The St. Lawrence on the last day of the voyage played up n.o.bly. The maples along its banks had turned--blood red and splendid as the banners of lost youth. Even the oak is not more of a national tree than the maple, and the sight of its welcome made the folks aboard still more happy. A dry wind brought along all the clean smell of their Continent-mixed odours of sawn lumber, virgin earth, and wood-smoke; and they snuffed it, and their eyes softened as they, identified point after point along their own beloved River--places where they played and fished and amused themselves in holiday time. It must be pleasant to have a country of one"s very own to show off. Understand, they did not in any way boast, shout, squeak, or exclaim, these even-voiced returned men and women. They were simply and unfeignedly glad to see home again, and they said: "Isn"t it lovely? Don"t you think it"s beautiful? We love it."
At Quebec there is a sort of place, much infested by locomotives, like a coal-chute, whence rise the heights that Wolfe"s men scaled on their way to the Plains of Abraham. Perhaps of all the tide-marks in all our lands the affair of Quebec touches the heart and the eye more nearly than any other. Everything meets there; France, the jealous partner of England"s glory by land and sea for eight hundred years; England, bewildered as usual, but for a wonder not openly opposing Pitt, who knew; those other people, destined to break from England as soon as the French peril was removed; Montcalm himself, doomed and resolute; Wolfe, the inevitable trained workman appointed for the finish; and somewhere in the background one James Cook, master of H.M.S. _Mercury_, making beautiful and delicate charts of the St. Lawrence River.
For these reasons the Plains of Abraham are crowned with all sorts of beautiful things--including a jail and a factory. Montcalm"s left wing is marked by the jail, and Wolfe"s right by the factory. There is, happily, now a movement on foot to abolish these adornments and turn the battle-field and its surroundings into a park, which by nature and a.s.sociation would be one of the most beautiful in our world.
Yet, in spite of jails on the one side and convents on the other and the thin black wreck of the Quebec Railway Bridge, lying like a dumped car-load of tin cans in the river, the Eastern Gate to Canada is n.o.ble with a dignity beyond words. We saw it very early, when the under sides of the clouds turned chilly pink over a high-piled, brooding, dusky-purple city. Just at the point of dawn, what looked like the Sultan Harun-al-Raschid"s own private shallop, all spangled with coloured lights, stole across the iron-grey water, and disappeared into the darkness of a slip. She came out again in three minutes, but the full day had come too; so she snapped off her masthead, steering and cabin electrics, and turned into a dingy white ferryboat, full of cold pa.s.sengers. I spoke to a Canadian about her. "Why, she"s the old So-and-So, to Port Levis," he answered, wondering as the c.o.c.kney wonders when a stranger stares at an Inner Circle train. This was _his_ Inner Circle--the Zion where he was all at ease. He drew my attention to stately city and stately river with the same tranquil pride that we each feel when the visitor steps across our own threshold, whether that be Southampton Water on a grey, wavy morning; Sydney Harbour with a regatta in full swing; or Table Mountain, radiant and new-washed after the Christmas rains. He had, quite rightly, felt personally responsible for the weather, and every flaming stretch of maple since we had entered the river. (The North-wester in these parts is equivalent to the South-easter elsewhere, and may impress a guest unfavourably.)
Then the autumn sun rose, and the man smiled. Personally and politically he said he loathed the city--but it was his.
"Well," he asked at last, "what do you think? Not so bad?"
"Oh no. Not at all so bad," I answered; and it wasn"t till much later that I realised that we had exchanged the countersign which runs clear round the Empire.
A PEOPLE AT HOME
An up-country proverb says, "She was bidden to the wedding and set down to grind corn." The same fate, reversed, overtook me on my little excursion. There is a crafty network of organisations of business men called Canadian Clubs. They catch people who look interesting, a.s.semble their members during the mid-day lunch-hour, and, tying the victim to a steak, bid him discourse on anything that he thinks he knows. The idea might be copied elsewhere, since it takes men out of themselves to listen to matters not otherwise coming under their notice and, at the same time, does not hamper their work. It is safely short, too. The whole affair cannot exceed an hour, of which the lunch fills half. The Clubs print their speeches annually, and one gets cross-sections of many interesting questions--from practical forestry to State mints--all set out by experts.
Not being an expert, the experience, to me, was very like hard work.
