#grand trunk railway

[hippography]

Belle Meade Farm, Bedford, Mass. 

S. B. Elliot, 1906, The Shetland Pony: His Breeding, Care and Training

[stone-cold-groove]

Grand Trunk Railway System.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"RUSHING THE C. N. R. LINE FROM PEMBROKE," Ottawa Citizen. October 15, 1913. Page 1. --- Contractor Expects Steel to be Laid to Portage Du Fort This Fall. ---- J. P. Mullarkey, contractor for the construction of the section of the Canadian Northern transcontinental railway between Ottawa and Pembroke, began to lay steel easterly from Pembroke two days ago. Before the severely cold weather comes, he says, he will have the steel laid as far as Portage du Fort, a distance of 27 miles.

Before the middle of next month the rails will be laid from Ottawa as far as Chats Falls. Then work on the construction of the two bridges over the Ottawa river, one at Portage du Fort and the other at Chats Falls, will be rushed so that the bridges will be completed early next spring.

The entire section of the road in question has been graded and it is planned to have it ready for operation in the fall of next year. The contractors on the sections from Pembroke to North Bay and from North Bay to the C. N. R. line now in operation from Fort William westward are making good headway with their work. Early in 1915, perhaps before then, the whole line from east to west will be ready for traffic.

The length of the C. N. R. route to Pembroke from Ottawa is 86 miles, 36 shorter than the C. P. R. and 22 shorter than the Grand Trunk.

[rabbitcruiser]

Yellowhead Pass National Historic Site, BC

The Yellowhead Pass is a mountain pass across the Continental Divide of the Americas in the Canadian Rockies. It is on the provincial boundary between the Canadian provinces of Alberta and British Columbia, and lies within Jasper National Park and Mount Robson Provincial Park.

Due to its modest elevation of 1,131 m (3,711 ft) and its gradual approaches, the pass was recommended by Sir Sandford Fleming as a route across the Rocky Mountains for the planned Canadian Pacific Railway. The proposal was rejected in favour of a more direct and southerly route, through the more difficult Kicking Horse Pass, which was opened in 1886. Later the Grand Trunk Pacific and Canadian Northern Railways used the Yellowhead Pass for their main lines, built c. 1910–1913, and the main line of their successor, the Canadian National Railway, still follows the route. Via Rail's premier passenger train, the Canadian; the Jasper – Prince Rupert train; and the Jasper section of the Rocky Mountaineer use the Yellowhead Pass, which is now used also by the Yellowhead Highway.

It is believed that the pass was named for Pierre Bostonais (nicknamed Tête Jaune, French for "yellow head", because of his blond hair), an Iroquois-Métis trapper employed as a guide by the Hudson's Bay Company. Bostonais led one of the first expeditions for the company to what is now the interior of British Columbia through the pass in 1820.

Source: Wikipedia

[archivist-crow]

The Haunted Atlas

Deane House - Calgary, Alberta, Canada

51°02′43″N / 114°02′44″W

Haunted manor home with a violent history in Calgary, Alberta. The Deane House began as a luxurious private residence and is now a historical site with a restaurant.

History

The Deane House began as the vision of Superintendent Captain Richard Deane of the North West Mounted Police. At the turn of the 20th century, Deane was sent to the rough frontier town of Fort Calgary, located at the confluence of the Bow and Elbow Rivers. The existing superintendent's home at the fort was not good enough for England-born Deane and his wife, and so in 1906 he had a new home built. Construction cost was $6,200. When finished, the new home was the best residence in existence for someone in the mounted police.

Tragically, Deane's wife never got to live in the house, or even see it. She became ill and died in Lethebridge, Alberta. Deane lived in the manor home and performed his duties until the fort closed in 1914 and the land was sold to the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway. Deane went back to England. The railway company demolished all of the fort buildings except the house, turning it into a residence for the rail station agent. Within a year, the company moved the entire house to a different location on the property.

In 1929, the rail company sold the house to C. L. Jacques, an entrepreneur who moved the house again, across the Elbow River. The engineering job was remarkable for the time, and the move was featured in the media. In its new location, the Deane House became a boarding house and descended into seediness. The violent chapter in the house's history began.

In 1933, a suicide occurred there. A 14-year-old boy who suffered from epilepsy became despondent at the tauntings of his schoolmates and ended his own life in the attic. He lived in the boarding house with his father. During World War II, the house became infamous for prostitution, and military personnel were ordered to stay away from it. Jacques sold the house in 1943 to Alex Brotherton, who continued its operation as a boarding house.

