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FROM
San Francisco you may reach the Atlantic coast either by the
Northern Pacific Railroad, which is the more direct route, or by the
Canadian Pacific, to reach the terminus of which, at Vancouver, you
have a preliminary journey of eight hundred and ninety miles,
through the northern part of California, the state of Oregon, and
Washington Territory. For various reasons I preferred the latter
route. The first part of the railway run has some glorious scenery.
The Sierra Nevada on the east and the Coast Range on the west are
running towards each other; the railway runs between them, skirting
for a long stretch the banks of the river, passing through wooded
ravines and rocky gorges and green meadows in endless succession;
while in the background a chain of mountains as high as the Alps
towers heavenward—Mount Shasta, the queen of the range, being about
the same height as Mont Blanc, although to my eye far from as
interesting or impressive. At one point the train obligingly stops
to give you the opportunity of drinking a glass of soda-water from
the soda-springs which you see bursting quite near out of the side
of the hill, and rolling to the river in clear, cool streams.
The state of Oregon and Washington Territory are interesting,
chiefly from their endless forests. Here certainly you must be about
the head-quarters of the lumber world. The railroad has made these
timber treasures of priceless value, and has placed the remark of
the English commissionaire, that these territories were not worth a
pluck, on a level with that of the French general who ceded Canada
to Britain, that he had given up only some acres of snow. But even
to the rapid railway traveller these forests are apt to become a
little monotonous, though single trees are often a study, from their
vast magnitude and perfection of form; and the mountains are wildly
picturesque. But very often the havoc of forest fires makes black
and ugly gaps along the line, and the eye longs for a change. There
is little cause for the most patriotic Briton regretting that these
territories are not in the British Empire; for British Columbia is
not less abundant in timber treasure, and for beauty of scenery it
beats them all.
Forest fires are picturesque enough to see by night; the clear,
bright blaze contrasts splendidly with the surrounding darkness, and
it is pretty to see the nimble flame running up the tree so deftly,
and leaping from branch to branch, as if it were possessed by the
spirit of the squirrel. But they have their drawbacks too. The day
may come when the vast amount of wasted timber will be grievously
deplored, although as yet it is not missed. But the day has come
when the smoke of these fires so clouds the atmosphere in the heat
of summer that the beauty of the distant scenery is lost to the
traveller. This was our unhappy experience. While quite able to
appreciate the nearer beauty, all that lay beyond a mile or two was
lost in the haze. We never had a glimpse of the far-famed Mount
Baker or Mount Tacoma; for about a week we had to deplore the smoke.
From Tacoma to Victoria we expected a sail of surpassing beauty
through the wooded banks of Puget Sound: we seldom even saw the
shore-line. Passing Seattle, the town recently reduced to ashes (as
our insurance companies know too well), we expected a sensation in
the sight of the new city rising from the ashes of the old: for
anything we saw we might have passed it at midnight. As we drew near
toward Victoria, on the third day of our journey, the atmosphere
cleared considerably, and we could see the Union Jack waving a good
way off. And pleasant though our three months’ stay in the United
States had been, and little though we had found to remind us of a
foreign country, it was with a peculiar feeling of satisfaction that
we stepped on British soil, and, though still six thousand miles
from our fatherland, seemed to smell the freshness of our native
air.
Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, is a beautiful and
thriving little city, not on the mainland, but on the island of
Vancouver. Till the Canadian Pacific Railway was opened in 1885, it
was so remote and inaccessible as to have little or no vital
connection either with the rest of Canada or the rest of the British
Empire. This was indeed true of all British Columbia. Being on an
island, Victoria is a few hours from the terminus of the railway,
which is at the town of Vancouver, on the mainland. It enjoys a
splendid harbour, the Esquimalt, and will soon, doubtless, command
an immense traffic with Japan, China, and the whole east coast of
Asia. This traffic has already begun. The route to Japan and China
is shorter than from San Francisco, while the land journey from the
east is also considerably less. The inexhaustible lumber stores of
British Columbia, the mass of valuable minerals, the agricultural
produce of the numerous districts which are adapted to farming,
indicate plainly enough what its destiny must be.
