More Colourful Alberni History with Charles Taylor
Tragedy was an inevitable part of pioneer life and the Alberni Valley had its share.
Life was hard on the frontier in the ‘good old days,’ as these loggers could surely have attested. But who was there to take down their stories? Fortunately for posterity, pioneer Charles Taylor began to record Alberni history during the final years of his retirement in Victoria in the early 1960s. —BC Archives
The late Charles Taylor, introduced in last week’s Chronicles, was the first person I ever interviewed—initially at the urging of my employer, the Victoria Colonist, then, when he and I became unlikely friends, by choice.
I say unlikely because he was 85, I a very green 19.
But we clicked and the result was a brief series of historical articles on little-known people and events of Alberni Valley history. This week, he looks at some of the more memorable Alberni pioneers.
* * * * *
“Colourful characters? You might even say Alberni had more than her share at one time. They all seemed to drift westward, then collected at Alberni because it was the end of the line. And I knew them all.
“It all came back to me recently when I found a copy of Malcolm Sproat’s Studies and Scenes in Savage Life. Sproat was manager of the Anderson mill, one of the first export mills on the coast. It was originally started to export ship spars, and operated for five years. When it closed in 1866, everyone left but my grandfather. I guess he was about the only White man in the whole valley for 20 years."
(Financed by a British syndicate, the Anderson Mill was established in August 1861 at the mouth of the Somass River where Port Alberni now stands. The syndicate acquired almost 1600 Acres from the British government but the mill, the first of several at this site over the past 160-plus years, failed within five years.)
The Anderson Co. also obtained several hundred acres of good bottom land on the west side of the river which was cleared and fenced in as a mill farm to grow vegetables and raise livestock, the operation being placed under the charge of an American identified only as Henry.
“Henry planted potatoes in the lower end of the farm, adjacent to the slough that extended in from the harbour, and deep enough to float a canoe at high tide. When the potatoes were about matured and ready for digging, Henry, on looking over his field, discovered a number of rows had been dug and the potatoes removed.
“Nearby, he found marks in the mud where a canoe had landed, and prints of bare feet leading to the vegetable patch.
“Henry decided to wait for the thieves the following night at high tide. He loaded the musket with dried peas, but probably dropped in a few buckshot, and hid behind some bushes.”
Soon he heard a canoe being stealthily paddled up the slough and landing at the bank. He could make out several figures stealing into the field and beginning to dig. Creeping closer, Henry raised his musket and fired at the nearest figure. The man fell dead over the bag of potatoes he was filling; the others escaped in the darkness.
Mr. Taylor’s grandfather told him that the man was buried in the small mill cemetery but the usual Native practice was to place the dead in trunks in the tops of trees. If the deceased was the head of the family, his body would be taken out through a side window so that no spirits could enter through the door. All his possessions were placed about the tree.
“I've seen all kinds of furniture, rifles and things under trees. No other Indian would steal any of the articles but later on some white men did, so the Indians stopped that practice. Perhaps it's just as well," Mr. Taylor said with a sigh.
“They had some other customs; because of one, there must be buried treasure in Alberni. You see, it was an Indian’s ambition to, sometime in his life, hold a potlatch, a grand party. So he called in all his friends and some from neighbouring tribes, and gave a huge potlatch with the money he’d probably saved for years. Giving gifts, usually blankets and biscuits, and sometimes cash, left him broke, of course, but it left him popular and many friends would support him when he became too old to fish and hunt. It was like an insurance policy.
“Well, this one Indian had saved for almost 20 years for a potlatch. He kept all this money—coin, his son told me—hidden under a tree in a metal box. Then something happened to him before he could use it or tell where it was. That was right where Alberni stands today. "
Many of the early settlers vied with the local inhabitants for colour. Alberni Valley witnessed a mining boom in 1895-6, and the rush attracted every description of character.. The most unforgettable, Mr. Taylor said, was Robert de Beaux.
Bob de Beaux’s cabin doubled as a roadhouse. —BC Archives
Aware that more money was to be made from the miners themselves than from their claims, de Beaux built a log roadhouse and catered almost exclusively to the prospectors. Apparently his beds and meals were popular because he enjoyed a profitable business. His standard bill of fare, which he cooked himself, was rice, beans and porridge.
“Old Bob was born in Alsace-Lorraine, and hadn't too much formal English education. Despite this, he was a great man for putting up notices and writing letters. The trouble with poor Bob was, if he’d left the big words alone he’d have been all right, but he kept using these big words which had a totally different meaning to that which he intended.
