CHAPTER XIX.
KAMLOOPS TO THE COAST.
Lake Kamloops—Savona’s Ferry—Irrigation—Chinese Navvies—Chinese Servants—Lytton—The Fraser River Canyon—Old Engineering Friends—Sunday at Yale—Paddling Down the Fraser—An English Fog at New Westminster.
The district into which we have entered, in its physical character, is directly the opposite of that which we have traversed. We have no mosses to tell the story of excessive humidity. We are now in a country where the leading feature is extreme aridity. I can compare the dark powdered earth to nothing to which it bears more resemblance ground pepper. On all sides the indications show that this condition of soil and climate extends over a wide district. The surface is covered by a tufted vegetation known as bunch grass. There is only one remedy to make it productive of farm crops: a system of irrigation on an extensive scale. As yet no steps have been taken for its introduction in this neighbourhood. Nowhere is the eye relieved by a flower garden or by the familiar charm of cultivated ground. The small town of Kamloops at present can boast of no such advantages, but there is nothing to lead to the belief that they are not attainable.
We are indebted for a temporary home to the hospitable factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Naturally one of our first acts is to report our arrival to our friends in the east. Unfortunately the telegraph line is down and the operator absent repairing it. Deeming it of importance that no time should be lost we despatch an Indian courier with messages to the next station, Savona’s Ferry, thirty miles distant.
We all feel that after our tramp we are entitled to a few hours’ additional rest. It is true that for the most part we have slept soundly every night of our journey; indeed, if men could not sleep after serious work like ours, it would be hard to say when they could do so. But we had not indulged in the luxury of late hours. We were always up at day-break, and I never heard the complaint that any of us had slept too long. One satisfaction we had, we can thankfully say that we were generally spared the penalty of loss of sleep. Last night, however, was an exception. In my own case the wounds on my hands, swollen by the poison of the devil’s club, made sleep impossible. We resolved accordingly to pass the afternoon quietly at the Hudson’s Bay post, and retire early to bed; in this case not a figure of speech, for under this roof we had all the comforts of civilization.
We were up in good time next morning. I paid what bills we owed, bade farewell to our Kamloops friends, said good-bye to Mr. McLean and his Indians, and prepared to proceed westward. A steamer had been engaged to take us to Savona’s Ferry. We started about nine o’clock, skirting along the north shore of Lake Kamloops by Battle Bluff. We returned by the south side, examining the ground adjoining Cherry Bluff. The day was fine, so the trip was pleasant. The sky was as clear and the air as pure and balmy as on an Italian lake. The steamer touched at a place called Tranquille, where the land has been irrigated. In this instance the experiment has been in all respects satisfactory. The result is shown in a good garden with excellent fruit and vegetables.
At Savona’s Ferry I received messages by telegraph, and I was reminded of being once more within the circle of artificial wants and requirements. For the last thirty days we have been out of the world, knowing nothing beyond the experience of our daily life. Our leading thoughts were of the difficulties which lay in our path and of the labour necessary to overcome them. There was nothing vicarious in our position; there was no transfer of care or labour to others. Each one had to accept what lay before him, and our world for the time was in our little circle. Now we are reminded that we are again in another condition of being. There is scarcely anything more powerful to recall the attention to this change than the receipt of a telegram sent across a continent to remove anxieties as to home and family.
I had much pleasure in meeting Mr. Hamlin, an old Intercolonial friend, the Resident Engineer of the section under contract west of Savona’s Ferry. I had telegraphed to him the previous evening, and he had taken the trouble to come seventeen miles to meet me. We took dinner at Savona; and the fact recalled to my mind that eleven years ago I had stopped at this same place. Mrs. Whorn was then our hostess, whom I perfectly recollected, but the poor lady had been dead for twelve months, and is buried not far distant.
Dr. Grant and my son started in a waggon for Cache Creek. I had professional business with Mr. Hamlin. We proceeded by the banks of the River Thompson, and reached his quarters about sunset, to receive from his wife and mother the most kindly of Irish welcomes. We passed a pleasant evening and spoke much of old days, going back to the time when we were working in the valley of the Metapedia, in Quebec.