry Sound were about the limit of habitable territory. We regarded the Soo and Manitoulin Island as being pretty well up towards the North Pole what then would it be like north of Lake Nipissing. It looked a long road from Lake Erie, and the map showed no sign of civilization it seemed we were following in the footsteps of Sir John Franklin. However, I was game for the adventure, thinking it would be for only a little while, and I agreed, so the application went in. This was early in December 1882. Just before Christmas an answer came, brief but thrilling, a wire, "Report for duty at Matta­wa at once!"

Then the excitement began—house had to be re-leased, furniture stored, clothing suit able for the Arctic regions procured, and. away went my husband just two days before Christmas, leaving me at my father's until he should see what accommodation he could provide for me. I received a New Year's letter which did not contain the happiest news. He told me that his headquarters were to be at Sturgeon Falls (wherever that was) for a short time only, and that there was absolutely no place for me, intimating gently that women were not considered very desirable on construction. However, he was going to interview Mr. Worthington, the general manager, when he arrived and see what could be done. A few days later another letter came saying he had seen Mr. Worthington, and had been informed that he would soon be moved to the Veuve; which would be the next headquarter's camp, (it was near where Verner is now—but disappeared long ago) and that a house would be put up for us there. Afterwards, when I knew Mr. Worthington I wondered how my doctor had managed to get it done. He did not grant many favours.

To anyone who has never witnessed anything of railway construction through a new country, it would be hard to understand our environment. There was quite a good wagon road as far as Mattawa, as it was an old village grown up about a Hudson Bay Post, which had been there for years, and was at that time in charge of Mr. Colin Rankin, a chief factor of the Hudson Bay Company. Therefore, construction was comparatively easy so far, but west of Mattawa they had to attack the primeval forest as it had stood since it grew up after the glaciers had slid away and given it a chance to establish itself—big timber, fallen trees, tangled underbrush and the old Laurentian rocks. The engineers, with Mr W. A. Ramsay as their chief, had gone in ahead, locating and running the line for the track. Thn a gang of men and horses were sent in to cut out a wagon road, or as it was called "the tote road", in order to take in provisions and equipment for the gangs which would follow more slowly, cutting out the right of way, grading, building trestles (skeleton bridges) and Anally laying the tracks in a, temporary way. After the tote road was made for five or six miles it was not convenient for the men to return to headquarters every night, so a camp and stable were built of rough logs, about sixteen feet square, the crevices stuffed with moss for warmth, and banked up outside with sand or snow as the season permitted. Bunks were built on three sides, and a "comboose" in the middle, where the meals were cooked. It was made of logs built up about two feet high, and in the centre there was a kind of crane on which to hang the pots; they could be swung on and off at will. Bread was baked in covered iron pans, or they might be called pots as they were round. These were buried in the sand, and I never ate better bread than this, baked in that way by old Martin, one of the cooks. The loaves turned out were about the size and shape of a peck measure. The roof of the building was made of "scoops" which are fair sized logs sawn in two lengthwise, hewn off smooth on the bark side and hollowed out (scooped out) on the flat side. The roof was covered with these, concave side up; then others were fitted into them convex side up. They did not bother to hew the bark off the latter unless they wanted to make a neat job, which they didn't usually do. This roof made a water shed and drain. I do not, know that I have made this very clear but that's the way it was anyway. A large hole was cut in the centre of the roof right over the "comboose" through which the smoke escaped, and provided much needed ventilation, also light, and the fire which I think never went out, gave light by night. Some of the camps made a pretence of having windows, others cut a square hole from a log and tacked up a piece of bag over it. When the camp was finished a cook and chore boy appeared on the scene and the gang set up housekeeping. After working along for another five or six miles a similar camp was built, also a blacksmith shop, harness shop, carpenter shop, a bakery and a general store with an once at one end for the telegraph operator, bookkeeper and mail carrier. The mail was brought in on horseback. You could buy almost anything at these stores, from a bottle of perfume or a silk handkerchief to a cooking stove at a good price, and profit to the C.P.R. Co., of course. There was no opposition. We could not travel miles and miles back over the tote road to do our shopping.

A Typical C.P.R. Construction Store and Office—The Latter Being Used as Telegraph, Bookkeeppers and Engineers Offices. Note the "Scoop" Roof

Some of the mechanics, who were married, put up a log hut and brought their families in. The company always established a boarding house, where the clerks in the store, telegraph operators, bookkeepers, mail carriers, order taker and timekeepers could get meals, and always a comfortable bedroom for any official. who happened along but a "bunk house" was provided for the others, furnished with bunks around the walls, with plenty of grey blankets, a big box stove, benches to sit on and a bench for a water pail and wash basin. The place went by the name of the "bummers roost": it seemed a very appropriate name. The navvies, of course, had their own camp. The company stores supplied everything to the navvies both east and west, sending out men on horseback every day to take orders, and filling them the following day by sending out delivery wagons. This gave an opportunity to the women who liked to make a little pin money, as you can imagine what would happen to peas, beans, sugar, tea, rice etc., if sent out in paper bags on the "order wagon", bumping along the "tote road", so the stores supplied factory cotton and paid a cent a piece for bags run up by hand, or machine which few owned.

