even more significant than words. On one flag was a star surrounded by
minor stars, a death’s head in the centre, with “Liberty or Death;”
another showed “Liberty” surrounded with pikes, swords, muskets and
cannon, “by way of relief to the eye.” In another decoration Father
Time discarded his scythe and rested his hands in an up-to-date fashion
on a cannon. A Liberty Pole one hundred feet high was contemplated in
imitation of the Papineau pole; but methods likely to be successful
under skilful French management came to naught with the clumsier
Anglo-Saxon. Certain it is, no poet had yet arisen from that hot-bed
of poesie, treason, though doggerel adorned many flags. The concluding
lines in one effort show Pegasus’ attempt to settle into a steadier
trot:
“Ireland will sound her harp, and wave
Her pure green banner for your right;
Canadians never will be slaves--
Up, Sons of Freedom, to the fight!”
But Ireland’s other arm was waving a banner of a different colour.
Orangeman followed Liberal with the usual results, fights and many
black eyes; horsemen then escorted the organizers of the meetings;
and after threats of assassination and guns snapping in the pan,
angry cavalcades of hundreds of carriages and mounted men, quiet at
the shilelah’s point was in most instances gained. The pretended
constitution was announced a humbug, the people living under the worst
of despotism. Discontent, vengeance and rage were in men’s hearts.
Two years before this period Mackenzie had visited Quebec, one of a
deputation to cement the fellowship existing between Reformers of the
two provinces. They found many of their grievances identical, and their
oneness in determination to overcome them would, it was hoped, prove
to Canadian and English authorities alike that “the tide was setting
in with such unmistakable force against bad government that, if they
do not yield to it before long, it will shortly overwhelm them in its
rapid and onward progress.”
Truly the progress had been rapid and onward. It was now “Hurrah for
Papineau” in every Upper Canadian inn where the two hundred meetings
held in this year of ’37 might happen to rendezvous. And yet there
were some who opined that Mackenzie’s bark was worse than his bite;
who, with Lord Gosford and the Provincial Governor, did not apprehend
a rebellion. The province was, in the words of its Governor--in his
opinion--more tranquil than any part of England; and because there
was a demand for Union Jack flags it was argued that if people loved
that flag they would willingly die for the oligarchy. To many minds,
the Pact was the most untrue and disloyal element in the province; and
according to the point of view the sides unfurled these significant
bits of red and blue bunting, each man defining to his own satisfaction
the meaning of that vexed word loyalty.
The Hon. Peter McGill had said at a loyalist meeting, “... the
organization (to repel rebels), that it may combine both moral
determination and physical force, must be military as well as
political. There must be an army as well as a congress, there must be
pikes and rifles as well as men and tongues.” The answer to these wise
words, useful to either side as containing solid truth for each, was a
miserable attention, an exhibition of incompetence on the rebel side
towards that necessary military wing, and on the Governor’s side the
answer was the removal of all the troops in the province. The one party
was no longer the superior of the other; with the dreadful difference
that there was unanimity on the loyalist side, as against jealousies
and multiplicity of leadership on the other.
It so happened that in the year ’34, partly in compensation to him for
his expulsion from the House of Assembly, Mackenzie had been raised to
the dignity of first Mayor of York, and, as in the words of his own
rhyme, changed the name to the far better Canadian one of Toronto:
“Come hither, come hither, my little dog Ponto,
Let’s trot down and see where Little York’s gone to;
For forty big Tories, assembled in junta,
Have murdered poor Little York in the City of Toronto.”
