SOME FAMILY HISTORY.
There came to the Whitbies from one of the Midland counties of England a bachelor accompanied by his widowed sister and her little girl. Possessing capital, he bought one of the best farms of these favored townships. It was a glebe of about one hundred and fifty acres, without any waste land within its borders, and was nicely built upon. Here the bachelor brother farmed thoroughly and well, while the sister presided over the household and looked after the education and care of her growing daughter. Of their former history no one knew aught.
The man was a jolly good fellow, open-handed, free and hospitable. They used to say that no visitor ever came to the home and went away dry unless he chose to. Not that I mean to say this English gentleman bachelor was a drinker, only that, according to the light of those days, the rites of hospitality were administered when the tankard kept pace with the choicest dishes of the table.
There are probably few living now who were alive and partakers of this bachelor’s kindnesses. The farm was bought in the late forties, and he and his sister left it for their English home once more about 1863.
But to follow more intimately their fortunes in Ontario, we must speak now of the young daughter. Admirers of this English-Canadian belle will even to this day aver that she was surpassingly beautiful. None of that day had more to be thankful for in this particular, while her charm of manner was even in excess of her beauty. Naturally, suitors came. Among those who were truly fascinated was a young English barrister, even then known as a pushing, rising fellow. Indeed, he has risen by sheer downright hard work, as well as ability, till to-day he is one of the high officials of our Canadian courts, and pre-eminently a successful man. This man proposed duly, and after mature deliberation and consultation with the mother, was accepted. Before the knot was tied, however, he said to the beautiful girl that he would immediately after marriage expect to receive full control of her property. Once more the affianced girl and her mother consulted, and their conclusion was that he had come courting the $8,000 which she possessed in her own right, and not her particularly, but only as an accessory, so he was jilted. Next came a long-haired, tall minister, who pressed his suit with all the ardor his glib tongue was capable of, and he won.
They were married and lived together a couple of years, and two children were born to them. The minister went on with his duties, and, outwardly, all seemed to go fairly well, but those most intimate with the family always felt that there was some mystery connected with him; yet, suspect as much as they might, they could not charge him with any irregularities. A perfect specimen of a man he was, endowed with high social qualities, and capable of taking a high place in the ministry.
One fine day, however, he went out from the ministerial home for a morning walk, leaving the young wife and two babes to await his coming to dinner. Dinner that day waited and continued to wait, and is still waiting after the lapse of thirty-four years, for it is a literal fact that no one, so far as is known on earth, ever saw the minister and husband after he crossed the threshold that morning in 1863 for a walk.
Back to the mother and uncle on the farm went the young mother. A few months in silence, then came the record of a criminal trial for murder in a neighboring state, where a minister had been tried for his life, but by some technical legal flaw got off. Reading the trial record it was clearly brought out that this fiend had cut his wife’s throat from ear to ear, as she lay in bed, and in such a manner as to make it thought she had committed suicide. In refutation of that theory, it was most clearly shown that the former wife could not, no matter how much disposed, do the deed herself, but that the fiend of a husband did it, and that he afterwards fled to Ontario and to the Whitbies, and married our most beautiful maid. This was too much for the mother and uncle. Their beautiful farm was sold, and back to the Midland counties of England again they went, taking the young deserted wife and the two fatherless babes with them.
The bachelor brother has lately been gathered to his fathers, and the sister has become a very old woman. The deserted wife, now the mother of a young man and a young woman, is in her early old age, retaining still much of the beauty of her earlier years, while she learns to grow old gracefully. In deeds of charity and kindnesses to her neighbors her time is occupied, and she is seemingly happy in the love of her children. Her home-life in the Whitbies is never thought of. Lately, however, a resident near her Canadian home called upon her, and found that she had kept her property intact from her graceless minister-husband, and was surrounded by such outward comfort and even splendor as grand old England alone can give.
Even surrounded with these pleasant accessories, she is said to have inquired very minutely about her home across the water, and of those who were once her friends and neighbors, while a sigh escaped her as she sat and gazed as if looking far across the broad Atlantic, where she had spent so many happy, as well as unhappy, days in her home in Ontario.
CHAPTER XII.
