As the railway expansion of Canada developed by leaps and bounds, ambitious spirits contemplated larger and larger conquests, culminating in a desire to build a link of steel right across the country from coast to coast. This feeling was natural. On the Atlantic seaboard, settlement advanced at a rapid rate in the Lower Provinces and forced its way steadily inland. On the Pacific side, civilisation firmly planted in British Columbia spread towards the Rocky Mountains. These two colonising forces, working in the same country, were as wide apart as if at the Poles, for the intervening plains stretching from the Great Lakes to the Rockies were considered useless.

British Columbia felt this isolation keenly. All traffic had to be carried round the southern extremity of the American continent. To travel from London to Vancouver in the ’fifties was an heroic undertaking, involving a journey more than half-way round the globe. Some of the trade, however, was maintained overland. For instance, the provisions for the Hudson’s Bay post at Vancouver were dispatched from Montreal over a trail some 3000 miles in length. But it was a tremendous task, occupying several weeks. The pack train left Montreal in May, and the water route was followed so far as practicable to Fort Garry, where Winnipeg now stands. Here the rivers were abandoned in favour of horses, mules and wagons which trekked slowly across the prairies—the voyageurs living on the buffalo which roamed the plains in their thousands—threaded the terrible mountain rifts, and dropped down to the coast, reaching Vancouver about the end of September. The trail was ill-defined and the journey bristled with exciting incidents and adventures.

The disadvantages of this means of communication between the opposite sides of the continent were realised only too fully, so when the railway had become established in Eastern Canada and had demonstrated its tremendous possibilities, an iron link across the Dominion was advocated strenuously. But the vastness of the undertaking was deemed to be beyond the possibilities of the country; the cost was contemplated to be so huge that capitalists would not venture to commit themselves to the fulfilment of such a project. One of the advocates of the enterprise suggested that it should be built by convict-labour in order to reduce the expense of construction, and curiously enough he suggested that the line should be carried through the Kicking Horse Pass, through which the Canadian Pacific makes its way to the Pacific to-day.

It was in 1851 that the idea of a trans-continental railway first crystallised into a tangible project; but as it eclipsed in conception anything attempted in railway building up to that time, there was considerable timidity in launching out upon a line some 3000 miles in length. So matters drifted until the first trans-continental railway was thrown across the United States, and San Francisco was brought within a few days’ travel of New York. The agitation then broke out anew for a trans-Canadian line, and Sir Hugh Allan approached the Government with a definite scheme. However, he failed to enlist the practical assistance of financiers, and so the theme ranked as a perennial topic of discussion until the ratification of a project supported by the Government in 1881.

It is doubtful in the history of British North America whether any project of avowed benefit to the community has experienced such vicissitudes as the first trans-Canadian railway. It wrecked ministries, brought about the political extinction of more than one promising member of Parliament, provoked heated agitation, and involved the abortive expenditure of large sums of money.

The Government, however, decided to help private initiative sufficiently daring to attempt the undertaking in a liberal manner. In the first place a subsidy of £5,000,000, or $25,000,000, was granted to aid construction; the Government undertook to build 713 miles with its own resources, and made a free gift of 25,000,000 acres of land fringing its route. At that time the land was worthless, so its bestowal was not of immediate value, but to-day it represents an asset of incalculable value, and gives the company a sheet anchor of tremendous strength.

In the end the Government went very much farther. It made a free gift of the line it had constructed, which was worth at the very least,£7,000,000, or $35,000,000. While construction was in progress there was urgent need for further money. Financiers refused to provide funds, and as a result the Government stepped in and advanced a loan of £6,000,000—$30,000,000—which action was so bitterly criticised at the time that the Ministry was urged to wipe off the debt once and for all by making it a gift, for all the prospect there was of it ever being repaid. But the loan was redeemed, partly by an issue of stock, and partly by the Government buying back some 7,000,000 of the 25,000,000 acres which it had given to the company in the first place at 6 shillings per acre, representing to all intents and purposes a further gift of some,£2,000,000, or $10,000,000. Probably no railway undertaking has ever been treated with such prodigal liberality in the history of the iron horse; but at the time it was warranted fully, bearing in mind the magnitude of the scheme and the tremendous difficulties which confronted the company at every turn.

