agitation which he heard, Colonel Talbot attended the only political
meeting of his Canadian life. On St. George’s Day of the year when Sir
John Colborne, one of his nearest friends, took such a conspicuous
part in the provincial elections, a large party of his people went
out to meet the Colonel on the way from his Canadian Malahide castle.
They found him on the top of Drake’s Hill, from which a beautiful
view was afforded of the pleasant valley they were ready to defend.
He entered the town, surrounded by waving flags bearing “The Hon.
Thomas Talbot, Founder of the Talbot Settlement,” and other descriptive
legends. The venerable figure of the eccentric lord of the manor,
Executive Councillor, friend and fellow-officer of Wellington, stood
there surveying his flock, the majority cheering him to the echo; but
knots here and there bestowed unfavourable glances on them and him.
His address was full of wit and sage advice. Some of the veterans,
clad like himself in home-spun, who had toiled under his eye and by
his aid had emerged from poverty to wealth, stood, with hands in their
capacious pockets, looking up at him as if they “could fairly swallow
his words.” When he referred to the pains he had taken to preserve
loyalty among them, “That’s true, Colonel,” came as involuntary
response. “But,” said he, “in spite of all my efforts, some black sheep
have got into the flock--aye, and they have got the r-r-rot-t-t, too!”
His well-known aversion to altercation or controversy resulted in his
being the only speaker. A loyal address was dictated by him extolling
the blessings of government as then enjoyed and resting the blame of
disaffection on the religious teaching of a certain lot of immigrants
who had come to the Talbot Settlement in time to enjoy its prosperity,
and then, not having the devotion bred by being first-comers, found
it easy to pick flaws. The year ’37 brought to them a mysterious
individual mounted on a cream-coloured horse which ambled him along
the lanes and roads of Yarmouth. Like the clock peddler, the stranger
wore deep green glasses in his spectacles. After his labours of
disseminating dissension were over he managed to make his escape,
but the cream-coloured nag figured as an officer’s charger on the
Loyalist side--according to his late owner’s opinion, much after the
manner of the unmounted Glengarries whose humour it was to steal at a
moment’s rest--“convey, the wise it call”--but from the opposite point
of view was _pressed_ into government service. It was an animal of no
prejudices, for with its rider it was always in the van.
Of those whose looks burned as they listened to the Colonel, and who
would not subscribe to the address, some were yet to stand upon the
drop to die for treason--a dignified name with which Colonel Talbot, in
common with Drew, Prince and others, would have had little patience.
These disaffected were chiefly influenced by an Englishman, George
Lawton, who, like a good many of the demagogues of that day, had been
a factious pate elsewhere. Concerned in the Bristol Riots, he was well
up in the catch-words which thrilled the crowds there, and he used his
strong mind and nimble tongue upon Canadian complications. He had to
escape, somehow, from the consequences of his acts at home; so a sham
illness and a sham death, a stuffed coffin and a funeral, and a voyage
of the supposed deceased brought George Lawton to the Talbot District
to sow those “seed-grains” of revolutionary doctrine which were to make
him a second time an outcast. One of the first persons he met in this
country was a chief mourner who had followed his coffin to the grave.
As early as ’33, Colonel Talbot writes to a friend: “My rebels
endeavoured to hold a meeting at St. Thomas on the 17th, Dr. Franklin’s
birthday as I am informed, but in which they were frustrated by my
Royal Guards, who routed the rascals at all points and drove them out
of the village like sheep, numbers with broken heads leaving their
hats behind them--the glorious work of old Colonel Hickory. In short,
it was a most splendid victory. Mr. Fraser, the Wesleyan minister,
behaved admirably on the occasion, and I scarcely think they will
venture to call another meeting in St. Thomas. Their object was to form
a political union, the articles of which were to elect the Legislative
Council and magistrates.”
At all periods of the Rebellion Talbot’s District provided much
“sympathy.” Several men from Port Stanley set out to join the
sympathisers who were making ready at Detroit. Their small vessel was
provided with boiler and machinery, and they made fair headway until
off a spot near the Lake Road, when the rudder gave way. In a frenzy of
conscience the boat made for her own shore and stuck in the sand-bank.