A gruesome murder-suicide took place there in 1952. A man stabbed his wife to death in front of their two children and then killed himself. There are unconfirmed reports of other murders. A man was supposedly shot and killed on the front porch, and another man was said to be murdered inside.

Natural deaths occurred at the house too. Brotherton's daughter, Alfena Cunningham, died there in 1965 and Brotherton himself in 1968.

The house deteriorated, and in 1973 the city of Calgary stepped in and purchased it with the intention of restoring it in time for the city's centennial in 1975. A studio for artists and a teahouse existed there until the early 1980s. It then became what it remains today.

Haunting Activity

Stories of ghosts had been associated with the Deane House and grew during the 1960s and 1970s. An exorcism was performed in the 1990s, but ghost stories persisted.

The parlor of the house, now a bar, is one of the most active areas. The smell of pipe tobacco has been reported, even when no one is smoking. It is believed to be a sign of Brotherton, who used to like to sit in the parlor and smoke a pipe. Some visitors have seen his pipe-smoking apparition sitting in the bar. A nonworking telephone in the bar rings by itself.

Also active is the attic, where the epileptic boy committed suicide. Storage cupboards have a stain on them that resembles blood, which cannot be washed away.

The ghost of a Native American is seen in the house; no one knows his identity. He appears wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a vest; his long hair is tied in a single braid. One visitor saw the apparition in the basement. The man told her she should not be in the house because the site was sacred.

An apparition seen during the 1970s was that of a man in a black cloak, visible to the knees, who walks down the stairs and out the front door.

Other phenomena include an antique piano upstairs that plays by itself, the sounds of footsteps, strangely moving currents of air, as though someone is walking past, and objects that move about on their own.

Text from The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Third Edition by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books - 2007)

[railwayhistorical]

On the Grand Trunk

Here’s an eastbound train on the former Grand Trunk Railway, now Canadian National. The location is at Knight Street, east of Marcellus, Michigan, at milepost 138 (from Chicago). The second locomotive is interesting: a BC Rail GE C44-9WL, which is nearly 28 years old now. There was a DPU of the CN in this train as well.

Six images by Richard Koenig; taken January 21st 2023.

[gazetteny]

The Wonders of Old New York

When engaging with the charming society of New York, patience is a virtue. Avoid rushing through your romantic dalliances. Take your time exploring the city. Spend a few days immersing yourself in its wonders. Reconnect & expand your network of acquaintances. Survey the bustling markets to discover where you can find the best deals & fresh ideas.

If you have a favored establishment for your shopping visit it. Greet your old friends warmly, regardless of the state of their hairlines. Venture out to gather insights but be mindful not to indulge excessively in liquid lunches.

Patience, once again, is key. Allow yourself the luxury of extra time.

Visit the lead retail stores to glean inspiration from their impressive displays. Learn the art of window dressing, no matter your trade—whether it be christening caps, caramels, corsets, shoes, soda water, or even burial cases. A thoughtfully arranged and eye-catching display captures attention and leaves an impression far more effective than a haphazard presentation.

Embrace the rhythm of the city & let New York’s charm unfold before you at its own magnificent pace. As you explore the bustling streets of New York City, hunt for new articles to enhance your inventory & attract your tourists. Keep an eye out for novelties—these are treasuring that appeal to everyone, except perhaps those who prefer hairs in their butter. Year by year, the demand for unique & innovative items continues to grow.

Should you find the supply of novelties lacking, don’t hesitate to fall back on the tried & true. Stock up on “chestnuts”—those classic, well-loved stories & items. Consult with seasoned salesmen & ask if they have any fresh tales or products. Engage with the locals & let them show you what’s new, novel, & delightful. This will help you identify what your own town might need to charm & satisfy tourists from nearby crossroads, hamlets, & villages.

Remember, the art of entertainment is invaluable & ever rewarding when executed well. And New Yorkers are masters of this art.

Now that you’ve decided to extend your stay, take advantage of the opportunity to gather useful information that can save you money, reduce travel, & minimize inconvenience. In this grand city, such knowledge is plentiful.

So, immerse yourself fully in the wonders of Old New York. Given that New York City is the largest metropolis on the American continent & practically the world unto itself, it’s certainly worth your while to explore & experience as much of it as possible.

