Canada To-day and To-morrow

by Arthur E. Copping

“It certainly would make an interesting book,” said Mr. Barker thoughtfully, “but that book has not been written.”

“You ought to write it,” his visitor pointed out.

“I’m much too busy,” Mr. Barker declared.

“Well, do please spare just one hour for the purpose now,” was my appeal; and getting ready a notebook, I explained that my shorthand would probably be a match for his conversational speed.

“To start at the beginning, then,” said Mr. Barker, courteously falling in with this scheme for imparting reliable information to the reading public, “you must know that the pioneer was William Hume, who came from the State of Maine, where his father, a Scotsman, was a fisherman on the Kennebec River. In the early ’sixties William Hume, probably as a result of the gold excitement, migrated to California, where he located on the Sacramento River, and engaged in hunting and fishing.

“An interesting memory of those days has to do with an extraordinary gun that had been specially made for him. It was of unusually large bore, and it took a very heavy charge of powder—altogether an extremely effective weapon against ducks and geese, of which Hume and his partner shot a great many. But one slight drawback to this gun was that it ‘kicked’ pretty badly, and its owner was always very careful before firing it to protect himself with a thick shoulder-pad. Well, one day Hume went off with a wagon-load of birds for the market, leaving his partner in the shack laid up with rheumatism. It seems that the invalid came limping out into the air, and happened to see a flock of geese. Without a second thought, he took up Hume’s gun, quite forgetting about the shoulder-pad and equally forgetting his own infirm condition. He fired. How many geese he killed I don’t know, but he himself was knocked sprawling, and on picking himself up he made the delightful discovery that the rheumatism had completely left him! I have seen that gun in a museum. It certainly looks formidable enough to ‘kick’ an unwary marksman off his feet. As to the rest of the story, I merely repeat what I heard.

“William Hume caught more salmon than he could dispose of—which unsatisfactory state of affairs he discussed with a man he had known in Maine. This was Mr. Hapgood; and the upshot of their deliberations was that they jointly set to work, with make-shift arrangements, to pack salmon in tins on a scow on the Sacramento River. Such was the beginning of the canning industry that has since assumed such gigantic proportions.

“In the following year Hume and Hapgood migrated to the Columbia River, locating themselves on the Washington side, about forty miles above Astoria. There they started a cannery, packing four thousand cases the first season, the fish being put up in one-pound tins 4½ inches high. They had great difficulty at first in finding a market. A good deal went to Australia and to San Francisco, and the price realised was twelve dollars a case. The demand grew rapidly; other canneries were opened; and Hume’s brothers came out from Maine to go into the business. The brothers were George W. Hume (who is still alive, and a very wealthy man), R. D. Hume, and Joe Hume. Each started a cannery of his own; and R. D. Hume’s “Crown” brand came to be very well known in the old country.

“Everything was extremely crude at first. The cans were imperfectly packed, and many had to be thrown away. In those days all the processes were done by hand, whereas now, of course, machinery operates throughout.

“The Humes were practical fishermen. As a boy I worked for one of the brothers, and so I am able to speak from personal knowledge. The fish were, and still are, caught in what are called ‘gill nets.’ These are made from a linen thread known as shoe thread. We used to make the nets ourselves, spinning the twine and using from seven to twelve strands, which we twisted up lightly. With weights at the bottom to keep them down, the nets hang from cotton lines attached to cedar floats. They drift with the tide, and the fish, swimming up the river, thrust their heads into the meshes and then cannot extricate themselves, owing to the twine catching in their gills.