This was all very temporary, though some of these headquarter camps became quite important and got names, some still exist and have become towns, while two are cities. Of course, my story applies only to the district between Mattawa and Cartier. If you look closely along the track where there is no clearing you can see remains of the little deserted camps still, west of Matta­wa.

Illustration of Typical "Scooped Roof"

I have told you that we had the promise of a house. That was early in January 1888, but my summons did not come until March. Doctor wrote me that at last the house had been finished. It was built of logs right in the woods. I thought how lovely it would be, and had visions of tall trees; the branches waving like our maples and oaks at home, with moss and perhaps pine needles underneath, and the scent of cedar and balsam. Spring was on the way and I should be able to gather wild flowers, and plant sweet peas, morning glories and scarlet runners to climb up the log walls and over the windows—and oh yes! I must be sure and not forget to take the hammock, possibly I might have a little garden. Alas the reality! but I will tell you about that later.

The message I received was, "come, but do not bring any furniture," so I packed my trunk, and a box with rugs, curtains, bedding and the hammock. It was a very different journey to what it is now you could not go to bed on the train at night and wake up here in the morning; neither could you fly here in a few hours. It was a roundabout journey of about 500 miles. I took the Grand Trunk Air Line, which now belongs to the C.N.R., from my home to Hamilton, then the main line to Toronto, and as far as Brockville, then the Canada Central to Carleton Place and up to Pembroke. This was quite a journey for me to take alone. People did not travel about in those days as they do now, a trip to Toronto or Detroit was considered quite a jaunt. The only travelling I had done beyond that, was my wedding trip down the St. Lawrence to Quebec, the very popular trip at that time, and of course, I was not alone then.

Part of the journey was by night, and there were no Pullman cars on those trains. I don't believe there were such things at all. The so called first class cars were none too comfortable to spend a night in, doors opening, people getting on and off, people talking and people snoring and children crying. I made myself as comfortable as possible with my overnight handbag for a pillow, and my coat for a blanket. No porter came along saying, "Shall I get you a pillow lady?" A poor woman across the aisle was travelling with three small children, they were tired and uncomfortable, consequently troublesome. Frequent trips had to be made to the water tank for drinks, so the mother brought the tin cup from the tank and tacked it on the window. One small girl was lying just underneath when a jolt of the car tipped the cup-over, dousing her in the face and neck; the poor child bore the accident bravely and tried to go to sleep again, but every little while we would hear a sleepy voice full of misery complain, "It's all wet mama, it's so cold".

My husband met me at Pembroke and the remainder of the journey to Mattawa was made in a flat car with seats, attached to a construction train. It was cold and slow with many stops and I was tired and miserable, only the delight of being reunited kept my spirit up. At last we reached Mattawa. A warm fire and a nice hot supper at Peter O'Farrel's Hotel cheered us up, and a much needed sleep in a comfortable bed prepared us for an early start to Sturgeon Falls the next morning by train. You will notice that in the two months since doctor arrived, the rails had been laid that far. We were called about six o' clock and had just finished breakfast when we were told "the rig" was at the door. "RIG" it was: a flat sleigh with no box or seat. I was perched on a bag of oats with a grey flannel blanket wrapped about my knees (I found later that there were many uses for grey flannel blankets on construction). The horses were fresh, and away we went. "Pitch holes" were numerous and deep. as there had been a great deal of snow, and I had to hang on to the corners of the bag of oats to save myself from tumbling off. It was an exceptionally cold morning for March, or any month, and as we drove through the crisp whiteness, the sun just peeping over the top of Mattawa's Mountain, the frost on the trees sparkling like diamonds, it was very beautiful, and oh! I had never experienced such cold. Doctor had whiskers and wore a fur coat and cap, and soon looked like Santa Claus. My hair and the fur around my neck were covered with white frost, as were the horses; my breath froze in my nostrils, and my eye lashes stuck together. It seemed terrible, and I thought "Yes, indeed, I must be near the North Pole". Remember, my home was in Norfolk County, near. Lake Erie, where if the temperature should drop to ten below, it was something to talk about for weeks. Arriving at the station, I did not see anything of the train, so asked if it was late. "No there it is!" was the answer. It was a long train of flat cars loaded with bundles of hay, bags of oats and flour, barrels of pork and fish, quarters of beef, shovels, pick axes, wheel barrows, dump carts, cars of gravel, ties, lumber, rails, every kind of equipment for construction, and away at the far end, a car just like the one we had come in from Pembroke. The only other passenger on the train was a smart-looking young man whom doctor introduced to me as Mr. John Ferguson. The conductor's name was Judd and the engineer was Lee, the fireman was Jim Fallon, I think they all still live in North Bay. The train made many stops, shunting off cars of whatever was required, and dropping provisions at the little camps before mentioned, so we did not reach North Bay until noon. The station was a long low log building with a telegraph office at the east end. The operator was a young lady named Boyd, who was afterwards married to S. C. Worthington, the manager's son. He died, and she is now Mrs. (Dr.) Haentschel. The waiting room was in the centre and the dining room at the west end. I don't remember whether D. J. McKeown was there then or not, but he was the first station agent. The railway dump was high in front of the station, and there being no platform, we had to sort of slide in the sand down to the door. We had dinner leisurely, no one seemed to be in a hurry, so when the conductor and my husband had finished their chat and smoke a signal was given; the driver climbed into his engine, tooted the whistle, and we scrambled up the grade again and all aboard for the last stage of my long journey.

