Transcriber’s Note:

The correction listed in the Erratum has been incorporated into the original.

HUMOURS OF ’37
GRAVE, GAY AND GRIM

REBELLION TIMES IN THE CANADAS.

BY
ROBINA AND KATHLEEN MACFARLANE LIZARS,
Authors of “In the Days of the Canada Company: the Story of the
Settlement of the Huron Tract.”

“The humours are commonly the most important and most
variable parts of the animal body.”

TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS,
Wesley Buildings.

C. W. COATES, Montreal.	S. F. HUESTIS, Halifax.
1897.

Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by Kathleen MacFarlane Lizars, at the Department of Agriculture.

PREFACE.

The title of this book is built upon the assumption that humour is a sense of incongruity, not that there was anything specially humorous in the affairs of ’37 beyond that which arose from the crudeness of the times.

A medium between the sacrifice of detail attendant on compilation, and the loss of effect in a whole picture through too close application of the historic microscope, has been attempted. True proportion is difficult to compass at short range, yet the motives, ideas and occurrences which produced the animosities leading to the Rebellion were the inheritance, the special property, of the men who lived then; and of them few remain. To those who do and who have so kindly given their reminiscences special thanks are due. The works of the documentary and the philosophic historian lie on the shelves ready to one’s hand; but those who were “Loyalist” and “Rebel” are quickly dropping into that silence where suffering and injustice, defeat and victory, meet in common oblivion.

Like lichens on rocks, myths have grown about that time; but the myth is worth preserving for the sake of the germ of truth which gave it birth. Historians sometimes tell the truth, not always the whole truth, certainly never anything but the truth, and nothing is to be despised which gives a peep at the life as it really was. For complexion of the times, the local colour of its action, there can be nothing like the tale of the veteran, of the white-haired, dim-eyed survivor, whose quaking voice tells out the story of that eventful day. A page from Pepys or Bellasys lifts a curtain upon what really took place when the historic essence fails; then some morsels of secret history come to light, and motives and actions hitherto puzzling stand revealed.

Were all contributed sentences herein to have their rights in inverted commas the publisher’s stock would be exhausted. The prejudice in favour of Italics has not been observed in certain cases. “A bas les prejudices;” in Canada French is not a foreign language.

It is also assumed that every Canadian is familiar with Canadian history, and that some one or other of its masters is well fixed in school memories. To those masters, and to many others, an apology is tendered for wholesale appropriation of their matter. If every statement made herein were substantiated by the customary foot-note many unsightly pages would be the result; therefore, as no statement has been made without due authority, we commend our readers to the writings of Parkman, Garneau, Dent, McMullen, McCarthy, Macaulay, Michelet, DeGaspé, LeMoine, David, Morgan, Carrier, Bonnycastle, F. B. Head, George Head, Macgregor, Bender, Lindsay, Rattray, Scadding, Thompson and others; to the writings and biographies of the statesmen and governors quoted; to Governmental Journals and House of Commons Debates; for the record of events as they daily took place to innumerable manuscripts, pamphlets and newspapers, written or published between Sarnia and Quebec and in many American cities, covering in particular the years ’36, ’37, ’38, ’39, ’40; and to various sources where Canada is treated as a side issue and not as a main point. Theller and McLeod have been used where the corroborative testimony of others warrants a transcription of their humours.

“Whether an eagle or ant in the intellectual world seems to me not to matter much,” says Joubert. The work of the humble ant is to gather fragments, and, as the humblest in the tribe, the collectors of the data from which this mélange has risen offer it to the public, and as humbly hope they have come within the same writer’s further observation: “A small talent, if it keeps within its limits and rightly fulfils its task, may reach the goal just as well as a great one.”

Stratford, October, 1897.

Several score of authorities, known or comparatively unknown, have been drawn on in the compilation of Gallows Hill. Bill Johnston and Colonel Prince, as they appear here, are derived from twenty-one and twenty-six authorities respectively. Therefore when the hundredth, and the twenty-second, and the twenty-seventh, shall arise to contradict, or disagree with, each and every word herein, the authors beg to be allowed to see nothing but a humour in the situation.

NEW WORDS TO AN OLD SONG;
OR, JOHN GILPIN TRAVESTIED.