Calendars tell us that the pillory was abolished in ’37. When reading
the life of Mackenzie one would imagine the statement a mistake,
so popular did pillory methods seem. So far as unmerited obloquy,
misrepresentation at home and abroad from those who pretended to
despise and at heart feared him, personal insult, outrage, hard
words, kicks from men who made up in inches what they lacked in
justice, could constitute a pillory, Mackenzie had for years stood in
it metaphorically, the old conditions being carried out faithfully,
since practically it had been a punishment thought meet for authors
and publishers of seditious pamphlets. A wise man has said: “Whereas
before, our fathers had no other books but the score and tally, thou
hast caused printing to be used; and contrary to the king, his crown
and dignity, thou hast built a paper mill.” In certain cases, too, the
persecution was unpopular, and the intended disgrace became a species
of triumph. A public pillory and stocks were still part of the actual
machinery of government in Little York, and unfortunately for his own
good name Mackenzie celebrated Toronto’s first year by using the stocks
and otherwise conducting himself in a way mortifying to his friends,
most satisfactory to his enemies, and calculated to still further
alienate those members of the Reform party to whom he seems to have
been personally objectionable even when his mistakes of judgment did
not run the length of seditious writing or putting women in the stocks.
But extraordinary acts and extraordinary words were not confined
to Canada. It was reserved for a member of Parliament, a British
statesman, to pen words the repetition of which alone was sufficient
to overturn the feelings of the majority of the thinking and
well-intentioned portion of the colony. Never did Tory press or Tory
lips tire of abusing saddle-bag doctors and saddle-bag ministers as
the purveyors of treason, the latter, in guise of Methodist preacher,
supposed to scatter seeds of faith and sedition with the same hand.
Strangely enough, Dr. Ryerson, the most prominent Methodist in the
country, was Tory enough to provoke the wrath of the radical Mr. Hume.
In a letter to Mackenzie, so abusive that all must wonder a gentleman
could write it, Hume made the clergyman an object of abuse in words
which stamped the receiver as well as the writer everything their most
ardent enemies desired and believed them to be.
That letter did more for Loyalism in Upper Canada than the concentrated
action of Governor, oligarchy, and Tory press could ever do to hurt
it. Mackenzie, to work off a private spleen of his own against Dr.
Ryerson, published the obnoxious document without comment. Vain was it
for its author to hasten to say “that the misrule of the Government
of Canada, and the monopolizing, selfish domination of such men as
had lately (though but a small faction of the people) resisted all
improvement and reform, would lose the countenance of the authorities
in Downing Street, and leave the people in freedom to manage their own
affairs.” The mischief was done. On the one hand, many of the most
reputable of that body through which amelioration of condition might be
hoped to come were forever divorced from a party that could voice such
sentiments; and on the other, it placed a weapon ready to the hand of
those men who, the incarnation of Toryism, honestly believed themselves
to be the only conservers of loyalty left. By noon of that day, in
May, ’34, when the “copious extracts” were published by Mackenzie, he
and the writer of them were execrated by many who, an hour before that
electrical sheet was issued, had been friends or silent sympathisers.
The whole country was under baneful domination; but not of the
mother-land. Great provocations had brought just condemnations, and the
match was about to be put to the torch. The rights of the people and
the prerogative of the Crown bade fair to become parallel lines that
could not meet. Some still believed in a brighter future; but the few
streaks of light which they declared they could discern in that darkest
hour before dawn were blood-red. Day was to be ushered in with much
woe, although more than one writer has been found to call Rebellion “a
magniloquent word” as applied to all the unsettled humours of the land
in that episode of Canadian history.
Had Shakespeare, born to still further glory, tarried till Canadian
times, he might have added a syllable or so when he wrote “The devil
knew what he did when he made men politic.” But then, a contemporary
diary of his time tells us: “I have heard it stated that Mr.
Shakespeare was a natural wit, but had not any art at all;” and he
would have needed both to do justice to the Canadian question.
That which was called “the almost romantically loyal Canadian
population” had diverse ways of showing loyal enthusiasm, when (to
quote Mackenzie in after years), a “person known as Victoria, the
sovereign of England and the Canadas,” came “to keep up the dignity
of that article called a crown.” _Te Deums_ were sung in the French
cathedrals, it is true, but many in the congregations rose and walked
out. But at the coronation illuminations in Toronto, although one
transparency quoted the words of the late king, “The Canadas must not
be lost or given away,” another came as rider to it, “The Constitution,
the whole Constitution, and nothing but the Constitution.” For many
in Upper Canada were as dissatisfied with the portions of that system
imported by Governor Simcoe as their French brethren were. Here as
there the broad basis of it, the Will of the People, was a dead letter.