Till then I had thought speech-making was a sort of conversational whist, that any one could cut in at it. I perceive now that it is an Art of conventions remote from anything that comes out of an inkpot, and of colours hard to control. The Canadians seem to like listening to speeches, and, though this is by no means a national vice, they make good oratory on occasion. You know the old belief that the white man on brown, red, or black lands, will throw back in manner and instinct to the type originally bred there? Thus, a speech in the taal should carry the deep roll, the direct belly-appeal, the reiterated, cunning arguments, and the few simple metaphors of the prince of commercial orators, the Bantu. A New Zealander is said to speak from his diaphragm, hands clenched at the sides, as the old Maoris used. What we know of first-cla.s.s Australian oratory shows us the same alertness, swift flight, and clean delivery as a thrown boomerang. I had half expected in Canadian speeches some survival of the Redskin"s elaborate appeal to Suns, Moons, and Mountains--touches of grandiosity and ceremonial invocations. But nothing that I heard was referable to any primitive stock. There was a dignity, a restraint, and, above all, a weight in it, rather curious when one thinks of the influences to which the land lies open. Red it was not; French it was not; but a thing as much by itself as the speakers.
So with the Canadian"s few gestures and the bearing of his body. During the (Boer) war one watched the contingents from every point of view, and, most likely, drew wrong inferences. It struck me then that the Canadian, even when tired, slacked off less than the men from the hot countries, and while resting did not lie on his back or his belly, but rather on his side, a leg doubled under him, ready to rise in one surge.
This time while I watched a.s.semblies seated, men in hotels and pa.s.sers-by, I fancied that he kept this habit of semi-tenseness at home among his own; that it was the complement of the man"s still countenance, and his even, lowered voice. Looking at their footmarks on the ground they seem to throw an almost straight track, neither splayed nor in-toed, and to set their feet down with a gentle forward pressure, rather like the Australian"s stealthy footfall. Talking among themselves, or waiting for friends, they did not drum with their fingers, fiddle with their feet, or feel the hair on their faces. These things seem trivial enough, but when breeds are in the making everything is worth while. A man told me once--but I never tried the experiment--that each of our Four Races light and handle fire in their own way.
Small wonder we differ! Here is a people with no people at their backs, driving the great world-plough which wins the world"s bread up and up over the shoulder of the world--a spectacle, as it might be, out of some tremendous Norse legend. North of them lies Niflheim"s enduring cold, with the flick and crackle of the Aurora for Bifrost Bridge that Odin and the Aesir visited. These people also go north year by year, and drag audacious railways with them. Sometimes they burst into good wheat or timber land, sometimes into mines of treasure, and all the North is foil of voices--as South Africa was once--telling discoveries and making prophecies.
When their winter comes, over the greater part of this country outside the cities they must sit still, and eat and drink as the Aesir did. In summer they cram twelve months" work into six, because between such and such dates certain far rivers will shut, and, later, certain others, till, at last, even the Great Eastern Gate at Quebec locks, and men must go in and out by the side-doors at Halifax and St. John. These are conditions that make for extreme boldness, but not for extravagant boastings.
The maples tell when it is time to finish, and all work in hand is regulated by their warning signal. Some jobs can be put through before winter; others must be laid aside ready to jump forward without a lost minute in spring. Thus, from Quebec to Calgary a note of drive--not hustle, but drive and finish-up--hummed like the steam-threshers on the still, autumn air.
Hunters and sportsmen were coming in from the North; prospectors with them, their faces foil of mystery, their pockets full of samples, like prospectors the world over. They had already been wearing wolf and c.o.o.n skin coats. In the great cities which work the year round, carriage--shops exhibited one or two seductive nickel-plated sledges, as a hint; for the sleigh is "the chariot at hand here of Love." In the country the farmhouses were stacking up their wood-piles within reach of the kitchen door, and taking down the fly-screens, (One leaves these on, as a rule, till the double windows are brought up from the cellar, and one has to hunt all over the house for missing screws.) Sometimes one saw a few flashing lengths of new stovepipe in a backyard, and pitied the owner. There is no humour in the old, bitter-true stovepipe jests of the comic papers.
But the railways--the wonderful railways--told the winter"s tale most emphatically. The thirty-ton coal cars were moving over three thousand miles of track. They grunted and lurched against each other in the switch-yards, or thumped past statelily at midnight on their way to provident housekeepers of the prairie towns. It was not a clear way either; for the bacon, the lard, the apples, the b.u.t.ter, and the cheese, in beautiful whitewood barrels, were rolling eastwards toward the steamers before the wheat should descend on them. That is the fifth act of the great Year-Play for which the stage must be cleared. On scores of congested sidings lay huge girders, rolled beams, limbs, and boxes of rivets, once intended for the late Quebec Bridge--now so much mere obstruction--and the victuals had to pick their way through "em; and behind the victuals was the lumber--clean wood out of the mountains--logs, planks, clapboards, and laths, for which we pay such sinful prices in England--all seeking the sea. There was housing, food, and fuel for millions, on wheels together, and never a grain yet shifted of the real staple which men for five hundred miles were threshing out in heaps as high as fifty-pound villas.