Of all the places I had seen on the American continent, Victoria
seemed the city where it would be most pleasant to live. The climate
is charming, with hardly any winter; the sea comes rolling in among
the wooded bays and headlands with a refreshing breeze which carries
no bitterness in its blast, and answers to that sea-loving
taste which seems natural to us islanders. The whole look-out is
bright and lively.
Scotsmen have had a good share of the prosperity of Victoria. I am
afraid that they have not kept themselves in all cases unspotted by
the vices to which a new place is subject, far off from civilizing
and Christianizing influences. Being so much cut off from the Old
World, Victoria, in its early days, followed in the wake of the
cities of the American Pacific in certain habits which have not been
for its good. Of recent years there has been a moral advance which
is very gratifying, and encourages the hope that it will have a
bright future in all that makes for the prosperity of a community.
There are two other towns in this part of British Columbia, close to
the western terminus of the Canadian Pacific, that deserve a passing
notice. New Westminster, on the Fraser River, besides its great
sawmills, enjoys a pre-eminence as the centre of the salmon canning
business. Apropos of sawmills, I ought to say something of the
marvellous timber produce of these regions. It is not merely the
abundance but the excellent quality of the timber that is so
marvellous. A gentleman told me that near Seattle he had seen a
plank, to be made use of in the palace at Honolulu, upwards of a
hundred feet long, that was in its entire length absolutely without
flaw. A single sawmill in that region cuts up three hundred thousand
cubic feet a day. If ever nature formed ground for trees, it is in
these regions of the west. As for the salmon, I hardly expect that
the statements I am to make will be believed. I did not do what a
fellow-traveller did—put down certain facts in a note-book, and get
two fellow-travellers to sign an affidavit that they were correct.
On the wharf of a cannery at New Westminster I saw salmon piled much
as herring are piled at home after a good night’s fishing, and I was
told that twelve thousand had been caught that day. In the cannery
itself fifty thousand cans are filled daily by a large staff of
workers, some Canadian, some Indian, but chiefly Chinese. I did not
feel that my love for canned salmon was greatly stimulated by the
sight of the process. I was told that the owner of the cannery would
probably net £20,000 as this year’s profit. But the most remarkable
fact I have to mention is that, as we passed among the banks of the
Fraser River by the Canadian Pacific Railway, we saw the water
literally black with salmon for about a hundred miles. It is their
habit, in going up the river, to keep near its edge; and whenever a
piece of rock projects from the bank and makes broken water, the
salmon, instead of going round it, go right through the foam with a
leap and a splash, while a shoal are gathered in the rear waiting
their turn. At other places you see shoals moving slowly upward. The
quality of the fish at this season
is not very good. What we got at the hotels was generally of very
inferior flavour to the salmon at home. I'm told, however, that
earlier in the season the flavour is excellent. It is said, too,
that such as they are in summer, thy are better adapted for canning
than the other fish.
Vancouver is the youngest city of the three. Its site was
unmitigated forest in 1885, and in June 1880 every building that had
been erected was burned to the ground. The city is literally only
three years old. And much though I have been used to the sight of
cities of rapid growth, I must
say that Vancouver beats them all. It is already a city of long
erects, big blocks, handsome churches, and elegant villas, the
Vancouver Hotel, built by the Canadian Pacific Railway, is as
commodious and handsome a house as you could desire. Many persons
connected with that railway have bought lots and built blocks in
Vancouver, of course with the object of “booming” the place. And now
the price of land is simply ridiculous. I was told of a couple of
building stances that had been sold lately for thirty-two thousand
dollars. Whether this boom will last is doubtful; but the town seems
to grow apace meanwhile. More than one church is in its second
edition, the first having proved too small. It is difficult to tell
the present population of Vancouver—probably twelve thousand. It is
not any special industry, but the fact of its being the terminus of
the railway, that has given birth to it. It seems to me that this
interesting young city will be moulded more according to the
wholesome pattern of the Canadian cities than the more excited and
feverish example of San Francisco. Its zeal for churches is very
remarkable. Besides the Presbyterian, there are Methodist,
Independent, Episcopal, Baptist, and Roman Catholic churches in it;
and it will not be behind other places in the quality of its
schools.
