Discontent in Upper Canada--Election riots--Shillelahs as
persuaders--William Lyon Mackenzie--Rioting in
York--Rebellion--Patriots and sympathizers--A relentless
chase--Crossing Lake Ontario in midwinter--A perilous passage--A
sailor hero--A critical moment--Safe on shore--“Rebellion Losses
Bill”--Transported to Botany Bay--Murder of my
grandfather--Canadian legends--A mysterious guest.
Land of the forest and the rock,
Of dark blue lake and mighty river,
Of mountains reared aloft to mock
The storm’s career, the lightning’s shock;
My own green land for ever.
--_Adapted._
Voices of discontent had been heard for many months previous to the
actual outbreak of the rebellion of 1837 in Upper Canada. Meetings were
held, at which the wrongs inflicted on the country by the Family Compact
were discussed. Responsible government had not then been granted to
Canada by the Imperial Government; prior to the rebellion the country
was under the rule and the heel of an oligarchy who had foisted
themselves upon the people.
It would be impossible and it is indeed unnecessary for me to refer to
the causes of the outbreak in Upper Canada. Most persons’ minds have
already been fully made up _pro_ and _con_ on the subject. It is not my
purpose to do more than relate such incidents as came within the notice
of my father and grandfather, or had an influence on their lives or
surroundings.
The elections of candidates for the Legislature were conducted
differently from what they now are under responsible government, a
change hastened by the rebellion, and finally secured by the able Report
of Lord Durham.
At Newcastle, Durham County, an election was being held, ostensibly to
elect a member of the Parliament. For one whole week electors were asked
to ascend a flight of steps to a booth erected in the open air, and
there verbally announce the name of the candidate for whom they would
vote. The Family Compact took good care that all timorous ones voted for
them, or did not vote at all, if an opposition candidate was nominated.
A participant in that election told of a waggon-load of green shillelahs
brought to the grounds for the purpose of gently (?) persuading the
electors to vote for the Government nominee. Whiskey could be had for
the asking, without money and without price, and _ab libitum_. The
ordinary price of whiskey at that date and for many years later was
tenpence per gallon. Fights were of hourly occurrence during the
election, and for six days a pandemonium of riot reigned. It is
superfluous to add that the Government candidate won the contested seat,
as he did very generally in other constituencies throughout the
Province.
William Lyon Mackenzie, the hard-headed little Scotch reformer, who was
several times elected and expelled the House, exposed these acts in his
paper and some of the sons of the Compact threw his type into York
(Toronto) bay. The destruction of his type and the consequent revulsion
of feeling secured justice, and damages assessed for the loss being paid
to Mackenzie from the fines exacted of the lads who committed the
depredation enabled him to continue the publication of his paper, and
through it rouse his sympathizers into open rebellion. No government
over English-speaking subjects has yet succeeded long in curtailing the
liberty of the press. In Canada this remark was as true as elsewhere.
My father at this time was captain of one of his fleet of ships, and was
not on shore to participate in the excitement. Freights that fall (1837)
were exceedingly high on Lake Ontario. Salt, for instance was one dollar
a barrel from Sodus, New York, to Whitby, Upper Canada, that being the
nearest port to Oshawa, his home, four miles away. Flour was one dollar
a barrel from Oshawa and Whitby to Kingston. It was an exceedingly mild
winter, and succeeding so well, he did not put his ship into winter
quarters in November, as is the custom on the Great Lakes, but continued
his trips until the day after Christmas, when he reached Whitby, unbent
his sails and stowed everything for the winter.
A PERILOUS VOYAGE.