[We are indebted to Miss FitzGibbon for a copy of the Cobourg Star of February 7th, 1838, in which appears, under the above title, an epitome, from one point of view, of Rebellion events. Its humours make it a fitting introduction for the papers which follow.]

“Now puny discord first broke out,
And fools rebelled; but what about
They could not tell.”

There lived in famed Toronto town
A man not very big,
A belted knight was he likewise,—
Knight of the old bay wig.

Mackenzie was this hero called,
From Scotia’s land he came,
To sow and reap—if e’er he could—
The seeds of future fame.

Well taught was he to broil and scold,
To slander and to lie,
The good to libel—but the bad
Around him close to tie.

A precious clan this hero got
To join him in the cause
Of Freedom, which but truly meant
Upturning of our laws.

He travelled all the country round,
With grievances his cry;
Then off to father John, at home,
Right quickly did he hie.

And then he told so many lies
That John began to stare;
And eke he talked so very large
That John began to swear.

Then out Mackenzie pulled the roll
Of those who did complain;
And for redress of grievances
He bawled with might and main.

Now John a so-so clerk had got—
A Janus-looking elf,
Who cared for nothing else of earth
But sleeping and himself.

Glenelg was snoring in his chair
His custom every day—
Then up he got and rubbed his eyes
To brush the sleep away.

Said he, “Rebellion is our love,
In it we do delight;
So now you may go back again,
We’ll soon set things to right;

“For you and all the world must know,
By it our place we keep.”
But scarcely had he spoke these words
When he was fast asleep.

And when he’d slept ten months or so,
He called him for a pen;
But long before it ready was
He’d sunk to sleep again.

Now goodman Stephen in his ear
In whispering accents said—
“Both pens and paper now, my Lord,
Are on your table laid.”

So quick he took the gray goose-quill,
And wrote a neat despatch;
Says he, “I think that that, at least,
Their Tory wiles will match.

“Just as my name, it may be read
Whichever way you like,
Or Whig or Tory, as may best
The reader’s fancy strike.

“So And me now Sir Francis Head,—
A learned knight is he,—
Successor to the brave Sir John
I vow that man shall be.”

Sir Francis came, but long declined
The proffered post to take,
Until convinced by Lord Glenelg
’Twas for Reform’s sake.

“Now take this book,” his Lordship said,
“And in it you may see
The many wrongs that do oppress
A people blest and free.

“And take you also this despatch,
And read it over well;
But to the people you need not
Its whole contents to tell.”

Sir Francis bowed, and off he came
In hurry to be here;
And rabble shout and rabble praise
Fell thick upon his ear.

But full amazed was he to see
The good Sir John depart;
For blessings flowed from many a lip
And sighs from many a heart.

“Good lack!” quoth he, “but this is strange
Which I do now behold,
For that Sir John most hated was
In England we were told!”

And then he made a little speech,
And said he’d let them know,
What his instructions fully were
He meant to them to show.

It happened then our worthy knights
Were met in Parliament,
And unto them a copy neat
Of the despatch he sent.

And then they blustered and they fumed
And acted as if mad,
And said though things were bad before,
They now were twice as bad.

And then they asked that from their ranks
Six Councillors he’d choose—
Six men of wisdom, whose advice
In all behests he’d use.

To humour them he did his best,
And quickly tried the plan, sir:
But quite as quickly he found out
That it would never answer.

He said, “One law shall be my guide,
From which I’ll never swerve—
The Constitution I’ll uphold
With all my might and nerve.”

So shortly to the right-about
He sent them in a hurry,
Which caused among their loving friends
A most outrageous flurry.

The House was filled with witty chaps,
Who of a joke were fond;
They thought it would be mighty fine
To ask him for a “Bond.”

And then were speeches long and thick,
With nonsense and with rant,
And “Rights of Council” soon became
Reformers’ fav’rite cant.

And then one Peter Perry rose,
And in a flaming speech
He vowed that he Sir Francis Head
The use of laws would teach.

He said he had a plan which should
The country’s temper try,
And then he moved him that the House
Would stop the year’s supply.

A mighty struggle then arose,
Of who’d be first to vote;
For they their lessons well had read
And knew them all by rote.

