Chapter VI

Governors-General I Have Met—Dufferins and the
Icelanders—The Marquis of Lorne and Wee Jock
McGregor—Unpleasantness at Rat Portage—Kindness
of Princess Louise—Lord Lansdowne
at the Opening of the Galt Railway—“My”
Excellent Newspaper Report—Talking to
Aberdeen—Minto, the Great Horseman—Earl
Grey a Great Social Entertainer—The
Grand Old Duke and
Princess Pat—The Duke of
Devonshire.

There was great enthusiasm displayed upon the arrival of Lord and Lady Dufferin in Winnipeg in the summer of 1877. Theirs was a triumphal tour. The Governor General, while ostensibly travelling through Canada to learn of its possible development, came principally to visit the Icelanders, for whose migration to Canada he was largely if not solely responsible. After having seen Winnipeg and driven the first spike in the Pembina Branch railway of the C.P.R. at St. Boniface, he with his retinue started out on a pilgrimage to the Icelandic settlement. No newspaper correspondents were allowed to accompany the party on account of lack of accommodation. And so the poor Toronto _Globe_ correspondent sat twiddling his thumbs in Winnipeg while the expedition went north. Lord Dufferin’s private secretary was Billy Campbell, who also filled the same position with the Marquis of Lorne and the Marquis of Lansdowne, but was now correspondent for the Winnipeg _Free Press_ on the Icelandic tour. Billy and I were old chums. Lord Dufferin’s visit to Gimli, the Icelandic settlement, was duly reported in the _Free Press_. Billy would send in the copy, and we would send out the proofs to a designated spot, where the Governor General would revise and return to the F.P. office. They looked like the map of Asia after he had corrected them. His Excellency had given the Icelanders perfect fits, and he was a master mechanic in the uttering of the English or any other language, but it makes an awful lot of difference between telling people disagreeable things and reading those same disagreeable things in cold print. So the Icelanders and the English readers of the _Free Press_ had different views of His Excellency’s opinion of his proteges.

On His Excellency’s departure for the east he was tendered an afternoon banquet in Winnipeg, at which he made that famous speech where the Canadian West was spoken of as the land of illimitable possibilities. Lieut.-Governor Morris also made a speech and the other speaker was to have been Chief-Justice Wood, but the time of the boat’s departure—they were going up Red River to Moorhead—came too early for the latter’s oration, much to his chagrin, as he and the Lieut-Governor hated each other like Christians. This did not altogether spoil the Chief’s oration, for he utilized the greater part of it, with the necessary alterations, in his charge to the grand jury at the next assize. And it made good reading.

Lord Dufferin was an orator. He memorized his speeches, and always supplied the copy to the press. You know His Excellency could imprecate in seventeen different languages, and he usually did so when occasion required. One day in reporting one of Lord Dufferin’s speeches in which he made a happy allusion to Canada and her American cousins, Billy forgot to insert the words, “loud laughter”—and the omission gave a seriousness to the speech that His Excellency did not intend. There was blood on the moon next day.

The Highland Laddie.

In 1881 the Marquis of Lorne first went west. The C.P.R. was not completed, but he travelled through Canada all the same. The contractors for Section B., of whom the late John J. Macdonald was the head, undertook to carry him from Eagle Lake to Rat Portage, a distance of about 75 miles, but, as a long detour had to be made to take advantage of the water stretches, the distance travelled was nearly double that mileage. Elaborate preparations were made, camps established at regular intervals, and everything that could be done for the comfort of viceroyalty was done. Live sheep, which scared the Indians who had seen none before, were taken to apparently inaccessible places, Indian boatmen in uniform manned large birch-bark canoes—to ride in which gives one the idea of the poetry of motion—experienced chefs supplied excellent menus, and everything combined to make this a most enjoyable outing. The newspaper representatives which included myself met His Excellency at the western end of Burnt Portage through whose weary, dusty miles he and his staff had walked—and when the tug which brought us to an island where we had camped approached its shores, a piper in kilts struck up “Highland Laddie” to the amazement and delight of His Excellency. At each successive camp there was a new surprise for him, but none so complete as the one at Dryberry Lake, where we camped one Saturday night. The next morning, a bath in the lake was followed by a reviver in the large marquee. As we were about to crook our elbows, the noted Dr. Jock McGregor, the Marquis’ bosom friend and chaplain at Glasgow, who accompanied him on the trip, unexpectedly appeared on the scene. One has to know the Doctor to imagine what followed. He was one of the wittiest and most eloquent as well as the kindest of men I ever met. And he startled us all by loudly calling the Marquis by name and denouncing him for desecrating the Holy Sabbath by putting that into his mouth which would steal away his brains. He dressed the whole crowd of us down for our unseemly and desecrating act, and we all looked shamefaced and about as uncomfortable as could be expected. And when we all felt pretty sheepish and mean, he concluded:

“Out upon you all, you unregenerate sinners, out upon you. But”—after a long pause during which we were all looking for a hole to crawl into, he added: “being a little bit thirsty, I’ll take a wee drappie mysel’.”