When construction commenced in grim earnest the builders found that the critics had not erred on the side of under-estimation in regard to the character of the difficulties to be overcome. The thin band of steel was driven through country of which practically nothing was known; where every succeeding mile revealed something unexpected. For instance, in following the shore of Lake Superior it was one desperate grapple with Nature for every yard. Mountains dropped sheer into the lake, and their humps were divided by stretches of wicked muskeg, the Indian name for swamp, where in many cases the bottom defied being discovered, and where thousands of tons of rock were swallowed up without showing any gratifying result.

To-day it is possible, from wider knowledge, to criticise the company upon their selection of this route, but at the time it was taken in hand there was no alternative. For a solid 100 miles along the shores of Lake Superior the work assumed a spectacular aspect. The high rocky cliffs either had to be tunnelled, blasted right out of the way, or deep long cuts had to be driven through the solid obstruction.

In those days the camps did not enjoy the comforts that are possible now. The food was of the coarsest description—in fact, often it was nauseous. Yet it was the best that could be secured under the circumstances. I met one of the men who had helped to drive the grade along the shore of Lake Superior, and he described the interest and curiosity that was provoked by the arrival of the first tin of condensed milk. To them, milk was a luxury indeed, and they as much anticipated its association with their tea or coffee as they would have entertained the possibility of receiving a glass of champagne. The tin of milk was produced, and when the first recipient had read the story of the label it was handed round to every man in turn. They scarcely could conceive the possibility of being able to preserve such a perishable product in a tin, and they refrained from investigating the contents. At last, one of the more daring spirits took out his ponderous pocket- or jack-knife and plunged it into the lid. Tipping the vessel slightly, he watched the contents exude in a thin viscous stream on to his finger. Hesitatingly he tasted it, and the intense satisfaction with which he smacked his lips showed that it was a tasty article at all events, although it might be rank poison for aught they knew. All in turn submitted the commodity to this preliminary test, and there was a unanimous exclamation as to its palatable qualities. Very little of that tin of condensed milk was employed for its avowed purpose: the majority of the men preferred to enjoy it in its raw condition, as it was something entirely new to their frontier table. As a result the greater part of the coffee and tea was drunk that morning in its black state, relieved with sugar only, as the contents of the tin disappeared in a far from orthodox manner.

The resistance which the rock offered was heart-rending. The men, by superhuman effort, could make their way forward only a few feet per day. Under these circumstances the task swallowed money as remorselessly as the muskeg absorbed dumped rock. Results proved that the construction of the line along this shore for about 100 miles was as expensive as threading the mountains, and in one instance the price mounted to as high as £140,000, or $700,000, per mile, rendering it easily one of the most costly stretches of road ever constructed.

But though the fight offered by the rock was stern, that presented by the muskeg was every whit as bad, though it was of a different character. The great danger against which the company had to contend was the creeping of the rails. The spongy nature of the soil over which the track was laid caused a movement of the metals under the weight of a passing train. It was just as if the rails had been laid on a mass of resilient india-rubber. The lines would move to one side or the other and often widen out sufficiently to permit a train to drop between them. It was observed that as a train passed the elastic soil rose and fell in a series of little waves, often attaining a height of six inches, while the engineers could see the rails moving under the passing of the train. It was quite out of the question to spike the rails firmly to the sleepers, since the movement was so great that the metals would have forced themselves from their foundation. As it was, the gangers had to overhaul the stretch of track crossing the muskeg once every week. The engineer strove valiantly to overcome the eccentric movement of the rails, and only succeeded by dint of great effort in rendering it perfectly safe. But in this work he had to use sleepers measuring 12 feet in length, instead of those of standard dimensions of 8 feet.

Then trouble arose with the contractors in regard to the cost of excavation. Naturally the expenditure under this heading varied according to the character of the material encountered, for obviously gravel, clay, and loam were far easier and cheaper to remove than rock, and this latter varied in its workability according to its geological formation. In one case this dispute became a bitter bone of contention between the company and the contractors. Upon the completion of the work the former came to the conclusion that it had been charged an excessive sum for the work, and upon consideration of the returns of the earth removed were convinced that an erroneous return had been made. Amicable adjustment of the difference proving fruitless, recourse had to be made to the courts, and the authorities ordered the cutting to be re-measured so as to determine the quantity of soil removed. In one instance the contractors were forced to return a sum of about £60,000, or $300,000, and many other firms of constructional engineers had to make repayments. It was not a question of fraud, but purely misinterpretation of the character of the soil handled; yet it served to promote inharmonious working between the company and its contractors.

