Crossing the river St Lawrence at this season of the year is not very
pleasant, as you must force your passage through the large masses of
ice, and are occasionally fixed among them; so that you are swept down
the current along with them. Such was our case for about a quarter of
an hour, and, in consequence, we landed about three miles lower down
than we had intended. The next day the navigation of the river, such as
it was, was stopped, and in eight and forty hours heavy waggons and
carts were passing over where we had floated across.
My course lay through what were termed the _excited_ districts; I had
promised to pass through them, and supply the folks at Montreal with any
information I could collect. The weather was bitterly cold, and all
communication was carried on by sleighs, a very pleasant mode of
travelling when the roads are smooth, but rather fatiguing when they are
uneven, as the sleigh then jumps from hill to hill, like an oyster-shell
thrown by a boy to skim the surface of the water. To defend myself from
the cold, I had put on, over my coat, and under my cloak, a wadded black
silk dressing-gown; I thought nothing of it at the time, but I
afterwards discovered that I was supposed to be one of the rebel priests
escaping from justice.
Although still in the English dominions, I had not been over on the
opposite side more than a quarter of an hour before I perceived that it
would be just as well to hold my tongue; and my adherence to this
resolution, together with my supposed canonicals, were the cause of not
a word being addressed to me by my fellow-travellers. They presumed
that I spoke French only, which they did not, and I listened in silence
to all that passed.
It is strange how easily the American people are excited, and when
excited, they will hesitate at nothing. The coach (for it was the
stage-coach although represented by an open sleigh), stopped at every
town, large or small, every body eager to tell and to receive the news.
I always got out to warm myself at the stove in the bar, and heard all
the remarks made upon what I do really believe were the most absurd and
extravagant lies ever circulated--lies which the very people who uttered
them knew to be such, but which produced the momentary effect intended.
They were even put into the newspapers, and circulated every where; and
when the truth was discovered, they still remained uncontradicted,
except by a general remark that such was the Tory version of the matter,
and of course was false. The majority of those who travelled with me
were Americans who had crossed the St Lawrence in the same boat, and
who must, therefore, have known well the whole circumstances attending
the expedition against St Eustache; but, to my surprise, at every place
where we stopped they declared that there had been a battle between the
insurgents and the King's troops, in which the insurgents had been
victorious; that Sir John Colborne had been compelled to retreat to
Montreal; that they had themselves seen the troops come back (which was
true), and that Montreal was barricaded (which was also true) to prevent
the insurgents from marching in. I never said one word; I listened to
the exultations--to the declarations of some that they should go and
join the patriots, etcetera. One man amused me by saying--"I've a great
mind to go, but what I want is a good general to take the command; I
want a Julius Caesar, or a Bonaparte, or a Washington--then I'll go."
I stopped for some hours at St Alban's. I was recommended to go to an
inn, the landlord of which was said not to be of the democratic party,
for the other two inns were the resort of the Sympathisers,--and in
these, consequently, scenes of great excitement took place. The
landlord put into my hand a newspaper, published that day, containing a
series of resolutions, founded upon such falsehoods that I thought it
might be advantageous to refute them. I asked the landlord whether I
could see the editor of the paper; he replied that the party lived next
door; and I requested that he would send for him, telling him that I
could give him information relative to the affair of St Eustache.
I had been shewn into a large sitting-room on the ground-floor, which I
presumed was a private room, when the editor of the newspaper, attracted
by the message I had sent him, came in. I then pointed to the
resolutions passed at the meeting, and asked him whether he would allow
me to answer them in his paper. His reply was, "Certainly; that his
paper was open to all."
"Well, then, call in an hour, and I will by that time prove to you that
they can only be excused or accounted for by the parties who framed them
being totally ignorant of the whole affair."
He went away, but did not return at the time requested. It was not
until late in the evening that he came; and, avoiding the question of
the resolutions, begged that I would give him the information relative
to St Eustache. As I presumed that, like most other editors in the
United States, he dared not put in anything which would displease his
subscribers, I said no more on that subject, but commenced dictating to
him, while he wrote the particulars attending the St Eustache affair.