Mr. Taylor laughed as he remembered, "He made some mighty strange mistakes... I got a great kick out of old Bob...
“After the rush petered, Bob opened a general store, the first in Alberni, and his prices were very reasonable too. He advertised in his usual way—great, big notices, all misspelled.
“Bob used to buy skins from the Indians and a few trappers. But prices seemed to fluctuate a good deal. One day I found him quite busy, sitting at his old desk, working out all his invoices very carefully. After about an hour, he turned to me and said, ‘After checking everything very very cautiously, I find [I’ve] only lost a dollar and 49 cents.’
“During the First World War he was unjustly accused of being a German spy and interned. When the war ended he returned to his homeland and became quite wealthy; he died in an automobile accident.
“Alberni’s second business, I think, was a shoemaker shop belonging to Robert Parkinson. And a very interesting man he was, too."
Parkinson first appeared in the valley in 1885. He was nearing middle-age then and had spent his life at his trade in London, England. He located on the bay, on the west side of Alberni Harbour, which still bears the name Shoemaker Bay. “His cabin was about 10 feet square, its only contents a bunk, a table and a work bench. All cooking was done on a converted oil drum.”
Parkinson was quite careful and resourceful, and his living expenses were small. Dinner was either fish or a duck shot from his front doorstep, as game was plentiful then.
His boots were strong and durable and some even outlived him. Every stitch was hand-sewn, and the soles heavily hobnailed. His standard price was 5.00. “After you deducted the price of leather and his hours of labour, his profits must have been quite slim. But, although his cabin was out of the way and could only be reached by following a blazed trail, his craftsmanship was excellent and business plentiful.
“When Parkinson went to town, it was an experience. As there was no bridge then, reaching the store and post office, situated on the opposite side of the river, posed a problem. But Parkinson's resourcefulness did not fail him here.”
First, at high tide, he followed a slough that extended across flats until a short distance from the river. He’d put a small wheelbarrow into his little canoe and travel to the head of the slough. Placing the canoe in the wheelbarrow, he’d cross the small strip of land to the river. Switching the barrow back into the canoe, he’d complete his journey. Later, when Alberni became a village, Parkinson moved into town.
He built a small house on Front Street and continued business until his death in 1901. He seems to have had no relatives, and left a little money to a lady who’d looked after him in his final illness. The balance, which amounted to a few hundred dollars, was left to the Anglican church. He stipulated that his home was to be used by any destitute, deserving man.
“It served as an old man's home for 50 years; they called it the Anchorage. I think it was torn down only two or three years ago.”
About 1910, a man named Nels Weiner came to Alberni and situated on Sproat Lake. Weiner was industrious and an all-round handyman. He built a strong, comfortable house and cleared a few acres of land. After he'd been there two or three years his wife died. Things never were the same for Nels after that.
Sometime later, Weiner remarried. His second marriage, however, was not a success and they separated, Weiner living alone and keeping to himself. A fine woodcarver, he made extra money by carving rifle stocks, fancy wooden spoons and other items.
“One night, several residents around the lake were unnerved by several loud explosions in the vicinity of the Weiner place.
“Next morning, upon investigation, they found his home had been blown to pieces, and all the outbuildings were burned to the ground. Although they even searched an old well on the place, nothing was ever seen of Weiner again, and many believe he blew himself up with the house."
Another explosion of a different nature occurred in the valley about 1898 when a party of government road men were widening Alberni streets, A gang of miners came in from China Creek. One, an old Welshman named Elias Jones, started work with crew as powder man. One large stump was located across the street from the Arlington Hotel.
In his first attempt to blast it, he put in a moderate shot but it had little effect.
His companions, who’d watched from the vantage point of the hotel's bar room, came over and began mocking him about the poor shot he’d made. Elias resented this and they retired to the bar for consultation. When fortified with a few drinks, Elias returned to the stump. Digging well underneath it, he put in over a box of powder. After packing and tamping the charge, and warning everyone to “get the h— out of here," he lit the fuse.
With a roar, the stump disappeared skyward, only to land with a crash on the courthouse roof, demolishing most of the shingles on one side and embedding itself in the rafters. It took several days to dislodge the stump from the roof and renew the shingles.
Needless to say, Elias Jones blew no more stumps.
