so taken up with the moral lesson of the panorama before him,
making a book out of the running brook of Niagara and a moral out
of everything, showing his chemical analysis of the comparative
advantages of monarchical and republican institutions, speculating on
the mutating effect of hard shot on the latter and the thickness of
the hide of the American conscience and the thinness of skin which
covered American vanity, that he forgot to fight. “Waiting calmly
on the defensive,” he called it, emulating a commander at Fontenoy,
nicknamed The Confectioner, who, when asked why he did not move to
the front, replied, “I am preserving my men.” The usually alert and
active Canadian volunteer was occasionally balanced by one more likely
to damage himself or his comrades than the enemy. A young clergyman,
newly ordained, arrived in Canada about the time of the Rebellion. As
he had as yet no charge he thought it only proper to take part in the
fray, of course on the loyalist side. A musket was placed in his hands,
but he had to apply to someone wiser than himself to know what should
go in first. He was stationed on the Niagara frontier in mid-winter,
where the beauties of nature made him forgetful of all else. Instead of
keeping “eyes front” he used them in star-gazing, fell into the hands
of the rebels, and narrowly escaped being shot as a spy. He escaped by
the intervention of a person who happened to know him.
A central blockhouse, several batteries, and most imposing earthworks
could be seen through the telescope; but as the island was for the
most part covered with wood it was hard to approximate its strength.
The main camp of huts was on the other side and on Grand Island--a
large island some ten miles long, belonging to the United States, and
on which a certain Major Noah, of New York, years before had laid the
foundations of the city of Ararat, intending to raise there an altar.
Across the channel was a portion of the army of sympathisers and the
general hospital, the latter transformed into an ark of refuge. From
this island, United States property, the loyalist reconnoitering
parties sent out in small boats were fired upon, as minutely recorded
by Lieutenant Elmsley, who also states, “On our coming abreast of Fort
Schlosser I distinctly saw two discharges of heavy ordnance from a
point on the main shore on the American side, not far from that fort.
As soon as our boats had passed the firing ceased.” The two vantage
points of the lesser island and Canadian mainland were near enough for
threat or challenge to be thrown across, and from the Battle Ground
Inn, just opposite Navy Island, such encouraging sentences as “We’ll
be over at you one of these days,” were wafted over. An idle threat
so far. Chases after the balls of the enemy as they bounded along,
laughter and cheers, made the place more like a playground than a
battle-field, a state of inaction which continued for a fortnight.
Part of Sir Francis’ “moral” inward conflict was through the very
evident desire on the part of his black militia, many of them scarred
and mutilated from their slave-life, to be up and doing on the land
from which they had made their escape. They were a formidable looking
set of men, powerful, athletic; and as they stood about him, yellow
eyes, red gums and clenched ivory teeth making a fine combination of
colour, terrible possibilities seem to have crossed his mind. So also
with the Indian contingent. They did not like the Long Knives across
the water--a name not originally Kentuckian, but straight from the
time of good King Arthur. But there was what Sir Francis calls an
unwholesome opinion in Downing Street that it would be barbarous to
use them as allies against American citizens. It had been said that
Canadians were only a trifle less handy at scalping than the allies
were, and there were still tales extant of scalping scenes at the time
of the Conquest, and later. He managed to satisfy the Indians, however.
The honest red countenances glowed, the feathers on their heads gently
waved, as they communed among themselves, and presently a disconcerting
warwhoop arose, at first like the single yelp of a wolf, but gathering
in volume until every scalp upon the island must have quivered.
The following extracts from letters sent from Chippewa by Captain
Battersby to his home show how slowly matters progressed:
“Pavilion Hotel, 26th December, 1837.--MacNab arrived yesterday with a
large accession of force. Boats have been brought up from Niagara and
preparations are making for an attack, which if made at all will, I
think, take place in a day or two....
“Chippewa, 28th December.--No attack has yet been made, but the
preparations are going on. We are procuring boats from Dunnville, St.