When your business brings you to New York, see if you can combine pleasure with your professional duties. Witness the latest fashions, observe how people conduct themselves at hotels, theaters, churches, & the various resorts around the city where people gather for leisure & refreshment. Do not claim that you can’t afford this—because you can. Absorb the latest trends & fill your trunk with new goods. Take notes on how you’ll dress & what you’ll wear upon returning home. Within three weeks, you’ll have the entire town buzzing, moving from place to place & showcasing evidence that you’ve been somewhere & brought something back.

Visit the theaters. Attend the churches. Take time to enjoy the parks. Ride the entire length of the elevated railway on each side of the Island from the Battery to the end of the road, & this as far into the country as you can go & see how much there is of New York City. Don’t content yourself merely by seeing what is to be seen directly on the Island of Manhattan, generally known as the city of New York.

Go down to the Battery or South Ferry, take a steamboat ride to Bedloe’s Island, & walk around the Bartholdi Statue. Twenty-five cents pays the steamboat fare there & back.

Take the little steamer which plies every hour between the Battery & Governor’s Island. See where the soldiers who are here to guard the city of New York from invasion are quartered. See where General Hancock lived so long. Walk around & see how nicely everything here is kept. Go into the museum wherein are to be found thousands of relics of battles by sea & land. Visit the fortifications & get an idea how war is carried on—in theory if not in practice. The little boat runs to & from the city to Governor’s Island every 30 minutes as part of the Government Service, carrying over & bringing back without charge those who would make the trip.

Take a boat to Staten Island from the Battery & put in an afternoon there witnessing the games & amusements which are furnished for the recreation of ten thousands of people who go there each week to enjoy an eight-mile steamboat ride across New York Bay & eight miles return.

Ride over Staten Island or a portion of it by carriage. It’s one of the most enjoyable trips. There are good livery stable establishments to be found on Staten Island, especially at the first landings. The roads are generally very good & as one drives to the higher ground three or four hundred feet above the sea, the view of land & ocean, cities & villages, lakes, bays, ponds & creeks, with threads of railway reaching off into the distance creating a very charming picture, that you’ll never forget.

Visit Coney Island where the so-called mediocrity of New York gathers to the number of twenty thousand on a week day, & one hundred thousand on a Sunday.

You can make the trip on the large iron steamboats from the Battery to Coney Island & return at any time during the day for 50 cents the round trip, or you can go by cars two or three different lines at the same rate of fare. At Coney Island you can roll in the sand, wade into the ocean as far as you feel like going, eat clams, drink ginger ale, & other beverages o refresh the arid tonsils. Take in 100 or more variety shows & see men & women, boys & girls, lovers & sweethearts, babies, dogs, etc. Enjoying surf bathing, which is here to be had in abundance, with officers handy to keep you from getting in beyond your depth, or from trying to cross the ocean on foot.

Coney Island is a curiosity. Once it was a barren stretch of sand worth something like $500,000 or less than nothing. Now it’s a summer city of the beach, a sort of piratical rendezvous where one man appears to be bishop, king, commissioner, mayor, levier of taxes, collector of customs, comptroller of political destinies, etc., so that Robinson Crusoe on his lonely Island wasn’t more of a monarch over what he surveyed than is the head of political-financial combination governing that part of New York known as Coney Island. It’s a curiosity that should be seen, as it alone would give you something to talk about for a month.

A very delightful trip is that by steamer to Rockaway Beach & to Far Rockaway, especially if you want a sniff of ocean air—clean, fresh, & invigorating. Or you can have a steamboat ride to Long Branch & return for a few dimes.

Another charming trip is up the East River, past Blackwell’s Island, Ward’s Island, Fort Schuyler, out into Long Island Sound, past Hart’s Island, which is the pauper burial ground, & then a mile or two beyond to Glen Island, which has been fitted up in magnificent style as a summer resort, & where the old-fashioned clam bake, together with meat, drink & musical accompaniments can be enjoyed ad libitum. After that, you can wander about to see the curiosities, rest in the shade, enjoy the sea breeze, listen to music.

Another good thing to do is to visit the Charity & Correction institutions of New York. To do this properly call at the corner of 11th Street & Third Ave., at the office of the Commissioners of Charities & Corrections. Go into the office & introduce yourself to Mr. Simmons, Mr. Porter or Mr. Brennan, who are the three Commissioners of Charities & Corrections for the City of New York, & who have about sixteen thousand persons under their care, comprising the prison, almshouse, workhouse, & hospital population of the city, & their attendants. You’ll find these gentlemen well-posted, very pleasant & always willing to give or afford strangers visiting New York every possible opportunity to acquaint themselves with the workings of the Charity & Correction institutions of the city, which includes the Tombs, all the police courts, the prisons, hospitals, insane asylums, workhouses, & educational establishments, wherein children of the poor & unfortunate are taught. After that you’ll have obtained a pass from the Commissioners. Go to the foot of East 26th Street, which is on the East & the East River side of New York.

