of it,” had been the legend on Mackenzie’s hand-bills; and here he was
within a mile of the Governor and capital.
After a leisurely toilet, Sir Francis entrusted the care of his family
to faithful friends, who put them on board a boat lying in the bay.
Late as it was, navigation was not closed, and there was no sign of
the seals of winter upon the lake. Yet the air was intensely cold, and
the stars shone like diamonds as the Governor made his way over the
creaking, lightly snow-covered planks from Government House to the City
Hall. Every bell in the city was ringing with all its might.
“Though cracked and crazy I have mettle still,
And burst with anger at such treatment ill.”
The most monotonous and the shrillest note of the Carillon, in Head’s
own words, proclaimed “_... Murder, murder, murder, and much worse!_”
“What’s amiss?” “You are, and you do not know it;” or Lady Macbeth
might have been heard calling, “What’s the business, that such a
hideous trumpet calls to parley the sleeper of the house.”
The bells were distinctly heard at Gallows Hill. An occasional shot,
fired at random yet startling, pierced these impromptu chimes. The
rumours of the streets condensed at rallying points, where people told
of the rattle of Powell’s horse’s hoofs as he made his mad gallop from
Mackenzie to Head; of how hundreds, soon thousands, were at Gallows
Hill, ready to descend upon them; of how the city was defenceless, and
would the speaker and his friend enrol for its defence or not; how the
generally staid persons of the Chief-Justice and Judges Macaulay and
McLean, unusually excited, were seen with muskets on their shoulders;
how the third judge, Jonas Jones, was losing not a moment to get
some thirty volunteers to remain on guard at the toll gate on Yonge
Street for the night; how such young fellows as Henry Sherwood, James
Strachan, John Beverley Robinson, jun., were galloping about as aides,
appointed in a moment and eager in their master’s service; all were on
the alert, keeping vigil to a day of uproar and excitement.
At the market-house the Governor found assembled the force on which he
had to depend. It was not long before he was aware that one, at least,
was armed. A ball whistled through the room where he was closeted in
earnest talk with Judge Jones, and stuck in the wall close beside them.
Men, brimful of loyalty and agitation, were seen parading hurriedly in
front of the City Hall, a musket on either shoulder, hungering for an
enemy and afraid that he might come.
At sunrise Colonel FitzGibbon rode out to reconnoitre the position of
the invaders, and reported that they numbered some five hundred men, a
half-armed rabble without competent leader or discipline--a fit sequel
to that “volume of shreds and patches,” the grievance book; a set
of stragglers in an unfortified position. At eight, Sir Francis and
his comrades at the City Hall, after a nap taken on the floor, rose
to inspect and to be inspected, a group almost as sorry in military
appearance as the one reported on by FitzGibbon. The Governor had a
short double-barrelled gun in his belt and another on his shoulder;
as a kind of twin or complement to him, the Chief-Justice was armed
with thirty rounds of ball cartridge. Sir Francis made a brief but
animated address, to which the assemblage returned three cheers. A
few days before he had “requested an officer” to strengthen the fort
lying west of the city; accordingly, its earthworks were surrounded by
a double line of palisades, the barracks were loopholed, the magazine
stockaded, and a company of Toronto militia lodged there. But as “a
commander without troops,” the market-house--full of men, with its two
six-pounders “completely filled with grape shot,” furnished with four
thousand stand of arms, bayonets, belts and ball cartridge, brought
from the depot at Kingston shortly before--was more to Sir Francis’
mind than the empty fort would have been. Besides which, he states in
his own account, in the moral combat in which he was about to engage,
he would have been out of his proper element in a fort. “The truth is,”
he concludes, after disposing of many ill-natured remarks made about
him by persons unversed in even the rudiments of war, “if Mr. Mackenzie
had conducted his gang within pistol-shot of the market-house, the
whole of the surprise would have belonged to him.”