In all these three cities I was able to do a little service. The
minister of the Reformed Central Presbyterian Church in Victoria,
Rev. P. M. Macleod, was an old student and personal friend. I
preached in his church, and likewise in that of the Rev. Mr. Fraser;
and in Victoria, New Wesminster, and Vancouver respectively I gave a
lecture on the Pan-Presbyterian Alliance. I am happy to say that
this lecture was well attended and well received in all these places
the more especially that I sought to divest it of all sectarial
tendency, and to direct it not merely to making the audience better
Presbyterians but better men. The people had much to learn both of
the history of Presbyterianism since the Reformation and of the
extent and diffusion of the Presbyterian Church. I always tried to
impress on them that we lay under great responsibilities in being
members of the Presbyterian confederation—members of a Church of
such extent, and that had no
cause to be ashamed of its history,
no cause to be ashamed of its martyrs, no cause to be ashamed
of its leading ministers and missionaries and laymen; and that we
ought all to feel impelled by this consideration to walk worthy of
our brotherhood and our ancestry, and strive to emulate them in
self-denying efforts to advance the glory of God and the welfare of
men. In most cases, ministers of other denominations were present,
and thanked me cordially at the end. In one case, the Prime Minister
of the Province, a zealous Presbyterian, moved a vote of thanks. All
the Presbyterian ministers I met seemed to be active and earnest
men: three out of five had got, or were getting, new churches built;
and their flocks appeared to be in sympathy with their spirit.
Before bidding a final adieu to the Pacific coast, I must emphasize
what I have hinted at before as to the great importance which this
region seems certain to attain in the not very distant future. It is
hardly to be questioned that in a few generations hereafter the
shores of the Pacific—both American and Canadian—will be as densely
peopled as the shores of the Atlantic have been, and will be the
homes of peoples not less prosperous, not less intelligent, not less
important as factors in the history of the world. This belief rests
on obvious considerations. Nature has been far more bountiful on the
western seaboard. These mountains are full of treasures of which but
a fraction has yet come to light. In British Columbia, Washington
Territory, and Oregon, you have forests of the finest timber, so
inexhaustible that though enormous tracts have been destroyed by
forest fires, the loss hitherto has not been so much as felt.
Throughout these regions you have many tracts remarkably adapted for
agriculture. The Pacific coast—especially the Canadian part of
it—has admirable harbours. The fishing-grounds, as we have seen, are
unrivalled. Southern California is unsurpassed for its climate and
its fruits. On many of these parts the chill fingers of frost are
seldom or never laid—the rigours of winter are unknown. A lady in
Victoria informed me that her maid-servant (who had been brought up
near the moors of Carnwath) asked her, somewhere about the month of
February or March, at what season of the year it was winter there,
as it had been nothing but summer since she came! Regions like these
must have a remarkable future. The only unfavourable consideration
is, that the very luxuriance of nature and the very sweetness of the
climate may enervate the inhabitants, and keep down the spirit of
enterprise and perseverance that bleaker climates and more barren
soils have had not a little to do in stimulating.
Then the question presses itself on one, What will be the moral and
religious future of this region? Now, if the beginning were to be
held necessarily to represent the future, there would not be much to
encourage one in dealing with this question. The beginning of
Northern California was the gold discovery, with all its habits of
rowdyism, ungodliness, and immorality. We have seen how unworthily
the Sabbath is kept in Southern California. And British Columbia
likewise had a poor beginning. It was long before any provision was
made for religious ordinances. 1 regret to say that some Scotsmen in
these parts became notorious above others for habits the very
opposite of those in which they were trained at home.
