by John Buchan
“Your Majesty will have seen from the newspapers that I did not accompany their Royal Highnesses across the continent. . . . I confess I was at first much in doubt as to what to do. I was very anxious to give all the help I could, and felt that I might be able to give a good deal of help from my acquaintance with leading people in the North-West and in British Columbia. But at the same time I felt that it was only natural that Lieutenant-Governors should wish personally to take the lead in doing honour to the Duke and Duchess, and that I should perhaps be rather in the way at small Government Houses, where two staffs would multiply difficulties. So I hope your Majesty may think I decided rightly in not going across the continent. Lady Minto went everywhere with the Duke and Duchess, and was, I hope, an assistance to them. I met them on their return from the West at a place called Poplar Point, in Manitoba, where we had two days’ duck shooting, which I believe the Duke enjoyed. I think that eleven guns got about 700 duck in a day and a half’s shooting, and a detached party of four guns got about 200 more. I had great difficulty in arranging this shoot: my Ministers were opposed to any shooting at all, and I finally had to insist on it on the ground that it really was absurd to say that H.R.H. should not be allowed a day and a half’s relaxation. . . . I am sure your Majesty will understand that the organization of the tour was not without its difficulties. There was at first an inclination to do nothing to prepare for the reception and to leave everything to chance. It was hopeless, too, to endeavour to explain that their Royal Highnesses’ time was limited, or that it was fair to consider their powers of endurance. Consequently it rested with me to undertake many refusals and curtailments of ceremonies, the necessity for which people here are unwilling to admit. But it is an immense satisfaction to realize that Canada’s reception has been a triumphant demonstration of loyal sentiment. The letter of hearty thanks which the Duke has addressed to me, expressing his sincere appreciation of the reception he had received throughout Canada, has given great pleasure everywhere.”
The weeks passed at the Citadel during the autumn of each year were of special interest to Minto. Quebec had a peculiar attraction for him, and he spent many an afternoon wandering through the Old Town searching out its historical treasures and examining the details of its battlefields. His interest led him to desire a deeper and more accurate knowledge, and on making inquiries for the historical manuscripts Minto found that these valuable records were not available, and that the whole of the Canadian archives were in a state of dire disorder. They were rotting uncatalogued and uncared for in cellars and basements: no one department was responsible for their custody, and no attempt was made to fill up the gaps in them, with the result that they were virtually useless for the purposes of the scholar. In a long letter to Sir Wilfrid, Minto pointed out what appeared to him the iniquity of the neglect: “My researches have aroused in me such interest and concern that I cannot refrain from speaking strongly. Prior to 1882 many papers were committed to the flames; I have heard of large consignments of unsorted documents, some of which were known to be valuable, being removed from the Privy Council Office for the benefit of the paper factories. It is not only in the Government offices that these records exist, but many are scattered throughout the country in the old Hudson’s Bay posts, utterly neglected, which are of the greatest historical value. It appears to me that the appointment of a Deputy Keeper of the Records would be of the greatest value to the history of the Dominion, and would effect a substantial saving on the extravagant system which at present exists. For this appointment, both on account of his ability and literary taste, I should like to mention Mr. Doughty, the Parliamentary Librarian, with whom I have been in close touch in connection with the old plans of the defences of Quebec.”
Minto pressed the question, with the result that the present Archives building was erected, and the Government laid the foundation of a new system of safeguarding and completing the public records which has grown to-day to be one of the best in the world. He secured for Canada the originals of the despatches to the Governor-Generals, as well as many valuable documents from private muniment rooms. He also took up the matter of the teaching of Canadian history in schools, and, being dissatisfied with the existing text-books, induced the Government to undertake the preparation and issue of documents for Canadian history, of which the Board of Historical Publications of Canada and the brilliant work of Dr. A. S. Doughty were the ultimate fruit.
Minto also interceded with the Prime Minister for the preservation of the Plains of Abraham, having discovered to his horror that it was proposed to desecrate that historic ground by building and road-making, and that Sir Wilfrid had actually signed, without reading it, an order-in-council for the purpose. He at once took the matter up and converted the Prime Minister to his views, so that legislation was passed preserving the Plains for all time as a national memorial.