Great Caesar! what a relief—why I nearly turned Presbyterian right on the spot.

There was a little unpleasantness when Rat Portage (now Kenora) was reached. Mr. MacPherson, the Indian agent, had written out an address of welcome from the local tribe, but Manitobahiness, the chief, would have none of it. He would prepare the address himself or the Great White Mother’s son-in-law could go hang so far as he was concerned. Manitobahiness was camped on a nearby island, where, seated on a soap-box, with his blanket wrapped about him, he looked every inch a king. The late Ebenezer McColl was superintendent of Indian affairs then, and he took me over to help conciliate the irate chief. We were received with a salvo of gunshots, in true Indian custom, but the arguments and suggestions of Mr. McColl availed nothing. Manitobahiness was firm, and Mr. McColl sensibly gave way to his wishes. The next I saw of the kingly chief, he was ridiculously dancing a dance of welcome with the rest of his tribe. Manitobahiness was no fool. He was wharfinger at one of the river docks, and kept accurate account of the freight received in hieroglyphic style. He was only known to have made one error. Forgetting to put a hole in a circle, he transformed a grindstone into a cheese.

Sir Donald Smith met the party at Rat Portage and lined up the entire tribe in a long row, and personally gave each one a silver coin. You ought to have seen those who first received the gift slip down the line and take up their position at the other end, thus securing two pieces of silver. The poor Indian may be untutored, but he knows how to get there when anything is going.

The Kindness of Princess Louise.

The Marquis’ private secretary was the same Billy Campbell who was with Lord Dufferin. He told me of the kindness and affection he received from His Excellency and the Princess Louise. One time when he was laid up in a Toronto hospital, the Marquis would steal up from Ottawa on Saturday nights, visit him Sundays, and be back at Rideau Hall Monday mornings with nobody but the household any the wiser. When Billy was recuperating and had returned to work, His Excellency asked him one day to bring him a book from a high shelf in the library. Before he could rise from his chair, the Princess laid her hand on his shoulder and said:

“Never mind, Mr. Campbell, I will get it.”

And she ascended the stepladder and brought down the required book.

What of it? some may say. Well, it doesn’t amount to much, but I know a whole lot of people who are not daughters of Royalty who would not have been so thoughtful and considerate.

The Marquis of Lansdowne.

The first time I met Lord Lansdowne was at the opening of the Lethbridge Collieries railway which connected the mines with the main line of the C.P.R. at Dunmore. We were up early in the morning, but the eating facilities had rather fallen down and Mr. W. E. Maclellan (now Inspector of Post Offices at Halifax), who represented the Winnipeg _Free Press_, and myself, hadn’t much in the way of solids until late in the afternoon. The banquet was held that evening in a large building belonging to the Coal company, and Mac and I thought we would seek a quiet corner to report the speeches. We got in the wrong door, and came out unexpectedly on the platform on which the guests of the evening were seated. Sir Alexander Galt presided, with His Excellency on his right, and Mac and I, feeling very embarrassed, were ushered into seats directly facing them with our backs to the audience. After the chairman and His Excellency’s address, Sir Alexander insisted that both Mac and I should speak, but we begged off, and the next morning we visited some Indian reserves and Port Macleod, where my old friend, Kamoose Taylor, entertained us, the banquet chiefly consisting of liquid refreshments. At one of the reserves Jerry Potts was interpreter, and Jerry got tired of the long-winded talks of the red men. You see, one of them gets up and talks for five minutes or so, and then the interpreter translates his words into English. One chap was especially importunate. He was starving for this and starving for that until the interpreter’s patience ceased. A ten-minute aboriginal declamation was condensed by Jerry as follows: “He wants, he wants to live like the white man. He wants pie.” The conference then suddenly came to a close, with His Excellency doing his best to conceal his laughter.

It was on this trip that Jerry is said to have sent back a message to the gubernatorial party, after having been frequently bothered by enquiries as to what would be seen when the driving party got to the top of the next hill: “Another hill, you d——n fools.”