Fenianism—A claimant for my father’s farm—A scare at Port Oshawa—Guns, forks and clubs for fighting—Awkward squad—Guard catch a young man out courting—The Fenian raid of 1866—A Catholic priest taken prisoner—United States Government at last cries “Stop!”—Adventure in high life—A youth runs away from home—Tragic death of the mother of the runaway—Marries the serving-maid—Wedding and funeral journey in one.
“In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For Love is heaven, and heaven is Love.”
FENIANISM at first did not attract much attention. In 1865 rumors continually reached us of head centres, drillings, armings, massings, and other notes of warlike preparations among United States Fenians. Our Government had spies promptly among them. Clever fellows they were, who entered the lodges and wormed out all their secrets.
As the days went by and the rumors increased, gathering force by repetition and transmission, our people began to feel alarmed. There were very few sympathizers in Canada, but, preposterous as it may seem, there were some, and certain of these, more valiant and outspoken than others, talked of what they would do when the Fenians did come. Con. Lyons, of Oshawa, a respectable man, working for his livelihood, made no secret of saying he had chosen my father’s homestead farm as his share in the prospective division of property taken by the Fenian invaders. Timorous people became very nervous, and “the Fenians” were the topic of the day.
Neighbors gathered nightly in each other’s houses, and debated over the prospects, conjecturing and planning what they would do with their horses and stock when the invaders landed. To run them off into the forests seemed to be the general solution of that difficulty met in advance by those who feared even the very next breeze from the south might bring in a shipload of Fenians from the United States to occupy this part of Ontario. Persons residing near the shore of Lake Ontario began to watch for strange craft. The excitement was too tense to be kept up long. Something must occur to quiet it down.
On the hot misty evening of June 26th, 1865, someone about Port Oshawa saw the spars of a ship just
CANADIAN REBELLION, 1837-8. REFUGEES FROZEN IN AT OSWEGO, N.Y.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
out from the shore, as if of a vessel at anchor. Anon the ship’s yawl could be faintly descried making for the shore. The evening was very still, and through the mist the ear helped the eye, as it were, as the sound of oars in the row-locks could be distinctly heard. This regular “swish” and “thud” of rowers in unison came to startled ears.
It was enough. A young man got a horse and rode for sweet life to Oshawa, three miles away, calling aloud as he rode, “They have landed! they have landed!”
Yet not all who had previously gathered at each other’s houses were within hearing of the dreadful tidings of the landing. One Cumberland man went to his neighbor’s door at midnight, knocked and called out, “John, the Fenians have a’ com’d!”
In Oshawa town the consternation was too great and genuine to be ludicrous, at least just then. Not a few persons loaded waggons with all they could put on them, and climbing to the top of the furniture and bedding drove away northward. “No Fenians should catch us!”
We were all summoned by the Colonel, John McGill, to assemble at the town hall. My father shouldered his double-barrelled fowling-piece, and I grasped a green “shillelah” in default of a gun, and repaired with many others to the rendezvous. The illustration at [page 236] is of the “awkward squad” who thus mustered in valiant defence of their native town.
It should not, however, be viewed with too critical an eye. Remember we were all summoned at five minutes’ notice, no time being given even to change our clothes. Every second the Fenians were expected to march up Simcoe Street from Port Oshawa.
We prepared to march—men with guns in front, those with forks next, and those with clubs in the rear. There were, however, many in the town who did not prepare to march, but who ran and hid, fancying “one live coward is worth two dead heroes.” Men, somehow, were rather scarce there just then. We stood upon our arms, forks and clubs, waiting for the word—which was never given.
Another horseman came from Port Oshawa, and told us a boat’s crew had come ashore for milk and provisions, as well as to get their reckoning, not knowing where they were. Inoffensive fellows enough, but they deserved a drubbing for giving us needless alarm.
This state of feeling or tension was not confined to our neighborhood, but was common to the country generally.
Finding there was no immediate attack imminent, our courage began to rise, and we in that town hall, resting upon our arms or clubs, became anxious to “wipe out” the enemy. Night patrols were set—first night, men with guns; next night, those who had forks borrowed the guns; next, club-men took their turn.
My father, always somewhat of a wag, arrested a young man about eleven o’clock at night by threatening to fire if he did not halt. He halted. It was young Allen, whom my father knew well. He begged hard to be let off, but that could not be permitted unless he explained why he was out so late. “I have just been over to Mr. Cinnamon’s to see his daughter. Please let me go.” “Well, don’t you be caught out so late again courting,” and he was let off for the time. In a few nights the watch was discontinued. But no Fenians came that year.