On the prairie, constructional effort was not taxed to a supreme degree except in regard to water. This was found to be scarce in many parts, and is even so to-day. The country threaded is a continuation of the arid stretches of North Dakota and Montana, and where the land can only be brought to a state of remunerative productivity by recourse to irrigation. Science, however, has discounted the deficiency of nature, and to-day this dry belt is as generously supplied with water as those more favoured with ample natural resources farther north, though of course the settler is compelled to pay his quota to the expense of irrigation in the form of a higher price for the land.

It was when the mountains were met, however, that the real troubles of the company commenced. The battle against the rocky bluffs round Lake Superior was as mere child’s play to what was encountered when the mountain barrier was entered. The Government had surveyed a route through the mountains, and its choice had fallen upon the Yellowhead Pass, the lowest summit in the range, which is only 3,723 feet above the level of the ocean. It was the obvious portal through the mountains to the coast, but the company decided to thread the chain farther to the south. This decision aroused considerable criticism, and the Government only relented by stipulating that if the Rockies were penetrated at any other point it should be at least 100 miles north of the International Boundary. When the project was consummated it was stipulated that grades should not exceed 1 in 52.8 feet, and the Yellowhead fulfilled this requirement strictly to the letter.

However, the Government’s requirements being fulfilled, the line was forced through the range by way of the Kicking Horse Pass, a high road used by the couriers du bois for some years previously. But it proved a trying piece of work. The river is a boiling stream and difficult of approach. The mountains rear up on all sides, and in order to force their way forward the engineers had to resort to herculean efforts, spanning tumultuous streams and carving narrow winding ledges on the sides of the mountains. Moreover, it is a heavy up-hill pull for mile after mile, until at last the summit is gained at an altitude of 5,329 feet. To gain this point the line winds in a bewildering manner, but the vistas of mountain scenery that are unfolded are difficult to parallel out of Switzerland.

When this part of the work was taken in hand the original arrangements comprised tunnelling beneath a glacier and through the hump of Mount Stephen, but as there was loud clamouring for the completion of the line, this undertaking, which would have involved a great length of time, and which would have proved exceedingly costly, was abandoned for the time being in favour of a “temporary line.” That deviation, however, fulfilled its temporary requirements for a prolonged period—a matter of some thirty years to be precise—and only recently has been improved.

In making the deviation serious delays were experienced. A rocky obstacle stood in the way and tunnelling was commenced, but this work had to be abandoned owing to the collapse of the burrow, and a sharp curve and heavy bank introduced. The result was that it was found impossible to comply with the Government’s requirements concerning the maximum gradient, because in order to descend from Hector to Field, a distance of about 10 miles, a difference of 1,143 feet had to be overcome. This introduced a grade adverse to eastbound traffic of 237 feet to the mile, and it proved a heavy stumbling-block against the economical operation of the line for many years, and one which increased in severity with every succeeding year.

Yet the conquest of the Rockies was a marvellous piece of engineering, especially on three miles of this bank, which was so steep as to earn the name of the “Big Hill,” for it rose 12 inches in every 22 feet, and was one of the stiffest pieces of road to be worked by adhesion that ever had been laid down on a railway. It was so steep as to be dangerous, a fact testified by the number of safety switches, or “catch points,” that were introduced. The man in charge of one of these points, observing an engine coming down-hill, did not know whether it had run away or not until the engine-driver whistled a signal which conveyed the information that he desired the switch to be set to the main line, for normally it was left open and a runaway at that point would have been turned into the bank, to end its mad career in a wreck. Now and again engines did run away, and the “Big Hill” has witnessed many exciting escapes among the engine-drivers and train gangs. To grasp the significance of this engine “pull,” one required to see the “Limited” steaming from the Pacific to the Atlantic. It got to the bottom of the hill, and there three other engines were attached to the train to push it up the ever-dropping metals for over three miles, while the clouds of smoke and live cinders belched into the air, and the terrible roar of the engines straining at the load testified to the tremendous effort that was required to get a speed of five miles an hour on the train. It was this feature that led a humorist to remark that the Canadian Pacific railway never had any occasion to ballast the track on the “Big Hill.” The engines performed this operation spontaneously and automatically in their labour, and to far better effect than would have been possible by ordinary means.