Catharines and Niagara, forty or fifty seamen have arrived, and there
are two captains in the navy and four lieutenants, ... so that you
see our means are augmenting fast. We are most deficient in artillery,
but I believe some heavy guns are on their way. There was some firing
yesterday from the island, but no effect except wounding a horse. It is
said that the Governor has sent up orders not to attack the island by
boats, but to dislodge the enemy by artillery and bombardment. At any
rate I am glad to see that our leaders are going on cautiously and do
not intend making an attack until they have sufficient force. A part of
the 24th Regiment is said to be on its way here, and I shall be very
glad to see them--they will be invaluable as a support and rallying
point to our raw militia.... I will write again when I can, but such is
the hurry and confusion that it is difficult to find time and place.
“30th December, 9 p.m.--You will hear before this reaches you of the
burning of the steamboat on the American side of the river. It took
place about midnight, and was a very gallant enterprise, as those who
achieved it were mostly young, inexperienced lads, gentlemen volunteers
from the militia; very few of them could even row decently, and many
of the small boats employed had not even rudders.... I was in one of
the boats, but owing to not having men who could row, and the boat
being heavy, I lost sight of the others in the dark ... and obliged to
return. I have no doubt that this affair will make a great noise in the
United States; in fact I know it already has at Buffalo.... I don’t
think that an immediate attack is contemplated, though we are going
on with our preparations and shall have boats enough fitted and ready
in two or three days. One company of the 24th Regiment came in on the
morning of the day I last wrote you.... To give you an idea of the way
we go on, yesterday night when the boats were manning for the attack
a whole squad of people I knew nothing about came down armed to the
teeth, and I really thought at first they would have attempted to take
possession of my boat by force that they might go themselves.
“January 4, 1838.--The Lieut.-Governor is here and preparations are
still going on for the attack. I have now, however, no fear for the
result, as several heavy guns have been brought up, two mortars and a
large quantity of Congreve rockets. Our boat force is also increasing
rapidly and will soon be equal to whatever is required.... I believe
two or three companies of the 32nd will take part in the attack
whenever it is made. We are going to move to-night with the boats two
or three miles above the island, for the purpose of dropping down with
the current when the attack is made.
“January 8th.--The time of attack is as doubtful as ever. We are going
on still with our preparations, but owing to the paucity of materials
and the terrible state of confusion in which we are, our progress
is very slow. There has been a constant thaw here and some rain for
the last fourteen days, and the roads are in a state absolutely
indescribable. I can safely say that I am floundering in six inches
of mud and water from morning till night. I cannot ask for leave of
absence for a day, for numbers of the seamen are already discontented
and would willingly seize such a pretext for leaving us. We are living
in the utmost filth and discomfort.
“January 11th.--Here we are still in the same degree of uncertainty
as when I last wrote.... More artillery and troops are expected.... I
think myself that no attack will take place for two or three weeks, but
it is very likely that we shall endeavour to check their communications
with the United States, by means of armed boats, in which case my
services would be as necessary as if the island were attacked.... It
is now more than a fortnight since I have had my clothes off, night or
day. More or less firing takes place between our batteries and those of
the enemy every day, and though there are always crowds of gazers on
our side, yet to my astonishment only two men have as yet been hurt,
although the shot fall a good quarter of a mile past our batteries.
I think the commanding officer very much to blame for allowing such
crowds to put themselves in danger merely to gratify an idle curiosity.
The Buffalo papers state the loss on the island to have been eleven men
since the batteries first opened. Great numbers of the militia have
left and are leaving this place, at which I am not sorry, as they are
entirely undisciplined and many of them disorderly.”
But Sir John Colborne to the rescue. His artillery, officers, guns,
mortars, Congreve rockets and stores arrived, and a great stir went
through the dissatisfied lines.
The guard standing at Black Creek bridge had a very bad toothache
the night of December 29th, so bad that he thankfully retired to the
barracks at Chippewa, an old, evacuated tavern, whose big cavernous
fire-place, well filled with blazing logs, gave much comfort to his
aching jaw. The men were lying about on straw, two and two under a
blanket, when in came Nick Thorne to ask if any one of them would help
him load up wood from the barrack yard. Some great doings were on hand;
he had the countersign; the wood loads were to be used for a beacon
light. Reed, whose father, a U. E. Loyalist of 1796, had followed Brock
at Queenston, forgot his toothache.
The _Caroline_ was a copper-bottomed craft, originally constructed by
the man known afterwards as Commodore Vanderbilt, was intended to sail
in the waters off South Carolina, and her timbers were of live oak from
that State. She was converted into a steamer and brought up the canals
to Lake Ontario, had been used as a ferry at Ogdensburg, and was then
taken through the Welland Canal for similar ferry purposes at Buffalo.