Happily for Toronto on that occasion it had that British characteristic
which, however Tory might abuse Whig, or Reformer predict the ruin of
everything Tory, made all men unite--for the day at least--in fealty
to the young Queen, and, more wonderful still, in good-will towards
one another. Elsewhere there were forecasts of petticoat government,
when “the speech from the throne would dwell chiefly on embroideries,
nurseries and soap.” How were they to know that the slim and beautiful
young fingers which held the sceptre were strong, tenacious, and of an
even touch, or that the girlish form held a mother heart large enough
and to spare for her own and every bairn within her realm.
So did the shuttles angrily fly to and fro in the warp and woof
of coming catastrophe in the year when Her Majesty came into her
inheritance of discontent.
The Canadas at Westminster.
“_I put not my faith in Princes, for that would be forgetting the rules
of Holy Writ; but, begging your pardon, I still put my faith in Peers._”
“‘_I am glad I am not the eldest son,’ said the younger Pitt when he
heard of his father’s elevation to an earldom; ‘I want to speak in the
House of Commons like papa._’”
“_A politic caution, a guarded circumspection, were among the ruling
principles of our forefathers._”
The man who wrote the letter calculated to create trouble and promote
that already begun was quite a personage in the Radical wing of the
House of Commons. A Scotchman from Montrose, born in 1777, he was
son of a captain of a trading vessel; the father’s early death left
this Joseph and numerous brothers and sisters to the care of a mother
who was a woman of extraordinary perseverance and energy. She kept
a small stand on market-day in Montrose, and Fox Maule, afterwards
Lord Panmure, seeing young Joseph there, was seized with the whim to
apprentice him to a druggist. A subsequent apprenticeship to surgery
and a voyage to India led to his study there of the native dialects,
a knowledge of which he made such good use that in the war with the
Mahrattas he became interpreter, an office of emolument and honour.
He returned to Britain at the peace of 1807, and began a tour there
so minute and exhaustive that he visited every manufacturing town. He
then went as thoroughly through Southern Europe, and with his head
thus equipped entered the House as Tory member for the borough of
Weymouth in 1812, calculated to make a figure there and carry much
weight through native ability and wide experience. Once more he tried
his rôle of interpreter between those who could not or would not
understand each other. His opponents found it impossible to tire or
baffle him; repulses were thrown away on him, and he returned to the
charge, unconscious, ready to repeat a hundredth time that which they
had declared unreasonable.
“What manner of man is Joseph Hume?” asks _The Noctes_. “Did you never
see him?” says North. “He is a shrewd-looking fellow enough, but
most decidedly vulgar. Nobody that sees him could ever for a moment
suspect him of being a gentleman born. He has the air of a Montrose
dandy at this moment, and there is an intolerable affectation about
the creature. I suppose he must have sunk quite into the dirt since
Croker curried him.” “I don’t believe anything can make an impression
on him. A gentleman’s whip would not be felt through the beaver of
a coal-heaver.” He was, in fact, short, broad, stiff, square and
copperfaced. He exhibited the uncouthness of the Scot in relief,
and his speech, in all the worst of the Scotch brogue, “barbarous
exceedingly,” baffled description. “Depend upon it, Joseph will go
on just as he has been doing.” And he had been going on from his
place as Radical member for Montrose. Added to all, he was a master
of detail. In spite of his earnestness, he often convulsed the House
with his Scotch bulls when he intended most to impress. Expatiating
on the virtues of the French-Canadians, he exclaimed, “I say, sir,
they are the best and gentlest race in Europe (laughter), aye”--waxing
hotter--“or in Africa” (roars of laughter). Sir Francis Bond Head
did not scruple to say that Hume was the greatest rebel of the lot,
and, in his turn, Hume made a furious attack on Sir Francis. However,
he was just as vigorously answered by Lord Grey, and then the morning
papers said “that Hume had not been able to make Head.” Politics
were so bitter then that all Reformers were rebels. Hume’s letter of
March 29th, 1834, in which he says, “_Your_ cause is _their_ cause,
_your_ defeat would be _their_ subjection. Go on, therefore, I beseech
you, and success, glorious success, must inevitably crown your joint
efforts,” sounds as if Sir Francis might have had reason for his
opinion. By 1839 a public dinner had been given this erstwhile Tory,
in testimony of his eminent public services and constant advocacy in
the cause of reform. Says North, “Why, a small matter will make a man
who has once ratted rat again. We all remember what Joe Hume was a few
years ago!”
