“Very well, then,” said one; “if you give us an order on the Commissary for a gallon of grog we’ll let you go.”
“Give me a p-p-pen then,” said Pryor, “and you can have your g-g-grog.”
He duly wrote the order, which one of the men altered from one to two gallons, and was thereupon set at liberty.
There was little ceremony spent on the furnishing of the commissariat. When a beast was noticed by an officer it was decided that that animal must at once be annexed; but as far as can be learned now there was always a fair remuneration made to the owner. It was claimed by the rival messes that equal fairness was not observed in the distribution of a suddenly acquired dainty. Dunlop had become possessed of a sheep, and great was the rage of Pryor when it was found that the former had requisitioned for the whole animal, for they had all been living on pork for weeks. The Doctor could not resist such opportunity for jokes, and mutton versus pork caused Pryor many an irritation. Nicknames, too, grew from the work and doings of ’37 as easily as they were coined by Dunlop at other times. “Toddy Tam” was the head of the Commissariat, and Robert Young, of Glasgow, who was butcher to the Huron militia, was in consequence called Killit-and-Curit. Thereafter he was best known as Killie Young.
A grand dinner had been the cause of Major Pryor’s guard-house experience. A baker and a butcher had been sent to ransack the countryside for provisions for it, and extraordinary success had crowned their efforts. Colonel Hyndman asked “Toddy Tam” not to serve the major with any of the new-gotten delicacies until he, Hyndman, had entertained his fellow-officers at a dinner. And such a dinner, to men who had been half starved! Mutton and turkey boiled and roast, fowls, and pastry of all sorts and descriptions. “Good God, Hyndman!” exclaimed Pryor, “where did you get all that?”
Hyndman gravely replied that these were his rations. Toddy Tam arrived at the head of the stairway just in time to hear Pryor heaping abuse upon him, saying that “that d—— fellow, the Commissary, had served him with nothing but salt pork ever since he came to Sarnia.” The irate major just then caught sight of the offender, and would have thrown him down the stairway but for the interference of Captains Gooding and Lizars. Careful management and pre-arrangement on the part of his tormentors lodged the gallant and stuttering major in guard-house.
On another occasion, when Hyndman was in advance of Pryor by a day’s march, the former halted his men for rest at Mrs. Westlake’s, where comforts and food were in plenty. Reckoning on the major’s usual blustering manner to bear him out, Colonel Hyndman advised Mrs. Westlake that Major Pryor would arrive next day, and that she had best be on her guard. When Pryor and his men arrived he at once ordered this and shouted for that, desiring the household to bring him every thing at once. To his amazement in marched Mrs. Westlake, a huge pistol in her hand, who without more ado began the work of converting a bully into the most civil and astonished of officers. But with all his faults of manner Pryor had his good points, and only two days previous to this had sent home his man-servant and horses, determined to march with his men and share their hardships.