Many persons who occupied good positions in Upper Canada, even if not in
actual rebellion, were mistrusted as sympathizers with the patriots;
they were hunted by the Compact’s forces, and driven from their homes,
being forced to find shelter in the forests and in barns. Life to them
finally became unbearable, and they sought some means of leaving the
Province. A small schooner, the _Industry_, happened to be laid up for
the winter in one of the ports on the north shore of Lake Ontario. The
owner was besought to bend his sails to the masts and take the patriots
across the lake to Oswego, N.Y. Such a trip as crossing Lake Ontario in
midwinter by a sailing craft is a most perilous thing to do, and
naturally the owner of the vessel hesitated to take the great risk to
his vessel, and to his own life as well. It was thought that the vessel
might make the outlet of the Oswego River at Oswego, N.Y., and therefore
effect a landing. Recollect that there were no tugs in those days to
tow a vessel as soon as she hove in sight, but the wind alone must be
depended upon. However, the owner, besought by the tears and entreaties
of the wives and friends of the patriots in hiding, finally concluded to
make the attempt. On the night of the 27th day of December, 1837, the
little vessel of 100 feet in length quietly slipped from her moorings,
and sailed close along the shore of Lake Ontario. It was a bright
moonlight night, still, but very cold. Every mile or so she would back
her mainsail, and lay to at a signal of a light upon shore, that a canoe
might put off to the vessel, bearing a patriot from his hiding in the
forest to the side of the boat. As yet no storm had come on to form the
ice-banks since the cold set in, but there was no knowing what a day
might produce in the way of a storm and the formation of ice-banks. Some
forty stops, however, and forty different canoes were paddled out to the
vessel, and forty patriots transferred, panting for the land of liberty
across Lake Ontario, to the south of them sixty miles or so. A fine
sailing breeze blew off shore, and hoisting sail and winging out
mainsail and foresail, nothing could bid fairer for a quick and
prosperous voyage; and the land of liberty seemed almost gained. Lying
upon blankets in the bottom of the vessel were the patriots, with the
hatches closed down tight on account of the intense cold. Quickly and
gaily the little vessel sped on, with anxious hearts beating below.
Morning revealed to their gaze the mouth of the river at Oswego, and the
Stars and Stripes floating from the old fort near the river’s outlet.
And a glorious sight indeed it was to the heavy-hearted patriots,
liberty at hand just before them, where no one dare pursue. Then “Get
up, boys, and let’s get into port!” But the north wind, which bore them
so gaily and swiftly over the broad lake, had driven all the floating,
drifting ice before it, and wedged it firmly along the south shore. For
three miles between them and the land was this mass of floating ice, and
the little vessel refused to be driven through it.
Backwards and forwards, along its outer edge, they tacked, ever seeking
an opening but finding none. Every means possible at their command they
tried to force a passage, but all failed. The hearts of the patriots,
which a few hours before beat so joyously, now sank within them. “Oh!
must we put back again to Canada, and to prison? Never; we will die
first!” As the day wore on, finally an athletic sailor declared he could
and would force a passage. And how was he to do it? He boldly got out on
the bowsprit, climbed down on the cut-water chain, and hung by his hands
to the over-haul above the bowsprit. A heavy sea at this time was
running, and ever and anon the sailor and bowsprit would be raised on
the top of a wave many feet above the surrounding level of the water. As
the vessel would fall and bring the sailor down again to the water he
would shove with all his might with his feet on the blocks of ice around
him, to force them to one side that the vessel could enter between the
loose cakes. Perilous, doubly perilous, as this attempt was, this
undaunted water-dog stuck to his post until darkness set in and made any
further effort in that direction an impossibility. Bitterly cold as it
was, with every wave freezing as it washed over the decks, this hardy
fellow did not feel the cold from the intense effort, but perspired
freely and hung on to the rope barehanded. His almost superhuman task
only resulted in effecting a passage through the ice about a quarter of
a mile. All night they lay there among the ice, and, strange as it may
seem, slept soundly in their dreadful peril. During the night the wind
fell, and the intensity of the cold increased. At the first rays of the
morning they were astir, and found their little vessel firmly frozen in,
with a clear sheet of ice, transparent and smooth, two inches thick, all
around them. Over the vessel’s side jumped our sailor of the previous
night’s adventure, and found a firm footing all about the vessel.
Quickly they realized that their only chance for life and safety lay in
hurrying over the ice with all speed for the shore before a wind might
arise and break up the ice frozen the night before. The bulwarks of the
vessel were torn off and split so as to form poles, each man taking one.
But our sailor took instead a piece of board about ten feet long and
eight inches wide. Away they started, spreading out, every man for
himself, carrying his pole in front of his breast. “Step on the clear
ice and keep off the hummocks,” sang out our sailor. Soon one
disregarded the advice, and down he went, plump into the icy water
beneath. His pole, however, would catch the firm ice at the sides, and
kept his head above water. Then his nearest companion took hold of the
submerged man’s pole and pulled him out upon firm ice again. Immediately
on getting out he was incrusted in a sheet of ice. Overoats began to be
thrown aside, and also the grip-sacks containing all the patriots’
valuables, until the path was strewn with their effects. Every moment
someone would break through the ice. Out of that devoted band of
patriots all had gone down and been rescued; and all of the crew, too,
except one sailor, who, being lighter than the rest and more cautious
where he stepped, alone remained dry. Now the patriots, one after
another began to lose all heart and give up. “O God! and must I die
here, with the shore and liberty just in sight.” “Get up!” shouted John
our sailor, swearing at them the while, and threatening to put them
square under unless they got up and went on. On the shore were some
hundreds of persons watching the efforts of that devoted band,
gesticulating to them, and trying to move them to take heart and gain
the shore.