Just at that point there happened to be a small company of dragoons,
who, when they saw the boat coming towards them, with armed men in
it, divided into two parties and galloped off in opposite directions.
The officer of the company, in two minds to go both ways at once,
solved his difficulty by popping under an upturned canoe. The would-be
saviours of their country in the rebel boat got clear of the sand-bank
and made off, upon which the dragoons galloped back to look after their
captain. After a careful search, for he was very coy, they found him
under his canoe canopy, not a bad makeshift where umbrellas were not
procurable.
* * * * *
There was scarcely a locality which did not give evidence that the
rebel spirit had a lodgment not far off. But also in each there were
martial spirits eager and willing to lead or be one of loyalist
troops. Some of them tell their own stories so well that it would be
a pity to garble or curtail them. One man describes how he gave up
his professional work, as the winter and the Rebellion were coming
on together. “... The political horizon at that time looked rather
squally. The Rads. were holding frequent meetings in different parts
of the country, at which loud and long speeches were made to the
ignorant and wicked, until it broke out in a general rising among the
disaffected portion--which was the largest portion of the County of
York. In Simcoe the Rads. were fully half the population; but they did
not turn out for fear of the other half, among whom were many fiery
Orangemen. And to this Order I attribute the safety of our country,
although many loyal men, not Orangemen, turned out in behalf of the
Government. Without these men we should have failed, as, before troops
could arrive from England, the Yankees would have flooded the country.
“The Home District appeared to be the stronghold of the disaffected
in Upper Canada. On the 4th of December, as I was going towards
Queensville, I met five or six men with rifles, whom I knew to be fond
of hunting deer. We talked about hunting and I went on my way, when I
met sixty or seventy more, straggling along, some with guns, some with
swords, and others unarmed. They had several waggons with them, which
appeared loaded, but were covered up. I began to suspect their object,
but could get no satisfaction to my questions. Then I met a young
fellow whom I followed into his father’s house, and saw his father give
him a pair of boots and some money. That convinced me. I then turned
back and followed the party, when I met a man who told me my suspicions
were correct, and that they were going to take Toronto. I advised him
to go home, but he said he dare not; so then I told him he had better
go to the States. He said he would, and I afterwards learned that he
took my advice. On my way south I went into the tavern on Tory Hill,
and asked the landlady if she understood the movement, to which she
replied that they were going to take Toronto, and she had known it
for several days. Her husband and several others had gone there three
days before, and I may say here that when I went to the city I found
him there as a volunteer--either that or go to prison. I next saw Mr.
Samuel Sweasey, and asked him if he understood the movement. ‘Yes, they
are going to take Toronto, rob the Bank, hang the Governor, and when
they come back they will hang _you_,’ When I asked him where his sons
were, he said he had sent them to the woods to get rid of them, as the
rebels were after them.” Between this narrator and his friends the news
was soon pretty well spread in the neighbourhood of the Landing, Bond
Head, Bradford and Newmarket as to what he had seen and heard. “Farther
on I met several men, too great cowards to turn out with the rebels,
but mean enough to give me great abuse on account of my principles.”
He and various other officers met at Newmarket, and agreed to do all
possible to raise quickly what force they could in their respective
neighbourhoods, the narrator being assisted by one of his sons, who
was a sergeant. “Two men had been sent from Newmarket to inform the
Governor that there were a number up here he could depend on. These men
were taken prisoners by Mackenzie’s party.... We felt much the want of
arms. Orders were given to search for and seize all the arms that could
be found; but we had poor success, as most of them were in the hands of
the rebels and the rest were hidden away to prevent our getting them.
About the 9th we heard that John Powell had shot Anderson,” followed by
the rest of the doings after Montgomery’s. News reached the men of the
north slowly, and for many reasons their march to the assistance of the
city was delayed. “At McLeod’s inn, on Yonge Street, a most cowardly
affair occurred. Some twenty-five or thirty of the Scotch and a few
others, on hearing that a body of men under Lount was stationed in the
Ridges, whom we might have to fight, turned tail and went home. Their
minister did all he could to dissuade them; but home they would go.
