Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway - 1879

“The Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway is an accomplished fact. organized a year ago, the company of gentlemen who promoted the scheme, which they believe will be beneficial not only to the residents of Hamilton and Dundas, but to those residing along the beautiful stretch of country lying between, yesterday saw their labors fully completed and trains making excellent time over a very smooth road bed.”

                             Hamilton Spectator. May 17, 1879

At half past three, Friday afternoon May 16, 1879, two cars began a trial run over the newly-completed Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway line:

“The engineer of the train was Mr. F. B. Cooper and he seemed to know his business well. Mr. J. M. Williams held the position of honorary conductor, and performed the duties to the life, even to the ‘artistic toot’ of the whistle – an innovation on Canadian street railroads.”

The journey to Dundas took a half but the time was slow because the party preferred to view the scenery along the line.

Going west on Main street to MacNab street, the train proceeded south on MacNab street up the hill to Hannah street.

As the train reached Queen street, there was a very sharp curve “which it is intended to remedy by-and-by , power having been acquired during last Parliament to acquire the corner lot by arbitration, and thus obviate a bad turn.”

Passing through the west end of Hamilton, the line’s only engineering difficulty was at Beasley’s Hollow. This difficulty was overcome by the erection of a substantial wooden bridge.

In Beasley’s Hollow was a location familiar to many loving couples in Hamilton :

“A romantic spot, known to many of our readers no doubt – we refer to Ainslie’s Bush. The railway company intend to have this opened up as a pleasure park, in which to hold picnics, and an excellent neighborhood for  amusement it will prove.”

Passing through Bamberger’s orchards, the Spectator reporter along for the ride noted that “many of the trees overhang the railway to the evident danger of the fruit should the small boy find his way onto a train.”

The train then pulled into the hotel located at the halfway point between Dundas and the city. After a short stop to take on more passengers, the train passed through a heavy cutting, averaging about 22 feet and nearly 1,200 feet long.

Along the cutting the old creek had been diverted into a new channel beside the tracks. At short distances apart, the company planted strong maple trees:

“in this respect, those living in the eastern suburbs of Dundas will regard the line as a great boon, as its existence will tend to the carrying off of a good deal of stagnant water which has caused not a little ague in days gone by.”

Passing into the Valley City along Flamboro street, the train received “a hearty cheering welcome from the employees of the factory on one hand, and the ladies and gentlemen in private residences on the other.”

Drawing up behind the Elgin House, the train attracted a large crowd of well-wishers. After a short stay at the hotel, where a toast, “Success to the H. and D. Street Railway” was drunk, the train then returned to Hamilton.

The official opening day of the Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway for full passenger traffic was scheduled for Thursday May 22, 1879.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, a large crowd of prominent citizens was invited to the corner of Main and James streets, where a gaily decorated train waited to carry them on the first official run to Dundas:

“The train was in charge of Conductor Ball, and when the cry, ‘All Aboard” was given, the load of human freight started off at a rate unknown in the annals of street car travel in Canada.”

After a brief stopover at Bamberger’s hotel, along commonly called the halfway house, for refreshments, the train arrived in Dundas at 4 p.m.

After disembarking, the party proceeded to the Elgin Hotel, where a spacious banquet room was reserved for a series of toasts.

In the toast to the “United Corporations of Hamilton and Dundas,” President Osler of the Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway Company referred to the rivalry that had once existed between the communities and expressed his confidence that the new road would help bring the communities together for their mutual benefit.

Mayor O’Reilly of Hamilton responded to that toast by expressing strong hopes for the railway’s success, and then proposed a toast to the “Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway Company.”

In responding to Mayor O’Reilly’s toast, President Osler noted the difficulties the company had to surmount in order to build the line:

“In connection with the engineering difficulties, he stated that as much earthwork had been done on the Hamilton and North Western Railway between Hamilton and Milton. No aid had been received from the Government, nor from the county, and if the road did not prove a success, only a few gentlemen in Hamilton and Dundas would suffer by it.”

After the ceremonies at the Elgin House concluded, the party from Hamilton returned to the train for a cool evening trip back to the city, arriving shortly after 7 p. m.

Cabs and Buses at the Railway Station

Quoted in full from the March 16, 1876 Hamilton Spectator, a description of the scene at the Hamilton Railway station on Stuart Street as a passenger train arrives. The cabs are horse-drawn and the buses are omnibuses.

