“For the past two years we have lived in comparative isolation, sometimes being left for three weeks together without the slightest notion of what was going on in the outside world. We were completely at the mercy of the weather for news and provisions, all having to come by road from Saskatoon; and when they did come, the price of the commonest necessaries was enough to make the pluckiest feel occasionally downhearted. ‘It will be different when we have the railway,’ became a stock phrase. But it was weary waiting, and many of us had almost lost hope, when one day we heard that the rails had been laid within two miles of Lloydminster. Less than a week later, the first train arrived. Since then there has been quite a revolution in the price of everything. Flour, for which we had paid $4½ to $5 per 100 lb., is now $2.80, top price; and the cost of all other provisions is decreasing in proportion. Lumber, too, is coming down in price.
“Town lots have been on the market and bought at high values. Everyone is now to build lumber houses instead of log shacks. Bricks, too, are being extensively used for buildings. What a transformation! When we arrived in May, 1903, about a dozen tents were all there was to see on the bare prairie. Now three large hotels are in course of erection, there are stores of all kinds, and even a branch of the Canadian Bank of Commerce is going up. There is also a printing office, from which is issued weekly our newsy little paper, The Lloydminster Times.
“This year we have had fifty acres under cultivation. Our grain is not threshed so far, as the threshing outfit has not been our way yet. The general yield of oats is about 50 bushels to 60 bushels per acre—of wheat, 25 bushels. We have two acres of potatoes—a splendid crop, though early frost spoilt half before they could be got out of the ground. From 4 lb. of seed from the experimental farm, Mr. Rendall had a yield of 136 lb., many of the potatoes weighing over 20 oz. Our garden produce was splendid. We picked several hundredweight of peas, and disposed of them in the town, one restaurant taking nearly all we could supply. We have put on a large addition to our house in the shape of a substantial log building, 14 feet by 18 feet, which will serve as a granary in winter and an extra kitchen in the summer. Mr. Rendall is now completing a fine log stable, 30 feet by 15 feet. We have some very good cows, and our milk is now disposed of right away and fetched from the door, so that we have no bother.”
Last autumn I visited Mr. and Mrs. Rendall and their fifteen hundred neighbours—a healthy, happy, and prosperous community. The town of Lloydminster, with its large and handsome banks, hotels, churches, schools, and hospital, was a visible part of the abundant wealth which the Barr colonists, by growing grain on 27,000 acres of hitherto useless prairie, had brought into being—and all in less than eight years!
CHAPTER XII
WINNIPEG AND THE CENTENARY
For over a century, as I have already pointed out, Western Canada formed part of a vast theatre in which the fur traders enacted their stirring, if somewhat squalid, drama. Of the several men who figured prominently in the history of that period, there was one whose memory should be revered by Canadians of To-day and To-morrow.
Philanthropy knows no higher work than to rescue capable and industrious men from a country where they cannot support their families, and emigrate them to a country where they can. In that work—which is so largely a modern development rendered possible by modern conditions—Lord Selkirk was a remarkable pioneer. He was a seer, born far ahead of his times. One hundred years ago he saw the possibility of settling Western Canada. In an age that knew nothing of steamships and railroads, he had a prevision of farming on the prairie. Had his aspirations remained an unrealised dream, we should have sufficient occasion to honour the memory of a prophet. But that kind-hearted and resolute Scotsman realised his dream. Encountering difficulty after difficulty, he overcame them. He found his time of day sadly out of tune with a scheme for putting the landless man on the manless land, but he achieved that desirable end. It is, indeed, to the everlasting credit of Lord Selkirk that he successfully tackled a twentieth-century job at the dawn of the nineteenth century. While the warlike traders were losing their tempers and their lives over the business of collecting pelts, the unselfish nobleman was putting in some quiet, steady work on behalf of humanity.
After the terrible Napoleonic wars, great destitution occurred among the humbler classes in Great Britain, and specially in the Highlands of Scotland. Lord Selkirk’s aim was to benefit his needy fellow-countrymen.
In June, 1811, three ships left the Thames to call at Stornoway, in the Hebrides, for the first party of settlers bound for Central Canada. The emigrants, as they went on board, were presented with a lying pamphlet describing their destination as a Polar region infested with hostile Indians. They were encouraged to return ashore for a good-bye spree on their native soil. A “customs officer” stepped aboard and played exasperating tricks with their baggage. Another bogus official came rowing alongside to ascertain whether every emigrant was leaving Scotland of his own free will. (Lord Selkirk’s protégés dealt with this point by dropping a nine-pound cannon-ball into the gentleman’s boat.)