North Bay in 1883

We arrived at Sturgeon Falls towards evening. The village had just awakened a short time before Dr. Howey arrived by the noise and rumpus of the coming railway. I say awakened because there had been a small settlement for some time. There was a small steamer named the Inter Ocean, built at Nipissing on the south side of the lake in 1880, which made trips to the north shore carrying hunters, trappers and fishermen, who came up by way of the French River. James Holditch had opened a store there and traded with the Indians, there being no white settlers in the vicinity. There was also a Hudson Bay Post near the mouth of the river, about two miles from the village. It was in charge of a man by the name of McLeod. There was some lumbering too, so that by the time the railway reached there it had become quite a little village, in a primitive way; something more at least than a C.P.R. headquarters camp, as there were quite a few people independent of the railway, and still more came in with the road. Robert Lillie opened a hardware store and "Johnny" Campbell started a general store under the firm name of "Campbell 4 Timmins." Scott built and ran the "Scott House" and Mrs. McGrath the "McGrath House", and Mrs. Kirby did dressmaking. Reinaldo McConnell lived across the Bay. He was interested in prospecting for mines and became quite prominent in the mining circle. The C.P.R. had its own store, under the management of Bob Conway, and of course its own boarding house. The scenery about Sturgeon was beautiful. The Bay almost circular, hollowed out by the rush of the river over the falls, hurrying on its way to Lake Nipissing, and thence by various routes to the Atlantic Ocean, as had been going on for centuries. The shore was fringed with evergreens, drooping under the weight of frozen mist from the falls. A little Anglican Church with a tower and actually a bell, standing on a promontory overlooking the bay, would have made ideal copy for a Christmas card. Modern improvements and pulp works have disfigured the landscape now—such a pity that advancement, though desirable I suppose, it often tramples down things.

It turned out that our house at "The Veuve" was not yet ready for occupation, and we did not get away from Sturgeon for three weeks. Dr. Howey, being an official of the company, was entitled to a room in the company's boarding house, and as I was a kind of co-official I was allowed to share it. The accommodation was not all that could be desired. You entered the house through a narrow dark hall, a door at the right opened into a lounging room for men, a door opposite into a bedroom. There were three beds, "the boss" and his wife, two children, and two maids occupied the room. Behind the lounge and also opening off the hall was a small bedroom which we were considered very fortunate to secure. The partitions were of thin green lumber, and the boards had shrunken so as to leave embarrassing cracks between our bedroom and the men's lounge. The conversations there, which we could not help hearing, were not edifying, nor the language choice. The dining room and a small kitchen were at the back. The room was cold. The fire was not kept up in either the lounge or the dining room between meals; so the only place for me to sit was in the little kitchen, which was very much crowded with a large cooking stove, a huge wood box, a barrel of four, and a table and cupboard, also one windsor chair. The day after I arrived, I was sitting there when my husband came in; cold after a drive "up the line" and tipping me out of the chair, sat down himself and pulled me down on his knee. One of the neighbour women came, and looking into the kitchen saw us—she dodged back into the dining room where one of the maids was laying the table for dinner and asked, "Who's that girl Dr. Ho.covey is spooning with?" "I never saw him fooling with a girl before!" "His wife—you don't say; my ain't she young!" We had beef, pork and beans, potatoes, bread and butter, stewed cranberries and evaporated apple sauce. However, I might have relished the meals more if I had not been in the kitchen so much. Now and then we had hot buns for tea, and thereby hangs a tale, a tale of a cat. The flour barrel stood in a corner near the cooking stove and it was covered by the pastry board. This arrangement made a nice warm place for the cat to nap, without fear of being trodden on in the crowded kitchen. One evening, when the hot buns were served, one of the boys, in the maid's absence, lit a match and pretended to singe the cat hairs off the buns, but I knew for a fact that the pastry board was always dusted off with the cook's apron before it was used.