She was hired by the patriots on Navy Island to convey stores to them
from Fort Schlosser, an old military position of French times, where
neither fort nor village remained; there was nothing but a tavern,
which was the rendezvous of the “pirate force” in coming and going.
“Where are you going?” queried someone similar to the gentle general.
“To Dunkirk,” answered the _Caroline’s_ master, Appleby.
“You mean eastward to Navy Island?” But this skipper answered never a
word, and a scornful laugh laughed he.
The three lake schooners, each fitted with a gun and intended to carry
troops to the island when the long deferred attack should be made, were
still inactive. A loyalist reconnoitering party was sent out to report
upon what proved to be the _Caroline’s_ last trip. She had landed a
cannon and several armed men, and had dropped her anchor east of the
island. Expecting to find her still there it was decided to “cut her
out” that night. The process technically known as cutting out is a
naval one, conducted with great secrecy and muffled oars, men and
cutlasses, pistols and boarding pikes, black night and plenty of blood,
after the manner of Marryat; always a dangerous business, but in these
circumstances, where their chart reported irresistible currents and not
half a mile above the Falls, a most perilous enterprise. Luckily there
was the right kind of material at hand and to spare for it. They had
but a few small boats of about twelve feet in length, each pulling four
oars; it would be necessary to keep uncomfortably close to the rapids
in order to avoid observation from Navy Island; the difficulties, did
the men once quail, were so great that the shortest way was to put them
out of mind. At four o’clock that afternoon Colonel MacNab and Capt.
Drew, R.N., stood on the lookout discussing the situation. They saw the
_Caroline_ performing her duty of conveyance, the telescope revealing
the field-pieces and men.
“This won’t do,” said MacNab. “I say, Drew, do you think you can cut
that vessel out!”
“Oh, yes,” was the ready answer; “nothing easier. But it must be done
at night.”
“Well, then,” was the laconic order, “go and do it.” That order “nearly
fired the continent as well as the _Caroline_.”
To quote the patriot chronicle, it was now that “an insult, the
most reckless, cowardly, and unwarranted that was ever offered to a
sovereign people, was given.”
Captain Drew was a commander on half pay, “elderly, shortish, and
stout,” who had settled in Woodstock in 1834 upon a beautiful farm,
where he fondly hoped to end his days in peaceful occupations of
wheat-growing and tree-planting. The Duke of Northumberland, who
visited him there, thought it the prettiest place he had seen in
Canada; and indeed Captain Drew and Major James Barwick may be termed
the pioneers of those--the Vansittarts, Lights, De Blaquières, Deedes
and others--who formed the far-known aristocratic settlement of
Oxford. The midlands of England held nothing lovelier than these homes
scattered along the Thames, farms separated by beautiful ravines,
studded and fringed with elms and noble maples, well built picturesque
houses, wherein the owners entertained after the manner of their class
and kind and spent much money. The stress of war in very few years was
to wipe out this community of blood, manners and culture; but Captain
Drew’s tenure, owing to the cutting out of the _Caroline_, was to be
shorter still.
The first thing to be done was to call for volunteers. “Here we are,
sir,” cried a hundred voices, “what are we to do?” some of them from
the contingent in the Methodist chapel at Chippewa. “Follow me,” was
the only answer, for it was of first importance that no word could
possibly be conveyed to the island, and Drew says the men did not know
their errand until seated in the boats and off from shore, taking their
way _via_ the little canal just above the rapids. Rumours of any kind
were quickly transmitted to either side; one of the most ludicrous
which had recently come to the ears of the troops was that Mackenzie’s
people said the Tories of Toronto had managed to smuggle a black cook
into the patriot stronghold opposite, and that presently all patriots
would therefore die of poison.
Each man of the boats’ crews had to be able to pull a good oar, a
condition not strictly carried out, as we see from Captain Battersby’s
letters, but there were some experts, such as young Mewburn, who writes
that he was doubly manning a bow oar. Each man was furnished with a
cutlass and pistol. Most of them were young fellows, some from that
corps organized in King Street in Hamilton by MacNab and called by
him his “Elegant Extracts.” One, young Woods, a curly-headed laddie,
U.E.L. to the heart’s core, good-naturedly gave up his seat to a
friend, Dr. Askin, and then found himself likely to be left on shore.