The “officer” who was “requested” to strengthen the fort was no doubt
Colonel Foster, Assistant Adjutant-General and Commander of the Forces
for some years before the Rebellion broke out. His name unaccountably
has been omitted from many of the chronicles of those times. He began
his military career in the 52nd Oxfordshire Regiment of Foot, and
during his colonial service he enjoyed the confidence of Lord Dalhousie
and Sir John Colborne. When the latter sent his celebrated request
for troops, Foster remonstrated, as it was well known to him, at any
rate, that a rebellion in Upper Canada was imminent. Foster was then
left in command “of the sentries, sick soldiers, and women and children
remaining in the fort.” A captain in the 96th at Lundy’s Lane, he was
no novice in Canadian requirements, and the letter quoted from Sir John
Colborne shows how he fulfilled his duty:
“MONTREAL, May 18, 1838.
“MY DEAR COLONEL FOSTER,--I cannot quit Canada without bidding you
adieu and requesting that you will accept my sincere thanks for your
constant attention in the discharge of the duties of your Department
during the seven years which you passed at my military right hand in
Upper Canada. I assure you that the little trouble experienced by me in
my military command I attribute to your arrangements and punctuality.
“With every wish for your happiness,
“Believe me, my dear Colonel Foster,
“Sincerely yours,
“J. COLBORNE.”
Colley Lyons Lucas Foster is described as a fine-looking man, of
commanding presence and thoroughbred manner, a true gentleman and a
thorough soldier of the Wellington type. His very cordial intercourse
with his beau ideal of a general was attested by many letters to him in
the Great Duke’s own handwriting.
But whatever Mackenzie’s wishes were, his “gang” had no notion of
getting anywhere so uncomfortably near. Yet, if there was to be
a fight, what was to be done; for it was hard indeed, after such
preparation, if the enemy would not come. “I will not fight them on
their ground,” said the Governor; “they must fight me on mine.” He
would not even allow the picket guard, withdrawn by Judge Jones at
daylight, to be replaced by Colonel FitzGibbon. “Do not send out a
man--we have not men enough to defend the city. Let us defend our
posts; and it is my positive order that you do not leave this building
yourself.” Notwithstanding which a picket of twenty-seven, under
the command of Sheriff Jarvis, was placed a short distance up Yonge
Street. Prior to taking position there, it was suggested that a flag
of truce should be sent--some accounts say from a humane desire on the
part of the Governor to prevent the shedding of blood; others say to
give time in which to allow answers to be returned to the expresses
which he promptly had sent to MacNab in Hamilton and Bonnycastle in
Kingston. In the faulty despatch sent to Glenelg relating the episode
he represents himself by that white ensign as “parentally calling
upon them to avoid the effusion of human blood,” having “the greatest
possible reluctance at the idea of entering upon a civil war;” while in
his after justification, “The Emigrant,” he says “The sun set without
our receiving succour or any intimation of its approach.” He was no
believer in “the fewer men the greater share of honour.”
The Sheriff had thought to ride out with the flag, but he had many sins
laid against him in the rebel repository of grievance, such as standing
at the polls, riding-whip in hand, to expedite the votes he approved
and discountenance others, and it was thought imprudent to allow him to
take the rôle of mediator. Mr. Robert Baldwin, not long returned from
a prolonged visit to Great Britain, at all times above suspicion as to
loyalty, a Reformer to the core, but as far removed from rebellion as
the Chief-Justice himself, together with Dr. Rolph--about whom there
were diverse opinions--were the final choice. Adjured by the Sheriff,
in the name of God, to go out to try “to stop the proceedings of these
men who are going to attack us,” the first man who was appealed to had
refused; the act would lay him open to suspicion. Rolph considered
that the Constitution was virtually suspended, and that Sir Francis
had no authority to send out the flag. As soon as it became known that
anything so novel was on the tapis excitement in the town merged into
curiosity, and all, from the smallest urchin up, crowded to see the
two start forth on their mission. A question which bids fair to remain
as unsolved as “The Lady or the Tiger” now had its beginning. We can
fancy the doctor pondering as he rode, “Am I politic? Am I subtle? Am I
a Machiavel?” Rather should he have remembered the late counsel of the
Keeper of the Great Seal, that the councillors should leave simulation
and dissimulation at the porter’s lodge. The dying testimony of Lount,
“He gave me a wink to walk on one side,” that the message should not
be heeded, the counter testimony of others that this took place at the
_second_ visit of the bearers, have furnished theme for pages, the
outcome of which is to mar or make whiter the character of one of the
most prominent, certainly the ablest, of the _dramatis personæ_ in that
_entr’acte_ of the rebellion, the Flag of Truce.