Other help they could not afford, much as they desired to do so, for the
wind is so treacherous on these waters in midwinter that in a moment the
ice might be broken and all lost. John, our hero, however, at last
threatening to brain with his piece of board those who had given up,
finally got them on their feet again, and a little nearer shore. About
three o’clock in the afternoon saw them within twenty rods of the shore,
and now the cheers and shouts of the crowd of sympathizers could be
heard. “At last! oh, at last our troubles will be over, and we shall get
ashore,” and their hopes arose once more. “But no, oh, dear, no! has God
brought us through all these perils and hardships to die so near the
shore?” Anguish almost as great as death itself was stamped on the face
of the most intrepid of that band.
All at once the wind had risen from the south, and the ice began
drifting into the lake. Already it had parted from the shore streak of
ice and left a space of open water now seven feet wide. Jump it they
could not, because their clothes were frozen so hard that they could
not spring, and, besides, the ice on the other side of the open space
was not thick enough to hold one alighting after the jump. Their last
hope sank within them. Death stared them in the face; their wives and
friends in Canada would see them no more. Every minute added to the
width of the gulf of water between them and the shore ice, when up came
the sailor with the last laggard, and in an instant threw his board over
the open water, and “Now run for your lives,” said he, and they ran
across the board, every man feeling this to be his last chance and his
last effort. On shore at last! Tears, hot and blinding, ran down their
cheeks, while the crowd gathered around them and cheered lustily. The
sympathizers on shore conducted them to the bar-room of a hotel, in
which was a huge fire-place, with an immense fire of logs blazing for
their especial benefit. It seems this bar-room was sunken below the
surface of the earth a step, and was floored with bricks. Quickly their
icy clothes began to thaw, and in a little time, it is said, the water
melted from their clothes actually stood three inches deep over the
bar-room floor.
We have to add that the little vessel was lost and became a wreck. Well
it was that it was lost, for a battery of artillery was stationed at the
port whence it sailed, with orders to fire on the vessel and take every
man a prisoner when she came back. Had they been taken, without a doubt
they would all have been sent to Botany Bay as convicts, for twenty or
thirty years each, as many others were, who went away as young men and
came back grey-haired, broken-down old men, scarcely knowing their own
country after so long an absence. As to the patriots, they were all
pardoned and invited to come home, as we all know, which they did, many
of them rising to high positions in Canada in after years. That this
rebellion did great good to Canada neither Tories nor Reformers now
deny, but it does seem hard that so many good and true men men had to
suffer so much to have the wrongs righted. To-day Canada is as free as
any country under the sun. I leave it to you, reader, to say if there
could be a more joyful Christmas at any place in America than the
portion of it remaining to those patriots after they got on shore.
The _Industry_ is first in line represented in the illustration of the
lumber loading, on page 172. The illustration on page 186 will give some
idea of the scene of the adventure of the escaping patriots, and the
landing at Oswego, N.Y.
The ill-fated _Industry_ drifted about upon the inclement lake, and was
at last driven into a cove about Oak Orchard, N.Y. There a land pirate
cut the ship up, and stole cables, anchors and shrouds. The following
spring (1838), John Pickel and William Annis, at my father’s instance,
went and found this freebooter, a worthless fellow, but married to a
wealthy man’s daughter. Upon the claim being made, he was advised by
legal men to settle it and thus avoid the penalty. Piracy in New York
State is punishable by ten years’ State imprisonment. His father-in-law
paid $1,100 for the man’s act, and that is all my father ever got for a
ship valued at quite $8,000 at that day.
Some years afterwards, when in Upper Canada a “Rebellion Losses’ Bill”
was passed and became law, it was thought that the loss of this ship
would come under the meaning of this Act. As a very young man I urged my
father to put in his claim. “No, my son,” he said, “if I was fool enough
to risk my ship and my life in the business of the rebellion in
midwinter, I deserved to lose it.” No claim was ever put in for the lost
ship. And even now, after the lapse of sixty-one years, I do not think
it prudent to give the names of the passengers it carried on that
eventful trip. All of them came back to Canada. Many were in high
government positions afterwards. Had the Government of the day in Upper
Canada then captured that ship and its precious cargo, it may be the map
of Canada would be different to-day.