Considerable excitement was experienced in its construction. According to some of the men whom I met, and who had been connected with the grading through the Kicking Horse Pass, the ballast trains failed time after time to secure a grip on the metals, and with their driving-wheels spinning round madly in the forward direction they skidded backwards down-hill. Now and again there would be a nasty smash, in which engine and the ballast cars were mixed up in an inextricable heap. It is reported even that on one occasion, while the snow-plough was out clearing the drift on the “Hill,” the driver of the locomotive lost the plough, and did not discover the fact until he had gained the top, although he was pushing the snow-clearing apparatus! It was so difficult to keep the wheel gripping the rails that he did not notice the difference in the resistance when the snow-plough went over one side.

From the Government’s strict point of view the Canadian Pacific was not completed until about two years ago, although trains have been running between the Atlantic and Pacific for some thirty years. The authorities pointed out that the grade was an essential part of the contract, and yet, in order to pass through the Kicking Horse Pass, the company had exceeded that grade to a very considerable extent. Consequently eight miles of line was non-existent so far as the Government was concerned, and it declined to contribute any subsidy to that short length of the railway. Two years ago compliance was made with the Government’s agreement. The route through the Kicking Horse Pass was re-aligned. This piece of work was carried out by the late J. E. Schwitzer, and from its daring nature it will always stand as a monument to his engineering ability. He cut out the “Big Hill” entirely. Where previously a bank rising 1 in 22¼ existed for 4.1 miles, he provided a stretch of line double the length and of one-half the gradient, so that the engines only have to overcome a climb of 1 in 45½.

In order to ease the grade the line swings from one side of the narrow valley to the other. Travelling westwards it disappears into the flank of Cathedral Mountain, describing a curve in the tunnel to emerge into the valley about 40 feet below the point where it enters the mountain side. It then strikes across the valley to enter the slopes of Wapata Mountain, where another tunnel on a curve like a corkscrew lowers the level of the line for another 40 feet. Once more it crosses the valley, the meanderings being so bewildering as to form a perfect maze. It recalls the wonderful spiral tunnel-work on the St. Gotthard railway where a similar difficulty had to be overcome, and, indeed, the conquest of the Kicking Horse Pass in this manner was based evidently upon the great work in Switzerland. Still, it marks the first application of this ingenious solution of a trying problem to the American continent.

To bring the Kicking Horse Pass section of the line within the recognition of the Government, however, entailed the expenditure of some,£300,000, or $1,500,000, and found employment for about 1000 men for twenty months. Train-load after train-load of dynamite was brought up in order to enable the path to be hewn through the mountain flanks, and by the time the task was completed over 1,500,000 pounds of explosives had been used—something like,£50,000, or $250,000, had vanished literally in smoke to tear down the rock. But the outlay will be recouped well. Where four engines were required formerly two now suffice to handle a 700-ton train, and they can rattle through the Pass at a steady 25 miles an hour, whereas previously a bare six miles could be notched.

Emerging from the Rockies the engineers were confronted by another towering obstacle—the Selkirks. This range was to be dreaded more than the barrier just left behind, for there was a trail through the Rockies to guide the engineers, whereas the Selkirks had never been threaded. The Indians and Hudson’s Bay voyageurs, after emerging from the Rockies, turned sharply south to follow the Columbia River.

The first task, therefore, was to discover a rift through the Selkirks through which the metals might be carried. It was shorter to go through the mountains than to go round them if any pass could be found to exist. Major Albert B. Rogers, an American engineer, accordingly saddled his horse and with a supply of provisions set off to search for a “Pass.” He wandered up and down the range without success for week after week, and then, just as he was despairing of success, his eye alighted on a narrow breach between two serried lines of snow-clad peaks. He spurred forward, traversing territory on which the feet of neither white nor red man had been planted, climbing and toiling arduously among the crags, until at last he gained an altitude of 4,351 feet, from which the opposite sides of the range sloped down once more to the Columbia River Valley.