Sometimes we were treated to a bit of rough house. The construction being under the Public Works Act, no liquor was allowed to be brought in, but some men always manage to get it someway and so they did there, and often became quarrelsome, sometimes making the lounge their fighting arena. When I happened to be alone at night in our little room I was terrified for fear they might fall through the loose wooden partition. I had never had experience with drunken men before One day the landlord himself came in rather under the influence of liquor. Finding no vacant chair he sat down on the floor near the woodbox, and getting drowsy he slumped down on the floor and went to sleep, much to the disgust of his wife, not only that he was drunk but the kitchen floor space was limited. By and by, the chore boy came in with a big armful of wood, but could not get near the woodbox; the wife said, "Kick him out of the way Jim, I' ll give you ten dollars if you take him out and throw him over the falls". Of course she was not in earnest though she did feel that way. However, on the whole I put in the time quite pleasantly while there, and the unpleasant happenings were just part of the adventure.

We had a good horse and a "Carole", one of those low sleighs all made of wood and even the runners; always painted red, also nice comfortable robes, so I often went with my husband on his trips to the camps up and down the line. The sleighing was good despite the pitch holes which did give us many a bump, and one time when they came too often I got sea-sick, much to the amusement of my doctor. It was wonderful driving along the narrow road, with snow banks like walls on either side; and the immense one trees whose branches met overhead in places, sometimes laden with snow which fluffed lightly down over us as we passed under. Even if the sun were shining, there was a sort of gloom in the forest; so still and awesome one might almost expect to see a woodland sprite peering from behind a tree trunk, or a beautiful nymph appear to question our presence there, and our right to disturb the quiet of her domain by the tinkling of our sleigh bells. Now and then we would surprise a deer which would bound gracefully away, or a sly fox stealing across the road. This was exciting and something to write home about. The pretty white rabbits were numerous, and we would see partridges huddled down in the snow under evergreen shrubs. It was necessary for us to keep our ears open for the sound of approaching teams, as also for the driver we were meeting. We could hear him speak to his horses, the sound of harness, and his shout of warning; then whoever came first, to a place to turn out, would stop and give the word to the unseen teamster to come ahead.

The navvies amused me greatly. Dr. Gird­wood's agreement was that every man should have 25 cents deducted from his monthly pay cheque, which would entitle him to whatever medical treatment he should need. Now every man was determined to get the worth of his 25 cents, whether he needed it or not, and as much more as possible. As soon as a working gang saw the doctor's rig coming, down went axe, pick and .hovel and all made a bee line for the doctor; their needs were numerous and urgent. Belladonna plasters were most popular; they were always in demand for sore back, sore side, or sore chest. They stuck them on like undervests. The plasters were grateful and comforting in cold weather . Aside from the medical side of the doctors visit, it was a diversion from the monotony of the day's labour. He always chatted and joked with them while handing out the medicine and they thought he was great.

One evening we were coming home late from a trip up the line when we saw a man sitting on a log beside the road waiting our return. An axe had glanced and given him a bad cut on his back. We went in to the camp. There was no light except from the comboose fire, so it was a problem how to examine and dress the wound. It had been, and was bleeding freely and the man was getting very weak from loss of blood, so there must be no delay. A good pile of birch bark was procured, and pieces of it burned for the doctor to see by. In an effort to stay the flow of blood they had piled on flour, which being saturated with blood was removed with difficulty, and revealed an ugly wound and severed artery. The latter had to be tied which was very difficult, especially as the bark provided a very flickering light, and several times, when the doctor had succeeded in picking up the artery ready to tie, the man hold­ing the bark was obliged to drop it to save his fingers from being burnt. At last it was done and bandaged up, and a few days later, when the doctor made an examination, he found it healing nicely. Not much like a hospital operation with sterilization, disinfectants, anaesthetics, nurses in attendance etc. Another bright moonlight night we were flying along the white road, when our horse, in a hurry to reach his warm stable and his oats, suddenly shied, and a man stepped out from the shadow of the trees, and signalled us to stop. He wanted a tooth pulled. Doctor got out and hunted out his forceps. No use going into the camp for the operation, the moon and the snow were lighter than a comboose fire, so he made the man sit down on >he side of the cutter and put his head back on the seat and out came the tooth. The man got up, said, "Gosh!—"and went back to camp.

Once we were delayed so that we could not get back to Sturgeon at night. We stopped at one of the better sort of camps, where a man by the name of Ransom and his wife were in charge. He was a "walking boss" and his wife was a nice little woman. There was just one room, and a small kitchen at the back. There were two beds in the big room, one in each corner at the back, curtained round with grey blankets for privacy. We were given one of them; the father, mother and two children occupied the other. Two or three men rolled themselves up in grey blankets and lay down on the floor beside the big box stove, with their "turkeys", as their pack sacks were called, for pillows. They got up now and then to replenish the fire. They could not have been very comfortable, for the floor was made of small trees, split and laid down flat side up; but all slept well and when we wakened in the morning we found our bed covered with a lovely thick eiderdown of snow, which had drifted in through the crevices between the logs.

