232 NORTH-WEST REBELLION OF 1885 



and, as we were approaching Glacier, the engineer lost control of 

 the train and the bridge engineer told us that there might be 

 serious difficulty and for us to prepare to do as he did. As the 

 train approached the turn at Glacier, we each stood on the edge 

 of the car ready to jump when he should give the word and, in a 

 few moments he raised himself up and said, "the engineer has 

 control of the train." This is the last event I shall record of our 

 trip, as we now turned our faces homeward. Our good luck still 

 kept with us and we obtained passage, without pay for us both, 

 from Galgary to Port Arthur and, when we reached Port Arthur, 

 whom did we find there but Mr. Marpole, who had charge at 

 that time, of the western division, and Harry Beasley was his 

 private secretary. We had intended to go from Port Arthur on 

 a steamboat but Mr. Marpole was going down in a private car to 

 meet the Governor-General at Biscotasing and he invited us to 

 go with him for the company. We four were the only persons 

 that went down, that is, Mr. Marpole, Mr. Beasley, my son and 

 myself; and the engineer and fireman. As the road was very new, 

 having been built that season, it was in a rough state and we 

 stopped to put up telegraph poles and to remove obstacles that 

 were occasionally on the track or near it. 



Biscotasing, in 1885, was the end of passenger service on the 

 eastern end of the railway and Mr. Whyte, who was vice-president 

 of the road, was conducting the Governor-General to the west. 

 At this time, and at this point, my son and I took the regular train 

 home, having travelled on the Canadian Pacific Railway from the 

 summit of the Selkirks to Ottawa. In fact, I may say, we were 

 the first passengers over parts of the road. 



On looking back now over the country, as my son and I saw 

 it at that time, it has altogether changed. Everywhere, fine 

 forests were around North Bay at that time and, through the 

 Rocky Mountains and going up the Selkirks from Six Mile Creek, 

 the trees were so tall on each side of us that birds could not be 

 killed with an ordinary shot gun. I remember one tree that had 

 been cut and from which thirteen ties, each eight feet and four 

 inches long, had been made. Today, all that fine timber has dis- 

 appeared and bareness has taken its place. At that time, there 