Rogers’ Pass, as this defile through the Selkirks was named in honour of the discoverer, was followed. It did not offer any great difficulties from the grading point of view. The greatest enemy was snow and avalanche. The snowfall among these mountains is the heaviest along the line, while the avalanches are of terrible frequency. Consequently the absorbing question was how to keep the line intact after once it had been laid. It was impossible to avoid the defined paths of the snow movements entirely, and in these cases huge sheds had to be erected to carry the avalanche harmlessly over the track to expend its violence in the gulch below. The extent of snow-shedding through the Selkirks is amazing, and it has proved terribly costly.

When the engineers attacked this country, as the laying of the track was the paramount requirement it was pushed forward with all speed during the short summer, and parties of men equipped with meteorological instruments, and vehicles for movement during winter, and supplies of stores, were left at different points to study the snow question, so as to collect data for the situation of the snow-sheds. There was no difficulty in determining this latter point, for the avalanches appeared to rain down upon the track from all sides. The question was not so much where to introduce the sheds, but where they could be omitted. It appeared as if the line would have to be carried almost continuously through a wooden tunnel to ensure its safety.

That the snow-fiend is no mean enemy was brought home forcibly some three years ago. While a snow, train was climbing up the western slope, clearing away the accumulated mass of snow and debris deposited by a slide upon the track, another avalanche swept down upon the little band working so desperately to cut a path for the mail. Over 100 men were on the train when the terror of the mountains struck them and swept the whole into the gulch below, the locomotives and plough weighing over 50 tons being bowled over and over like an india-rubber ball as they were hurtled down the steep slopes. Over fifty lives were lost in that catastrophe, and it was but one of many which have happened since the Selkirks were first gridironed by the railway.

But snow-shedding, while securing the safety of the line, has its drawbacks. If a structure is made too lengthy it becomes filled with suffocating smoke which obscures all signals, and deadens all sounds. In summer another danger exists. The district threaded is one ravaged heavily by forest fires, and the danger from this enemy was only too vividly apparent. At this juncture Mr. W. C. Van Horne came to the rescue of the engineers, as he had done on many previous occasions, to extricate them from their difficulty. He suggested that the maximum length of a single shed should be 3000 feet, and where the conditions demanded a long continuous length of this protection, that it should be broken up into units with wide, clear intervals of open line between.

To prevent these “breaks” becoming filled with debris he resorted to an ingenious expedient. Up on the mountain side he built what is known as a “split fence.” This is a triangular erection, with the apex pointing towards the mountain top, of heavy massive construction and filled and banked with masonry. The descending slide strikes this obstruction, becomes split in twain, one half is deflected so as to roll over the roof of the snow-shed on one side, and the other half caused to glance off in a similar manner on the other side. If one of these constructions did not secure the desired end, then another was planted above it higher up the mountain side. The success of this system has been remarkable, and it has enabled the company to reduce the lengths of the sheds very appreciably.

Shortly after the line was opened the protective handiwork of the engineers was subjected to trying tests. The winter of 1886–7 was one of excessive severity even for the Selkirks. In less than a week 8½ feet of snow fell, and the blizzard raged continuously for three weeks. Slides were of daily occurrence, the silence of the mountains being broken by the continuous roar of the avalanche. The snowfall on the summits exceeded 35 feet, and the white mantle was piled upon the roofs of the sheds to a depth of 50 feet. The slides were of terrific fury, some rattling down the slopes with such force and speed as to rebound 300 feet or so up the opposite mountain side. Thousands of tons of rock, some pieces as large as a small villa, were caught up in their frantic rushes, while tall, thick trees were snapped off like matches and tossed about like straws. Yet with one exception the sheds withstood the terrible bombardments to which they were subjected. The solitary case had the roof torn off completely to be thrown well above the track on the mountain side.

Mud-slides were another visitation which had to be respected, for time after time a cutting had to be cleared of a viscous mass which had slipped into the excavation. These movements are produced by a kind of sand, which, when it becomes saturated with water, slips and slides in all directions in an amazing manner, carrying everything with it. In winter, when under the grip of frost, the soil looks perfectly safe and stable, but when the weather breaks innumerable springs come to life, and in a short time the whole mass commences to move like a lava stream.