He appealed to his chief. “Why, you d--d young scamp, if you want to
be shot give my compliments to Captain Beer and tell him to take you
in.” More easily said than done; but through influence, and by being
able to hide under a seat, he got into a boat and lay on a pile of wet
sand, with knees up to his chin, palpitating with excitement, until
the final moment of departure. For time dragged tediously; they had to
give the _Caroline_ an hour or two to settle herself for the night,
and they heartily wished that the moon would do the same. “Hadn’t you
better give me another,” said our curly-headed laddie, referring to his
pistol. “When you have used that, you will find that you won’t want
another,” said his officer.
MacNab wished the _Caroline_ to be brought to Chippewa; Drew wanted her
burnt and done for. By half after eleven they had started, sent off
with three hearty cheers from those left behind, Thorne, Reed and the
others ready to light the fire which was to answer to the blaze they
intended to make, and, unnecessary precaution, which would also serve
as beacon to guide them back. Once out, the men were told the service
they were bent on and offered the chance to return, the danger not
being burked. But no one took advantage of the offer. Some, however,
nearly had their course altered in spite of themselves: “Robert
Sullivan, one of the crew, called out, ‘Stop rowing, boys, for God’s
sake--do you see where we are--we are going straight over the Falls!’
‘Silence!’ responded Lieutenant Graham, ‘or I will blow your brains
out. It is for me, not you, to give orders.’ ‘Oh, very well,’ replied
Sullivan, drawing his oar into the boat, ‘if I am to go over the Falls,
I may as well go without brains as with them.’ Here we all joined in,
and after hurriedly representing to Graham the danger of our position
we began to pull up stream. A little longer and it would have been
too late.” The roar of the mighty cataract, which awed and somewhat
terrified them, had been previously described by a patriot writer as
the peal of the funeral dirge of royalty in Canada.
Shots from Navy Island made the heart beat; and do their best they were
forced to cross the river diagonally. “We are going astern, sir; we
shall be over the Falls;” but reassured by the light from the doomed
steamer, by which they could determine the drop down stream, they at
length all got together. The moon was yet too bright, and they rested
on their oars, dipping them enough to stem the current. At last it was
dark enough, and they were alongside. “Boat, ahoy! boat, ahoy!--give
us the countersign!” “Silence!” said Drew, in a confidential tone,
“silence! don’t make a noise, and we’ll give you the countersign when
we get on board.” Once on deck, he drew his sword, saying to the three
men who were lounging on the starboard gangway, “I want this vessel,
and you must go ashore at once.” Thinking he was alone they took up
their arms and fired at him, not a yard off. A swing and a cut of the
sword, and one patriot dropped at the captain’s feet. Another trigger
was pulled, the only result a flash in the pan; there was a sabre-cut
dealt on the inside of the man’s arm, and the pistol fell. The captain
confesses to expediting this man and another over the boat’s side with
an inch of the point of his weapon.
Meantime, three of the boats had boarded forward, and a good deal
of firing followed, the latter checked at once by the captain, as
he feared that in the dark friend might be mistaken for foe, a fear
soon realized. Returning, he thought it wise to reconnoitre about
the gangway between the bulwark and the raised cabin. Here he was
met by a man who aimed at him a slashing cut, which he parried and
successfully pinned the cutlass against the cabin bulk-head. “Holloa,
Zealand,” said he, recognizing one of his own men, a fine specimen of
an old British tar, “what are you about?” “Oh, I beg pardon, sir, I
didn’t know it was you!” said the zealous sailor, who, released, went
to seek legitimate prey. There was a good deal of cursing, clashing
of swords and shouting, and (it is said) a cry of “Show the rebels no
quarter.” On the contrary, as the men fussed over the lamp, the window
sashes and the forgotten “carcass,” trying to coax a fire, one American
heard them say of himself, “What shall we do with this fellow?” “Kill
him!” suggested one; “No, take him prisoner!” said a third; but their
officer’s decision was that they did not want prisoners, and the man
was to be put ashore. And the only person killed in the whole affair,
Durfee, lay on the dock, shot by a bullet which came from the land
side. Wells, the owner of the vessel, finding himself on solid ground,
made some good running, in spite of his assertion that he was almost
cut to pieces.