I was in Botany Bay, Australia, and in Hobart, Tasmania, in 1896, when,
fresh from reading the tales of Marcus Clark and Balderwood, I could
not help thinking what untimely fate would have befallen the entire
ship’s company had they been captured and transported.
Many persons were so hard pressed by the military during the rebellion,
even if not participants, that they fled in every way possible. One man,
on November 15th, 1837, stole a dug-out pine canoe from my father, and
deliberately paddled alone across Lake Ontario, fully sixty-five miles
(see page 186). Leaving Port Oshawa at 10 p.m., and having a fine north
breeze, he made Oak Orchard, due south, at 4 p.m. the next day. The prow
of the canoe he had taken was rotted off, but the paddler, sitting in
the stern with a stone between his feet, by his own and the stone’s
combined weight succeeded in keeping the open end raised above the
water. This necessarily added much to the perils of the voyage, it being
perilous enough in the best of weather to paddle across the lake in an
open boat.
John D. Smith, before referred to as the owner of the mill at Smith’s
Creek (now Port Hope), was a man of means, and being very stirring, was
influential at the time of the rebellion. All the able-bodied men in the
neighborhood were enrolled _en masse_ at Smith’s Creek. The company was
drawn up, answering to their names as they were called. The Colonel
stood at the head of the line listening to the names and responses as
the word passed down the line. These men were to march to York very
shortly, to be ready for any emergency. John D. Smith happened along
somehow, whether designedly or not I cannot discover. Waiting, he heard
the name “Ephraim Gifford” called. Smith knew Gifford well--knew him to
be a hard-working, stay-at-home man, a good chopper, engaged in clearing
the forest. Stepping up to the Colonel, Smith said, “There, Colonel,
take out Gifford and put in Smadgers there. Smadgers is no good anyway,
he won’t work, and Gifford will chop a place for fall wheat and raise a
crop. Put in Smadgers.” And Smadgers was put in the ranks accordingly,
while Gifford went away home to his chopping.
The times of the outbreak also brought tragedies home to the lives of
many of the settlers--losses which no money indemnity could replace or
the bereaved ones forget.
Thomas Conant, the author’s grandfather, happened on or about February
15th, 1838, to be walking alone on the Kingston Road, about midway
between Oshawa and Bowmanville. It was quite common in those days for
persons to walk or go on horseback, the roads being usually very bad for
wheeled vehicles. He was an old man, unarmed, and proceeding about his
ordinary business. Coming in his walk eastward
[Illustration: MAPLE SUGAR MAKING.]
towards Bowmanville, he saw a man named Cummings sitting on his horse
before the tavern door, then situated on the south side of the Kingston
Road, on lot twenty-six, in the second concession of Darlington. Conant
had not quite reached the hotel, but clearly saw Cummings, as he sat on
his horse, partake of two stirrup cups, when he started to ride on
westward towards Oshawa. Accosting him, Conant (who knew him well) said:
“Good day, Cummings; drunk again, as usual!”
Cummings, who was a dragoon and a despatch bearer, dreaded, above all
things, to be reported drunk when carrying despatches, and fired up in
an instant. Putting spurs to his steed he attempted to ride Conant down;
but Conant was too quick for him, and caught the horse by the bridle as
he approached, whereupon Cummings raised his sword, and, without a word
of warning, struck the old man on the head, fracturing his skull (see
page 193). Death followed a few hours after. Coroner Scott held an
informal inquest, but because the three witnesses of the murder were
looking out of the tavern window, _through the glass of the window_, the
evidence was not admitted, and Cummings went unpunished. But the
proverbial “sword of Damocles” hung over him all the remainder of his
days. Living about Port Hope he became a confirmed drunkard, and at
last fell under the wheels of a loaded waggon and was crushed to death.
Such is the tragic story of the murder of the author’s grandfather. Not
a friend of his dared to utter a protest against the murderous deed or
perversion of justice. He was buried on the Kingston Road, about four
miles easterly from the murder scene, on lot No. 6, in the second
concession of the township of East Whitby. Do I blame the authorities of
that day? Indeed I certainly do, and with good reason. But the fact is,
that a few persons who exercised the supreme authority, as the rebellion
waned, used it most arbitrarily. Good came in the end, and to-day Upper
Canada is the peer of all self-governing countries, and one which I love
for its own sake. Why shouldn’t I? Does it not enshrine the bones of my
grandfather, who fell a victim to Family Compact misrule?