Now up the Speaker of the House
With hasty step arose,
A letter from a friend below
He on the table throws.

The letter, read, was found to be
With treason full well pack’d;
It begg’d that rebels from below
Might by that House be back’d.

To print it, it was found too late—
Alas! they were not able,
For, dire mischance, some wicked wight
Had stole it from the table.

Sir Francis took them at their word—
He was as quick as they—
And with a speech that made them wince
He sent them all away.

Addresses now from far and near
To him came pouring in,
That he would give the people chance
Of choosing better men.

And now each Briton’s bosom beat chance
Right joyous at the thought,
That they at length had gained the
Which they so long had sought.

Our tried and trusty Governor,
Of rebel well aware,
Defied their malice, and them told
“To come on if they dare.”

Now all around our happy land
Was heard a joyous shout—
Of forty-seven, rebels all,
Full thirty were left out.

Ex-Speaker Bidwell in the dumps
Vow’d politics he’d quit;
For well he know in that there House
He never more could sit.

Mackenzie also lost his place,
“And whete and phlower” too,
Mud Turtle and his hopeful gang
Were left their deeds to rue.

And Loyalty triumphant was
In almost every place,
Its bitter foes were left at home
To batten on disgrace.

Of Doctor Duncombe must I tell,
Who off to England hies,
And thought a wondrous job to work
By pawning off his lies.

How, decked with jewels of all kinds,
He looked so mighty gay,
And how his name he quickly changed
When he got well away.

And how he met with Jocky R.,
And Josey Hume, also,
And what a jolly set they were
When planning what to do.

And soon they summ’d up all our wants
The “tottle” for to find;
Said Josey, “Soon a storm I’ll raise,”
Said Duncombe, “That is kind.

“And—for I know you never stick
At trick’ry or at lie;
I think we might make out a case
Twix’t Roebuck, you and I.”

But when they’d said their utmost say,
And vented all their spleen,
The truth it shortly came to light,
Such things had never been.

And then Sir Francis high was praised
And just applauses met,
And by his King he straightway was
Created Baronet.

Not so Lord Gosford, who, intent
His nat’ral bent to show,
The titled minion had become
Of Speaker Papineau.

In him rebellion evermore
Was sure to find a friend;
His only study seemed to be
His utmost help to lend.

It happen’d that the rebel gang
Some resolutions passed,
To which they swore that they would stick
Unto the very last.

And Melbourne then, to ease their fears,
Three knowing G’s (geese) did send,
To see if they could calm the French
And make their murmurs end.

They quickly came, Lord Gosford chief,
A pretty set were they,
And Jean Baptiste, he swore outright
He not a sou would pay.

Lord Johnny Russell then got wrath,
And spoke as lion bold,
That he the money soon should get
As in the time of old.

The Frenchmen at St. Charles then
Did loud assert their right;
But soon they found ’twas easier far
To make a speech than fight.

For quick the Loyalists around
Their much loved flag did rally,
The battle-shout was heard throughout
The broad St. Lawrence valley.

Corunna’s chieftain, he was there,
With gallant Wetherall,
And many loyal men, prepared
To conquer or to fall.

How British bayonets did their Work
Let razed St. Charles tell;
St. Eustache, also, where in scores
The dastard rebels fell.

Of gallant Markham would I sing,
And others if I could;
Of Weir, who most inhumanly
Was murdered in cold blood.

But soon the traitors were compelled
With grief to bite the dust;
They crouched beneath the British flag,
As every traitor must.

But where were they, the gallant chiefs,
Who led the people on?
In vain you searched, for they away
To Yankee-land had gone.

Among the rebels there were found
Some dozen M.P.P.’s;
Who now confined in jail may pass
The winter at their ease.

But to Sir Mac. we now return,
From whom we’ve strayed too long;
This verse, I think, will just conclude
The middle of my song.

Mackenzie and his rebel gang
In Doel’s brewery met,
“A bung-hole pack,” Jim Dalton calls
This mischief-brewing set.

And there they laid down all their plans
Of this great revolution,
And destined Rolph to be the head
Of their new Constitution.

At length unto this crew the Knight
A flaming speech addressed,
And told the plan which after all
Did unto him seem best.

