XVII.
On Friday, April 27th, under the excuse that I was going to Burlington to see about O’Neill, I went round by way of Rouses Point to Montreal. I was elated with my success, and wanted to report myself at head-quarters without delay. It would not, however, have been safe for me to have gone direct to Ottawa, and so I travelled in a roundabout way. On the Friday night I stopped with Judge Coursel, the Commissioner of the Quebec police, and the following morning took train to Ottawa. Before my journey concluded, I found I had been altogether too premature in my self-congratulations. In fact, that journey brought me even closer to discovery than I had ever been before.
Nothing unusual happened till we got to Cornwall, where there was the usual half-hour’s delay for dinner. Taking full advantage of it, I was enjoying a hearty meal, when both my meal and peace of mind were disturbed by an unlooked-for incident. Struck by an unusual commotion at the door of the dining-room, I looked round to find advancing towards me two men, one remarkable for his tall military appearance, and the other for his clerical attire. All eyes were turned upon them, and as I ceased eating for the moment to look up, I heard the clerical-looking person say, as he pointed his finger towards me, “That is the man.” Advancing, the tall man, who subsequently turned out to be the mayor of Cornwall, speaking with a Scotch accent, said, “You are my prisoner,” accompanying the words with a grasp of my shoulder. I imagined there was some mistake, and laughed as I turned to resume my dinner, asking at the same time what was the matter. Not a movement, however, disturbed the solidity of my Scotch friend’s face as he solemnly repeated the words, “You are my prisoner,” adding, “you must come with me at once.”
As I learned subsequently, the priestly looking person was a wandering preacher, who had happened to be in the vicinity of Malone when I was locating arms there, and I had been pointed out to him then as the leading Fenian agent. His memory was a very good one, and he immediately recognised me when we met again.
Matters were beginning to look serious; but still I could not comprehend what all this meant, and being still hungry I said, “But won’t you let me finish my dinner?” “No,” was the sharp reply; “come.” “For what reason?” quoth I, indignantly. “Why am I arrested?” “You are a Fenian,” came the reply, the words falling clearly and distinctly on the hushed room, where those present began to show signs of anger and indignation towards me. I hurried out with my captors, and was taken to a room adjoining the ticket-office, there to have demanded of me my luggage and my keys, with everything on my person. I had no luggage save a hand-bag, yet I had with me documents which would reveal everything, if made public. My position was dangerous—distinctly dangerous. The prospect before me was that of disclosure and imprisonment amongst a strange people, where I had no friend. Prompt action was called for, and so I asked the mayor for a few minutes’ private conversation. Suspicious, and yet curious, he brought me into the ticket-office, where we were left alone. Here I told him the exact situation. It was true, I said, that I was a Fenian, but also a Government agent. I was even then on my way to Ottawa to see Judge M‘Micken. To delay or expose me would mean serious difficulty for the Government. Let him send me on to Ottawa under guard, if he liked, and then he would prove my statements true. Did he want immediate proof, then here were my papers, and there a telegram to Judge M‘Micken, advising him of my coming, which he himself would despatch.
My manner must have impressed him, for he decided to adopt my suggestion, and send me on by the same train in which I had been travelling (which had not yet gone, all this occupying but a few minutes), under the escort of a lieutenant who, with his Canadian regiment, was then returning from the scene of the invasion. The details of my arrest as a Fenian quickly spread amongst my fellow-passengers, and travelled before me on the route, and the reception I met with along my journey was most disagreeable. For safety’s sake, the lieutenant transferred me to the care of a sergeant and couple of soldiers, and the carriage in which we travelled was the sole point of attraction in the train. Crowding round this carriage, the infuriated Canadians would hiss and hoot me, while their cries of “Hang him,” “Lynch him,” gave me a very uncomfortable idea of what would happen to me if left alone amongst them. So careful were my guardians of me, that they would not even allow me to have the window raised, so that I might smoke, fearing that in some way I might take advantage of the open window to escape. This was really a serious grievance with me, for they could not possibly have inflicted a greater deprivation than that in the matter of smoking. All through my life, even down to the present time, I have been a great smoker, sometimes consuming as many as sixteen cigars in the day, a statement which will probably puzzle some people who hold that tobacco ruins the nerves.
On reaching Prescott Junction, I found that the news of my capture—of course my name and rank never transpired—had created such a sensation that a special correspondent of the Toronto Globe had travelled to meet me, in order to find out who and what I was, and everything about me. He was doomed to be disappointed, however, for I could not be got to speak. When, eventually, we arrived at Ottawa, I found my telegram to Judge M‘Micken had brought his representative to the station, and by him, myself and my guards were immediately conveyed to the police-office, where the Commissioner was awaiting us. Pretty certain of my safety now, I was quite prepared to smile, and really did laugh when brought into the presence of my friend the judge. Not so he, however. With proverbial soberness and solemnity he heard the details of my capture, received possession of my person, and gave a formal receipt for my custody. Armed with this, my guardians left, and then the old man’s genial kindly nature asserted itself. By his instructions I remained in his office till nightfall, when, in a cab under cover of the darkness, I accompanied him to the club to take up my quarters there for the night.
In the club the Fenian prisoner of a few hours previously was made a most welcome guest, and had an exceedingly good time. My identity being known to some of the officers who crowded the club-house after their return from Franklin, I found myself quite the hero of the hour, and had most interesting chats over the experiences of the raid on both sides of the fight. Amongst the pleasant people whose acquaintance I then made was Dr. Grant, the physician to Prince Arthur, who was in Ottawa at that time.
With the following day came arrangements for my departure for home, and it was decided that, in order to avoid travelling over the same line again, I should be driven during the night to Ann Prior terminus—a distance of some forty miles from Ottawa—from which place I could take a branch line to my destination. Fortunate though I thought myself, my troubles were not at an end. This trip of mine to Ottawa was a chapter of misfortunes. As I was on the point of starting, I discovered that I had not sufficient money to bring me home. Accordingly, Judge M‘Micken had to supply me with the needful funds. This, however, did not prove by any means an easy thing to do. A cheque was duly drawn, but of course I could not cash it, and the judge had to have recourse to a friend. The amount was a large one—three hundred and fifty dollars—and it was beyond the resources of the club at the moment. The services of the club porter therefore had to be utilised for the purpose of obtaining the money. Here, unknown to us, seed was being sown which was to bear evil fruit. The porter knew, of course, that I was the Fenian prisoner, although nothing more; and, gossip that he was, he let out the secret a little later. It became public property; and the Canadian press published the fact that an important Fenian had been in Ottawa immediately after the raid, and received a very large sum of money from the Government official with whom he was in communication, adding that the Fenians must have been nicely duped all through. This was bringing danger very, very near to me again; yet, marvellous to relate, suspicion never rested upon me in connection with the paragraph. I drove from Ottawa in the night, got safely home, and was never troubled further by my eventful visit. But, for a long time, I treasured very unchristian-like feelings towards that porter.