The point of the question is not, _Did_ Dr. Rolph wink, but, _When_
did he wink. If after his ambassadorial function was over, the act,
according to the rules which govern flags of truce, could not be taken
exception to. If whilst an ambassador, the case becomes one not of
ordinary manners and morals, but shows him as a double traitor.
Arrived at Gallows Hill--ominous title, a fitting one, thought the
Loyalists--the three on horseback, “_in solid_ _phalanx_” Hugh
Carmichael, the bearer, in the middle, Dr. Rolph, as spokesman, asked
what the insurgents wanted, said the Governor deprecated the effusion
of blood, and offered an amnesty if they would return to their homes.
The result of the conference which ensued was that no reliance was to
be felt in the bare word of Sir Francis; it must be in writing, that no
act of hostility would be committed in the time allowed for an answer;
that they demanded “independence and a convention to arrange details.”
Moreover, he was given until two o’clock only to decide.
The answer of these “infatuated creatures” had a curious effect. For
once Sir Francis declined to taunt with the license of ink. His nerves
were much steadied by the report of undisciplined, unarmed hundreds,
instead of thousands eager for carnage, brought back by the truce
party; and letters stating that volunteers bound for his aid were on
the way enabled him to disregard what in courtesy would be due to
his agents. He curtly told them his refusal, and they made a third
trip to report him to his enemy. Baldwin then returned to his wonted
retirement, and Rolph busied himself in preparation for the result of
his advice--“Wend your way into the city as soon as possible at my
heels”--by at once seeing the Radicals in town and instructing them to
arm themselves, as Mackenzie was on the road. “Why do you stand here
with your hands in your breeches pockets? Go, arm yourselves how you
can; Mackenzie will be in immediately!”--an event for which he did not
wait. Some time before, Judge Jonas Jones had said that Dr. Rolph had
a vile democratic heart, and ought to be sent out of the Province.
Mr. Baldwin, riding away, heard cheers, but did not know the cause.
Four weeks later, writing of the event, he says: “Whether under the
circumstances I acted judiciously in undertaking the mission, I know
not. One thing I know, that what I did I did for the best, and with the
sincerest desire of preventing as far as possible the destruction of
life and property.”
But Mackenzie was busy setting fire to Dr. Horne’s house. Its only
guard was a very large and handsome Newfoundland dog which formerly had
been patrol for Bonnycastle on the beach which skirted his isolated
cottage on the bay, a beach much frequented by smugglers and other
idlers. The brute valiantly defended his new beat, but without avail.
After a series of capers which caused some of his followers to say that
little Mac. was out of his head and unfit to be left at large, an end
was made of the dog, and the fire was lighted.
A messenger was now sent after the dilatory general by Rolph, who,
like the mother of Sisera, was sick at heart to know what hindered the
wheels of his chariot. The messenger was a young fellow named Henry
Hover Wright, one of Rolph’s students, just arrived from Niagara and
full of wonder at being met on the wharf by armed men. The only guard
he encountered on Yonge Street was one man--rebel--armed with a fusil.
Wright passed him, asking why they did not come. The answer was, “We
cannot go until General Mackenzie is ready.” The latter at that moment
was busy ordering away a new-comer, saying, “I don’t know you, and
there are too many friends,” and particularly busy in his endeavour
to get dinner and supper for the men. Mounted on a small white horse,
from which vantage he incessantly harangued his followers, he told them
he would be commander-in-chief as Colonel Van Egmond had not arrived.