“An oldtimer, Fred Drinkwater, died here just recently. The Drinkwaters were a big family. They came to Alberni just a few weeks after my people. I think they're finally all gone now.. "
Joe Drinkwater’s ’Ark’ on Sproat Lake in the 1920s. —BC Archives
Joe Drinkwater built what he called the Ark Hotel at Central lake. On a float, it had 16 bedrooms and a kitchen, and enjoyed considerable popularity as a resort. Drinkwater, a good woodsman, fine broad-axe man, and one of the best hunters, was also a character and kept things jumping. Originally from northern Ontario, he built the hotel and all its furniture, cutting everything from cedar. Three years after he sold it, the hotel was totally destroyed by fire.
Drinkwater travelled to the head of Central Lake to trap. When he didn’t show up for several weeks, a search party was sent in.
“They found his boat pulled up on the beach, and his body a few yards back in the bush, partly eaten by animals. Apparently he’d injured or cut himself, because there was blood in his cabin and he’d tried to bandage himself. Trying to reach town for aid, he died on the way.”
Then there was an old prospector named Archie McLaughlin, “a Nova Scotia men and a very fine one, too. He prospected a lot around China Creek.
There was a short-lived gold rush to the China Creek area in the 1890s. —BC Archives
“Well, one spring he went hunting bear with a woodsman named Dan Clarke. They went to the head of Central Lake and over a little divide to Elsie Lake. McLaughlin was no hunter; I imagine he just went along for the sport.”
One night, while camped at Elsie lake, McLaughlin was taken violently ill. Apparently he’d had the spells before. Clarke later told Mr. Taylor that he thought McLaughlin had cancer of the stomach. The pain grew worse, and McLaughlin asked Clarke If he’d get some medicine that was in his cabin back in town. He said with the medicine the pain would pass and he'd be fine again.
Clarke made him as comfortable as possible and headed back to Alberni. It was a rough trip under any circumstances and, pressed by urgency, Clark overdid himself. He was never the same man again.
The next day he was on his way back with his young nephew, Willie Clarke. When they arrived at the camp, McLaughlin was dead. Digging a grave, they wrapped him in his blankets and filled in the grave. To keep animals from attacking the body, they covered it with short logs.
Some years later, McLaughlin's nephews finally learned of his death and decided to have the body shipped out. Because of the mountains, they thought they’d float the coffin down the river. They had a special coffin made to resemble a barrel, complete with hoops and staves, so that it would float—overlooking the fact that the river was clogged with the debris.
“Dan Clarke, perhaps because of superstition, refused to lead a party back to the grave site. But Willie agreed. It was late fall and snow was setting in when they packed into the bush. Perhaps Willie panicked, but he [couldn’t] relocate the grave.”
The site lay undisturbed for years, no one quite sure where other than it was at some small lake north of Central Lake. Thirty years later, a survey party camped at a small point on Elsie Lake and while levelling off the ground for a tent they discovered the cut logs underneath.
Digging, they found the blankets and realized it was McLaughlin's grave. Their two Indian packers deserted that night, refusing to make camp with a dead man.
“I was camped just across the river at the time and decided to go have a look. One of the survey party placed a crude wooden cross with Archie's initials over the spot while I was there. I was back in that country some years later and I crossed over to have another look. The old cross had rotted and fallen away so I cut a slab of cedar and carved his name and year death on it.
“Well, there was a good stand of timber there, so after more years had passed, a timber crew began cutting around there. They found McLaughlin’s grave... Now Archie lies under about 30 feet of water since they dammed the lake for power."
The parade of characters and humorous goes on; one more is worth telling here.
“Old Jim Woods was a jolly kind of fellow, quite a singer too. He built a small place way back in the bush. He’d work the roads in the summer then spend the winter isolated in his cabin.
“Well, he did this for years. Then, one winter, he got to acting funny. being alone too much I guess. He came into town one day, all spruced up. He said that his father was connected with some ocean liner, had died, and left him a big estate—all a delusion, of course.
“Well, he went out to Vancouver. The next we heard, the police had put him in Essondale. In a few months he seem to have recovered and was released. He returned to Alberni and the last anyone saw of him he was up near his old cabin. But he disappeared and was never seen again, probably a victim of his own delusions.”
Charles Taylor shared more Alberni history with me and passed away soon after. I shall always remember him for making my first interview a joy and a seminal experience for making me realize the so-called generation gap is just a state of mind.
