scenes and by awarding concessions to Quebec and the Maritimes. The bill finally became law on March 6, 1884. A week later the Bank of Montreal debt was retired.
Van Horne was taken aback and dismayed by all the frantic horse-trading and other political machinations required to keep the CPR afloat. To one Cabinet minister, he wrote, “It has always been a matter of principle with me never to enquire into a man’s politics in transacting business, but I must say that our past winter’s experience in Ottawa has somewhat staggered me.” Hitherto, he had remained aloof from politics, whether in the United States or in Canada. He did not belong to any political party, and he repeatedly resisted the common Canadian practice of hiring staff on the basis of their political affiliation (to say nothing of religion). The only thing that mattered to Van Horne was individual ability. Nevertheless, he was prepared to play the political game if that was necessary to safeguard or further the CPR’s interests. One such occasion arose during the 1883 Ontario provincial election, when Macdonald and the federal government asked for political assistance from the CPR. Acutely conscious of the railway’s dependence on the government, Van Horne was quick to provide that support.
Regrettably, the government’s generous loan did not spell an end to the railway’s financial difficulties. In early 1885 Stephen found himself once again making frequent pilgrimages to Ottawa in the hope of obtaining even more financial assistance. While he haunted the anterooms of Cabinet members, Van Horne focused on cost-cutting, and Shaughnessy tried valiantly to stave off creditors. With bankruptcy once again a real possibility, what was needed was a dramatic event that would focus attention on the CPR’s plight and underscore the vital role that could be played by a completed transcontinental railway. Fortunately, there was such an event — the North-West Rebellion, the second revolt led by Louis Riel, which broke out in March 1885.
For the first time in their history, Canadians were confronted by an armed uprising on their own soil with nothing but their own resources to defend themselves. Macdonald could have requested the assistance of imperial troops, but he rejected this option. Instead, he said, the government would use citizen soldiers — who, in all parts of the country, clamoured to enlist. Van Horne, recognizing a golden opportunity, lost no time in offering the use of the CPR to transport troops from eastern Canada to the Northwest. He insisted on but three conditions from the government; that they raise the troops, provide the CPR vice-president with a week’s notice of their departure, and allow him free rein in making arrangements for their provisioning and transport.
In making his offer, Van Horne was fully aware of the good publicity that such a move would bring the railway. Indeed, he impressed on his subordinates that not only the CPR’s reputation but perhaps its very existence would depend on the speed and efficiency with which it could transport men and equipment to the site of the uprising. He knew that there were still four breaks in the line north of Lake Superior, but he figured that sleighs could take the men over two of the gaps on the desolate frozen lake and that the troops could march over the other two. Regardless, even he must have felt somewhat apprehensive as he contemplated the challenge of shuttling men and military and artillery supplies over primitive, incomplete roads stretching across frozen, forested wasteland. Horrendous as the obstacles were, however, Van Horne, aided by Donald Smith and Joseph Wrigley, the Hudson’s Bay Company trade commissioner, successfully resolved the problems associated with provisioning more than three thousand soldiers and transporting them, their horses, and their equipment over such distances.
In transporting troops quickly to the site of the insurrection, Fort Qu’Appelle, the CPR demonstrated its worth. No longer could the railway be regarded as a leech repeatedly sucking money from the federal treasury. Finally it was recognized as a real asset to the country, a steel rail binding the infant nation together. Van Horne soon detected the “very great change” in public opinion with respect to the need for the CPR, and he confidently predicted on April 4 that, “in the light of the present difficulty, Parliament will deal fairly with us before adjournment.”
Parliament did eventually come to the company’s aid, but not before the railway was almost pushed into bankruptcy by escalating costs and the chronic shortage of funds. The situation became especially critical in July 1885, when Van Horne was driving construction forward in British Columbia. Between July 14 and August 1, 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
