New Westminster is not remarkable either for its extent or population. Two thousand five hundred is the estimated number of its present inhabitants. It possesses, however, a four peal of bells, the gift of Baroness Burdett-Coutts, the only peal on the whole Pacific coast, and indeed a rare possession on this continent. The residence of the Anglican Bishop is in the neighbourhood of Government House; and at no great distance the Lunatic Asylum and the Penitentiary are to be found.
About half-past ten, under the escort of Mr. Smith, we started in an open carriage for Port Moody, on Burrard Inlet. My attention was attracted by the forest trees of enormous size. Within the limits cleared for the roadway, blackened stumps of many of them, ten feet in diameter, still remain, on which the record of their age is traceable. Some of these trunks show a life of six centuries, and hence must have attained the rank of good-sized trees before the recorded discovery of the American continent. The ground is covered with a luxuriant flora, indicating a rich soil and a moist climate. Along the road side English broom was growing wild, in great luxuriance, the first I have met in such circumstances on this continent. A drive of six miles over a hilly road brought us to Burrard Inlet, at Bronson’s tavern, a recent erection, where the road terminates. At this point we had recourse to a boat and rowed about a mile to Port Moody, the terminus of the railway.
Port Moody is something more than a village, but at the present moment it is a strained recognition of its importance, even as a railway terminus, to call it a town. The number of inhabitants when I was there could not exceed two score of souls. Whatever its future, at the present time it has certainly no claim to civic rank. A wharf of good size has been constructed. At this time it was covered with piles of steel rails. A freight shed is attached. Near it stands the small house occupied by Mr. A. J. Hill, Resident Engineer. Two sailing vessels were lying at the wharf. The rail track has been laid a few miles westward. In the neighbourhood are half a dozen scattered frame buildings, some of them scarcely finished, erected by speculators to promote the selling of town lots. Several square miles of land have been so laid out. At this moment the greater part of the city of the future is covered with a dense growth of primeval forest, the age of some portions of which carries us back to the century in which the Magna Charta became law. I was told on the spot that the lots so projected would accommodate tenfold the present white population of British Columbia.
I have to acknowledge the kindness and hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Hill. I derived no little pleasure from looking at the water-colour drawings of the wild flowers of British Columbia, which Mrs. Hill had executed. They promise to be a valuable contribution to science. I trust they may be published at some future date, when they shall have been sufficiently completed to admit of this proceeding.
The steamer on which we had to embark at Burrard Inlet had not arrived, so we obtained a small boat and descended the inlet to meet her in order to have sufficient daylight to continue our trip through the entrance. The fog, which had partly cleared away by this time, soon re-appeared, and accordingly we kept near the shore so as not to lose our reckoning. We had rowed a distance of three miles when we met the small tug sent in search of us. We got on board without delay. The fog necessitated caution in our progress. It became thicker and thicker, until it was impossible to see a ship’s length ahead. Night came on and we did not know where we were. The head of the tug was turned in the supposed direction of the settlement, near Hasting’s saw-mill. All that we had to steer by was a pocket compass, which on more than one occasion has done good service. Some of us fancied that we heard the squealing of a pig; important in the double sense that we were not far from land and also near a settlement. Our whistle was almost continually sounded and the sharpest look-out kept. The pig replied unmistakably. We continued cautiously to approach in the direction of the sound, and were enabled to land at almost the only settlement on the south side of Burrard Inlet, west of Port Moody.
On landing we obtained intelligence of the steamer “Alexandria,” detailed to take the party to Victoria. The vessel was lying at the Saw Mill wharf, at no great distance, so we found our way to it. Supper was gone through; but the fog still continued. The captain therefore concluded that it was better not to start, but wait until morning; he on his part being prepared to leave the moment the fog lifted. The “Alexandria” is a large, powerful tug, which the owner had kindly placed at our disposal to cross the Straits of Georgia. She came expressly from Nanaimo to Burrard Inlet to meet us. We slept on board, and when we awoke found that we were still moored to the wharf. It was early, half-past five, but the fog continued heavy and damp. Capt. Urquhart, however, determined to start and to feel his way through the thick mist. About half-past seven he took his bearings, and directed the steamer towards the entrance of the Inlet. We steamed slowly on through the fog, and in a few minutes nothing was visible from the deck. The whistle was sounded continually, and the lead was cast without ceasing. We several times stopped, backed, and again proceeded slowly, till we reached the Narrows at the entrance. Here the current is rapid and the channel narrow, not having above two hundred and fifty yards of sea-room. Fortunately we got a glimpse of the shore through the haze. The captain, however, saw enough to satisfy himself, and with a fresh departure put the boat at full speed down English Bay; at least so we concluded by reference to the chart, for we could see nothing through the fog by which we are surrounded.
We proceeded down the Straits of Georgia towards the San Juan Islands, our whistle continually blowing. Mr. Joseph Hunter is the only passenger not directly connected with the party.
At Victoria I am to part with Dave Leigh, the last of the men who had been with us in the mountains. He joined us at Bow River, and had determined to see us to the end of our journey. From the day when we commenced with pack-horses to cross the range of mountains, Dave has stood by us and has gallantly helped in many a difficulty. He is a powerful Cheshire man, such as one would fancy a northern Englishman to be: honest, self-reliant, plain-spoken and staunch, with a peculiar habit of calling a spade a spade. He has cooked for us in all circumstances, there is no other word for it, heroically. He did his share of the packing, and if there was a load a shade heavier it was caught up by Dave with some saying of his own, and off he trudged as if it were a plaything. He had done everything for us that a man could do with unfailing cheerfulness, and has followed our fortunes for many a mile. He has driven pack-horses, paddled canoes, rowed boats, built rafts, stretched our tent, driven hand-cars, cooked our food and indulged in many a hearty objurgation at Skunk Cabbage and Devil’s Club. He crosses the Straits of Georgia, and then at Victoria we have to say good-bye, he to seek other employment. I wish him all happiness and success, but I have no fear of his future. Whatever his sphere he will do his duty, and always be found from the beginning to the end a true man.
We approached the San Juan Archipelago and made our way from the soundings read from the line and by the echo of the whistle, as its tone was affected by the nearness or distance of the land. I stood on the bridge with Capt. Urquhart, and the fidelity with which he could judge the situation was not simply the result of experience, but of a natural capacity to determine the niceties and delicacies of sound. I myself began somewhat to understand the shades of difference, but I was a very long way from possessing the ability to navigate the ship. We were approaching an island. The whistle vibrated toward it with a more muffled tone. We are warned by the echo on which side of us it lay. We came opposite to it and passed without its being visible to the eye. The echo changed as we proceeded.
The lead is unceasingly cast. We are warned that we are coming near land. The current is carrying us towards it. We see plainly before us a precipitous rock, and with difficulty we change our course, for we have to back against the current and give the ship’s head another bearing; so we grope our way, stealing along to avoid mischance, without the least guide beyond the echo of the whistle, as it is affected by the nearness or distance of the shore.