Add to this, that the railways were concerned for their own new developments--double-trackings, loops, cutoffs, taps, and feeder lines, and great swoops out into untouched lands soon to be filled with men. So the construction, ballast, and material trains, the grading machines, the wrecking cars with their camel-like sneering cranes--the whole plant of a new civilisation--had to find room somewhere in the general rally before Nature cried, "Lay off!"
Does any one remember that joyful strong confidence after the war, when it seemed that, at last, South Africa was to be developed--when men laid out railways, and gave orders for engines, and fresh rolling-stock, and labour, and believed gloriously in the future? It is true the hope was murdered afterward, but--multiply that good hour by a thousand, and you will have some idea of how it feels to be in Canada--a place which even an "Imperial" Government cannot kill. I had the luck to be shown some things from the inside--to listen to the details of works projected; the record of works done. Above all, I saw what had actually been achieved in the fifteen years since I had last come that way. One advantage of a new land is that it makes you feel older than Time. I met cities where there had been nothing--literally, absolutely nothing, except, as the fairy tales say, "the birds crying, and the gra.s.s waving in the wind."
Villages and hamlets had grown to great towns, and the great towns themselves had trebled and quadrupled. And the railways rubbed their hands and cried, like the Afrites of old, "Shall we make a city where no city is; or render flourishing a city that is dasolate?" They do it too, while, across the water, gentlemen, never forced to suffer one day"s physical discomfort in all their lives, pipe up and say, "How grossly materialistic!"
I wonder sometimes whether any eminent novelist, philosopher, dramatist, or divine of to-day has to exercise half the pure imagination, not to mention insight, endurance, and self-restraint, which is accepted without comment in what is called "the material exploitation" of a new country. Take only the question of creating a new city at the junction of two lines--all three in the air. The mere drama of it, the play of the human virtues, would fill a book. And when the work is finished, when the city is, when the new lines embrace a new belt of farms, and the tide of the Wheat has rolled North another unexpected degree, the men who did it break off, without compliments, to repeat the joke elsewhere.
I had some talk with a youngish man whose business it was to train avalanches to jump clear of his section of the track. Thor went to Jotunheim only once or twice, and he had his useful hammer Miolnr with him. This Thor lived in Jotunheim among the green-ice-crowned peaks of the Selkirks--where if you disturb the giants at certain seasons of the year, by making noises, they will sit upon you and all your fine emotions. So Thor watches them glaring under the May sun, or dull and doubly dangerous beneath the spring rains. He wards off their strokes with enormous brattices of wood, wing-walls of logs bolted together, and such other contraptions as experience teaches. He bears the giants no malice; they do their work, he his. What bothers him a little is that the wind of their blows sometimes rips pines out of the opposite hill-sides--explodes, as it were, a whole valley. He thinks, however, he can fix things so as to split large avalanches into little ones.
Another man, to whom I did not talk, sticks in my memory. He had for years and years inspected trains at the head of a heavyish grade in the mountains--though not half so steep as the Hex[4]--where all brakes are jammed home, and the cars slither warily for ten miles. Tire-troubles there would be inconvenient, so he, as the best man, is given the heaviest job--monotony and responsibility combined. He did me the honour of wanting to speak to me, but first he inspected his train--on all fours with a hammer. By the time he was satisfied of the integrity of the underpinnings it was time for us to go; and all that I got was a friendly wave of the hand--a master craftsman"s sign, you might call it.
[Footnote 4: Hex River, South Africa.]
Canada seems full of this cla.s.s of materialist.
