The first of July drew near, when I should begin the Vermilion bay job, and I went down there, arriving before Boss Murray, who was to be general manager. The mill frame was up and roofed, and the framer's contract was about completed; but evidently Murray had been playing double with both he and I, for he, the framer, said he had been engaged to remain and put in the machinery, and there was no doubt that he told the truth. Neither of us had a scrap of writing to back our claims. For my own sake, as well as the good reputation of our shop, I was determined to do the work. So the framer and I calmly talked the whole matter over, he saw that, having designed the machinery and engine, and planned the mill, I was the logical man to do the work; and he probably rightly suspected that Murray intended to play him off against me, so he considerately left for his home in Ontario.

While waiting for Murray I set up a drawing board, and began the design of a perfectly balanced steam gang, that I had studied out, or, more briefly, invented, in the wakeful morning hours of the long nights on the prairie in the previous October. This was a valuable invention, though ahead of the demand, and would have been a success had it been pushed. A similar one, by William Wilkens of the Stearns Company, seven or eight years afterward, had a good run.

Canada is justly regarded as a very decent moral country, but this Vermilion bay situation was the toughest hole I ever set foot in. It was a great railroad camp. There was a fine ridge of gravel for road ballasting. Several steam diggers were constantly at work loading gravel trains. Mackenzie and MacDonald, the railroad contractors, were the owners of the mill, so the mill gang was part of the general crowd. A few men that had families had separate residences. All others boarded at the main camp. On my first day at dinner, a burly, big fellow sat near me, with both eyes blackened, skin broken, and cut in a dozen places, his face swelled out of shape. One of our mill gang told me there had been a hard fight three or four days before, and that fellow had got the "lickin." It did not seem to disturb him much, and it seemed to be regarded as an ordinary occurrence. Two and sometimes three girls of

the demimonde occupied a small house by themselves, and flaunted their presence about as they pleased. Two gentlemanly fellows occupied a shack by themselves, in order to cure up, if possible, from the consequences of their former licentious indiscretions. One fine man, younger than I, though bearing his part with the rest, was different; and noted the difference in me, and became my friend, was very intelligent, and interested in good things. We often spent Sundays together. We had no books, and but few papers. Conversation was our main interest. Friends are valuable where they are scarce. Sunday was my correspondence day.

We mill workers had a sleeping house by ourselves. Beds were on the sleeping car style. My berth was an apper one. There was a hanging lamp and a table under it. Cards were the standard amusement of the evening. As I did not play, and there was little chance for anything else, I retired early; and from my high-perched bed could look down at the players, and see what hands they held. I had the finest opportunity to learn, but I could not be interested enough to try; so the pleasure from cards is unknown to me, and I have no sense of loss.

This was a country of beautiful lakes, and Vermillion Bay was one of the finest. The coarse, sandy soil supported a rather slender growth of timber; the logs were small, but straight and long. A small circular saw, fifty-six inches in diameter, and light carriage was what suited the situation. It was a small mill with excellent machinery, and as it had good men to handle it, it became known as the fastest mill on the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and another small addition to the reputation of the William Hamilton firm. In the tree-tops near the mill, I saw what was to me the last lonely specimen of the American wild pigeon. I saw him several times during two days. He had no mate. If he had a race memory, how forlorn he must have felt, for in my boyhood days birds of his feather were so abundant that their flight would sometimes darken the sky. They were often caught by springing a large net over them, after they had been decoyed to a prepared feeding ground, by the use of a captive