Van Egmond did not arrive until the Thursday, when Mackenzie, after
breakfasting with him, threatened to shoot him.
Expostulating with those who would not advance upon the city in
daylight, and exhorting those who had equal objections to the dark,
the leader has been variously described: “Storming and swearing like a
lunatic, and many of us felt certain he was not in his right senses. He
abused and insulted several of the men without any shadow of cause, and
Lount had to go round and pacify them by telling them not to pay any
attention to him”--(the commander-in-chief)--“as he was not responsible
for his actions.” “If we had locked him up in a room at the tavern,”
says the naïve chronicler, “and could then have induced Lount to lead
us into the city, we should have overturned the government without
any fighting worth talking about.” “Once or twice,” says another, “I
thought he was going to have a fit.”
No help from outside had as yet arrived in Toronto. After refreshment
to the inner rebel had been successfully accomplished by the united
efforts of Lount and Mackenzie, the latter’s white mount was exchanged
for a big horse taken from some loyalist prisoner. At that juncture had
the movement been persevered in, with Lount prominently directing it,
there is every reason to suppose that the arms, ammunition and money
in the town would have been theirs--also that they would have captured
Sir Francis himself, “unless,” indeed, as the _London and Westminster
Review_ said, “he had run away.” “All who will reflect on the nature of
civil war,” it said, “must see the fearful odds which a day’s success
and the possession of the capital and its resources would have given
the rebels. For their not obtaining it we have no reason to thank Sir
Francis Head.”
“I told them,” (the men) says Mackenzie in his own account of his brief
harangue, “that I was certain there could be no difficulty in taking
Toronto, that both in town and country the people stood aloof from Sir
Francis, that not one hundred men and boys could be got to defend him,
that he was alarmed and had got his family on board a steamer, that six
hundred Reformers were ready waiting to join us in the city, and that
all we had to do was to be firm, and with the city would so at once go
down every vestige of foreign government of Upper Canada.”
“If your honour will but give us arms,” cried a voice from the ranks
before Sir Francis, “sure the rebels will find the legs.”
In the next hour both sides were to find they had their full complement
of these useful limbs.
“To fight and to be beaten,” says Dafoe, “is a casualty common to all
soldiers.... But to run away at the sight of an enemy, and neither
strike nor be stricken, this is the very shame of the profession.”
About sundown the rebels, between seven and eight hundred strong,
began their march, half of them armed with green cudgels, cut on the
way, the riflemen in the van followed by two hundred of the pikemen. A
score or so had old and rusty muskets and shot-guns. Most of them wore
a white badge on the sleeve. Three abreast they went, Lount at their
head, “Mackenzie here, there and everywhere.” They moved steadily and
without mishap, taking prisoner some chance wayfarers and an officer of
loyalist artillery, until the head of the column neared a garden, where
Sheriff Jarvis and his picket of twenty-seven lay in wait for them.
The sheriff gave the word to fire. This his men remained to do, then
speedily stood not upon the order of their going, but went at once in
haste, and ran into the city. The sheriff called to them to stop, but
they were beyond his voice and control; whereupon he probably thought
“I’ faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer,” and followed them.
It was a random volley, but it spread consternation. Lount ordered it
to be returned, which was done, but in such fear and trepidation that
had the others waited to receive it they might have been still safe.
Lount and the men in front fell flat on their faces to allow those
behind them an opportunity to fire. But this the latter had no mind
to do, thinking the fall due to the bullets of the picket. “We shall
all be killed,” cried the Lloydtown pikemen, throwing down their rude
weapons. In Mackenzie’s words, “They took to their heels with a speed
and steadiness of purpose that would have baffled pursuit on foot.” In
a short twenty minutes not one of either side was to be found within
range of the toll-bar or of each other. The one man killed in the
affair was a rebel, done to death from the rear by a nervous and too
willing comrade. Mackenzie implored, he coaxed and he threatened, and
in such strong language did he treat this retreat that one man from
the north, provoked beyond endurance, raised his gun to shoot the
commander-in-chief, when a third prevented him.
