Quest Biographies Bundle — Books 26–30. Wayne LarsenЧитать онлайн книгу.
several CPR debts were slated to come due. This prospect, together with the knowledge that the pay car had not gone out in weeks, persuaded Van Horne to take immediate action. He ordered a special train to rush him to Ottawa on July 13, the day before the first note was due and while a relief bill was still being debated in the Senate. When he found Macdonald, he informed him that the CPR would “go smash” the next day if Dominion Bridge called in its debt. The government had to do something fast. The prime minister could not hurry the Senate along in its deliberations, but that did not matter. Once the bridge company realized that Senate approval was imminent and that it would soon be paid, it gave the company a few days’ grace. On July 20 the relief bill received royal assent, and a temporary loan of $5 million became available immediately. Three days later Stephen cabled from London that Baring Brothers, a well-known investment firm, would come to the CPR’s rescue as well.
Henceforth Van Horne could banish financial worries from his mind and concentrate on pushing the line through to completion. As the eagerly awaited day fast approached, he was inundated with inquiries about the date and the place at which the final two rails would be joined. These inquiries were accompanied by a flood of requests for details about the ceremony that would be staged to mark the historic occasion.
Van Horne flirted briefly with the idea of organizing an elaborate ceremony, but he found it impossible to limit the number of invited guests. To do so would result in “a vast deal of disappointment and ill feeling,” he informed a correspondent from Victoria. Furthermore, a big ceremony would have involved considerable expense — the last thing the company could afford. He therefore settled on the simple last-spike ceremony that unfolded that raw November day at Craigellachie, British Columbia.
6
Headed for the Top
After the low-key ceremony that marked the completion of Canada’s transcontinental railway, William Van Horne, his son Bennie, and other members of the official party with their guests scrambled aboard their special train. It then set off for Port Moody, winding its way along the Thompson River Valley and down the scenic Fraser Canyon to the Pacific port. There they boarded the steamer Princess Louise, which took them for a sail around beautiful Burrard Inlet and English Bay. Then they crossed to Vancouver Island for a round of congratulatory speeches in Victoria, the capital of British Columbia. Finally they returned to the mainland, where they climbed aboard the special train headed for Winnipeg.
But amid all this solemnity, Van Horne could not resist an elaborate practical joke. It centred on Donald Smith, the man who had driven the iconic last spike just the week before and who owned several residences in Canada. One of these properties, Silver Heights, was located a few miles west of Winnipeg, and here Smith kept a herd of Aberdeen cattle. Van Horne had arranged for a party to be staged in the then unoccupied house on the estate. He had a spur line built from Winnipeg to the residence, hired cooks and domestic helpers, and ordered vast quantities of the best food and drinks. Close to noon on November 15, when the special train entered the spur, the party was deep in conversation, and Smith did not notice that the engineer had reversed the engine. Then, suddenly, he spotted “a very neat place” and some fine Aberdeen cattle. “This is really very strange,” he said, puzzled, and, when the house came into view, he thought he was truly going crazy: he had never seen another place “so exactly like Silver Heights.” At this point his companions all burst out laughing — and Smith, glancing outside, began to laugh too. Van Horne’s imaginative practical joke had stuck just the right note for the occasion.
Another milestone for the CPR arrived on June 28, 1886, when the first transcontinental passenger train departed from Montreal bound for the Pacific coast. Anticipating the day when bales of silk would soon be arriving from China and Japan, the city fathers hung silken banners on the engine and ordered a fifteen-gun salute. As the smoke-belching train drew slowly out of Dalhousie Square station, bound for Port Moody, Van Horne heard the guns of the Montreal battery boom and the loud cheers of the assembled crowd echo around him.
Already, however, Van Horne knew that massive repairs were needed on many sections of the trans-Canada railway. In June 1885 George Stephen had confidently told the CPR shareholders that the CPR’s main line would be completed and in perfect condition by the spring of 1886 — that it would exceed the standards fixed in its contract with the government. But construction had proceeded so rapidly that the company had resorted to using many temporary structures. Whenever Van Horne went out on the line, he realized that it had been merely slapped down in places and that, for hundreds of miles, it consisted of little more than ties and the two rails that lay across them with a row of telegraph poles along one side. On the Prairies the line had little or no ballast, and in more rugged country, particularly in the western mountains, it skirted many minor obstructions instead of barrelling through them. North America’s first true transcontinental railway was therefore crooked in places and full of curves. To further complicate matters, the railway trestles that had been built of timber instead of masonry or iron were so rickety that trains had to crawl across them. Moreover, many a station, loading dock, or warehouse also needed to be rebuilt or enlarged.
Van Horne therefore had to set to work immediately to supervise the huge task of rebuilding long stretches of the line. Since this required additional money, he had to lobby for funds from a disgruntled government to complete the work. He also had to wrestle with the fallout from disputes and litigation with contractors on the Lake Superior section, and with the government on the rugged Fraser Canyon section that had been built by the American contractor Andrew Onderdonk.
As always, countless little details that related peripherally to the running of a railway competed for his attention. There was a steady stream of inquiries about employment opportunities and a barrage of requests for free passes. Notable among these were endearing queries from Father Albert Lacombe, who sought reduced fares and the use of a car for a priests’ excursion. Van Horne had first met the renowned missionary to the Blackfoot Indians at Rat Portage, when the rugged priest was attending to the spiritual needs of hundreds of drinking, blaspheming, fighting railway construction workers. This first meeting with Lacombe made a profound and lasting impression on Van Horne. Later, both he and the CPR would owe a huge debt of gratitude to “his special friend” for doing much to ease relations between the Blackfoot and the company during construction on the Prairies. Of course his requests had to be granted.
One excursion stood out above all the others for Van Horne — the journey taken in July 1886 by Sir John A. Macdonald and his formidable wife, Agnes, to the West. Pressure of business had prevented the prime minister from travelling on the first scheduled transcontinental train trip, and this one would be the only visit he ever made to the Great West. Van Horne provided the best, as he outfitted a private car for Sir John’s party with fine-meshed window screens to keep out the dust and the mosquitoes. He also arranged for most of the travelling to be done by night to allow the honoured guests ample time for rest and the opportunity to see scenery along the entire line by daylight. Lady Macdonald made the most of it, as she rode on the exposed locomotive cowcatcher for almost all the journey between Canmore, Alberta, and Port Moody — a distance of nearly six hundred miles.
That same July, Van Horne embarked on the first of his annual inspection tours from Montreal to the West coast. Usually he was accompanied by a few CPR co-directors and personal friends, and occasionally by Bennie and other family members. These trips became noted for their good company and good cheer, much of it supplied by Van Horne himself. He often treated his guests to boyish practical jokes, assisted by Jimmy French, his incomparable black porter. A short, thickset man with a highly mobile face and a quick wit, French was devoted to the CPR, Van Horne, and his family. When Addie was ill in 1891, for instance, he repeatedly visited their Montreal home to inquire about her health and to recommend a reviving trip under his care in the Saskatchewan — Van Horne’s private car.
Once the transcontinental railway was constructed, George Stephen focused almost exclusively on financing and large policy questions, and he left the day-to-day management of the CPR to his vice-president, Van Horne. With full operational control, Van Horne turned most of his attention to developing traffic, for only