Said he: “My true and trusty friends,
Though we have promised been
Reform these many years, yet we
Reform have never seen.

“So now, my lads, no longer we
In anxious doubt must wait,
The time has come for pulling down
The Church, the Queen, and State.

“For vote by ballot we must have,
And stars and garters too,
And we must hang Sir Francis Head,
With all his Tory crew.

“I’ve written round to all my friends
That they should ready be,
And as of them we are now sure
We’ll gain the victory.

“The Tories all securely sleep,
And dream they’ve naught to fear,
Nor little think that to their end
They now are drawing near.

“John Strachan now is quite at rest,
And Robinson likewise;
But soon at Freedom’s shrine of them
We’ll make a sacrifice.

“The red-coats, too, are far away,
Removed from every station,
And now it is our time to burst
From ‘hateful domination.’

“The Yankees also are prepared
To lend a helping hand
To breed confusion and dismay
Throughout this happy land.

“And now, my friends, in right good truth,
We’ve little time to spare,
Go quick, collect your several bands
And arm them with great care.”

When he had done, all gave a shout
To show their courage high,
And then obedient to his words
In various paths they fly.

The blacksmith Lount, he active was
Both spears and swords to make,
And General Duncombe hoped that soon
Fort Malden he might take.

Mackenzie to mail-robbing took—
A most delightful trade
For one who every blackguard art
Erstwhile had well essayed.

And when he got three hundred men,
All brave ones as himself,
He then marched to Toronto town
To see and gain some pelf.

Their gallant deeds and gallant acts
I’m sure I need not tell,
How full four hundred armed men
Ran from the College bell.

Nor how full thirty men at least
Did one old man attack,
Nor dared to fight him face to face,
But shot him in the back.

How good Sir Frank a flag of truce
With Rolph and Baldwin sent
Unto the rebel camp, to ask
Them what was their intent;

And how they (prompted by the twain)
Declared ’twas their intention
To settle all the State affairs
By General Convention.

And then Toronto in a blaze
They threatened for to set,
But nearer than Montgomery’s
They ne’er to it could get.

’Twas on the seventh of that month
Which we do call December,
Sir Francis Head led out his men,—
That day we’ll long remember.

And then ’twas glorious fun to see
What rabble rout could do,—
They every man took to his heels,
The word was, Sauve qui peut.

Some hundred taken prisoners were
On that eventful day;
Sir Francis with too kind a heart
He let them all away.

But “Which way did the leaders run?”
I think I hear you ask;
To tell which way they took, I ween,
Would be an arduous task.

Soon as the news of this outbreak
Had gone the country through,
It was a glorious sight to see
How quick to arms they flew;

And ’mongst the foremost in the ranks
To quell the rebel band,
Old Erin’s dauntless shamrock stood
A guardian of the land.

And then was seen old England’s rose
In all its pride and glory;
And Scotland’s thistle, which is known
In many a deathless story.

And with them joined thy valiant sons,
My own adopted land,
To form around the Queen and laws
A glorious valiant band.

MacNab his gallant volunteers
Led anxious to the fight,
And all the west poured in her troops
To stand in freedom’s right.

Newcastle, too, her quota sent
Of men both good and true;
In truth it was a cheering sight
Their bearing high to view.

Of Cobourg, too, I needs must sing,
Which on that trying day
The fire of virtuous loyalty
Did to our eyes display.

There Conger with his company,
With Calcutt and with Clarke,
And Warren, with his rifle band,
Whom every eye did mark.

And on they went, a gallant set,
To stop the foes rebelling;
How many prisoners they took
Would take some time in telling.

Meanwhile Mackenzie, safe and sound,
Had got to Buffalo;
The Yankees sympathized with him
And made him quite a show.

Neutrality it was their law,
But that they never minded,
They sympathized with rebels so
It quite their reason blinded.

Their papers, too, were filled with stuff,
With nonsense and with lies:
So fast they told them, that you’d think
They lied but for some prize.

At length, when after much ado
They got two hundred men,
Mackenzie in high spunk set off
To try the job again.

At first I hear ’twas their intent
At Waterloo to land,
But Newcastle’s good rifles there
Were ready to their hand.

Rensselaer then took the command
Of those degraded wretches,
For some had neither coat nor hat,
And some not even breeches.