Although our country is almost too young to possess a stock of legends,
there are some tales and many local incidents that have been handed down
from father to son as fireside tales.
At the beginning of this century the Province was almost a vast
wilderness, with open spaces here and there, cleared by the settler’s
axe. Even as late as 1812, at the time of the American war, we had only
just begun to emerge, as it were, from the dark towering forests that
were intersected by only the Indian footpaths. It is almost astounding
when one stops to consider that even within the memory of those now
living our Province has been made. Our cities have been built, our
canals dug, our forests subdued and Ontario made a garden, all well nigh
within the compass of a man’s lifetime. When Governor Clinton, of New
York State, first made the assertion that he would bring the waters of
Lake Erie to Albany, and float a boat on their surface by means of the
Erie canal, there are persons now living who said they would be willing
to die when that was done. But it has been done, and these old persons
in our midst, so slow to believe, seem not anxious to be hurried to
abide by their wish even at this late day. Many a farm in Ontario was
paid for by money earned by Canadians while working on that Erie Canal.
Low as the wages were at the time, it was cash, and gained at a time
when our resolute workers could not earn cash at home. They brought it
back to Canada, and laid the foundation of the prosperity which many
Canadian families now enjoy.
Among the stories of my boyhood days is one of an Episcopal Church
minister who came out from England to this Province at a very early day,
and settled upon a farm a couple of miles from the church. He neither
was nor could be much of a farmer, and never at any time let himself
down to any abandon, nor did he ever cast off his long clerical coat,
even when about his home or when tossing the fly in his trout-stream. A
man of cultivated tastes, he seemed literally to love the ease and quiet
of a country life. For him it was just one long holiday.
He had erected a substantial stone house on the bank of a trout-stream
which meandered through his farm. In those days trout were plentiful,
and with his well filled library, and an ample income from England, it
is not to be wondered at that to him life was worth living. He had
married above him in England, it appeared, but on both sides it had been
a genuine love-match. The irate father had banished his daughter from
his presence, which was the real cause of their domiciling in Canada.
During the father’s lifetime the annual stipend of three hundred pounds
sterling came as regularly as the seasons went by, and I leave each
individual reader to judge for himself or herself if he could fancy a
pleasanter position, or a place in which life could be more fully
enjoyed, than fell to the lot of this parson and his family.
The evil day came at length, when the wife sickened and died, and our
parson scanned his father-in-law’s will most closely. There was some
such ambiguous clause in it as that his daughter or her husband should
receive the annuity of three hundred pounds sterling per year “as long
as she remained above ground.” Here was the parson’s opportunity. He
procured a leaden coffin for the remains, and outside of this wood was
placed; then with a double love, one for his wife naturally, and the
other for her annuity, he placed the casket leaning against the wall in
an upstair room. All went on as before her death, for he could annually
swear that his wife was “above ground.”
Another evil day came after the lapse of a few years, when the parsonage
was found to be in flames. Neighbors gathered, as they will, of course,
at such times, and were anxious to render any assistance possible.
During the progress of the fire the parson walked to and fro among the
persons gathered, with his clerical coat still upon him, beseeching all
and everybody to “save his wife.” His whole soul seemed so wrapt in the
saving of his wife’s remains that he heeded and cared not for any other
loss.
Importunity, however, could not stay the elements in their mad career,
and as the fire progressed it caught the corpse in its embrace, and with
a dull thud the leaden casket burst, and all was exposed to the fury of
the element. Persons who as boys were at the fire say to this day, and
stoutly aver it to be true, that when the coffin burst the blue flames
shot up into the air in a straight jet for forty feet, as if mocking
the parson for his solicitude, and as a judgment upon him for
desecrating his wife’s remains by leaving them so long uninterred. Be
that as it may, I am not in a position to form an opinion, and will not
attempt to judge, but I do know from indisputable testimony that when
the next year rolled around, and the time came for the yearly income to
be received, it did not come, nor did it ever come again, for the parson
was unable to swear that his wife was still “above ground.”