Doctor Dunlop, “who commanded six hundred and fifty fine fellows at the front,” was much distressed at the lack of money to pay his men. He was advised that a line of express horses had been established between London and Sarnia, and he accordingly detailed Captain Kydd as messenger with a despatch to Colonel John Askin. Captain Kydd tried to evade the commission, as his regimentals were in no trim for appearance at headquarters. His brown moleskin shooting-jacket had seen three sousings in the Maitland, besides much other hard usage as pillow or blanket on mud floors; his Black Hawk cap was too small and sat awkwardly on his head, and the rest of his attire was in keeping. However, he went. After many adventures he reached a station where a retired naval officer and his young and pretty wife were domiciled in a log hut some eight feet high, which was roofed with bass-wood troughs and contained but one room. The kitchen was a bark shanty, a few feet away. There were no signs of cattle about, but the frequent ringing of a cow-bell gave the impression that one must be stabled in the kitchen. Not so, however. A rope connected the “parlour” with the second building, the bell in use being an old cow-bell, the ringing of which was the work of the pretty young wife, who in her own apartment tried, poor soul, to forget her surroundings by keeping up what semblance she could of her former state. The bush in those days was full of such anomalies. When the express equine was brought to the door he had neither saddle nor bridle, a hair halter, perhaps provided by his own tail, his only garnishing. Nothing but the bell-rope could be found to assist in improvising a harness. Captain Kydd had not the heart to deprive the lady of that, and he continued his journey caparisoned with hair halter alone. His tale of danger and discomfort, through what seemed an interminable swamp, can well be believed,—wet, cold and hungry, without sight of another soul until he reached the next station, where he was received and kindly treated by the women relatives of our own Edward Blake. These ladies looked at the half-drowned horse and mud-bespattered man; and full of pity for a supposed backwoodsman in dire distress, were ready to offer him their best hospitality. When he put into their hands his passport as “Captain Kydd of the First Hurons, abroad on special service,” they did not attempt to disguise their amusement, but laughed long and heartily. After a rest of an hour or two, a bath, a rubbing down which deprived him of his coat of mud, and a hearty appreciation from himself and his beast of the good fare set before them, he was ready to pursue his journey. At length London was reached, and the precious despatch put into Colonel Askin’s hands—but with no result, for there was neither official money nor credit. Instead of coin, Colonel Askin gave the messenger a packet addressed to Captain James Strachan, Military Secretary at Government House, Toronto. In vain did Kydd bring forward his coat and Black Hawk cap as sufficient reason for not undertaking a further trip; nor yet were his sufferings from hunger and fatigue on his recent journey allowed to stand in the way of his undergoing fresh distress. The best mode of conveyance obtainable was a common farm-waggon, in which he made his way at a foot pace. He met many people en route, most of them as shabby as himself, and all talking war to the knife. He arrived in Toronto late at night on the third day, but waited until morning to present his despatches at Government House. There the much befogged Secretary not unreasonably looked with disdain at the coat and cap of the special messenger; the despatch was taken within for Sir Francis’ perusal, with the result that another packet, of large size and said to contain the necessary money, was put into Captain Kydd’s hands, and an order given him to return to London by express. Express meant a dirty farm-sleigh with a torn canvas cover. His only travelling companion was a Brant Indian returning to the Reserve, an intelligent, well-educated man and a most pleasant companion. Together they were upset from the sleigh, and together they righted it and its sail-like cover, to resume the weary journey. Upon presentation to Colonel Askin, the important-looking packet was found to be worthless, for the document bore no signature. Captain Kydd was given his original Rosinante, with the same hair halter, and sent back to Sarnia, while another special messenger was despatched to Toronto for the necessary signatures.
The despatch and its bearer had variations. When Black Willie Wallace, of Dunlop’s Scouts, was sent with one from Clinton to Goderich it took nine days to travel the twelve miles and pass the various taverns on the way. The importance of the despatch entered even the childish mind, and one small daughter, whose father was a bearer, cried out as the latter rode up to the gate in full regimentals, “Here’s father with another dampatch.” Always warlike and politicians, these small babes sometimes dealt unpleasant truths to the untrue. One Tory atom when questioned “Where’s your father?” replied, “Father gone to fight the dirty rebels, and brother Dan’el gone to fight the dirty rebels, too.”
Colonel Dunlop swore not a little when Kydd reported himself empty-handed, but tried to keep up his own hopes as well as those of his men. Weeks and months went by, and no money came; privations were great, and the mental trial was added of the knowledge of farms at home going to ruin, families unprovided for, and no prospect for the future. In March the order for return came; but there was no word of any money. The companies were told off for the homeward trip, one day apart, and the record is of a terrible journey in the broken March weather, with roads at their very worst. Dunlop remained behind with others of the officers, for, as he wrote Government in terms not to be mistaken, he had become personally liable to the local stores for clothing and necessaries, and would not leave the place with such indebtedness unpaid.