To Navy Island then they went,
And there made a great splutter,—
A Constitution printed off,
And many threats did utter.

Alas, for Yankee modesty!
It really is quite shocking,
Some ladies made the rebels shirts,
And some, too, sent them stocking.

Of many acts which by our men
Right gallantly were done,
I’ve spun my verse to such a length
I can relate but one.

And that the very gallant act
Of Captain Andrew Drew,
Whose name must be immortalized,
Likewise his daring crew.

A Yankee steamer oft had tried
The rebels aid to bring;
This English seaman swore that he
Would not allow the thing.

The Captain and his valiant crew,
Whose names I wot not all,
From Schlosser cut the steamboat out
And sent her o’er the Fall.

Oh! then the Yankees stormed outright,
And spoke of reparation;
A mighty flame then rose through this
Tobacco-chewing nation.

But little Mat was far too wise
The risk of war to run,
For he was one who never thought
In fighting there was fun.

So quickly to the frontier he
Sent General Winfield Scott,
Who in last war at Lundy’s Lane
A right good drubbing got.

Meanwhile upon the rebel host
Our guns so well did play
With shot and shell that they right soon
Were glad to run away.

And Duncombe, too, oh! where is he,
The Doctor, brave and bold?
Some say that he is dead and gone,
Being perished in the cold.

And now that the rebellion’s o’er
Let each true Briton sing,
Long live the Queen in health and peace,
And may each rebel swing.

And good Sir Francis Head, may he
With health and peace be crowned;
May earthly happiness to him
For evermore abound.

God prosper, too, my own loved land,
Thy sons so brave and true,
A heavy debt of loyalty
Doth England owe to you.

But as for those said Yankee chaps,
They well may pine and fret,
For, by lord Harry, they will have
To pay us all the debt.

And now to Mac. there’s still one step
To end his life of evil;
Soon may he take the last long leap
From gibbet to the——.

CONTENTS.

	PAGE
Baneful Domination	13
More Baneful Domination	44
The Canadas at Westminster	63
A Call to Umbrellas	91
Le Grand Brule	132
Gallows Hill	161
Autocrats All	202
Huron’s Age Heroic	272
Deborahs of ’37	308

HUMOURS OF ’37.

Baneful Domination.

“Every reform was once a private opinion, and when it shall be a private opinion again it will solve the problem of the age.”

The vivacious Pompadour enlivens the twenty years of her boudoir conspiracies playing les graces with her lord’s colonies. She throws the ring; Pitt, at the other end of the game, catches Canada.

The mills of the gods in their slow grind have reversed the conditions of the contestants; the Norman conquest of England becomes a British conquest of New France. The descendants of the twenty thousand barbarians who landed at Hastings have but come to claim their own.

Life is “moving music.” The third movement in this historic sonata comes back to the original subject, even if the return to the tonic opens in a minor mode.

“Gentlemen, I commend to your keeping the honour of France,” says the dying Montcalm.

“Now, God be praised, I die in peace!” and Wolfe expires.

The fiercest of the conflict ever rages round a bit of bunting on the end of a stick. The lilies of France come down; up goes the Union Jack to usher in the birthday of the Greater Britain, and Horace Walpole says, “We are forced to ask every morning what victory there is, for fear of missing one.”

Voltaire gives a fête at Fernay to celebrate the deliverance from fifteen hundred leagues of frozen country; the Pompadour tells her Louis that now he may sleep in peace; and outsiders ask of Pitt that which a celebrated novelist, a century later, asks of his hero—“What will he do with it?” “The more a man is versed in business,” said the experienced Pitt, “the more he finds the hand of Providence everywhere.”

But Providence would need to have broad shoulders if generals, kings and statesmen are to place all their doings there.

By 1837 Canada was no longer a giant in its cradle. Colonial boyhood had arrived; a most obstreperous and well-nigh unmanageable youth, with many of the usual mistakes of alternate harshness and indulgence from the parent. For it was not all wisdom that came from Downing Street, either in despatches or in the gubernatorial flesh. It is easy now to see that much emanating therefrom came from those whose vision was confined to the limits of a small island.