Which reminds me that the other day I saw the Lady herself in the shape of a tall woman of twenty-five or six, waiting for her tram on a street corner. She wore her almost flaxen-gold hair waved, and parted low on the forehead, beneath a black astrachan toque, with a red enamel maple-leaf hatpin in one side of it. This was the one touch of colour except the flicker of a buckle on the shoe. The dark, tailor-made dress had no trinkets or attachments, but fitted perfectly. She stood for perhaps a minute without any movement, both hands--right bare, left gloved--hanging naturally at her sides, the very fingers still, the weight of the superb body carried evenly on both feet, and the profile, which was that of Gudrun or Aslauga, thrown out against a dark stone column. What struck me most, next to the grave, tranquil eyes, was her slow, unhurried breathing in the hurry about her. She was evidently a regular fare, for when her tram stopped she smiled at the lucky conductor; and the last I saw of her was a flash of the sun on the red maple-leaf, the full face still lighted by that smile, and her hair very pale gold against the dead black fur. But the power of the mouth, the wisdom of the brow, the human comprehension of the eyes, and the outstriking vitality of the creature remained. That is how _I_ would have my country drawn, were I a Canadian--and hung in Ottawa Parliament House, for the discouragement of prevaricators.
CITIES AND s.p.a.cES
What would you do with a magic carpet if one were lent you? I ask because for a month we had a private car of our very own--a trifling affair less than seventy foot long and thirty ton weight. "You may find her useful," said the donor casually, "to knock about the country. Hitch on to any train you choose and stop off where you choose."
So she bore us over the C.P.R. from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back, and when we had no more need of her, vanished like the mango tree after the trick.
A private car, though many books have been written in it, is hardly the best place from which to study a country, unless it happen that you have kept house and seen the seasons round under normal conditions on the same continent. Then you know how the cars look from the houses; which is not in the least as the houses look from the cars. Then, the very porter"s brush in its nickel clip, the long cathedral-like aisle between the well-known green seats, the toll of the bell and the deep organ-like note of the engine wake up memories; and every sight, smell, and sound outside are like old friends remembering old days together. A piano-top buggy on a muddy, board-sidewalked street, all cut up by the narrow tires; the shingling at the corner of a veranda on a new-built house; a broken snake-fence girdling an old pasture of mulleins and skull-headed boulders; a wisp of Virginia creeper dying splendidly on the edge of a patch of corn; half a dozen panels of snow-fence above a cutting, or even a shameless patent-medicine advertis.e.m.e.nt, yellow on the black of a tobacco-barn, can make the heart thump and the eyes fill if the beholder have only touched the life of which they are part. What must they mean to the native-born? There was a prairie-bred girl on the train, coming back after a year on the Continent, for whom the pine-belted hills, with real mountains behind, the solemn loops of the river, and the intimate friendly farm had nothing to tell.
"You can do these landscapes better in Italy," she explained, and, with the indescribable gesture of plains folk stifled in broken ground, "I want to push these hills away and get into the open again! I"m Winnipeg."
She would have understood that Hanover Road schoolmistress, back from a visit to Cape Town, whom I once saw drive off into thirty miles of mirage almost shouting, "Thank G.o.d, here"s something like home at last."
Other people ricochetted from side to side of the car, reviving this, rediscovering that, antic.i.p.ating t"other thing, which, sure enough, slid round the next curve to meet them, caring nothing if all the world knew they were home again; and the newly arrived Englishman with his large wooden packing-cases marked "Settlers" Effects" had no more part in the show than a new boy his first day at school. But two years in Canada and one run home will make him free of the Brotherhood in Canada as it does anywhere else. He may grumble at certain aspects of the life, lament certain richnesses only to be found in England, but as surely as he grumbles so surely he returns to the big skies, and the big chances. The failures are those who complain that the land "does not know a gentleman when it sees him." They are quite right. The land suspends all judgment on all men till it has seen them work. Thereafter as may be; but work they must because there is a very great deal to be done.
Unluckily the railroads which made the country are bringing in persons who are particular as to the nature and amenities of their work, and if so be they do not find precisely what they are looking for, they complain in print which makes all men seem equal.
The special joy of our trip lay in having travelled the line when it was new and, like the Canada of those days, not much believed in, when all the high and important officials, whose little fingers unhooked cars, were also small and disregarded. To-day, things, men, and cities were different, and the story of the line mixed itself up with the story of the country, the while the car-wheels clicked out, "John Kino--John Kino! Nagasaki, Yokohama, Hakodate, Heh!" for we were following in the wake of the Imperial Limited, all full of Hongkong and Treaty Ports men.
There were old, known, and wonderfully grown cities to be looked at before we could get away to the new work out west, and, "What d"you think of this building and that suburb?" they said, imperiously. "Come out and see what has been done in this generation."