One tale of the day has it that another life was lost; a volunteer was
fired at by a patriot, and in retaliation beat his assailant’s brains
out; his own condition and that of the butt of his pistol corroborated
his story on his return to the Canadian side. The matter for the
extraordinarily sensational accounts given by the American press was
chiefly furnished by Mackenzie.
Lieutenant Elmsley officered a guard on shore while the vessel was cut
from her moorings--not an easy thing to accomplish, as she was made
fast by chains frozen in the ice; but a young fellow named Sullivan
seized an axe, cleared the chains, and set her free. This, Commander
Drew’s own story, is denied by a survivor, one of his lieutenants. A
lamp was placed in a basket used for carrying Indian corn, cross-bars
from the windows were torn off and added to it, and the vessel was set
alight in four different places. The material especially brought for
this purpose, and known as a carcass, was at first quite forgotten.
Care had been taken to rouse all sleepers, had any been able to sleep
through such a scene; the invaders were ordered to their boats; the
flames shot out fore and aft; and by this time Captain Drew found his
stand on the paddle-box too uncomfortable, as those driven ashore had
recovered from their surprise and the discharge of their muskets was
disagreeably close. It was equally uncomfortably hot, and his gallant
wish to be the last on board nearly left him there as she drifted down
the current. He found a companion in a man emerging from below who
declared it too hot to live in there, and together they got into the
boat sent back for them, Drew’s shouts fortunately having risen above
the din. So far there was no need for the beacon from the opposite
shore; the _Caroline_ herself, like a great torch, glided beside them,
or rather they kept in the wake of her gold-dust covered ripples, a
fine target for the island guns; but the days of bull’s-eyes were not
yet. In spite of wounds the men rose superior to fear of shot, content
with the result of their mission, and anxious to rejoin the cheering
multitude that waited for them on the Canadian shore. The illumination
made by burning vessel and beacon light threw every pebble on the
shore-line into bright relief. Drew’s account states that no human
ingenuity could have accomplished what the _Caroline_ so easily did for
herself. When free from the wharf at Fort Schlosser her natural course
would have been to follow the stream, which would have taken her along
the American shore and over the American Fall; but she behaved as if
aware she had changed owners and navigated herself across the river,
clearing the rapids above Goat Island; she went fairly over the British
Fall of Niagara.[4]
An extract from one of the songs sung by the Canadian volunteers will
give an idea of the sentiments of the singers:
“A party left the British shore,
Led on by gallant Drew, sir,
Who set the Yankee boat on fire
And beat their pirate crew, sir.
The Yankees said they did invent
The steamboat first of all, sir,
But Britain taught the Yankee boat
To navigate the Fall, sir.”
The Lewiston _Telegraph_ on Saturday set this in type at 6 a.m.:
“HORRIBLE! MOST HORRIBLE!!
“We stop the press to announce the following horrible intelligence
which has just been communicated by two gentlemen direct from the
bloody scene:
“The steamer _Caroline_, which was lying at the landing at Porter’s
storehouse, was boarded this morning between the hours of twelve and
one by about eighty men, who came in boats from the Canada side. The
_Caroline_ had on board from fifteen to twenty of our sleeping and
defenceless citizens, who had lodgings on board. They are believed to
have been mostly citizens of Buffalo, who came as lookers-on, with the
expectation of witnessing the attack upon the island. Every individual
was butchered except four, and three of these severely wounded. The
engineer, who was thrust through and put on shore, says that after the
bloody work was executed a small boy was found in a closet, who begged
for mercy but found none. The _Caroline_ was then towed out into the
stream and sent over Niagara Falls. Three cheers were given, and at the
same time beacon lights were raised at Chippewa. Our informant saw the
lifeless body of one person who was shot upon the shore.”
For five years the question hung upon a thread whether England and the
United States should go to war or not. It is always fair to give two
sides of a question, but in the one given by Clio and Melpomene it will
be seen their poetic license degenerates into something more than the
flowery taradiddle of the average verse-maker:
“Oh, what were the dreams, as they sunk to rest,
Of that devoted band,
Who lay, as a babe on its mother’s breast,
On the shores of their native land?
Breathed they of fire, or of streaming blood,
Or the thundering cataract’s whelming flood?