“Hardly any class of people have a better chance of becoming good judges of human nature than ‘bus and cab drivers. Any person will take the trouble to stand for half an hour in the “way out” of the Hamilton station while the principal  trains are coming in in the morning or evening will come to the same conclusion. As the crowd comes surging through the passage way, the expectant cabmen look through them from front to rear. They decide in a twinkling who to let pass through, and who to canvass. They see at a glance who will be bullied and who will not. Each drummer “spots” his man in a moment. If he is a good subject he “sits on his neck,”  to use his own language. He roars the name of the hotel he runs for in the man’s ear, he catches the passenger by the arm and dances him about the platform, he impresses on the bewildered stranger that his House is the cheapest and best in the city – oysters and champagne at every meal, and a fifty meerschaum pipe to smoke out of afterwards, and a feather tick to sleep on in the night time. He points to his horses and says, “Look at them steeds.” He points to his ‘bus and says “gaze upon that kerridge.” He pulls out a photograph of the Astor House, New York, and says, confidentially, “that’s our house.” If this fails, he suddenly discovers in the stranger and old friend and acquaintance. He shouts in an ecstasy, “Hulllo, old boy, how are you.” He embraces him affectionately and falls upon his neck in a flood of tears. He reminds his victim that they went to school together, and asks him, smiling through his tears, if he remembers how he used to lick him. This failing, he asks him magnanimously to step into his ‘bus out of the cold, and sit there all day if he wants to. This failing, his whispers into his ear, confidentially, that the rest of the ‘bus and cab drivers are thieves and pick-pockets, and advises him not to have anything to do with them. This failing, he becomes suddenly liberal. He’ll give the stranger fifteen cents if he will ride up in his ‘bus. Fifty cents if he will ride up; one dollar if he will rise up; and he can stay fifty years at the house if he wants to, and it won’t cost him anything. That failing, he drives the king-bolt out of his wagon, and brains the man, ties him hand and foot, throws him into the ‘bus and drives off triumphantly. The above is slightly exaggerated, but not very much. This morning two ladies from Toronto got off the morning train and came through the passage way. Unfortunately, for themselves, they were the only parties who wanted to ride uptown. They both wanted to go to the same house on Ferguson avenue; they both wanted to ride together, of course; but before they knew it, they were riding up Stuart street, each in a separate caboose, with an expression of in their faces as if they never expected to see each other again. The next train was the noon accommodation from Kincardine, and disgorged a tall, sombre-looking youth, dressed in grey cloth and cow hide boots. He stood for a few moments on the platform taking in the sights. He was spotted in a moment. Some of the cabmen went into the back yard and filed their teeth, others put on steel knuckles, grasped their whips by the light end and calmly waited.

The stranger advanced.

“Want a ride up, sir?”

“No thank you.”

But he did go up and was driven round the city for an hour and was charged for the nice ride.

The scene at the station is a lively one and always amusing., and, though no one is ever hurt, still, more money is put in circulation by people being induced to ride up, when otherwise they would have walked.”

A Late Winter's Evening in a Locomotive - 1878

While it is my usual practice to edit and maybe add a little to articles from 19th century newspapers, this one is nearly perfect in everyway. A magnificent piece of descriptive writing.
For readers outside of Hamilton Ontario, nationally and internationally (Hello Russia!), a little context.
The railroad being described was the North and Northwestern Railway (originally the Hamilton and Lake Erie Railway.) The portion of the line described in the article ran from the small of town of Caledonia northwards to the city of Hamilton, the trip ending at a small station between King and Main streets in the city's downtown core.
The mountain mentioned is still locally known as the mountain, but it is really part of the Niagara escarpment as its runs through the city of Hamilton.
The railway right of way is no longer in use by trains, but still exists and is very much in use. The portion from the base of the escarpment in Hamilton to the summit at what is now the Mohawk Sports Park is designated the Rail Trail and is a popular site for joggers and walkers, year round. The rest of the line to Caledonia is also a rail trail also heavily used year round.
The last sentence of the article refers to the names of hotels in Hamilton in 1878 as called by taxi cabs drivers looking for fares.