The Governor-General had an unusual experience one winter in reaching Quebec: —
“Left Government House in the worst blizzard I ever saw. Telegrams from Quebec told us of a terrible storm raging there, but I thought it was best to push through if possible. We arrived at Levis about midnight. The ice-bridge jam gave way last night, and the river was passable only in canoes; the banks were piled with rough ice and fields of icebergs were floating down the river. It is very rare that the ferryboats fail to keep the river open, and canoes are now seldom used. It was a most thrilling experience. We got into our canoe on dry land and were pushed and towed partly over the floes of ice and partly in the open river. We had eight men to each canoe, who paddled in the open water and were wonderfully quick in jumping out and pushing the canoe over the ice, singing French-Canadian songs as they paddled. I would not have missed the passage for anything. In these days of ice-breakers such a crossing is almost unique. At the landing sleighs had been provided for us, and the Snow Shoe Clubs in their costumes escorted us to the Citadel, which we found warm and comfortable.”
II
The Governor-General travelled throughout the length and breadth of Canada, covering 113,000 miles during his term of office. Generations of Whig decorum had not killed in him the moss-trooping instincts of Liddesdale; his love of adventure, often of the roughest kind, and of every description of sport, brought him very near to the heart of the country. His bodily fitness and the hard training in which he always kept himself made expeditions possible for him which would have broken up younger men. His old family connections, too, and his share in the little war of 1885 stood him in good stead, and wherever he went he found friends — Border Scots who remembered the Elliots, and men who had been with him at Batoche.
“Arrived at Winnipeg, where we met with a most extraordinary reception. A huge crowd packed the streets, and we passed through a narrow line of people all carrying torches. It is said that Canadians can’t cheer, but there was no doubt about it at Winnipeg, and people kept running out of the crowd to shake my hand, Hawick men shouting ‘Terribus.’* The enthusiasm continued the whole way to Government House. Winnipeg is intensely Scots: the Mayor in one of his speeches said that though they were very proud to welcome the representative of the Queen, their demonstration was for Lord Melgund, who had fought for them in 1885. . .
* The rallying cry of the men of Hawick.
“Attended church parade in uniform. I marched at the head of the 90th, very full of old recollections of 1885, and with rather a lump in my throat. I was with them so much; they and the Scouts bore all the brunt of the early days of the campaign. It was with a strong party of the 90th that I went, two days after the fight at Fish Creek, to recover the bodies of the men left there. And as we passed the gate of old Fort Garry one could not but think of Wolseley, and Buller, and the Red River Expedition, and all the history they have shared in since then, when there was scarcely anything but the Hudson’s Bay Fort and a few nouses with about 200 inhabitants where the great city now stands. In 1885, when I first knew it, the main street was a quagmire, and the population about 25,000. At the last census it was
returned at 95,000. Huge buildings, banks, and warehouses rivalling London and New York are springing up everywhere alongside the old wooden shacks of days gone by. It has become a vast railway centre with a hundred miles of sidings. It seems a fairy tale.”*
* It was from Winnipeg four years later that Minto received his most touching farewell. The Town Hall was illuminated with “Au revoir, Minto”: the Governor-General’s train stood for some time in the station, and the crowd made the most remarkable demonstration. Thousands surrounded the car; they climbed on the wheels, on the footboard, and clung to the door. Again and again Minto had to appear; he thanked them and tried to bid them good-bye, but they refused to disperse until the train slowly moved out of the station amid ringing cheers.
The Mintos paid two visits to the United States. The first was in October 1899: —
“We left Ottawa and arrived at New York on 1st October, to be the guests of Colonel Roosevelt, Governor of New York State, in order to attend the International Yacht Race between Sir Thomas Lipton’s Shamrock and the United States yacht Columbia. Roosevelt’s home is Sagamore Hill, Long Island, a small and unpretentious house. . . . In the afternoon I took a walk with Colonel Roosevelt, who is quite one of the most remarkable men I ever met, bubbling over with energy of mind and body; hardly ever stops talking, a great sense of humour, and an excellent raconteur; I should think afraid of nothing physically or morally, and absolutely straightforward. Though a great sportsman — the house is full of magnificent heads — he has much literary talent, and has written many books, sporting and historical, and is considered to be in the running for the Presidency. He is rather fat and short, with a bull-dog expression, and a way of gnashing his teeth when eager in conversation. I delighted in him.”
