“First of all, endeavour to discover of what rebellion consists; it is not exactly murder or manslaughter, or precisely highway robbery or burglary; but it may, in a measure, consist of all.” The witty gentleman who wrote thus far was quite right, but his words were two-edged. Lount’s death has more than once been called murder, and rebellion losses discovered some pretty kinds of robbery. “I have looked into all the dictionaries, and I find that the definitions given are pretty much alike; but I would not be quite certain that they are right.” Lord Glenelg had personally written Sir F. B. Head on his appointment a year or so before, “You have been selected for this office at an era of more difficulty and importance than any which has hitherto occurred in the history of that part of His Majesty’s dominions. The expression of confidence in your discretion and ability which the choice implies would only be weakened by any mere formal assurance which I could convey to you.” Now any man who could ascribe discretion and ability to Sir Francis Bond Head had need of recourse to dictionaries.
The bogus Lord Glenelg then continues his theorizing, on the basis that a mascot is a mascot. “A rebel is undoubtedly a person who rebels, and rebellion is unquestionably the act of a rebel; you will therefore ascertain whether there is a rebel, whether that rebel rebels, and if he does rebel whether it be rebellion. Having decided the point, you will then consider what is to be done. I am strongly of opinion that as long as rebellion lasts it will continue. Now, it would be requisite to learn the probable duration of the rebellion, which, I should think, would depend in some measure on the causes which excited it. Your object will be, therefore, to make its continuance as short as possible; and if you cannot suppress it all at once, you will do it as soon as you can. Then, as to the method of suppressing. I know of no way so efficacious as that of putting it down. I would advise neither severity nor conciliation, but only measures which will deter the bad or win them over. I would neither hang, pardon nor fine a single rebel, but let the law take its course, tempered with mercy.” The last Sir George Arthur did.
“By following these general instructions you will most assuredly set the Canadian question at rest, and I comfort myself with the idea that my rest will not be broken up again while I hold the colonial seat. Should any difficulty occur, I beg of you to send to me for further instructions; but I place such confidence in the advice I have already given that I shall not anticipate any application to disturb my slumbers.”
At the date of this ironical issue there were questions, seriously enough put, as to why Lord Gosford should be decorated with the Order of the Bath, the inference from the wording being that, unlike the Garter, it had some “merit” in it; merit which this Tory sheet failed to discover: “Given in a mad spirit of democratical arrogance to make rank and honours mere butts for public derision ... they generate a swarm of obscure baronets”—poor Sir Francis! “Last, and worst, they bestow that distinction, which was intended for the highest military and civil merit, on Lord Gosford, who found a colony in peace(!) and left it in rebellion.” The colony did not think so: il était un excellent homme. L. O. David says that only where he found it impossible to work out his mission of pacification he took vigorous measures, which were forced upon him. He left behind him, says the legend, le trop-célèbre Colborne.
I have laboured with all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours, said each debater; and Canada, Shakespearian in turn, replied, “Pray you, let us not be the laughingstocks of other men’s humours.”
There were many winter nights of ’37 made anxious to the colonies, when “Goderich, amiable but timid, ... Lord Glenelg, sleepy, ... Howick, mischievous, ... and the real Judas, Mr. Stephen, debated leisurely, and Mr. Disraeli began his romance of politics.”
“Well, Mr. Disraeli,” said Lord Melbourne, “what is your idea in entering Parliament?” “To be Prime Minister, my Lord,” was the daring answer; not quite as, in their minor world of politics, Papineau and Mackenzie dreamt of presidency in new republics.
On the night of Gallows Hill, December 7, ’37, while Toronto was in a flutter of excited wonder and self-congratulation, while Mackenzie was speeding one way, Rolph another, and Papineau had already crossed the lines, the British House of Commons echoed to the sonorous brogue of the Celtic Thunderer and to Mr. Disraeli’s famous failure of a maiden speech. “A failure is nothing,” said the man destined to be great; “it may be deserved or it may be remedied. In the first instance, it brings self-knowledge; in the second, it develops a new combination which may be triumphant.” Words as prophetic for the failure in Canada as for his own.
If, with Henry VI., we can say of Mackenzie, a bedlam and ambitious humour makes him oppose himself against his king, so might these Lords and Commons, Governors and Commanders, have taken pains with the habitant to “attend him carefully and feed his humours kindly as we may.” The French were such very children. “Oh mon Dieu,” cried one from the bottom of a boat while he and his companions looked momentarily for destruction, “if you mean to do anything, do it quickly! Once we are at the bottom it will be too late. Allons mon Dieu! just one little puff of wind, and we shall escape!”
Far back as the times of the beloved Murray, when they had at his recall petitioned the King to send him back to them—for he and his military council “were upright officers, who, without prejudice and without emolument,” did their best—and received as answer the arrival of Carleton in his stead, they were satisfied. For Carleton “was chosen by your Majesty.” Even the Duke of Richmond, in his short and stormy encounter with the Houses of Assembly, was beloved; why? They hailed the prestige of his exalted rank, for he was not only Duke of Richmond but Duc d’Aubigny, direct from the Duchess of that title, who had been invested with it by Louis Quatorze, their own Grand Monarque, as his other ancestors had been by Charles. Why did not some quick wit in the year ’37 follow the Scotch plan of providing a monarch for England instead of allowing that that place provided rulers for Scotland, and draw a parallel between James, who was Sixth of Scotland before he added England to his domain, and the young Queen whose claim to anything and everything came straight down from France? “The Norman-French of Quebec may well feel proud when they remember that they can claim what no other portion of the Empire can assert—that they are governed by a monarch of their own race, who holds her sceptre as the heir of Rollo, the Norman sea-king, who first led their ancestors forth from the forests of the north to the plains of Normandy.”