The impact of a Continent is rather overwhelming till you remind yourself that it is no more than your own joy and love and pride in your own patch of garden written a little large over a few more acres. Again, as always, it was the dignity of the cities that impressed--an austere Northern dignity of outline, grouping, and perspective, aloof from the rush of traffic in the streets. Montreal, of the black-frocked priests and the French notices, had it; and Ottawa, of the grey stone palaces and the St. Petersburg-like shining water-frontages; and Toronto, consumingly commercial, carried the same power in the same repose. Men are always building better than they know, and perhaps this steadfast architecture is waiting for the race when their first flurry of newly-realised expansion shall have spent itself, and the present hurrah"s-nest of telephone poles in the streets shall have been abolished. There are strong objections to any non-fusible, bi-lingual community within a nation, but however much the French are made to hang back in the work of development, their withdrawn and unconcerned cathedrals, schools, and convents, and one aspect of the spirit that breathes from them, make for good. Says young Canada: "There are millions of dollars" worth of church property in the cities which aren"t allowed to be taxed." On the other hand, the Catholic schools and universities, though they are reported to keep up the old medieval mistrust of Greek, teach the cla.s.sics as lovingly, tenderly, and intimately as the old Church has always taught them. After all, it must be worth something to say your prayers in a dialect of the tongue that Virgil handled; and a certain touch of insolence, more magnificent and more ancient than the insolence of present materialism, makes a good blend in a new land.
I had the good fortune to see the cities through the eyes of an Englishman out for the first time. "Have you been to the Bank?" he cried. "I"ve never seen anything like it!" "What"s the matter with the Bank?" I asked: for the financial situation across the Border was at that moment more than usual picturesque. "It"s wonderful!" said he; "marble pillars--acres of mosaic--steel grilles--"might be a cathedral.
No one ever told me." "I shouldn"t worry over a Bank that pays its depositors," I replied soothingly. "There are several like it in Ottawa and Toronto." Next he ran across some pictures in some palaces, and was downright angry because no one had told him that there were five priceless private galleries in one city. "Look here!" he explained.
"I"ve been seeing Corots, and Greuzes, and Gainsboroughs, and a Holbein, and--and hundreds of really splendid pictures!" "Why shouldn"t you?" I said. "They"ve given up painting their lodges with vermilion hereabouts." "Yes, but what I mean is, have you seen the equipment of their schools and colleges--desks, libraries, and lavatories? It"s miles ahead of anything we have and--no one ever told me." "What was the good of telling? You wouldn"t have believed. There"s a building in one of the cities, on the lines of the Sheldonian, but better, and if you go as far as Winnipeg, you"ll see the finest hotel in all the world."
"Nonsense!" he said. "You"re pulling my leg! Winnipeg"s a prairie-town."
I left him still lamenting--about a Club and a Gymnasium this time--that no one had ever told him about; and still doubting all that he had heard of Wonders to come.
If we could only manacle four hundred Members of Parliament, like the Chinese in the election cartoons, and walk them round the Empire, what an all-comprehending little Empire we should be when the survivors got home!
Certainly the Cities have good right to be proud, and I waited for them to boast; but they were so busy explaining they were only at the beginning of things that, for the honour of the Family, I had to do the boasting. In this praiseworthy game I credited Melbourne (rightly, I hope, but the pace was too good to inquire) with acres of munic.i.p.al buildings and leagues of art galleries; enlarged the borders of Sydney harbour to meet a statement about Toronto"s, wharf.a.ge; and recommended folk to see Cape Town Cathedral when it should be finished. But Truth will out even on a visit. Our Eldest Sister has more of beauty and strength inside her three cities alone than the rest of Us put together.
Yet it would do her no harm to send a commission through the ten great cities of the Empire to see what is being done there in the way of street cleaning, water-supply, and traffic-regulation.
Here and there the people are infected with the unworthy superst.i.tion of "hustle," which means half-doing your appointed job and applauding your own slapdasherie for as long a time as would enable you to finish off two clean pieces of work. Little congestions of traffic, that an English rural policeman, in a country town, disentangles automatically, are allowed to develop into ten-minute blocks, where wagons and men bang, and back, and blaspheme, for no purpose except to waste time.
The a.s.sembly and dispersal of crowds, purchase of tickets, and a good deal of the small machinery of life is clogged and hampered by this unstable, southern spirit which is own brother to Panic. "Hustle" does not sit well on the national character any more than falsetto or fidgeting becomes grown men. "Drive," a laudable and necessary quality, is quite different, and one meets it up the Western Road where the new country is being made.
We got clean away from the Three Cities and the close-tilled farming and orchard districts, into the Land of Little Lakes--a country of rushing streams, clear-eyed ponds, and boulders among berry-bushes; all crying "Trout" and "Bear."