At the foot of East 26th Street, standing in the water a little way from the shore, but reached from the grounds of Bellevue Hospital, is the “dead house,” in which are kept for a day or so the bodies of those who are brought in from the city, fished out from the river, etc., and which bodies are eventually, unless claimed by relatives, taken to the pauper burial ground at Hart’s Island for interment. You can get on with a pass, if you’re alive, & if you go on dead you can get out with a cheap pine coffin costing about 21 cents.

At 10 o’clock every forenoon the large & beautiful steamer Thomas S. Brennan, named after the popular & gentlemanly Commissioner of Charities, leaves this dock on a business trip up the East River. Here you get aboard. If you’re early enough you’ll see the many prison vans or iron omnibuses filled with prisoners brought from the prisons & police courts of the city to this point for shipment to the Penitentiary on Blackwell’s Island & to the Workhouse on Hart’s Island.

The Steamer Brennan is the service of the city exclusively. Its business is to convey parties from the city to Charity Hospital on Blackwell’s Island, which is the first landing. To convey prisoners to the Penitentiary, to the large stone building, which is within a stone’s throw of the Charity Hospital.

Patients for the hospital & prisoners for the penitentiary are discharged at the same landing, where the officers receive & escort them to the hospital & the prisoners to the penitentiary, where they are sheared, bathed, etc., & assigned to the several tasks the superintendent of the Penitentiary deems them fit to work at.

Relieved of this much of her load, the Brennan goes on up the river to the Workhouse, landing there from 75 to 150 men & women each morning, who are marched off & escorted to the Workhouse, where they’re given work to do for a time altogether too short. Supplies for the inhabitants of the Island, which number several thousand, including the inmates of the Female Insane Asylum, which is also on Blackwell’s Island, are here put off for distribution.

This done, the Brennan goes on up the East River, through Hell Gate, to Ward’s Island, on which is the large Homeopathic Hospital, one of the finest of its class in the world, also the insane asylums for males. This is the largest insane asylum on the American continent. It covers several acres of ground, & is occupied by something like 2000 men, a large portion of whom are insane, while a certain percentage are sane, but are unfortunately run in here & kept appeasing the envy, malice, or ugliness of persons who delight in thus torturing those they have a spite against or by saddling their support upon the city.

After discharging the patients & guests who come to see relatives in the hospital & asylums, the Brennan returns a little way, then proceeds up the Harlem River to Randall’s Island, on which is located Mrs. Dunphy’s celebrated school for “idiotic, imbecile or feeble-minded children & homes for idiots who cannot be taught,” & other departments of this nature, all connected or attached to the Charity & Correction department. Here also is the Foundlings’ Home, where are about 400 babies, from one day to four years of age, cared for by nurses.

This takes the time till about half past 12, when the boat returns, stopping a few moments at Hart’s Island, & reaching her dock at the foot of East 26th Street somewhere about 1:30 PM, affording those who care to see a great deal in a little while an opportunity of obtaining information that, if not altogether pleasant, is certainly worth knowing. You’ll get ideas worth taking home with you.

[themuseumwithoutwalls]

MWW Artwork of the Day (11/25/22) Frank Brangwyn (Welsh, 1867-1956) Charity (1900) Oil on canvas, 147.3 x 160 cm. National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa

A painter and graphic artist, Brangwyn studied at South Kensington Art School and worked as a draughtsman for the British designer William Morris between 1882 and 1884. In 1895 Siegfried Bing commissioned him to paint a mural for the "Art Nouveau" boutique in Paris. Brangwyn's style reflects the rhythmic, decorative line favoured by Art Nouveau, while retaining the Symbolist influence of Edward Burne-Jones and the Pre-Raphaelites. His frieze for the ticket hall of the Canadian Grand Trunk Railway office in London, England, completed in 1908, can now be seen in the Ottawa Conference Centre.

[aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg]

December 8th: in which Verne is bored and compares indigenous to animals twice

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain. “These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort unprotected.”

“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”

“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so.”