When he found persuasion useless, he mounted his horse and called for
volunteers. A few fell in with him, and he and they were with us when
we took up our march for the city.
“A certain officer had assumed the command, and was mounted on a horse
that had been taken from a Lloydtown man as he was trying to get home
after Montgomery’s. When we got down as far as Willis’s farm, at the
entrance to the Ridges, a halt was called and a council held, and, as
it was yet feared by some that there was a strong force of rebels in
the Ridges, it was decided that a few of us, about eight, and mounted,
should form an advance guard to reconnoitre. A man from the Landing had
gone into Willis’s and got a gun, which when the colonel saw he called
to the man to let him have. The other objected, whereupon the colonel
went up to him and, in the presence of us all, wrenched it out of his
hands. We were then ordered, the disarmed man one of us, to advance,
which we did. The eight of us had two guns, three swords, one club, and
this little party went through the Ridges while the colonel and his
reserve waited for about half an hour. Hearing nothing from us in the
shape of a skirmish they ventured through. When we got to Bond’s Lake
I got a pitchfork for the man from whom the colonel had taken the gun.”
At Thornhill they learned that the rebels were completely dispersed,
and many were for returning home; but it was decided to continue the
march and tender their services to the Government. “By this time we
mustered pretty strong, as several had joined us during the night and
morning, many of whom I presume would have joined the other party had
they been able to reach the city and make a stand there. We had now
some twenty-five or thirty prisoners that we had picked up as we came.
These we tied and placed in two strings, somewhat in the form of Ʌ.”
Arrived in the city the volunteers were inspected by the Governor, and
thanked by him in Her Majesty’s name for the tender of their services.
“When they came opposite to where I was sitting on my horse, Colonel
Carthew said, ‘A more loyal man does not live,’ and upon this the
Governor bowed twice and passed on.” Some ten or twelve of them did
not accept their billet upon the people, but went to a tavern and paid
their own way. “I was officer of the guard on the night that Peter
Matthews was brought into the Parliament House (used as head-quarters
and prison) a prisoner. On the next night I went with Mr. Robinson, Dr.
King and Sheriff Jarvis to the hospital, where Edgar Stiles, Kavanagh,
and Latra were lying, to take their depositions.” On the next night he
was sent “with a strong party to Sharon, where we captured some thirty
or forty and sent them to Toronto. For three or four days I was at
Newmarket attending to the guards, as we had a number of prisoners in
the Baptist meeting-house.... I was ordered to where Collingwood now
stands to look for Lount, who was said to be there at a lonely house
of one John Brasier. When we had got as far as Bradford a man was
sent after us with a report that Lount had been taken somewhere below
Toronto. When I went to Newmarket again I found that in my absence
several gentlemen who had been nowhere at the first had come in, had
got commissions and my men.... After this, some eighteen or twenty
of us about the Landing and Sharon joined and formed a company for
our mutual defence, armed with muskets. For a while we met for drill
weekly, then monthly, and soon not at all.”
Lloydtown, although the seat of disaffection, had its loyalists, too;
but as they were in the face of such odds they had to temper the
exhibition of their loyalty with discretion. One of themselves says
that when the call came for their aid they made a prompt response, but
took the precaution to leave the village in small parties.
But loyalty was a term on a sliding scale, and a Scotchman whose
vote was Reform was every whit as loyal as his Tory acquaintance who
“suspicioned” him.
“Loyal? Of course I was loyal, as every one in our neighbourhood was;
but most of us were true Reformers nevertheless, and not ashamed of
the name, in spite of Mackenzie’s goings-on. I refused to volunteer
in ’38 when the draftings began again, because all trouble in Upper
Canada was over, and I could not see that I was called upon to give up
important home duties; and besides that, the officers had nothing to
do, and thought it would be a fine thing to get a company up and have
the recompense for keeping it together. The captain only succeeded in
getting a few volunteers, not twenty, and the thing was to be completed
by ballot. That was a regular farce, and the ignorance of some of those
who drew was ridiculous. A Scotchman, holding his slip in his hand,
showed it exultantly to a friend, who did not begrudge him his luck,
saying, ‘O-o-aye, ah’ve drawed a prize.’ But I met an Irishman, soon
after, who had been sharper than the Scotchman, pretending that he knew
the peculiar twist of a paper that was intended not to be ‘drawed.’