Next morning we were on the C.P.R. east bound train, and at an early hour, I was busy at work. Sir Alexander came along and seeing me writing so early in the morning, after the previous two days’ strenuousness asked if he could help me. I said he could, as so much had happened so quickly that I might have a hazy idea of some things that had occurred, and asked him if he would look over my report, to which he willingly consented. The introduction pleased him, for I had paid him a deservedly high compliment, and maintained that no matter what might be the official title of the road, it would always be called the Galt Railway, which it isn’t now. The report of his speech at the banquet met with his approval, but when he came to Lord Lansdowne’s he hesitated. “I didn’t hear him say that,” and “I don’t think he said this,” and similar remarks. But I told him I was not bigoted, and he could fix it up to suit himself, which he did, and it was a corking good report. So much so, that a few months later, when I went to Ottawa to represent the _Times_ in the press gallery, Lord Lansdowne sent Billy Campbell to tell me how highly he appreciated my (?) excellent report, and asked me to call and register on the visitor’s list, so that invitations could be sent me for social functions. By which you will learn that if you can’t do a thing yourself, get somebody who can do it better than you to do it for you.

Talking to Aberdeen

Lord Aberdeen was only met incidentally and he always seemed to be very nervous, as if he was afraid of being hit with a brick, which I attributed to his long residence in Ireland. He was affable and trying to do good and was very approachable. When in Winnipeg once, he was in residence at Silver Heights, one of Lord Strathcona’s country houses. I had arranged with him one day to ’phone him in the evening when he would give me his itinerary for the following day. There was an employee at Silver Heights who was very disobliging, especially to the press, and whom I called up that evening. I thought from the way the reply came that this person was answering the ’phone. I told him to get to blazes out of that, and that I wanted to speak to Aberdeen. Then came a quiet gentle voice: “I am Aberdeen,” and then he told me all I wanted to know about his movements. Lady Aberdeen was a most indefatigable worker, and it is to be regretted that their late tour through the United States for some worthy object did not have the results that were expected.

A Great Horseman.

Lord Minto, while democratic in some of his tendencies, as might be expected from his close and intimate contact with the turf, was more of a stickler for the official proprieties and forms than many other Governors General. When the present King and Queen, as Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York, visited Canada, he insisted upon his staff personally supervising all arrangements, and while providing for proper respect being shown to Canada’s royal guests, he had it seen to that all honors due to the Governor General as direct representative of the King were forthcoming. So it happened that at all public affairs in the chief cities, there were two official processions with separate guards of honor and cavalry escorts, one of each for the Prince and the other for the Governor General.

When calling at Rideau Hall one day, Lord Minto at once commenced recalling incidents of the Riel rebellion, and enquired after J. H. E. Secretan, Col. Boswell, Billy Sinclair and Peter Hourie and a host of others, with whom he had been associated during the campaign. He had not forgotten a name, and his interest in them was undoubted. Lord Minto was a splendid horseman, of whom it was truly said that when on horseback one could not tell where the man left off and the horse began.

Lord Minto loved the outward trimmings of state. For instance, it was diplomatically represented to the Deputy Ministers at Ottawa who had been accustomed to attend state functions in plain every day dress suits that the proper attire for them to wear upon such occasions was the Windsor uniform of the second or third class, and the deputies had to dig down in their pockets and equip themselves with the regulation gold-laced suits, swords, cocked hats, etc.

Earl Grey.

Soon after Lord Grey’s arrival it was intimated by His Excellency that he desired a complete private train placed at the disposal of the Governor General. The request caused some consternation; but the situation was met by the acquisition on the part of the Government for the Governor General’s use of the two special cars, “Cornwall” and “York,” specially built by the C.P.R. for the visit of the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York. Lord Grey had a well-developed taste for real fun, and dearly loved a good story. In addition to the stately functions held at Government House during the Grey régime, when the unrivalled gold table service presented to the first Earl Grey made the great tables in the main dining-room present a scene of oriental gorgeousness with the sheen of the huge and numerous candelabra, trays, vases, dishes, etc., of solid gold, numerous informal dinners, receptions, etc., were held.

* * * * *

One of the closing functions of the régime will never be forgotten. The guests consisted principally of elder parliamentarians and senior newspaper men. After dinner the guests moved to the ballroom, where a well stocked buffet was installed. Then there was a real, old-time jollification, His Excellency being the prime mover and most active spirit in a jubilee of song and story. Perhaps the _piece de resistance_ was the singing of “Annie Laurie” by the Nova Scotian octogenarian, Senator William Ross, with the chorus by the entire company led by one of the officers of the Senate, who is supposed to be the model _par excellence_ of dignity and decorum.

* * * * *

Earl Grey was never happier than when in the company of young people and inciting them to some fun and frolic. A remark made by His Excellency rather in joke than in earnest, I fancy, had unpleasant results for a certain young lady of the ministerial circle of that day. He was joking with a group of the ministers’ daughters about their curtsies at an approaching drawing-room, and remarked that he thought he should give a prize to the girl who would “bob” the lowest without losing her equilibrium. A particularly bright, pretty and ambitious girl set herself out to win the wager, but she went head over heels on the carpet in front of Their Excellencies. His Excellency gallantly assisted the blushing debutante to her feet.