Driving home that morning we met Mr. Worthington, and his retinue coming in on a tour of inspection. He stopped and inspected us too. It was my first meeting with him. I did not like him nor the way he spoke to us, he looked cross and he blustered. While we were talking, he noticed some of the navvies leaning on their shovels and watching us, he shouted to them, "Hey there, get to work you (blank, blank) rascals! are you paid to gape at me? All you fellows think about is pork and sundown". I put him down as a cross old man. This then, was the man from whom my young husband had been obliged to ask the favour of bringing his wife up to such surroundings, and to provide a place for her. He was very tempermental and would fly off at a tangent at the least provocation. A bilious subject, he sometimes had dreadful attacks, when he always thought he was going to die, and gave the doctor and Mr. Haywood, his secretary, the mischief because he was sick. Aside from being all-powerful as general manager of construction, Mr. Worthington was a Justice of the Peace, so you see he was a man to be feared and treated with great respect; for as manager he had the authority to "fire" a man from his job at a, moments notice, a serious matter so far from civilization; or as magistrate "send him down" if he were caught bootlegging, or for other offences.

The engineers headquarters were at Sturgeon for a while, and Mr. Whitnal, an elderly man, had charge of the office. He had been city engineer in Havana, Cuba, before it was lost to the British in '78. His family consisted of his wife, three sons and a daughter. They lived in a house across the bay and the once was in the same building. Mrs. Whitnal and Lily her daughter came to see me and we became fast friends. I saw them nearly every day, though to reach their house I had to walk an open trestle over the falls. They had been society people in Havana, and Lily had danced with Prince Albert, then Prince of Wales, and later King Edward VII; and Prince Arthur, now the Duke of Connaught, when they were on tour of British possessions. They were entertained by the City and they entertained on their ship, which was in the harbour at Havana. Before I left, Mr . Ramsay, the chief engineer, brought his wife from Montreal. They were secretly married, and she had come with him as far as possible to say good-bye before he plunged into the wilderness for another six months. Mr. Duchesnay, the chief's assistant, was with them, so we were quite a nice little party for a very short time. The Whitnals were very English, and never failed to have their afternoon tea. Orange marmalade was just being introduced, and they served it as a great delicacy. I wondered if they really liked the bitter stuff, but I ate my portion, rather than appear unsophisticated.

Doctor received a call to go to Dokeese Point, a few miles west of Sturgeon, on Lake Nipissing, to see an Indian by the same name who was very ill. I went with him because I wanted to see an Indian and his home. I was surprised to find him living in a comfortable frame house, with a wife and two nice little girls. The wife was clean and tidy (so was the house), and the little girls in cotton dresses which almost touched the floor, one pink and one yellow, their stiff black hair braided in two pig tails tied with string. The patient was a big, fine looking man—altogether I was somewhat disappointed—they were too civilized. The man had pneumonia: doctor gave him medicine and directions for treatment. He recovered, and just the other day I saw a notice in the Sudbury Star that the poor old man had been run down and killed by a motor car.

After three weeks at Sturgeon we received word that our house at the Veuve was ready for occupation. We hastened to load on a sleigh "our furniture" which we had bought at the company's store. It consisted of a wooden bedstead, six windsor chairs, and some good strong white deft dishes packed in a wash tub. These with the boxes I had brought from home made quite an imposing load which was sent on ahead. We started later in our Carole, for home. Doctor had been up a few days before, and installed a small box stove and a cooking stove which he had bought at the Company's store, with the accompanying necessary cooking utensils.

The Veuve was so called because of it's location on the banks of a little river of that name. As "veuve" is french for widow, it seemed there must have been some story connected with the name, but I could never find it. It was about a mile and a half west of where the village of Warren is now, but there is no sign of it ever having existed. It was the usual headquarters' construction camp, with the addition this time, of a doctor's residence. Our house was built of green logs cut on the spot, left rough on the outside but hewn on the inside, so that the walls were comparatively even. The crevices were stuffed with moss, sort of lichen, which was plentiful on the trees. The roof was of scoops which I described before. As the ground was frozen and no earth available, it was banked up to the window sills with snow for warmth. In the front was a door and one small window, there was a back door of course. All around were the stumps and the tops of trees which had been cut for the building, and piles and piles of chips, the most and biggest one could imagine, chips to burn anyway. Closely surrounding was the impenetrable tangle of the forest. "Yes, it was true" our house was built "right in the woods", but at the sight of it my visions of flowers and a garden took instant flight, and I decided I would not need to unpack the hammock.