The Irishman was rejoicing in his own exemption, and wickedly gloating
over his brother who was not up to the twisted paper trick and had
‘drawed.’ One man, now our most prominent citizen, and certainly one
of the oldest, refused either to draw or volunteer, for reasons the
same as mine; he had fought in ’37 on the loyalist side, and now in ’38
a warrant was out for him on the score of disloyalty! They tried to
arrest him, thinking he would submit quietly, but he fought the thing
on every point, and these so-called loyalists found they had no legal
ground to stand on. They dare not press the matter, so my friend was
let alone.”
* * * * *
“Our captain was a regular autocrat in manner and appearance, and he
spoke with a thick, fast utterance of a kind better imagined than
written, when he was excited. Two others, who happened to be where
we were stationed, also had an impediment in their speech, and none
of them were remarkable for smooth temper. X. was sitting in the
tavern one day when Z. entered to get something which was lying on the
back of X.’s chair. Z. stutteringly apologized for disturbing him.
X. was annoyed at being mocked, and stutteringly told him he would
stand no such insult. Z. wondered why it was an insult to claim his
belongings on the chair, and was equally angry at being stuttered at
in response to his polite speech. Stutters were bandied until mutual
anger, recrimination and exasperation led to a mutual invitation to the
open and an appeal to the captain’s sympathy, which was stutteringly
refused, while he advised them not to be ‘such-ch f-f-fools.’”
* * * * *
“In the beginning of the winter of ’37-38, MacNab, president of our
railroad, came with some of the directors into our office. He stood
before the fire, with his coat-tails turned up, and seemed to have
made up his mind to rival Cromwell, if not to surpass him. ‘Boys,
the Rebellion has burst out and the railway has burst up. Make out
your arrears of accounts due, get them verified and certified by the
chief engineer and keep them safe--some day you may get the money. In
the meantime we have none for you, and the banks are burst all over
the country, and if we had any to give you you could not pass it. We
have no further use for your services, unless you choose to enlist in
the volunteer corps. In that case I can promise you lots of work at
twenty-five cents a day without board, except by foraging on the enemy.
I give you quarter of an hour to get your accounts verified, and then
go. I want to lock up the office and put the key in my pocket by that
time.’
“I don’t know what the other fellows did with themselves, but I got my
$130 odd verified, and it will be just sixty years next December since
that money started ‘coming’ to me. I joined the Guelph Light Infantry,
under Captain Poore, and that afternoon we marched over awful roads
to Ancaster. When we got there we made camp-fires along the street,
and lay down in our blankets on the frozen ground. The object of our
expedition was to annihilate Duncombe.
“At about two in the morning we were kicked till we woke up, when we
were summoned to partake of the banquet the Government provided of pork
and bread. For the ensuing two weeks of our expedition we looked back
in raptures at that meal, for we got hardly another bite except an
occasional one stolen from the farmers. Once I got one hot potato from
the table while the people were at breakfast; the other fellows took
the rest, and it was all done in a moment. We got an occasional frozen
potato or turnip, but the farmers, who were nearly all rebels there,
generally left their houses empty. Lane, the commissary, was all the
time a three-days’ journey behind us.
“When we reached Brantford we were quartered in the Methodist Church,
three hundred of us, a coloured company from Toronto part of the three
hundred. Many queer things happened there, including a burlesque sermon
from the pulpit by a darkey, and the attempt to take up a collection
after it for commissariat purposes. I was sentry that night over the
so-called stores, and as I was leaving the church a kettle of boiling
fat was brought in. I had not time to wait, so I dipped my india-rubber
cup in and took a drink. I scalded my thumb and finger, burnt my
mouth and tongue, melted my cup, and then had two hours in which to
quietly meditate on the result of drinking red-hot fat in a hurry.