The Grand Old Duke.

The Duke of Connaught was extremely fond of youthful society and particularly that of children. Of all the functions at Government House His Royal Highness appeared to enjoy the children’s fancy dress parties the best, and he would mingle with his little guests and busy himself in the dining-room to see that all had their fill of the good things provided. The Duke possessed in a marked degree the memory for names and faces for which members of the royal family are celebrated and it was uncanny how he would recognize individuals he could not have seen for years. Some of the Senators and Members of Parliament credited His Royal Highness with some remarkable occult faculty on account of his knowledge respecting them when they first had the privilege of meeting him. The Duke, after his arrival, arranged that an appointment should be made for every Senator and Member of the House to call upon him in his office in the Eastern Block. When the parliamentarians thus honored entered the vice-regal office they were surprised to find that His Royal Highness not only knew all about their political careers, antecedents, families and business, but led them off into the discussion of their pet hobbies, etc. The explanation is simple enough—he studied his expected visitors’ records in the Parliamentary Guide and I have been told that in addition he had private confidential notes supplied to him by the Usher of the Black Rod, who is his representative on the staff of the Senate.

While at Government House upon one occasion it was my privilege to be standing in a quiet corner near a desk, which evidently was the working desk of His Royal Highness, and my eye was attracted by a portrait occupying the post of honor upon it. It was the portrait of the Widow of Windsor, our old Queen—“The Queen”—and inscribed on it the motherly words “To Dear Arthur with fond love.” No doubt it was often an inspiration to our royal Governor General, and its position was a touching proof to me of the pure, dutiful human character of the Duke.

When in Ottawa or visiting other cities or towns, the Duke, frequently accompanied by the Princess Pat, had the happy knack of saluting those he met in the early morning strolls, and entering into conversation with them—generally about the town or city or village and its affairs and prospects. He always evinced deep interest in the average citizen who on many occasions was not conscious of the identity of his illustrious companion.

The Duke of Devonshire.

Among all of our Governors General there have been none more distinguished by a kindly and unassuming disposition than the present hospitable occupant of Rideau Hall, and one after being presented to His Excellency soon overcomes any sense of personal insignificance he might have anticipated in the presence of the head of one of England’s most historical families, who is also one of England’s wealthiest men of position to-day, being the owner of 186,000 acres of the most valuable mineral areas in Lancashire and Derbyshire, and of no less than six splendid ancestral estates.

There is something about His Excellency’s genial kindly face which at once makes those privileged to meet him perfectly at ease, while those who know him well describe him as a man of a peculiarly unselfish and generous nature.

As might be expected of the head of the historical Cavendish family, he is especially proud of his English ancestry, and of the part Englishmen have played in the history of the Empire; but he is no jingo, and is not given to idle boasting. My experience has been that the well-bred Englishman is about the least boastful man in the world, his antipathy to anything resembling “swank” often making him painfully unassertive.

The Duke of Devonshire is an English thoroughbred. As immediate successor to the Duke of Connaught, he had a peculiarly difficult position to fill, but he has filled it acceptably, Canadians being particularly impressed with His Excellency’s evident desire to make himself acquainted with every corner of the Dominion, and to comply with all reasonable requests to grace with his presence functions connected with worthy objects. No constitutional difficulties have arisen during His Excellency’s tour of duty in Canada, but if such should occur one may count upon His Majesty’s representative doing his duty according to those fine standards of simple honor and cool, dogged English courage which have characterized the Cavendish family from immemorial times.

I have never forgotten the impression created upon my mind at the time by the conduct of Lord Frederick Cavendish in the historical Phoenix Park tragedy. When the gang of murderers pounced from their place of hiding upon Mr. Burke, Lord Frederick could have easily escaped. If he remained the chance of beating off the well-armed assailants was practically nil, for he had no other weapon than his umbrella—but the courage and honor inherited through generations of staunch fighting Cavendishes impelled him to take the chance, as a matter of course, and he staunchly and vigorously persevered in the hopeless task of protecting his companion until he himself was struck lifeless to the ground by the assassins.

In the little country churchyard where his remains are interred, the simple grave is modestly marked by a small plain headstone, on which are merely inscribed his name, and dates of birth and death. But around the mound is a well-beaten path, worked deeply into the ground by the tread of countless thousands who have paid their last tribute to the assassinated hero, while large monuments and costly mausoleums which mark the resting place of others are left undisturbed by visitors. The well-beaten path is a lasting tribute to the lamented Lord Frederick, and to the Cavendish family.