It was quite late when we arrived. The furniture had come and was piled outside. Doctor had the key and we climbed over the debris and went in. There were four rooms—living room, bedroom, kitchen and once. There were no doors, in fact we never got them, so before we went to bed doctor got some grey blankets from the store and we used them for porters. It was fortunate that he had previously set up the stoves, for it was late and we were cold; some gummy chips soon helped that. The carpenter had very thoughtfully made a couple of tables, and put up shelves in the kitchen and the once. The furniture was brought in and the bedstead set up, the big box opened and the bed made up, rugs thrown down, the dishes put on the shelves, and we were settled—curtains would wait until to-morrow. Next thing must be supper, but we had nothing at all to eat, so another trip to the Company's store, which fortunately was only about fifty feet from our house. A pail of water from a barrel at the store, and the kettle was soon boiling and supper ready; but it was getting dark and we had never thought of lamps: so away again to the company's store; for lamps and coal oil. It seemed rather gloomy during the evening. Our log walls were hard to light up with the small coal oil lamps. The logs were of green timber, and when the fire warmed them up the moisture oozed out and began to drip and run in little rivulets down the walls. However, we were tired and went to bed early, and while we were sleeping Jack Frost made use of the dampness to cover our dingy walls with the most beautiful fern-like tapestry, in the purest of white. This happened every night for some weeks, and would have been fine but there is a fly in every ointment, and of course, as soon as the fires were lighted it dripped over everything. As our home was built in the winter, the snow was just cleared away and the floor laid on the frozen ground; so in the Spring, when the frost came out our floor began to settle down, until there was a space of several inches all around between the lowest logs and the floor. This was convenient for frogs and toads, etc., to take shelter when they desired it. Another trouble with the floor was that trees had been cut to clear a space for the house, and the stumps had not been removed; but just leveled down, so when the floor settled down they stayed up—I leave the result to your imagination.

Soon the spring rains began, and one night there was a terrific thunderstorm. We awakened to find the rain coming down on our bed, apparently it had found a knot hole in our scoops. The room was too small to move the bed away from the drip, so we got our waterproofs and umbrellas, and so managed to keep fairly dry. The road (there was only one) which had been so good all winter, with the many working teams to keep it broken, was now very dreadful, made through swamps, over rocks and small creeks. Doctor had to make his trips on horseback, and he would come home wet and covered with mud to the hips, so you can imagine what his flannels were like. I had been doing our small washings, but did not feel equal to them. My only neighbours were the people in the company's boarding house: they were more than kind to me; I have always remembered them gratefully. To them I went with my problem. They told me of two or three women who might help me out and showed me where they lived. Away I went through the mud to the nearest. I could see through the window, a fat, comfortable looking woman sitting with folded hands, rocking peacefully and watching a group of small children playing outside. When I knocked, she called, "come in!" which I did, followed by the children full of curiosity. I told her my errand and she said she would be glad to help me, but was hardly able to do her own work, which seemed evident. So I departed for the next house still escorted by the children, though they soon left me as we could not converse. They speaking french only, of which I knew very little. Next place I was received very politely, and by a mixture of both fan­guages she managed to understand. "Oh, yes madame, you are monsieur le docteur's wife!" "You wish me pour laver?" "Oh yes! when come Madame?" "Today?" "Oh not I could not come today." "To-morrow then?" "No I don't think I come to-morrow—no madame I cannot come my husband he work on the C.P.R., he not want me to work." So then, a small house away back in the bush was my last chance, and I plodded along a narrow muddy path to the premises. A tap brought a rather pretty woman to the door, she looked at me in surprise but asked me to come in. However, when I made known my errand her black eyes snapped fire.—"No Madame, I do not work!" my husband he work on the C.P.R., "why should I work for you?" I made an ignominious retreat and wended my way back home, fixed up the fire in my little stove, heated water and poured it into my wash tub with plenty of soap, it steamed in good style, so I put the flannels in and went at them. The water was too hot, so I stirred them around with a stick for a little while; I tried to rub them on the board but they seemed such a terrible weight, I punched, pulled and squeezed them. The hot steam came up into my face and made me hot and faint, but I kept at them until I thought they must be cleaned; but felt so queer, sort of sticky and stiff, and they looked so small; but I thought I could pull them into shape when they got dry. The doctor bought new flannels.

My husband was usually out most of the day, either East or West along the line visiting the working gangs; the evenings were spent putting up medicine for the next day's trip etc., rolling and wrapping plasters ready to hand out, and rolling bandages.