“A Tory?”
“I would not prostitute the name so far, but he always voted with them.”
“At the Whigs it was then his chief pleasure to rail,
He opposed all the Catholic claims tooth and nail....”
“Why, no wonder ... he hates the Tories. They never thought of him
while he was with them, and now the Whigs do talk of Joe as if he were
somebody. But, as _John Bull_ says,
“‘A very small man with the Tories
Is a very great man ’mong the Whigs.’”
It was a time of general unrest and suspicion, just from the likelihood
of change and the alarming precedents set up. No two men could be
seen anywhere in the same neighbourhood without arousing ideas of
coalition, hope, suspicion and a host of feelings--as, for instance,
when “Mr. Roebuck was seen in a quarter which left little doubt that
he had been with Lord Brougham. It is very generally thought that
something is about to happen.” Mr. Roebuck, like Mr. Hume, was a
marked man and an out-and-out Canadian sympathiser. He, according to a
well-known and accredited newspaper, “was paid by the Lower Canadian
House of Assembly to expatiate on grievances, and to declare at all
times and in all places to those who have no personal acquaintance
with the Canadas that the people there are _restless, dissatisfied,
yearning for republican institutions, and that unless the never-ending,
still-beginning concessions they require are granted, another American
war must be the result_.” The effect of his words was weakened by
his appearance, which was that of a boy of eighteen. “If we do not
immediately take active measures,” was Sir John Colborne’s antiphon
from across the sea, “to arm and organize our friends, the province
(Lower Canada) will be lost to us.”
He did organize--“Why, slaves, ’tis in our power to hang ye.” “Very
likely,” came the answer, “’tis in our power, then, to be hanged and
scorn ye.”
What in Canada were called Roebuck’s “remarques ordinaires” were
constant philippics against administrative abuses there. He wanted some
means to be found as remedy for the defects. He laboured unceasingly.
In speeches, writings in journals and pamphlets and periodicals, in
season and out of season, he lost no chance to plead the cause of the
Canadas. Naturally, he was “abusive and ridiculous” in these letters
to such as did not agree with him. Had his nomination been properly
confirmed, his income as agent would have been £1,000 a year; but the
want of it did not slacken his efforts. “While such is the nature and
conduct of this petty and vulgar oligarchy, I beseech the House to
consider the peculiar position of the people over whom they domineer.”
He then goes on to draw a picture of the superior scene across the St.
Lawrence; a natural enough picture to be drawn by an American, born
with prejudices in favour of his native land. He goes on: “With such
a sight before them it is not wonderful that the Canadian people have
imbibed the free spirit of America, and that they bear with impatience
the insolence, the ignorance, the incapacity and the vice of the nest
of official cormorants who, under the festering domination of England,
have constituted themselves an aristocracy, with all the vices of such
a body, without one of the redeeming qualities which are supposed
to lessen the mischiefs which are the natural attendants of all
aristocracies. It is of a people thus high-spirited, pestered and stung
to madness by this pestilential brood, that I demand your attention.”
But the Canadians, though grateful, were aware he did not always act
with prudence in their behalf. He and Mr. Hume together had presided
at a meeting where the latter declared that Canada was of no advantage
to Britain. But they gave him and all who mentioned them kindly in the
House of Commons--O’Connell, Pakington and others who had spoken for
them--their heartfelt thanks.