Sabbath-breaking, drinking, and licentiousness were often found
linked together, like a threefold cord not easily broken.
But on the other hand one is encouraged at the testimony one hears
on every side that a
great improvement has taken place in recent years. Whatever
may be the state of San Francisco to-day, it is not as it was in
earlier years, when a murder a day indicated the temperature of
crime. If there was little salt in the early community, a good deal
has been imported in recent years. This is the hope of the Pacific
coast. The emigration of recent years has poured into New America
hosts of the best Christian families from the eastern states, from
the east of Canada, and from other countries. A new leaven has come
in to leaven the lump. Already in many instances the change has
become quite apparent. Except in saloons and other dens of
sensuality, life and property are as secure in these parts as in the
most orderly regions at home. Churches abound; and though there are
too many instances of ministers coming there who have been failures
or worse at home, there are many of them full of earnestness and
activity. When Mr. Moody was in these parts his meetings were
thronged by eager multitudes, and a great impression was made. Such
of the week-day prayer-meetings as I attended had, in proportion to
the congregations, a much larger percentage present than at home.
All this gives encouragement; and yet one has the feeling that
unless a more aggressive and powerful combination of forces is
brought to bear on the citadels of evil, their power will not be
broken.
What, then, is the prospect of such a combination? The zeal for
ordinary church arrangements has been great, but I confess I did not
find the clergy and other earnest Christian people I met with in a
very aggressive mood. But one must remember two things. In the first
place, there has been an immense amount of effort employed recently
in church-building, in paying up debt, and other necessary
arrangements for Church work in a new community. And in the second
place, every second minister and every second inhabitant has but
come the other day. This is especially true of cities like Los
Angeles that have sprung up like Jonah’s gourd. Most of the people
are new-comers, and total strangers to the rest. Few ministers have
been there more than five or six years. It is rare to find a settler
of twelve years’ standing. In Los Angeles, after preaching to some
seven or eight hundred people, I asked the minister whether one in
twenty would be a native of the state. Not one in fifty, was the
reply. This makes all slow to accept responsibility, or to look all
round and devise measures for the good of the whole community. I
cherish the hope that in a few years there will be more mutual
acquaintance, more mutual confidence, and more sense of
responsibility. On one point there is special need of concentrated
attention—the state of the Sabbath. Unfortunately, unlike the other
states, California has no Sabbath law. Nor will it be easy to secure
such a law. In Oakland, which is to San Francisco what Birkenhead is
to Liverpool, a meeting was lately held on the subject of a Sabbath
law. When the meeting divided, one hundred and five were against any
such thing, and only ninety-six in favour. The hundred and five
included several members of a sect called “Seventh-day Adventists,”
who believe in the second advent and in the seventh day of the week
as the true Sabbath. There are many Jews in San Francisco who are
against the Christian Sabbath.
There are many Germans who are practically the same. There are many
Irish Catholics who despatch religion in the morning, and care not
what they do after that. There are many nominal and indifferent
Protestants. The true lovers of the Sabbath are but a fraction of
the population. I have been urging on the ministers that even where
success is for the present hopeless, they ought to try to keep alive
the consciences of their people
on the sanctity of the Sabbath. And I had a striking proof of
the benefit of this from a brother who, soon after being settled,
found a Sunday trip advertised by a company of which some of his own
people were leading members. He forthwith preached on the claims of
the Sabbath, and though he did not defeat the trip, he killed it,
very few having gone, and he made it impossible that such a thing
should be proposed again.
Two things, I think, must be apparent from this sketch — the vast
importance of the whole Pacific coast, and the difficulties that
exist in thoroughly Christianizing it. I hope our people at home
will think of these things, and as they sing and pray, “Jesus shall
reign where’er the sun,” will bear in mind the sunny shores of the
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