The great lubberly youth was given to measuring himself from time to time; for Canadian epochs are much like the marks made by ambitious children on the door jamb, marks to show increase in height and a nearer approach to the stature of the parent.

Canadians’ privileges, like children’s, existed only during the good pleasure of those who governed them. Some meant well and did foolishly; others were “somewhat whimsical, fond of military pomp, accustomed to address deputations, parliamentary or others, as if they had been so many recruits liable to the quickening influence of the cat-o’-nine-tails.” One peer in the House of Lords, during a debate on the vexed Canadian question, demurred at the members of Colonial Assemblies being treated like froward children, forever tied to the Executive leading-strings. Canada was, in fact, bound to the Mother Country by bonds of red tape and nothing else. “Who made you?” catechized Great Britain. In the words of Mr. Henry Labouchere’s precocious young catechumen: “Let bygones be bygones; I intend to make myself,” replied the colony.

The problem of assimilation created by the influx of all nations, and the fact of two divisions, a conquering and a conquered, with languages, customs and creeds as diverse as the peoples, made up an enigma the solution of which still occupies French and English wits alike.

The English and the French temperaments, each the antipodes of the other, called for mutual patience and forbearance. But historic truth compels many admissions: first, that British rule with British freedom left out made a dark period from the Conquest to the Rebellion; second, that the national, religious and intellectual ideas of the French-Canadians, their whole mental attitude, were dominated by the Quebec Act; and the motto given them by Etienne Parent, “Nos institutions, notre langue et nos lois,” had become a kind of fetich. They looked upon themselves as the agents of their mother country and the Church in the New World; and they argued did they give up these laws, institutions and language, and become Anglicized, their nationality would be forever lost.

The toast among officers en route to the Conquest had been, “British colours on every fort, port and garrison in America.” For many years after the British flag had first waved on the citadel the habitant on the plain lifted his eyes to where he had seen the lilies of France, and with heavy heart said to himself that which has become an historic saying, “Still we shall see the old folks back again”—words as pathetic in their hope as the Highlanders’ despairing “We return no more, no more.”

It is doubtful if at this period the old folks bothered themselves much about their late colony. Like their own proverb, “In love there is always one who kisses and one who holds the cheek,” French Canada was expending a good deal of sentiment upon people who had forgotten that tucked away in a remote corner of the new world was “a relic preserved in ice,” a relic of France before the Revolution, its capital the farthermost point of manner and civilization, a town with an Indian sounding name, which yet bore upon its front the impress of nobility. For Quebec is and should be the central point of interest for all Canadians; the history of the old rock city for many a day was in effect the history of Canada. History speaks from every stone in its ruined walls—walls that have sustained five sieges.

The Revolution did not create the same excited interest in Canada that might have been looked for, yet there were those who “wept bitterly” when they heard of the execution of the King. The patois, ignorance, superstition, devotion of its inhabitants, were identical with a time prior to the Revolution; and with them were the same social ideas and the same piety.

But the power divided in France among king, nobles, and priest, in Canada was confined to priest alone; and when the dream of a republic was dreamt it was the priest and not the British soldier who made the awakening. The British soldier and those who sent him seem to have been not a whit better informed about the colony gained than France was about the colony lost. Some London journalists were not sure whether Canada formed part of the Cape of Good Hope or of the Argentine Republic. For a long time the English Government annually sent a flagpole for the citadel, probably grown in a Canadian forest. Nor did time improve their knowledge, for as late as the Trent affair one statesman in the House of Commons informed his more ignorant brethren that Canada was separated from the United States by the Straits of Panama.

The acts of Regicide France inspired horror in Canada, yet were not without their fruits. Despite his title of the “Corsican ogre” and their horror of revolution, the submission of all Europe to Napoleon did not make the French of Canadian birth more submissive. Nor did the nation of shop-keepers, whom he despised and who were to cut his ambition and send him to his island prison, become more plausible, courteous or conciliatory, through their sense of victory. Many a thing, had the positions been reversed, which would have been passed unnoticed by a phlegmatic Briton, was to the Gallican a national insult.

And LeMoine, that past grand master of the Franco-Anglo-Canadian complexion, says all too truthfully that conciliation was not a vice-regal virtue; and one of the singers of the day, a Briton of the Britons, confirms the opinion: