_FOUND OUT._
1833.
A solemn stillness pervaded the once happy home on the hill, a
stillness broken only by the sighing of the wind through the poplar
trees.
The stately, noble form of the queen of the household, who held sway
over so many hearts, lay sleeping beneath the daisies in the cemetery
not far distant. She had never been well after the shock occasioned
by the sudden death of her eldest son.
One by one the young people went forth to homes of their own. Abbie,
having awakened at last to a realization of the truth of her father's
prediction regarding Thomas Brigham, had long since married that
wealthy lumberman.
In his loneliness and sorrow came a call to the Chief to higher and
harder work in his country's service. The County of York, in which
Hull was situated, had a sufficiently large population to entitle it
to representation in the Legislative Assembly, and, as the
representation of the Province had been increased to eighty-four
members, the electors of the county were called upon to choose their
representative.
Elections in those days were not so much a question of political
opinion with the electors as personal preference and local
considerations, so the Chief was elected by acclamation, and took his
seat in the House as an independent member, the name of the
constituency being changed to that of Ottawa County.
The members, who in those days had not the prospect of a large
indemnity to nail them to their seats, frequently deserted the
Legislative Hall long before the session was over, notwithstanding
which the White Chief was ever in his place, and voted intelligently
on the burning questions of the day.
While attending session at Quebec, he sat down to breakfast on one
occasion with the son of his old friend, Louis Joseph Papineau, who
was Speaker of the House at the time, and who happened to be staying
at the same hotel.
"I hear that a town is springing up like a mushroom on the opposite
side of the river from Hull," said Mr. Papineau; "and that property
on that side of the river has greatly enhanced in value."
"It has," replied the Chief. "The whole Carman grant, from the
Rideau to the Chaudiere, comprising about one thousand acres, was
sold to Hugh Fraser a few years ago for ten pounds. Later a man
named Burroughs bought two hundred acres which he tried to sell to me
for sufficient to pay his passage to England, in order to secure a
legacy which had been left him. I would not have accepted it as a
gift at that time, for it was all marsh land. He succeeded in
getting Nicholas Sparks to take it for £95, and I indorsed his notes
for the amount. Not long since Sparks sold eighty acres of it to
Colonel By for several thousand pounds sterling. The Colonel drained
it, divided it into town lots, and is now asking a fabulous price for
it.*
* The same eighty acres was disposed of by Colonel By a few years
later for half a million pounds sterling.
"How is the town laid out?" asked Mr. Papineau.
"There are a few scattered houses on a street which has been called
after the Duke of Wellington, about half a dozen at Le Breton Flats,
and east of the canal there are two streets called Sussex and Rideau,
on which there are quite a number of houses and four shops, kept by
Scotchmen. There are also two civilian barracks, facing each other
near Sussex Street, for the canal workers.
"I rode over a few days ago and was astonished to see the rapid
progress the place is making. Crossing the wooden bridge at the
Chaudiere, which Colonel By succeeded in building after many
fruitless attempts, I drove through Le Breton's farm to the gully
recently bridged by Lieutenant Pooley, then, skirting the cliff on
which the Episcopal church is being erected on a lot given by Sparks,
and passing the Scotch church, I drove through the woods along a
corduroy road which wound round the foot of Barracks Hill, or the
Military Reserve, to Sappers' Bridge, and found that the Colonel had
so transformed the lower part of the town by drainage as to make it
beyond recognition. The swamp and even the creek have disappeared.
There is about half a mile of unbroken forest between the upper and
lower parts of the town. The houses are built in the midst of huge
old boulders and masses of rock, and are hidden from each other by
lofty pines and thick underbrush."
"What is its population?" asked Mr. Papineau.
"I should say about two thousand," he replied. "And they are mostly
of the lowest class of Irish, who are very awkward. What they are
used to doing they do fairly well, but it seems impossible to teach
them anything new. If they can dig out for themselves a mud cabin in
the side of a hill they would never dream of building one of wood.
"Near the works is a place called Corktown, where the workmen have
burrowed in the sandhills. Smoke is seen to rise out of holes which
have been opened in the ground to answer the purpose of chimneys. In
these miserable dwellings whole families are huddled together worse
than in Ireland.
"McTaggart says," continued the Chief, "that the engineers and
contractors cannot get them to keep out of the way of their own
blasts, and that he has more than once seen heads, legs and arms
blown in all directions; and when given a spade and pick they have to
exercise eternal vigilance to keep them from digging their own
graves."
Dr. Bigsby then took his seat at the table.
"You look as though you had been carousing, Doctor," said Mr.
Papineau.
"I was, in a way," he replied. "I remained up most of the night to
see the charivari. I have seen it in France," he said, "but I think
the French-Canadian has improved upon the original. In this country
it is evidently intended to reach offenders against propriety and the
public sense of honor. Ill-assorted marriages seem to be its special
objects here. You know Adjutant Randall, do you not?" addressing Mr.
Papineau.
"Yes," he replied, "quite well."
"He was married yesterday," continued the doctor, "to the widow of a
wealthy brewer. She was of good French family, and resembled the
famous widow of Kent in having a large annual income. She is not
young, and for aught I know may have thrown off her weeds too soon.
"Last evening, when in my room, I heard the most incomprehensible
noises, gradually drawing nearer and nearer. A broad red light soon
began to glare upon the houses and fill the street. The throng
slowly arrived and slowly passed the door, and as you honorable
gentlemen were probably in session I shall try and describe some
parts of the show.
"First came a strange figure, masked, with a cocked hat and sword;
then came strutting a little humpbacked creature in brown, red and
yellow, with beak and tail. Fifteen or sixteen people followed in
the garb of Indians, some with cow-horns on their heads. Then came
two men in white shirts, bearing a paper coffin of great size,
lighted from within and having skulls, cross-bones and initials
painted in black on its sides. This was surrounded by men blowing
horns, beating pot-lids, poker and tongs, whirling rattles,
whistling, and so on.
"To these succeeded a number of Chinese lanterns, some aloft on high
poles and mixed with blazing torches, small flags, black and white,
and more rough music. Close after came more torches, clatter and
fantastic disguises, the whole surrounded by a large rabble who kept
up an irregular fire of yells which could be heard a mile away.
"They perambulated the whole city before proceeding to the ill-fated
mansion of the bride, but at last they arrived at her door and drew
up before it. The large handsome house was silent and dark--the
window shades were closed. There was evidently to be no friendly
feast, for in many cases, I believe, the attack is met courteously
with lighted halls and a cold collation to the principal actors, when
the din and hubbub generally ceases and the thing ends; but it was
not so in the charivari of last night.
"The crowd was puzzled, but showed pluck. It brayed and blew and
roared and shook torch and lantern, and might have done so all night
long, as it appeared to me, standing at a cowardly distance, when
suddenly the large front door opened and out rushed the manly figure
of the Adjutant with ten or twelve assistants in plain clothes
(brother officers, I fear) armed with cudgels.
"To work they went upon the defenceless crowd, and especially among
the masquers, where the torches gave useful light. The whole attack
and flight was an affair of five minutes. The fun-loving crowd,
actors and spectators, fled, and gone in an incredibly short space of
time were torches, lanterns, coffin, kettles and buffalo-horns.
"The unhappy little hunchback was seized by the bridegroom, who began
to pound him, but he most piteously confessed that he was Mr. ----,
editor of the ----, a local paper. He was dismissed with a shake,
and told that in future cripples in charivaris would be treated as
able-bodied men.
"The affair so unnerved the bride that she escaped through the back
door and took rooms here."
Just then an officer entered, and the doctor said:
"Good morning, Adjutant! How is Mrs. Randall?"
Suddenly he caught sight of the Chief, who sat back in his chair
gazing at him in mute astonishment, for it was none other than Harold
Wrenford.
"She is much better, thank you," he said, "but I forgot her
medicine," and he hastened from the room.
"How long have you known the Adjutant?" asked the Chief.
"Only recently," replied the doctor.
"I have known him for years," replied Mr. Papineau. "I knew him when
he was a young lieutenant in the Citadel. He sold his commission,
went abroad, and returned a few years ago with his pockets full of
money, purchased an adjutancy, and he has been regarded by the weaker
sex as one of the greatest catches in Quebec."
In less than half an hour Adjutant and Mrs. Randall were seen driving
down towards the docks, where they took passage in a vessel bound for
Liverpool.