As I was leaving the church a strip of red flannel was handed me to
sew on my fur cap; none of us had uniforms, and the flannel was our
distinguishing mark from the enemy. While on sentry a woman crossed
the road and asked me if I had seen her husband; I said I had seen no
one, and asked her to sew the flannel on my cap. It appeared I was
keeping sentry over her husband’s bake-shop, which had been taken for
commissary purposes, and she kept me bareheaded in a snowstorm for an
hour waiting for that cap. That was our first snow, and before that
all our teaming had been by waggons. While bareheaded the commissary
came along to get into his store; I challenged him, and he said he
had not got the watchword. I would not let him pass; so he forced his
way against my bayonet. That made him go off vowing vengeance. Soon
Colonel MacNab and Colonel Mills and the commissary came up. I guessed
what they came for, and challenged them. MacNab was in the middle.
To ‘Advance, friend, and give the countersign,’ he said, ‘Don’t you
know me?’ I said I knew no one on duty. He then came up and whispered
‘Quebec,’ and I let him pass. That ended the attempt to catch me
tripping while on duty. When the woman brought me my cap I said I was
not going to thank her for sewing it, because she sympathised with
the rebellion. Suddenly I heard musket shots, and it appeared the
rebels were marching in to take Brantford without knowing we were
there waiting for them. A doctor in advance of their army had been
taken prisoner at the bridge; but he lied to MacNab, and said he was
on his way to see a sick person. This seemed probable, and he was let
go, when he rode back to warn the rebels. A shot was sent after him,
and that started the alarm I heard. All our companies were mustered in
line in a great snowstorm, and furnished with thirty-six rounds of ball
cartridge; then we began quick march to catch the enemy, who retreated
when the doctor reached them. We caught up to them at Beemersville,
when they took position and fired a volley; we charged, and they
subsided; so we ate their breakfast. During the day several hundred
Indians drew up in line in an orchard and took us for rebels; we took
them for the same. We were in line to receive them, and pails of
whiskey were dealt along. The others took it, but I refused, although
the sergeant who dealt it out said it would give me Dutch courage. I
said I wanted only English courage. Officers met each other half way
with flags of truce for a parley. It turned out we were all of the same
side, so they brought their painted faces to within ten feet opposite;
but we couldn’t speak Indian and they couldn’t speak English, so we
were not very communicative. When there was to be no fighting I wanted
my whiskey, but the sergeant would not give it.
“I went into the tavern to capture a prisoner almost in my hand. He had
fired two rifles at me, and then he ran to the tavern; my musket was
not loaded, so I could not return fire, but I threw it at him. I got
him fast in the tavern, almost transfixing him with my bayonet before
I could divert it; as it was, his long whiskers were pinned into the
wall, and to withdraw the steel I had to plant my foot against his
waistband. But when our men came pouring in several tried to kill him,
so I stood before him and we fenced with bayonets, I against three or
four. They desisted when I told them that the first blood spilt would
be theirs or mine, and I sent for a sergeant to come and take the man.
But when they went out I had to stand between my prisoner and the crowd.
“We slept three deep in straw that night. I came in late, found a
place, and used another man for a pillow; soon a comrade came in and
woke me up by sitting on my head while he pulled off his boots. I shook
him off three or four times, but he remonstrated with me for being
inconsiderate, as my head was the highest thing in the room and the
best for his purpose. He was so persistent, and I so sleepy, that I
agreed to let him stay if he would promise to get off when he got rid
of his boots. He promised, and I went to sleep; and I suppose he must
have done as he said, for I did not find him on my head in the morning.
“Near what was then Sodom-and-Gomorrah we came on seven haystacks in
a row by the fence line; the cavalry had tied their horses to the
fence and divided the stacks among them; then the teams came up, and
the stacks were melted more thoroughly than the snow. My legs were
stiff from walking, and a pock-marked Irishman’s hands were stiff from
driving; so we exchanged musket and whip, and I had a day’s relief
while driving for him. The snow had grown so deep that a team took
the lead, breaking the way for the men, who would pass by in full
procession, while the teamster drew to one side to rest his horses.
Before we left Norwich three or four hundred men gave themselves up as
prisoners, heartily sick of what they had supposed was patriotism. When
we got to Ingersoll and asked for food they said there that everything
had been bought up that was not poisonous; the grocery man had nothing
to offer me but soft soap, and he recommended that in strong terms. I
declined the inference.