“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach me my duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”

“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit of the Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he added, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”

“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We are already three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—”

“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go, please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

[zponds]

What-If: American Railroads — Section 2: Railroads Absorbed (part 1)

With my alternate history on American railroads, one major part of it is that President Dwight D. Eisenhower would pass a Staggers Act of 1955, which would allow railroads to innovate and expand their operations and provide healthy competition with not only other railroads, but also cars and planes. While the big railroads (like New York Central and Chesapeake & Ohio) would greatly benefit from this, the smaller railroads (like New Haven or Western Pacific) wouldn’t be as lucky… but the smaller railroads’ territories would not go to waste as from the late 1950s to the early 1970s, the bigger railroads would absorb the smaller ones. And the smaller railroads absorbed by the bigger ones will be shown below with the big railroads’ logos being above a collection of maps of the smaller railroads.

A. New York Central ⬆️.

Boston and Maine

New Haven

Delaware and Hudson

Rutland Railroad

Bangor and Aroostook Railroad

Central Vermont

Maine Central

B. Pennsylvania Railroad ⬆️

Lehigh New England

Reading Lines/Railroad

Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac

Lehigh Valley

Lehigh and Hudson River

Central Railroad of New Jersey

Grand Trunk Western

Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines

C. Chesapeake and Ohio ⬆️

Erie Railroad

Lackawanna Railroad

New York, Ontario and Western Railway

D. Baltimore and Ohio ⬆️

Pittsburgh and Lake Erie

Western Maryland

Wabash

Ann Arbor

Virginian Railway

E. Norfolk and Western ⬆️

Nickel Plate Road

(original) Norfolk Southern

[davidstanleytravel]

Kwinitsa Station (1911) originally stood alongside the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway between Terrace and Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada. In 1985 it was moved to its current location on the waterfront at Prince Rupert to serve as a railway museum.

[hunty627]

Here's a picture I made for @zponds. Onto a more positive note on Zachery, he absolutely loves railroads and trains (and he has since he was a toddler). And he has a lot of knowledge about trains and many railroad companies in America. And he has a selection of railroads in his top 11 and secondary 12. Zachery’s top 11 railroads are… New York Central System, Pennsylvania Railroad, Chesapeake & Ohio, Baltimore & Ohio, Union Pacific, Norfolk & Western, The Milwaukee Road, Burlington Route, Souther Pacific, Santa Fe, and Chicago & NorthWestern… and Zachery’s secondary 12 railroads are… New Haven, Southern Railway, Northern Pacific, Great Northern, Seaboard Air Line Railroad, Virginian Railway, Erie Railroad, Western Pacific, Rock Island Railroad, Lackawanna Railroad, Illinois Central, and Grand Trunk Western.

[collinthenychudson]

Following it's life after the Iron Horse Rambles, Reading 2102 would still take part in numerous excursions. Of these which was a doubleheader with Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad (Ex Grand Trunk Western) 4070, an S3A class 2-8-2 USRA Light Mikado built by ALCO in December 1918. Unfortunately, the trip was ill-fated as the 4070 threw an eccentric rod on the Horseshoe Curve stalling busy rail traffic resulting in Conrail to ban steam operations for several years. Today, 2102 now operates on the Reading and Northern Railroad while 4070 is still currently under restoration at the Midwest Railway Preservation Society. Models and Route by: K&L Trainz, Canadian Pacific Locomotive Works, Jointed Rail, Auran, and Download Station

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"THIS NEGRO HAD NO RABBIT'S FOOT," Toronto Star. June 2, 1913. Page 10. ---- Else He Would Surely Not Have Been Arrested by Mistake. --- COURT LETS HIM GO ---- When the special train of six palace horse cars, containing races for the Montreal events, was pulling out of the East Toronto yards, Grand Trunk Constable Smith saw an elderly negro swinging to the back platform of the passenger car for the use of trainers, and the constable chased him and took him into custody. But as the train was disappearing in the distance, the negro, Charles Williams, drew a badge out of his pocket, and explained that he was the trainer of a number of horses on the train.

"Now you've done it," said Williams. "You are too enthusiastic in your duty."

In the Police Court to-day, Constable Smith stated that Williams was drunk, but this was discredited by the Court and Williams was allowed to go after his horses.

[rabbitcruiser]

Jasper National Park, AB (No. 4)

In 1911, the Grand Trunk Pacific (GTP) laid track through the park and over Yellowhead Pass. That same year, the GTP founded the town of Fitzhugh around the company's railway station; the town was renamed Jasper in 1913. The GTP's route across the pass was followed in 1913 by the Canadian Northern (CNoR). Both having both fallen into financial difficulty, the two railways were nationalized—the GTP in 1919 and the CNoR in 1923—and eventually merged into the Canadian National Railway (CNR) by an Order in Council. The railway was later followed by a road built between Edmonton and Jasper. The section between the town of Jasper and the eastern gate of the park was completed in 1928; however, it took another three years for the province of Alberta to complete the remaining stretch of the road into Edmonton.