The season opened. early that spring. There had been a great deal of snow, and the Veuve, a modest little stream normally, began to assert itself, and you wouldn't believe how that innocent little stream could act up. It flooded almost to our doorsteps, rushing along carrying stumps and trees, even log camps. One of them came sailing along with a cooking stove still in it, apparently it would be ready for use when it reached its destination. The water soon settled down into its narrow bed again and spring had come. As soon as the ice had all gone out, and as the road was very bad, much of the stuff was brought up by boat in long "red pointers", rowed by French Canadian boatmen. It was lovely towards evening, when the sun was shining through the tall tree trunks which bordered the river, to hear them coming, singing their native boat songs. One bright morning in May, I was alone, and awakened early. Soon I became aware of a peculiar sound, a sort of musical murmur. I could not decide what it was, so finally my curiosity got the better of my laziness and I got up to find out. As I opened the door, the warm spring air, laden with the perfume of the pines met me, the dew sparkled on the fresh young foliage, green things were springing up in the forest, and the birds were simply mad with song. As I walked down the path toward the river, whence the sound seemed to come, I felt like singing myself, and was more light-hearted than I had been since leaving my old home. As I turned a bend in the path a beautiful sight met my eyes. An altar had been set up beneath the tall pines near the river, the trunks the pillars, and the leafy tops the vaulted roof of this nature's cathedral; and around a white robed priest, hundreds of those rough navvies devoutly knelt to receive his blessing. He had arrived to celebrate the Easter Mass, and these men had come for miles, from both east and west to perform their Easter devotions, and it was the solemn murmur of their united voices which I had heard. It was a beautiful and impressive sight. It really was not Easter, as it came that, year on the 21st of March, but the Father had been unavoidably delayed in reaching this distant mission.

The Company's store stood about fifty feet to the right of our cabin, both facing the river; and the company's boarding house stood some distance to the left; the "bummer's roost" in the background; this formed the principal street. There were other buildings occupied by navvies tucked back around somewhere but they were not of any importance. There was not very much amusement for anybody, but I was amused watching the employees at the store amuse themselves. They were kept pretty busy during the mornings until the order wagon got away then they had more leisure, after the debris left from packing and loading the wagon was cleared away. There was not much to do until evening, when the wagon came back with orders for the next day. Local customers being scarce, as you can imagine they would be; they had wrestling matches, sprinting matches, jumping matches, playing quoits with horseshoes, football with a turnip, and baseball with potatoes and a barrel stave. It took a good many potatoes to finish a game. On chap, Archie Goddale (I wonder if he is still alive and may see this) would manage someway, now and then, to get enough strong liquor to feel the effect, and though he was very pleasant when sober, it always made him quarrelsome, and if he couldn't find anyone to quarrel with, he would go around with his head down, mumbling to himself that he would dance on somebody's neck. But there was nothing of all this, if word came through that some of the officials were on the way, and by some means it always seemed to come through; then there was a scattering to get things in "ship shape" before their arrival. Mr .Worthington came often, and although he was tempermental, they were used to him, and you know what familiarity breeds if you ever wrote in a copy book. But when Mr. William Cornelius VanHorne (afterwards Sir William) was reported, it spread consternation throughout the whole camp. You will remember he undertook the contract for the whole gigantic job, and was the dynamo which put it through, and in much less time than the agreement called for. He was born in Chelsea, Illinois, U.S.A. The boys considered it fortunate that his visits were brief and rare. There was a rumour that Mr. Stephen, President of the C.P.R., was coming but it was a false report, much to the relief of our citizens, every single one of whom was responsible, in some way, for the smooth running of construction work.

For the encouragement of some ambitious boy who might read this, I will tell him that Mr. George Stephens was a Scottish lad, son of a carpenter, in Dufftown, Banffshire, Scot­land (probably that is how Banff got its name) and was a herd laddie for a while there, and then went to Aberdeen to learn the drapery business; but was afterwards persuaded by his cousin Donald Alexander Smith, to come to Canada, where by dint of honest industry he made good and became very wealthy. For his services, financially and otherwise in the cause of the C.P.R., he was knighted, and later was honoured with a peerage and chose as his title, Lord Mount Stephen, after a high mountain in the Rockies, which had been named Mount Stephen, as a compliment to him. His cousin Donald Smith was equally successful, leaving his birthplace, Torres in Moreyshire, with all his worldly possessions in a carpet bag. He came to the new world and went to Labrador in the Service of the Hudson Bay Company; enduring many hardships, travelling many miles to the various trading posts in cold and blinding snow storms to secure the rich furs from the Indians. But his hardy Scottish determination, and faithful service produced one promotion after another, until he became head of that famous company and acquired great wealth, much of which he devoted to forwarding the construction of the C.P.R. He also received a knighthood, and later a peerage and became Lord Strathcona. He, it was who drove the last spike at Craiglachie in the Eagle Pass; when from the East and from the West the rails met on November 7th, 1885, thus making it really possible to travel right around the world. It was a very important event in Canadian history and good Queen Victoria sent a message of congratulation. The road was finished, but at the cost of untold money, labour and sacrificing of human life. Men had died from explosions of dynamite, falling rocks, drowning, falls and innumerable other causes. The Rockies which were considered impregnable, were conquered. But there was much to be done yet, and it was not until May 28th, 1888 that the first through train reached Vancouver.

I have wandered far from my pioneering story, but I think it well to remember these events which are so seldom spoken of nowa-days.