or "stool pigeon," one of their own species, whose feet were secured to the end of a long rod, which was operated by men under cover at the edge of the ground. They bobbed the pigeon up and down, making him flutter as if feeding over the ground; then his fellows in the treetops would come down in a steady stream, till the feeding ground would be fully covered with them; then the net would be sprung down upon them, often catching several hundred. The next thing was to kill them, which was done by crushing the base of the skull between thumb and forefinger, or breaking their necks; as their heads were sticking up through the net, this was quickly done. Then the net was lifted to its former elevation, the dead pigeons gathered up and taken to one side, some more grain scattered on the ground; and when the men had got back under cover, they were ready for a repetition of the operation. The birds who had witnessed the recent catastrophe had flown, so there would be a period of waiting for fresh ones to come to the treetops, when the same stool pigeon would be made to coax down some more unfortunates. On foggy mornings they would fly low, we sometimes then could knock them down by rapidly swinging a long pole as the flock passed by. That was also a fine chance to shoot, not directly, at them as they were coming toward us; ordinary bird shot would not then penetrate their closely packed feathers, but if we fired at them after they had passed by, we could then bring down sometimes a half dozen at a shot. In the spring and summer they helped out our larder finely. Pigeon pie was not then a luxury. Some people salted them down. The mornings and evenings were the times of their greatest activity in flying and feeding. In the middle of the day they would be found in the thick shade of the trees, or by the side of some stream, or on the lake shore drinking or picking up gravel. In these positions we could sometimes get fine shots, by standing up under cover; but it was not the busy ones on the shore that we had to look out for, but the sentinel, an old cock pigeon perched up on a high, dead tree, where he had a good outlook, and could warn his associates of danger

In the early midsummer we would see the first of the new broods, known by peculiar young feathers and imperfect tails. They were a sure and easy game for the hawks, but it was not so with the old ones. I was once a nearby witness to a close chase of this kind. A hawk, quietly sailing overhead, evidently concluded he would try his skill and wing power on a lone cock pigeon perched on a pretty high tree, that grew on the side of the hill on the top of which I was standing. The hawk made his downward dart, and got almost onto the pigeon, when he started for the ground in a spiral course, the hawk being within two or three feet of him all the way down, till the pigeon landed in some thick low bushes, and the hawk gave him up. It was the speed of that short flight that astonished me. They tore through the air with the noise and speed of a skyrocket.

It seems almost incredible that such an abundance of beautiful energetic life should have perished from the earth. The last and only known specimen has recently died in captivity near Cincinnati; and there is a standing prize of several thousand dollars offered for a pair.

Well, the Vermilion bay job was satisfactorily completed, and a settlement made, the best I could get, which was not satisfactory. I got the specified wages, but had to stand the loss of time waiting for them, and expenses. A good kick at headquarters amounted to nothing.

The would-be millionaires, who stick their chins in the air, and see only the few they want to, are quite willing to privately profit by the meanness of their underlings, and pretend not to know it, and of course will not search it out.

LAKE VOYAGE

About the middle of October, 1883, I took the eastbound Canadian Pacific railroad train to start for home. At Port Arthur we were to take one of the Canadian Pacific railroad's staunch sea-going boats, through Lake Superior and Huron. When our train arrived at Port Arthur, a great storm was on the lake, and our boat was several hours late arriving; and the storm also prevented her starting out on schedule time

the evening after. I used the spare time to visit my old friends, the Woodsides, and see the running of Port Arthur sawmill, in which the men at work seemed half asleep. The storm having somewhat subsided during the night, we made a start in the morning; and while for a short time in moderately calm weather our passengers were on view, either on the decks or in the main cabin, I noted a fine group of people. But shortly after we were encountering the high rolling billows of Lake Superior; then all the ladies and half the gentlemen repaired to their staterooms, to try and settle or "cast up" as their feelings might determine.

A few acquaintances and I took pleasure in going over the boat where we pleased. However, the storm increased, till toward noon we began to ship some heavy seas. The center of a boat is the place of least motion, but at that part the crests of some of the waves would be level with the main deck, and the succeeding trough twenty feet below. At one o'clock in the afternoon our captain decided to lay by for a time, in a cove on the lee side of Silver island. This was a rocky islet, not a hundred acres in extent, projecting up from the deep waters of Lake Superior. Our vessel came into the quiet cove so close to the rocky shore that the gangplank would reach it, and the passengers all got off. It gave the seasick folks a fine interval of relief, and the place was highly interesting. There had been a very prolific silver mine, rather under, than on the island, as shafts and galleries had been sunk in the rock several hundred feet below the lake level. Work was then suspended. There were good houses but no occupants, except a care taker and his family, to whom our forced call made a cheerful break in their lonely time. Though the wind was high, there was bright sunshine, and we spent a pleasant afternoon, climbing the rocky cliffs and seeing the mining machinery. In the evening everyone enjoyed the luxurious supper, particularly those who lost their breakfast and had no dinner, after which, the storm having measurably subsided, our steamer pursued her course. That night and the next day it was still rough, but toward the second evening it became quite calm. A plain, old gentleman from the western