The following year, 1866, they came and, landing, raided the shore of Lake Erie, and the battle at Ridgeway was the result. There a number of the militia who were called out to defend the country, many of them mere lads, were killed. Others died later from the effects of the over-exertion and excitement. Among the former was young Willie Tempest, from Oshawa, a Trinity College (Toronto), student, who went to the front with his company in the Queen’s Own Rifles.
The indignation and patriotic excitement throughout the country proved to the invaders and any sympathizers with them within our borders that Canadians were loyal to their own Government and would not suffer invasion of their soil.
Called to a knowledge of the breach of national law in allowing the arming of a hostile force within her territory, the United States Government gave the necessary orders to her officials. This, following the ill-success of the raid, put a stop to active Fenianism on our western boundary line for the time.
A second somewhat similar attempt was even more quickly repulsed at Eccles’ Hill, in the Eastern Townships, Quebec, in 1870.
Among the prisoners taken at Ridgeway was a young Catholic priest. He was lodged in the Penitentiary at Kingston for being caught in such bad company. At first it was thought we would keep him there, but as time passed and the excitement against those who had caused the loss of our men cooled, sorrow for the unfortunate misguided young father softened our hearts. The prison doors were opened, he was bidden depart and be seen no more in our land. He said he would not, and I believe he has kept his word faithfully.
“Born with a silver spoon in his mouth” is a very laconic way Canadians have of expressing the case of a child born of rich parents. The young man of the following sketch was the only son and probable heir to riches, both on the father’s and mother’s side. He had a sister, it is true, who would likely inherit a proportion of the family wealth. In that respect Canadians are like the people of the British Isles, who do not intend the daughters to share equally with the sons. Among our American cousins they have broken off from the old traditions, and the girls inherit equally with the boys.
Unfortunately for this youth he did not get on well with his father, nor did he shine very brilliantly at school, but through all he was ever the mother’s favorite.
After the completion of the Canadian Pacific Rail-wax-many of the young men of the older Provinces were disposed to try their luck in British Columbia. Among such adventurers were two lads of the same town, and schoolmates of this young man. This fact probably fired his ambition, for in midwinter these two boys were joined by the young heir. Together they ran away, going direct to Golden, a point on the new line of railway in British Columbia. His mother had provided him with some funds, else they had found it difficult to survive through the approaching winter. Arrived at Golden, they secured a tent and lived in it when the mercury registered 20° (Fah.) below zero. It is very evident the lad had good “grit,” as is said in America, to thus come straight from luxury to live and lodge with nothing between him and that awful cold but a little cotton web.
On the ice breaking up in the spring the three runaways secured a strong row-boat and ascended the Columbia River six days’ journey, voyaging by day and camping by night upon the shore. At their journey’s end they bought a ranch, built a cabin on it, and took up housekeeping, each one in turn being cook. Thus two seasons passed away, and no word was sent home direct to the parents of our youth. They had heard of him only indirectly through the parents of the two other runaways.
The mother, though surrounded by luxury and comfort, with every wish gratified, could no longer endure the separation, so she determined to go and see that erring son, even if at the risk of her life, for she was a woman whose health was uncertain and had been so for some years. First, she had a Peterboro’ cedar canoe built, capable of easily carrying five persons, and had it shipped by Canadian Pacific Railway to Golden, B.C., the objective point from which the son had set out.
Taking her uncle as an escort, and her maid, she set out on the fatiguing journey. Arrived at Golden, she took possession of the boat and provisioned it for the voyage up the Columbia. Camping at night with nothing but the blue canopy of heaven for a covering, they reached the ranch at last. Then an unlooked-for thing occurred. The young runaway laid siege to the serving-maid’s heart, and was determined to marry her. In her precarious state of health, however, the mother, not approving of the match, refused, and said she needed the girl to take care of her. After a stay of some three weeks with her son at the ranch (where the runaways were ostensibly raising horses), the mother and her party returned to Golden, finding the journey down stream comparatively easy. From Golden they made their way to Victoria, and thence by sea to San Francisco, proceeding then to Santa Barbara, Southern California. The mother hoped the mild climate would restore her health. She occupied tasteful quarters, and for a time her health improved. She was able to enjoy the flowers and out-of-door life and pleasures. In Southern California their midwinter days are days of sunshine; picnics and such pastimes are truly enjoyable. She was not, however, to enjoy them long, for death came very suddenly and without a moment’s warning.