So to go back to my knitting, I find I am still at the Veuve, and it is still May, 1883. The month wore on, and one day there seemed to be an unusual flutter of excitement among the population, of course I was curious and went out to see what caused it. I met a little boy and asked him what was going on, he said, "the railroad is coming". A cluster of people were standing by the unfinished track and in answer to my question said, the engine was in sight, and sure enough away down the road I could see a puff of smoke. It was catching up with we forerunners, and in a couple of days the ties were laid and the rails placed, and the engine steamed proudly past us, tooting a salute while we cheered and waved hats, handkerchiefs, aprons or whatever was just then available. The iron had overtaken and passed us, that meant that we too should soon move on, we must keep ahead of "the iron", but we did not go until the iron reached Markstay.

Towards the end of June we heard that there were plenty of wild strawberries up the line. This meant West, down the line always meant East. "We", I mean the McCormick girls, Molly, Susie and Nellie, who had been my neighbours for some time, proposed that we go up with the working engine and stop off at the strawberry patch and the driver would pick us up again when he returned. So it was arranged, and as the engine came along Susie, Nellie and I stood waiting with pails and men's straw hats, which we had commandeered from the Company's store. All went well, the berries were plentiful, large and ripe but as we disturbed the leaves, quantities of little gnats flew up and annoyed me by getting into my nose, eyes and ears. No amount of blowing at them or brushing them away would help. Presently I complained that those little gnats were a nuisance. "Yes, said Susie, "they are black flies." That did not impress me, I did not care whether they were black or white, if they would leave me alone but next morning I knew what black flies meant. My face and eyes were swollen so that my mother wouldn't have known me, and I suffered torments. Our pails were full, and the sun was low in the west when the engine picked us up again. Everything seemed alright until we got underway, when we began to notice that we were going at a terrific rate, the engine bounded and leaped over the unballasted road and uneven rails, like a, wild thing. It was apparent that our driver had met with a bootlegger. The fireman endeavoured to take the lines but, no, he guessed he could handle his own machine. We were in terror, until a fortunate attack of sickness necessitated his retirement to the tender, to our relief. We felt we had escaped what might have been a serious disaster.

Tote Road Along Lake into Sudbury

Our next move would be to Sudbury, where the Company had built another house for us. The end of the iron had reached Markstay, before our order came to move on. The "end of the iron" did not mean that the road was completed that far, but that it had reached the stage when the ties could be placed on the dump, and the rails spiked to them so that with care, an engine with the working train could pass safely over. We were to go to the end of the iron by this working train, and the rest of the way with our horse and buckboard. finally the order came for us to move on, so we again packed our trunks and loaded them with our boxes bedstead, six chairs, the tub full of dishes, and the two stoves on to a flat car. I climbed up and established myself on a bale of hay, with two more bales standing upright to complete quite a comfortable seat. There were several other passengers: I was the only woman. It was rather jolty but quite a pleasant mode of travelling, if it had not been that some of the freight consisted of barrels of coal oil, syrup etc., which had been lying on their sides. These were supposed to be braced, but one escaped its confines and rolled about, and one never could tell which way it was going to roll.

Doctor had gone on ahead and was waiting for me when the train arrived at Mark­stay. There were only a few log cabins there, where navvies could eat and some of them sleep. A man with a team was waiting to take our goods to Sudbury, so they were loaded on his lumber wagon and we drove gaily along the tote road in our buckboard, after a stay of three months at the Veuve, while the road was being built from Sturgeon Falls to Markstay. The tote road followed the right of way up hill and down dale. We joggled along over long stretches of corduroy, bounced and bumped over stones and roots, getting pretty tired and hot; so when we reached Romford, another little stopping place, where a young man by the name of Stephen Fourier was in charge of a small company store; we were glad to accept his invitation to come in and rest a while. He told us that there were plenty of wild straw- ries nearby and gave me a man's straw hat to wear while I went out to pick some. They were so plentiful and big and sweet, that I did not stop eating them, but made use of the straw hat to take some with me, and mind you, I took precaution against those "troublesome little gnats" this time. At last we sighted Ramsay Lake and Doctor said we were very near Sudbury. That was good news, for the gaiety which we started out with had all evaporated; and I felt shaken and bruised: a wreck, when just at sunset July 1st, 1883, our tired horse crossed a shaky little bridge, over the creek where Memorial Park is now, and climbed the hill between the Anglican Rectory and St. Andrew's Church. Then I had my first sight of Sudbury. It was just three months old then, so now people who have asked me about it may know how and when and why I came to Sudbury fifty years ago. The town had been located and named by Mr. Worthington. He chose the name as a compliment to his wife: it was the name of her birthplace in England. The lake was first called Lost Lake by the engineers, because they located a trial line first, which skirted the lake but on returning they lost the trail and followed behind the hills, very much puzzled as to where the lake was which they had located on their way West. But Mr. Worthington changed it to Ramsay Lake in honour of the chief engineer who lost it.