During one walk Roosevelt led Minto to a precipitous cliff and pointed out a zigzag path by which he advised him to descend, saying that he himself preferred climbing down the face of the rock. To his surprise Minto at once volunteered to accompany him, and the Governor of New York State and the Governor-General of Canada raced together to the bottom. At the close of the visit their host, on wishing Lady Minto good-bye, confided to her that he had dreaded their arrival, his idea of an English peer being somebody “wedded to a frock coat and a tall hat, who had rarely left the London pavements.”
The second crossing of the border took place in May 1903. During one of his arduous official tours in Western Ontario — when it was no exception to visit from five to six towns in one day, inspecting every charitable institution of importance, replying to a dozen or more addresses, and holding receptions of nearer thousands than hundreds — Minto was invited to visit Detroit. The journal contains this account: —
“Our reception at Detroit took us entirely by surprise. We found Colonel Hecker’s yacht full of lovely ladies in the latest Paris fashions, and on landing we found a carriage, and the Mayor, waiting to escort us. The streets were cleared of all traffic, and the Mayor said there were some 150,000 people along the line of our route. Every window was crowded, and our reception was enthusiastic. ‘The Fighting First,’ a regular regiment home the day before from the Philippines, headed the procession in khaki, then the National Guard, then the Naval Reserve, all in open columns of companies. A small boy marched alongside of our carriage yelling: ‘What’s the matter with Lady Minto — she’s all right,’ after the custom of the New World. After marching through the chief parts of the town, the troops formed line along the magnificent principal street, and the bands played ‘God save the King ‘ as we passed. We were then taken to the hotel, where a deputation from both Houses of the Legislature of Michigan State presented me with an address of welcome, unanimously voted by both Houses, for which I expressed my thanks. The Mayor made a very nice speech, to which I replied, saying that I could only suppose the enthusiasm of my reception was intended as a testimony of friendship for the King whom I was so proud to represent. Then followed a supper and a reception of the leading citizens, when we were presented to the officers of the ‘Fighting First.’ The City Hall was illuminated with a ‘Welcome’ to us, and then we returned in our yacht to our own side. It was a most remarkable ceremony from first to last. Everything perfectly organized, and I am at a loss to account for the enthusiasm. Whether it was all the American wish to lead the world, even as to receptions, or whether there was any inspiration from Washington, or whether the large Canadian population of Detroit had anything to do with it, I don’t know; but it is impossible to think that there was not some friendly feeling underlying it all.”
The journal throughout his term of office is full of notes of camping expeditions, sometimes part of an official tour, sometimes snatched in the intervals of business. Twice with his family Minto camped on the shores of Qu’appelle Lake, celebrated for its duck shooting; but what he enjoyed most was revisiting the scenes of the Riel Rebellion and living over again his old campaigning days.
“Moved to Edmonton during the night. Received an address on the hill above the Saskatchewan on which the town stands. The beech woods a mass of yellow. The escort must have been a pretty sight as they crossed the bridge and rose the hill. Just as I got off my horse a man in the crowd shouted out, ‘We’ll give the Indian war whoop for our fighting Governor-General;’ they gave three cheers and then yelled the war whoop. I suppose I, and those in the Riel Rebellion in 1885, will be the last to hear the Indian war whoop in battle.
“We lunched with Bishop Grandin, a delightful old man, at the Mission at Fort Albert, where I met an old soldier who told me that he had served with me in the Mounted Infantry in Egypt in 1882. Just as I was leaving a priest came up and spoke to me: ‘Had I ever seen him before?’ I said, ‘Yes, I think in a cottage at Batoche fifteen years ago.’ He then told me that he was the priest to whom I gave a safe-conduct and a message to the rebels. I remembered it all perfectly, and had always a hope that the rebels might surrender without further loss of life.