Labouchere, French by descent, stood up in their defence and vindicated
their claims. “I look upon the Act of 1791,” said he, “as the Magna
Charta of Canadian freedom,” and contended that a more rigid following
of Pitt’s intentions would have resulted in better things. He denounced
the prejudice of one race against another, nor deemed a council so
altogether British wholesome government for people so entirely French.
The French had many champions in that historic chamber. Sir James
Mackintosh, author of “_Vindiciæ Gallicæ_,” a man whose whole bias of
mind had been turned and held fast by French revolution, equipped by
nature with all the powers and attributes of statesmanship, and who had
brought all to bear on home politics and legislation in the broadest
imperial sense, was not the least of these. He had undertaken, years
before the blooming of that bitter blossom, the Canadian aloe--tenacity
of life is one of its virtues,--the successful defence of a French
emigrant for libel on the consul; his residence in Bombay, as Recorder,
had been famous for his wholesome administration between British and
native rights; he had strongly opposed “the green bag and spy system;”
had voted against the severe restrictions of the Alien Bill, and had
moved against the existing state of the criminal law; so that he
did not speak, as many did on Canadian affairs, without special or
collateral experience. He wanted the dependency governed on principles
of justice, few and simple; protection against alien influence, and
freedom to conduct their own affairs and manage their own trade.
“A British king see now assume
Judicial sovereignty, ‘_coutume_,’
And that of Paris cease to reign
Throughout the Canada domain.”[2]
He even allowed merit to that old _coutume_ in comparison with affairs
as they existed under British law, and in sarcastic humour ran a
parallel between them.
When
“Quebec first raised the legal courts
For Does or Roes to hold their sports,”[2]
the spirit of the _Conseil Souverain_ was one which did not at the
Conquest migrate to the new body: “Nous avons cru ne pouvoir prendre
une meilleure résolution qu’en établisant une justice réglé et un
Conseil Souverain dans le dits pays, pour y faire fleurir les lois,
maintenir et appuyer les bons, chatier les méchants, et contenir chacun
en son droit.”
Sir James now held the Governor responsible for the existing state
of affairs; he accused the Colonial Minister of appealing to the
sympathies of the House in favour of British interests only. Were the
twenty thousand British to be privileged at the expense of the four
hundred thousand French? Were the former to be cared for exclusively,
their religious sympathies so fostered as to bring about Protestant
domination? Again he draws a parallel between what Ireland was and what
Canada might become, and in the name of heaven, his eloquence aided by
large grey melancholy eyes, adjured them solemnly that such a scourge
fall not a second time upon any land under Britain’s sway. “Above all,
let not the French-Canadians suppose for a moment that their rights or
aspirations are less cared for by us than those of their fellow-adult
colonists of our own blood.... Finally, I look upon a distinction in
the treatment of races and the division of a population into distinct
classes as most perilous in every way and at all times.”
Then Melbourne rose to reply that nothing was as unsafe as analogy,
particularly historical analogy.
And Lord Aylmer thought, after an extensive tour of the French
province, giving all these questions earnest consideration, that the
best way to settle the question was to bring in thousands of the Irish
to the colony; the Eastern Townships he estimated could take five
hundred thousand, and the valley of the Ottawa one hundred thousand.
These painstaking, conscientious governors generally left England laden
with minute instructions, and came on the scene with exact directions
as to their action. The Canadians, first credulous, afterwards wary and
lastly suspicious, shrewdly guessed that many of the “_impromptus_”
were in the Governor’s pocket; they also knew that Lord Glenelg was a
Reformer in London and a Conservative in Quebec. They believed that
orders publicly given carried with them secret advice not to have
them enforced, as they were meant “only to blarney the Radicals.” And
Papineau had told them that the same hand which wrote the King’s speech
penned the answer to it. When the Irish emigrant did come he brought
the cholera with him, and Jean cried out again that legislation and
emigration only meant fresh trouble.