In addition to resorting to extreme protective measures against the avalanche where these could not be avoided, some magnificent pieces of bridge-work were carried out at other points to avoid them. In the first instance several were erected in wood to save time, to be replaced by permanent metal structures at a later date. In many cases, however, iron, and in others masonry, had to be adopted in the first instance.

There was one gully which perplexed the engineers sorely. It was just a cleft in the perpendicular mountain cliff. The engineers called it the “Jaws of Death,” and the name was appropriate. They had to cross this couloir, and a temporary timber bridge was built by dint of tremendous effort. The engineers congratulated themselves upon their success, but their gratification was short-lived. A constructional train ventured to cross and the structure collapsed under its weight. Here was a dilemma. Work was brought to a standstill and there was grave deliberation. Mr. Van Horne heard of the accident, and hurried to the front. He surveyed the gully, and there and then decided to throw an arched masonry bridge across the breach. It was built, and what was more to the point, it stood; the constructional gangs could get forward.

At Stoney Creek there was another trouble of a like nature. The V-shaped ravine was deep and wide, and it was recognised that something different from what had been done in bridge-building up to this point was imperative. Two wooden towers were built on either side to a height of 200 feet, and these supported a single span of 172 feet over the gulch, which was carried out in wood also. From end to end the bridge measured 490 feet, and for years it ranked as the highest wooden bridge on the continent. The timber structure, however, has long since made way for a noble arched steel bridge springing from the rocky sides of the gulch, and it constitutes one of the most graceful bridges on the whole of the system.

The descent from the Selkirk summit involved the execution of some startling pieces of engineering to gain the banks of the Illecillewaet River. The line makes its way down the mountain side in a series of steps or terraces connected at the ends by sharp loops, doubling and redoubling on itself to overcome a difference of 600 feet in altitude in the most extraordinary manner. The train is first running eastwards, disappears round the corner and then is making its way in the opposite direction a few feet below, to round another curve and once more steams eastwards, this alternate running backwards and forwards continuing until the valley of the Illecillewaet River is gained, by which time the train has travelled over 6 miles of metals to make an actual advance of only 2 miles.

Issuing from the Selkirks, another barrier, the Gold Range, had to be traversed, but this was a comparatively easy matter, as the Eagle Pass is a natural causeway among the peaks for the iron road, although its discovery taxed Walter Moberly to an extreme degree, as is narrated in another chapter. In this pass the engineers, driving the line from the east, met the forces advancing from the west. They shook hands at a point known as Craigellachie, where the connection between the two arms was made—where the “golden spike” was driven home—and the Pacific seaboard was brought into touch with the Atlantic through Canadian territory.

The Pacific end of the line was taken in hand by the Government, and it must be conceded that they had most difficult work to accomplish, for they had to force their way through the Fraser and Thompson River canyons, producing the heaviest 300 continuous miles of engineering on the whole line. They had to fight for every inch of the way through these ravines, as the bottom is entirely occupied by the water. The line is laid on a gallery carved in the cliff-face 200 feet above the waters boiling beneath, in a succession of cuts and tunnels, with some fine examples of bridging, of which the cantilever structure across the Fraser River of 300 feet span was the second of its character to be built on the American continent. This link cost about £2,000,000, or $10,000,000, to build, representing about £16,000, or $80,000, per mile purely for the formation of the grade ready to receive the metals.

Considering the magnitude of this undertaking and the fact that the railway extended through extremely diversified country from level plain to tumbled lofty mountains, construction at the rate of some five hundred miles per annum was a magnificent achievement. For the greater part of the distance it traversed country where the white man was not in occupation, and where several years were certain to pass before it yielded any economic value capable of producing traffic to the railway. The enterprise was jeopardised seriously by the financial panic in the United States, and the Northern Pacific railway crisis, which misfortunes did not augur well for the success of another trans-continental railway. When it was finished, the inquiry as to why it had been built through an absolute wilderness from end to end was raised on all sides. The present day supplies the answer to that criticism to a complete degree. From the day of its completion the Dominion went forward with a rush, and it cannot be denied that the province of British Columbia played an important part in the development of the country when it insisted, as a return for its entrance into the federation of the provinces, that a railway should be built across the continent to link the east with the west within ten years.