I was standing by the stove, giving the editor this information, when
the door of the room opened, and in walked seven or eight people, who,
without speaking, took chairs; in a minute, another party of about the
same number was ushered into the room by the landlord, who, I thought,
gave me a significant look. I felt surprised at what I thought an
intrusion, as I had considered my room to be private; however, I
appeared to take no notice of it, and continued dictating to the editor.
The door opened again and again, and more chairs were brought in for
the accommodation of the parties who entered, until at last the room was
so full that I had but just room to walk round the stove. Not a person
said a word; they listened to what I was dictating to the editor, and I
observed that they all looked rather fierce; but whether this was a
public meeting, or what was to be the end of it, I had no idea. At
last, when I had finished, the editor took up his papers and left the
room, in which I suppose there might have been from one hundred to a
hundred and fifty persons assembled. As soon as the door closed, one of
them struck his thick stick on the floor (they most of them had sticks),
and gave a loud "Hem!"
"I believe, sir, that you are Captain M---."
"Yes," replied I, "that is my name."
"We are informed, sir, by the gentleman who has just gone out, that you
have asserted that our resolutions of yesterday could only be excused or
accounted for from our total ignorance." Here he struck his stick again
upon the floor, and paused.
"Oh!" thinks I to myself, "the editor has informed against me!"
"Now, sir," continued the spokesman, "we are come to be enlightened; we
wish you to prove to us that we are totally ignorant; you will oblige us
by an explanation of your assertion."
He was again silent. (Thinks I to myself, I'm in for it now, and if I
get away without a broken head, or something worse, I am fortunate;
however, here goes.) Whereupon, without troubling the reader with what
I did say, I will only observe, that I thought the best plan was to gain
time by going back as far as I could. I therefore commenced my oration
at the period; when the Canadas were surrendered to the English;
remarking upon the system which had been acted upon by our government
from that time up to the present; proving, as well as I could, that the
Canadians had nothing to complain of, and that if England had treated
her other American colonies as well, there never would have been a
declaration of independence, etcetera. etcetera. Having spoken for
about an hour, and observing a little impatience on the part of some of
my company, I stopped. Upon which, one rose and said, that there were
several points not fully explained, referring to them one after another,
whereupon "the honourable member rose to explain,"--and was again
silent. Another then spoke, requesting information as to points not
referred to by me. I replied, and fortunately had an opportunity of
paying the Americans a just compliment; in gratitude for which their
features relaxed considerably. Perceiving this, I ventured to introduce
a story or two, which made them laugh. After this, the day was my own;
for I consider the Americans, when not excited (which they too often
are), as a very good-tempered people: at all events, they won't break
your head for making them laugh; at least, such I found was the case.
We now entered freely into conversation; some went away, others
remained, and the affair ended by many of them shaking hands with me,
and our taking a drink at the bar.
I must say, that the first appearances of this meeting were not at all
pleasant; but I was rightly served for my own want of caution, in so
publicly stating, that the free and enlightened citizens of St Alban's
were very ignorant, and for opposing public opinion at a time when the
greatest excitement prevailed. I have mentioned this circumstance, as
it threws a great deal of light upon the character of the Yankee or
American of the Eastern States. They would not suffer opposition to the
majority to pass unnoticed (who, in England, would have cared what a
stranger may have expressed as his opinion); but, at the same time, they
gave me a patient hearing, to knew whether I could shew cause for what I
said. Had I refused this, I might have been very roughly handled; but
as I defended my observations, although they were not complimentary to
them, they gave me fair play. They were evidently much excited when
they came into the room, but they gradually cooled down until convinced
of the truth of my assertions; and then all animosity was over. The
landlord said to me afterwards, "I reckon you got out of that uncommon
well, captain." I perfectly agreed with him, and made a resolution to
hold my tongue until I arrived at New York.
The next day, as I was proceeding on my journey, I fell in with General
Brown, celebrated for running away so fast at the commencement of the
fight at St Charles. He had a very fine pair of mustachios. We both
warmed our toes at the same stove in solemn silence.
Sunday, at Burlington.--The young ladies are dressing up the church with
festoons, and garlands of evergreens for the celebration of Christmas,
and have pressed me into the service. Last Sunday I was meditating over
the blackened walls of the church at St Eustache, and the roasted
corpses lying within its precincts; now I am in another church, weaving
laurel and cypress, in company with some of the prettiest creatures in
creation. As the copy-book says, _variety is charming_.