Finally ... a personal note of appreciation across the years to the unnamed but very, very talented Hamilton Spectator reporter of 1878 for his wonderful piece of writing.
The article in full from the March 2nd 1878 issue of the Hamilton Spectator follows :

"Life on a Locomotive : Down the Mountain on the Julia M. Collier : The Heights Above and the City Below : A Dark Night and a Fearful Grade Before"

The races were over at Caledonia last evening as the train from Jarvis steamed in on its way to Hamilton. It was sharp on time and the platform was crowded by anxious, impatient body of people who soon thronged the cars and filled every seat, and even made the aisles impassable. Our reporter stepped aboard the locomotive and making his profession known and expressing his intention to sketch the run over the mountain, was cordially received by Engineer Henry Taylor, one of the best and most experienced drivers on the line. The locomotive was the Julia M. Henry, and she steamed up to the tank, she seemed to tremble with delight as Connolly, the fireman, poured a cool stream of water into the tender. He came back and heaved wood into the churning furnace below. Engineer Taylor took his seat, one hand on the rope connecting with the throttle valve, the other on the level. His eye ran swiftly over the nuts and steam gauges and cocks; he looked sharply ahead on either side, at the air gauges, and waited. The great engine shook and trembled as if impatient to be gone. The steam went hissing through the pipes like burning blood through the veins of some monster, and the furnace churned and roared like a volcano. All was ready. Conductor Dick stepped out upon the platform and glanced with pardonable pride along his train. Then he waved his lantern and gave a sharp, shrill whistle. The fireman looked at his boiler gauge and folded his arms, the engineer touched a lever, and the train drew out, quick, panting, impatient, restless. The night was very dark – the station seemed to leap spasmodically back into the gloom. The semaphores darted past, the lights of the village vanished, and we were thundering through the dark, lonely woods, at the mercy of the still, watchful, grimy man, with one hand on the bell rope, and the other on the lever. Faster and faster! With a noise that waked the echoes far and near, that set farm dogs baying by many a cottage door, and with a sound like the sift advance of an army of demons through an Arabian night. Faster yet! The engineer is not satisfied and the huge living machine under our feet leaps out passionately and with throbbing sinews that stiffen and twang every instant. Faster, faster! His hand is on the lever, his face sets harder, his head is bent forward, and his intelligent eyes peer sharply ahead into the night. And such a night! Black as a lie, and everywhere like liars, it hangs overhead like the wing of an evil spirit. But the headlight pierces it like fire darting through a paper wall, and illumines the sparkling rails and leaps on hopefully into the future of night beyond. Look out! A bridge ahead. But surely it has fallen. It seems to be lying on the rails before us. The train can never pass under it! It leaps suddenly upwards into the gloom, stands firmly on oaken pillars, and the next instant is far behind, wreathed in a cloud of steam that clings to it fondly. Faster, faster! The locomotive rocks from side to side. The mighty wheels below clang and roar frightfully, and every fibre in the mighty machine quivers with a frenzied fury. Our reporter looks ahead on the shining track of two rails, and into the blackness ahead. He says, “Suppose a man were to tear up the track and we could live to see him captured?
 The fireman opens the furnace door and flings a block of wood on the roaring hell of flames below, and then looks up with a glittering eye and compressed lips. Faster, faster! The very earth seems to be flying from under our feet; the trees on either side rush by, and – look behind! Sparks from the smoke stack rain down in a cataract behind. A fierce, hissing, fiery stream, whipping itself against the wind, and losing itself in an ocean of night, shining for an instant, and then dying like a good thought in a bad man’s brain. Faster, faster! The great volume of steam winds round the train like a transparent snake, crawling everywhere and licking the windows with its wet, hot tongue. We near the mountain. The train comes to a dead stop and the brakes are tried. The engineer and the fireman inspect the works and rapidly make preparations for the run down the terrible grade before them. The whistle is sounded, Taylor “lets her out,” Connolly looks into the furnace, and the next instant we are thundering through the quarries. The headlight of the locomotive illumines the hard, slimy rocks that tower far above with an unearthly glare, and as one looks into the deep cut, the mountain seems to open up and divide its stony bosom to receive the rushing demon of fire and iron that dashes into its midst. We are out of the cut and onto the edge of the mountain. The rocks tower far above on one side, and the city lies far below on the other. With the motion of the locomotive, its ten thousand lights seem to sway and move, to rise and fall like a sea of fire. The headlight divides the gloom like lightning, and the loud train, like faithful thunder, follows after, shaking the mountainside like an earthquake. The train swings round a great pile of rocks, and turns its burning face towards the city below. The houses seem to leap to one side and shrink into the gloom, leaving a clear, shining track. The mountain melts away like a dream, the rolling ocean of light suddenly lifts itself and is lost in the milky way, and in an instant we find ourselves gliding smoothly along a gas-lit street, aglow with commonplace shop windows, and thronged with pedestrians who do not seem in the least surprised to see us. The bell rings, the train pull up at the King street station, the engineer and driver shake hands with our reporter, and their words of “goodnight” are lost in the chorus : “First bus for St. Nicholas,” “This way for the Dominion Hotel,” “Take a ‘kerridge’ for the American,” etc. etc.

Phonograph Demonstration - 1875

“On Monday, the first public exhibition of Edison’s marvellous phonograph – the machine which talks, laughs, weeps and sings, and which imitates any mortal sound which can be produced – was given in Pronguey’s Hall, under the care of Messrs. O. G. McCall and Danforth, of New York.”

Hamilton Spectator June 4, 1875

It was a select audience, especially invited for the demonstration of what was considered to be one of the wonders of the age at that time.

Pronguey’s Hall on James Street North was occupied by a number of Hamilton’s leading citizens, including a large number of priests, ministers and others from the city’s churches.

In his demonstration of the phonograph, Mr. McCall gave a minute description of the working of the “machine,” which the Spectator reporter also on hand recounted in full for the paper’s readers:

“It consists of a simple cast iron cylinder, about eight inches long, and four inches in diameter, with a horizontal shaft about three feet long. This shaft rests in two arms and has a handle at one end to turn the cylinder, with the whole resting on a cast iron frame at the base. The surface of the cylinder and shaft is planed smoothly, and a spiral thread is cut into the whole length of the cylinder to move to the right or left as the handle is revolved. Attached to the base is an adjustable standard or arm that supports an ordinary mouthpiece of the telephone. To the under part of the diaphragm, or disk, in the mouthpiece is attached a portion of an ordinary No. 9 sewing needle. The cylinder is now covered with common tin-foil. The cylinder is next revolved, and words are spoken into the mouthpiece adjusted to the cylinder so that the point of the needle slightly indents the surface of the tin-foil. The cylinder is next revolved and words are spoken into it, and the sound waves, caused by the speaking, cause the diaphragm, or disk, to vibrate and make the point of the needle (as it traverses the tin-foil along the spiral groove) indent or cut into the plastic surface of the tin-foil the sound waves. Then on reversing the cylinder and placing the point of the needle over that portion of the foil where it first started and revolving the cylinder, the sound waves are generated by the vibrations of the plate or disk as the needle traverses the cylinder, causing the machine to give forth from this vibrating plate exact words or notes thrown upon.”

The exhibition began by Mr. McCall making a statement into the machine that it was the wonder of the nineteenth century, the cylinder was reversed and the declaration was repeated with remarkable distinctness.

Next, a quotation from Shakespeare was given, beginning:

        “Breathes there a man with a soul so dead” etc. and the verse, with all the inflections of the speaker’s voice, was heard distinctly, just as uttered. Then followed a quotation from Poe’s “Raven,” with equal clearness. But the piece which gave the most enjoyment was the following:

“There was an old nigger,

   And he died a long time ago,

 And he had no roof on the top of his head,

   The place where the wool ought to grow.”

“Yankee Doodle came to town,

   Upon a streaked pony,

 He put a feather in his hat,

    And called it macaroni,”

 Tra, la, la, etc.

These verses were given with remarkable distinctness, the speaker’s twang, the different modulations of his voice, being repeated on the cylinder’s reversal.

The operator also whistled a tune into the apparatus, and it reproduced note for note.

In answer to a question, Mr. McCall said on the common foils the sounds could be reproduced from 50 to 75 times, but in Edison’s perfected machine, they would use copper plate foil, reproducing many thousand times the first sounds. In the standard machine, they would do away with the mouthpiece, and the machine would take up the sounds emitted at a distance of sixteen feet. A ten inch square foil could be made to contain 10,000 words – so many as there are in any of Dickens’ works. Mr. McCall predicted a complete revolution in the book and musical world by means of this machine, as it would enable people to buy a novel in a foil at a fourth of the present price, allow them to take it home, turn on their phonograph, which could repeat the book at their pleasure in the author’s own words, and repeat it as desired. It would have the same effect on music. In the courts, it would be invaluable as a recorder of evidence.

Rev. Mr. Carmichael (jocularly) asked if it would record a kiss.

Mr. McCall said that his experience had seen that a kiss was a drawing in of the breath rather than giving out, and hence it would not take effect.

Rev. Mr. Carmichael : “It would be invaluable for the love letters, if it could be made to send the kisses.” (Laughter)

Mr. McCall : “It can send all but the kisses.”

The phonograph being demonstrated was only a model and the machine would not be available for purchase in Hamilton until the following October.

The improved phonographs are to be on sale in this city for nearly five months, hopefully by the middle of October.

The price of the first phonographs to be sold in Hamilton was going to be a staggering $100 each, a price far beyond the means of casual purchasers.

The Spectator reporter ended his column suggesting that “it remains to be seen whether the wonderful invention of Edison will be put to any practical purpose.”