When the tidings of her death reached the son, he came at once that he might convey the remains to the home in Ontario. Meeting the maid again, and forgetful of his mother’s wishes, he married her, and took her with him to his old home. Truly a strange journey, his bride with him, and his mother’s dead body in the baggage car on the same train. From his mother the lad inherited tens of thousands of dollars, and is probably heir to many more.
CHAPTER XIII.
The French in Upper Canada—Sir Wilfrid Laurier—Voyageurs and their songs—“A la Claire Fontaine”—Money-lenders—Educational matters—Expatriated Canadians—Successful railway speculation—A shrewd banker.
“Such is the patriot’s boast, where’er we roam,
His first, best country ever is at home.”
—Goldsmith, “The Traveller.”
ALTHOUGH Upper Canada is essentially an English-speaking province, there are many settlements throughout its wide area composed of other nationalities, emigrants from European nations, who have founded colonies within its borders. Quebec is more French, it being the old Canada, or New France, and in it the two languages are equally spoken. Still, although there are not noticeably many French in the Upper Province, there are small groups of them here and there, chiefly among the laboring classes.
The most picturesque figure in Canada to-day is Sir Wilfrid Laurier, and as Premier of the Dominion we may claim him as belonging to us in Ontario as well as to his native Province of Quebec. The son of a provincial land surveyor, he is a man of finished culture and education, whose eloquence is as fluently expressed in one language as in the other. After taking a full classical course at L’Assomption College, he studied law, took the degree of B.C.L. at McGill College, Montreal, was for a time editor of a prominent and influential Lower Canadian journal, later became well known as a powerful and skilful counsel in both civil and criminal cases, and was created a Q.C. in 1880.
He came into politics as an associate of Dorion, Laflamme and others of the old Liberal school in Lower Canada; later has called himself a Liberal of the English school, a pupil of Charles Fox and Daniel O’Connell. His débût in the Legislature of Lower Canada created a sensation, “not more by the finished grace of his oratorical abilities than by the boldness and authority with which he handled the deepest political problems.” The effect of his “fluent, cultured and charming discourse” is described by the poet Frechette as “magical.” The brilliant Frenchman, who is yet so proud of his country and of being a British subject, who has been honored and received by Her Imperial Majesty the Queen, decorated with the ribbon of the Legion of Honor by France, and given audience in the Vatican by the Pope, has taken a stand in Canada and wielded an influence for good government, broad statesmanship and a wide-reaching Imperial policy that falls to the lot of few men to have the opportunity given them, and to still fewer the ability to grasp when the opportunity arrives.
The denunciation of the treaties between Great Britain and Germany and Belgium are the result of his efforts to clear the way to securing preferential trade between the mother-country and her colonies. “For this and the marvellous goal to which it leads,” said the London Times, “Laurier’s name must live in the annals of the British Empire.”
Both the French and English languages are spoken by the ministers of the Crown, and it is to be regretted that Upper Canadians are not more sensible of the value of possessing a knowledge of two languages. Many are, of course, taught the French as an accomplishment, but few can speak it fluently. In Lower Canada, where both languages are spoken and required in business, the knowledge is more appreciated.
The French habitants or peasants are a merry, contented, laughter-loving, light-hearted people. The men spend the winters in the woods or timber limits, felling the timber, hewing the great logs or drawing them by the aid of horses or oxen to the surface of the frozen rivers, and the summers in “driving” the logs, enclosing them in the booms (logs with ends fastened together by chains to form a barrier or enclosure for the loose floating logs), and in taking the great rafts down the St. Lawrence to Quebec. Many a river shore in Upper Canada re-echoes the songs of the French-Canadian lumberman or voyageur in the twilight of a summer evening. They are men of fine physique and many have strong sweet musical voices. The songs, with the accompaniment of the lap of the water, the rhythmic sound of oar or paddle, the soft breeze swaying the trees, and the murmur of the distant rapid or waterfall, are among the things to be enjoyed.
“La Claire Fontaine” is one of the favorite songs of these men. I append here a translation, which robs it to some extent of its lightsome character. The repetition of the last two lines in the verse as the first two of the following is characteristic of several of the best known of these chansons, and adds much to their popularity.