“I was enabled by strong pickets,” wrote Sir Francis after this,
“to prevent Mr. Mackenzie from carrying into effect his diabolical
intention to burn the city.”
It was now time to look for some support in answer to the appeals for
help sent by special messengers on the Monday evening. One messenger
went by land; while another, to make certain, took the water route.
Bonnycastle, indiscriminately dubbed captain or major, was sitting
quietly in his home in Kingston, tired after an afternoon spent at the
new fort in providing against fire or surprise, when some one, in a
state of great excitement, ran into his study to say the steamboat
_Traveller_ had arrived from Toronto with Sir Francis Head and all who
had been able to escape from that city on board; Toronto was taken by
Mackenzie and burnt. Bonnycastle says he “buckled on his armour” and
went to consult the commandant of their little garrison--eleven or
twelve artillerymen--as to what was best to be done in such a dreadful
emergency. Not two steps on his way he was met by a second breathless
messenger, followed by a crowd of eager neighbours, who took advantage
of the open hall door to come in to hear the news. This second express
was to say that the only cargo on board was a letter for Bonnycastle,
but that a serious outbreak had occurred. The letter was an order to
send stores to Toronto, to arm all loyal persons in Kingston, and to
preserve intact the depot and fortress--a work which he did so well
that it earned him his knighthood.
The bearer of the duplicate despatch by land had a more difficult
journey. He was narrowly searched and examined by the rebels en route,
but while his companion was being taken prisoner he sewed his despatch
in his sleeve, and by his activity arrived at his destination the
same night as, but later than, the _Traveller_. It was two o’clock on
the Monday when Colonel MacNab, in Hamilton, received Sir Francis’
statement, that he, with a few followers, was in the market place
of his capital, threatened by Mackenzie and his band of rebels.
MacNab lost no time in answering this appeal for help in a way quite
consistent with every other detail of that gentleman’s life given to
the public. He mounted his horse, rode to the wharf, seized the first
steamer he found lying there, put a guard on board her, sent messengers
off to the farmers and yeomen on whom he felt he could rely, and by
five o’clock was sailing with his sixty men of Gore; a thousand of
them had but lately gathered before Sir John Colborne to testify to
their sentiments on Mr. Hume’s baneful domination letter. That letter,
calculated to further excite those already discontented, was a blessing
in disguise, since it had stirred into active life half dormant
sentiments of loyalty, and made brighter those already bright.
But of the thousands then preparing for a tramp to converge at Toronto,
through dark forest and over corduroy and half frozen swale, the
market-place and Sir Francis himself were not, as his writings assert,
the objective points. Many who left wives, families and farms and who
found themselves in the loyalist ranks at Gallows Hill, had no such
loyal intention when they left home.
Sir Francis, sitting forlorn enough in his market-place, was with his
admirers discussing the situation by the light of a tallow candle,--a
Rembrandt picture, from the shadows of which stand forth many familiar
faces, when, as with Bonnycastle and King Richard III., two or three
breathless messengers burst in upon them to announce the men of Gore.
Steamers and schooners--containing not only the young and venturesome,
but the advanced in years, as the Honourable William Dickson, then in
his sixty-eighth year--now began to arrive, and the city, in spite of
the motley appearance of some cargoes, seemed transformed at a stroke
from an excited and frightened community into a vast barrack or camp.
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, there was no longer need
into a thousand parts to divide one man and make imaginary puissance,
for by that time they were so increased that it became imperative to
make an attack. Their number embarrassed those in command, and it was
difficult to find accommodation for them. At midnight Sir Francis put
MacNab in charge; by the following sunset more than twelve hundred
armed men were at his service. A council was held at Archdeacon
Strachan’s, at which it was resolved to attack the rebels on Thursday
morning. Evidently with changed circumstances and advisers Sir Francis
had changed his mind; he was no longer averse to seeking his enemy on
the latter’s ground. Four days before this, Attorney-General Hagerman
had declared his belief that not fifty men in the province would attack
the Government; now he announced that everything depended on the
Government’s power of attack.