* * * * *
There came to Upper Canada about the year 1803 a young American, strong
of muscle and cunning of skill as a blacksmith. For a few years he
followed his trade and prospered well, for blacksmiths in those days
were few and far between, and he, being skilful, soon amassed quite a
little property. Just as the war broke out he established a little log
hotel on the travelled highway between Kingston and Toronto, where all
the military must necessarily pass in those days. As the war went on
with its preparations this American did a roaring trade, and became
quite a personage in the land. Drafted persons, while on their way to
Toronto, invariably stopped at his log hostelry, and to some of those of
American origin like himself he became communicative over his cups and
explained that he had learned his trade in one
[Illustration: INDIAN WIGWAMS OF BIRCH BARK.]
of the States prisons, and that as soon as he was at liberty he came to
Canada. Among those who passed and repassed during those stirring days
in our country’s history, his place became noted for its good cheer. A
stage occasionally essayed to make its way along this highway and, one
day during the war it left at this man’s log hostelry a strange
passenger. He was a man past middle age, dressed in clothing plain but
of excellent quality, and was from the time of his landing at once
installed as a guest at the log hotel. A couple of strongly bound trunks
were the man’s only baggage.
As the days and nights flew by this strange guest was never averse to
gather in the general bar-room and join in the ordinary gossip of the
neighborhood with the assembled neighbors. He was, in fact, genial, well
disposed, evidently well read, possessed a rich and inexhaustible fund
of anecdote, and was ever the life of the bar-room gathering. Let the
least allusion to politics, however, be made, and the stranger would
shut his mouth as quickly as if his jaws were those of a trap when
sprung by the tread of its intended victim upon its “trenches.” Then he
would seek the solitude of his room and be seen no more for the evening.
His days were spent with his gun or rod among the forests or along the
streams, and many savory additions to the hotel fare were made by his
voluntary contributions to it as a result of his sport. Gradually and
almost imperceptibly he came to be kindly regarded by those who knew or
supposed they knew him. The English tongue he spoke fairly well, but now
and again a little foreign accent would crop out. This he always
instantly corrected when he bethought himself of his error. All attempts
to discover who he was were unavailing. Whether he was a Frenchman, a
German or a Russian was always conjectured, but never transpired. Our
transient guest did not in any way change his ordinary mode of life.
During every fine day he followed his dog with his gun, and if he felt
any uneasiness at his quiet life, or endured the least chagrin at his
expatriation, he was exceedingly careful not in anywise to let it be
known.
To all that part of Upper Canada he became at length an enigma and a
general theme of conjecture as to who he was. Bets were wagered as to
his origin, but owing to the sphinx-like lips of this strange man such
bets had always to be withdrawn again, for there was no possibility of
verifying any decision either way. He paid his bills to the landlord
regularly, and left no cause of complaint against him.
One day, after he had been at the hostelry upwards of five years, the
stage deposited at this log hotel an officer from the army of old
France. He was every inch a soldier in dress, in looks and action.
Having partaken of his dinner, he called the landlord to his side and
asked if he had ever met a man of such and such a description. Now, to
the landlord’s infinite surprise, the description this officer gave
minutely corresponded with the mysterious stranger, but well knowing
that the man had ever studiously avoided being recognized, he repudiated
any knowledge of any such person. In the evening when the man returned
he told him of the French officer and the enquiries he had made. He
answered not a word, but ate his supper and retired to his room.
On the following morning, when the stage came along, going in the
direction whence the French officer came, and in the opposite way to
which he was bound, our strange guest came out of his room and asked to
have his trunks strapped on the stage. With as few words as possible he
paid all his reckonings with the landlord, quietly bade him and his
household good-bye, climbed into the seat, and was gone forever. Nothing
was ever heard of him again. He vanished from that part of Upper Canada
as suddenly as he came into it. Where he came from or where he went to
it is probable no one will ever know.
It was supposed by some that this person had been one of Napoleon the
Great’s generals, and that after the defeat of Waterloo he had seized
all he could find in his division military chest; when Napoleon had
given himself up on board the _Bellerophon_ he got on board another
vessel and sailed for America, and had come away from the seaboard to
this remote place to avoid the probability of anyone meeting and
recognizing him; and that this French officer whose arrival and
enquiries had caused his departure was upon his track to wreak some
vengeance upon him either for the public wrong he had committed, or, it
might be, a private one of so delicate a nature as to be without the
cognizance of the law. Be that as it may, the man went as he came and
left no sign, an unsolved enigma to all with whom he had come in contact
while in the wilds of Canada.