“Three curious things have happened to me today. The war whoop, the old soldier, and the priest.
“(Batoche) Strolled with Mary and the girls to the church. The last time I saw it it was full of our wounded, and I had given orders for them to be ready to move at once if we had to fall back. Places and scenes came vividly before me. . . .
“We had a most interesting day too at Fish Creek. We lunched in the hollow leading to the ravine where I was twice fired at and where Middleton had his cap shot through. I was told long afterwards that it was Gabriel Dumont who fired at us. I walked over to Père Moulin’s house in the moonlight, and had a last look at the church and the open ground in front of it, so full of memories. When I last saw it the bush to the right was on fire, and things were not going well. I went into Batoche’s house and saw the room in which poor Jack French was killed, shot through the window. He was a fine gallant fellow and much liked. . . . A day full of interest, but rather sad; recollections of hard but very happy times and many old friends. Our camp here has been luxurious, very different from the old campaigning days. Mary is sitting here beside me. Our tent opens towards the beautiful Saskatchewan.”
In September 1904 Minto introduced a new feature into the usual autumn programme, starting with Maude, and an escort of North-West Mounted Police commanded by Gilpin Brown, on a 400-mile ride from Edmonton to Saskatoon, in order to acquaint himself with the conditions of the country: —
“The prairie looking lovely in all the glory of autumn tints, golden beech, and crimson-leaf dwarf rose, and the magnificent outline of the Rockies always in the background. My staff laugh at me because I say that if I began life over again I would choose the Bow River country for a home. To me, too, even the flatter prairie has a charm.
“September 21st. — Struck our camp for the last time. In all probability my last camp on the prairie. Such a pretty place on the banks of the North Saskatchewan. Last night brilliant moonlight — a couple of coyotes speaking to each other not far off, and the rush of a flight of ducks over my tent about midnight. It is a dreadful pan
g leaving it all. The population of these parts is entirely old country. It is curious to find refined ladies and gentlemen in this rough Western life, but they are splendid, full of ideas and energy, and the more I see the more I admire the vanguard of the best of our people, and the more I dislike the self-satisfied luxury of home. The people of the Far West, the Indians, the Mounted Police, are generally far better fellows.”
III
To the wonderful Canadian rivers Minto and his family owed their chief enjoyment. Those mighty waterways, with their relentless currents and snowy rapids, cast a spell over them. River expeditions were made almost every day during the summer, sailing, canoeing, or rowing, and on more than one occasion at considerable personal risk. Unexpected squalls would arise, when the waves would well-nigh swamp the frail canoe, or the sail would hardly be lowered in time. The calm cool evenings on the Ottawa, after the great heat of the day, with the sun setting in a pageant of crimson, brought rest and contentment. Minto could handle a canoe as well as any half-breed, and he never forgot his “wet-bob” exploits at Eton. “I have just returned from dining at the Shack on the Gatineau,” he wrote to his wife, “Lawless, Hanlon and some rowing men, Bill Lascelles and self. Hanlon, as I dare say you know, was champion sculler of the world for years, probably the best that ever rowed. You would have been amused this afternoon: of course they did not know I knew anything about sculling. Well, Hanlon came up in a light racing boat, and after dinner Bill, goodness knows why, said he must go out in it. I thought it odd if he knew nothing about it to venture in an outrigger with a sliding seat. However, out he went, and sort of floated into the middle of the river, where he became powerless to move either way, and Lawless had to go out in a canoe and somehow bring him in. So I thought I would give them a show. I believe they thought me mad, and that I was bound to capsize, so I handed my watch to Hanlon, who evidently considered it all up with me, and quietly seated myself, being certain I should feel just as I did thirty years ago. I made them push me out, and I fancy they were utterly overcome by surprise at the first few strokes I took, when they all burst into wild applause. In a few minutes I felt I was quite in good form, and left them all gaping with wonder!”