By the time the GTP's railway track cleared Yellowhead Pass in 1911, there were already eight hotels established in Jasper, but they were rudimentary, and did not meet the expectations of the well-heeled clientele to which the GTP advertised. Jasper Park Lodge, the focal point of the GTP's Jasper advertising campaign, did not open until 1922, three years after the company's bankruptcy and only a year before the railway was merged into the nationally owned CNR. Like the GTP before it, Canadian National featured both Jasper park and the lodge prominently in its advertising literature.

From its founding, the town of Jasper, and later the Jasper Park Lodge, served as a hub for a variety of outdoor sporting activities. Even as Mary Schäffer Warren was becoming the first settler to visit Maligne Lake, outfitters were springing up in the park to rent out equipment and guide hikers and alpinists. The Alpine Club of Canada, formed in 1906 and sponsored through the 1920s in part by the CNR, held seven of its annual alpine camps in Jasper between 1926 and 1950. And while hunting was forbidden within park grounds, the park's facilities served as a base of operations for outfitters and guides who led wealthy hunters on hunting trips into the forest reserves outside Jasper's boundaries.

Source: Wikipedia

[scotianostra]

William Notman the pioneering Scottish photographer was born on in Paisley March 8th 1826.

WIlliam Notman photographed upper-class men and women in rich surroundings, but also too pictures of ordinary people, nature and the construction of Montreal's Victoria Bridge.

Notman was born and raised in Paisley where he received a decent education, which included lessons in painting and drawing.. After leaving school worked in a family firm but when it ran into financial difficulties  Notman hoped to pursue a career as a professional artist. His hopes were thwarted by the expectation that he would join his father’s cloth design and manufacturing business. As it turned out, however, during a severe economic downturn, Notman fabricated client orders in order to pay down mounting debts. Fraud charges were then laid, and in 1856 he fled Glasgow for Montréal in part so that responsibility for the fraud could be laid on him and the rest of the family could avoid prosecution.

An amateur photographer, he quickly established a flourishing professional photography studio on Bleury Street,kn the city, a location close to Montreal's central commercial district, where he attracted clients who were members of the political and business elite.

His techniques predated Photoshop by about a century, but just because we can achieve in a few clicks what would have taken William Notman days of painstaking photography, painting, and literal cutting and pasting, should make his legacy more impressive, not less. 

In 1858, he was commissioned by the Grand Trunk Railway to photograph the construction of Montréal's remarkable Victoria Bridge. Notman gave the Prince of Wales a maple box containing an image he had taken of the construction of the bridge as well as scenes from eastern and western Canada, which were apparently eventually shown to great acclaim to Queen Victoria.

You would imagine his studio would have been a small business, due to the era, but no, Notman's staff was some 55 strong in the 1870s) and included apprentice photographers.

He established 14 branch studios in eastern Canada and the United States, all managed by his trainees. Notman won many medals for his work in exhibitions at home and abroad. To meet the demand for landscapes and other views, he sent his photographers across Canada, recording the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway, the rise of the western cities, the life of the plains and coastal Aboriginal peoples, the lumber trade of the Ottawa Valley, East Coast fishing, rural activities and the bustle of the cities.

Notman also became famous for the composite photographs of the snowshoe and curling clubs produced by his studio. These large creations were made up of 300 or more individual photographs, cut out and pasted onto a painted background, the first cut and pasting perhaps!?

Always community minded, Notman was involved in art associations, church societies, sports clubs and other Montréal organizations. He was also a backer of the Windsor Hotel and copartner in large holdings in Longueuil, where he had a summer home. Of his seven children, all three boys became photographers. William McFarlane Notman, his eldest son, took over the business at his death. The Notman collection, containing over 400,000 photographs, plus office records and family correspondence, forms part of the collections of the Notman Photographic Archives housed in the McCord Museum of McGill University.

When William Notman died suddenly in November 1891 after a short bout of pneumonia, management of the studio Wm Notman & Son was left to his son William McFarlane Notman, an experienced photographer in his own right

In 1957, the Notman Collection was purchased by McGill University. The 200,000 negatives, 43 Index Books, 200 Picture Books and assorted memorabilia were transferred to the McCord Museum of Canadian History.