Canadian laws--Cases of justifiable homicide--Ineffectual attempt
to discipline a church member--Major Wilmot--Asa Wallbridge--“Uncle
Ned”--Cows and matrimony--A humorous dialogue--A witty retort--An
amusing duel.
“The autumnal glories all have passed away!
The forest leaves no more in hectic red
Give glowing tokens of their brief decay,
But scattered lie, or rustle to the tread,
Like whisper’d warning from the mouldering dead;
The naked trees stretch out their arms all day,
And each bald hill-top lifts its reverent head
As if for some new covering to pray.”
During the early days in the newly settled townships many odd characters
were to be found among the sparsely scattered population, and curious
scenes were frequently enacted--scenes that it would be difficult to
reproduce from the annals of other lands. The following might be taken
as a specimen of at least one phase:
A more law-abiding people than the Canadians are not to be found in any
land. The laws they abide by are those enacted by the will of the people
through their elected representatives, and are based upon the
constitutional laws of Great Britain. Occasionally incidents occur which
show how truly these laws are the will of the people. The following will
illustrate my meaning:
At the time when the Home Government kept a small body of troops
stationed in the Canadas, a dissipated young subaltern of the regiment
then quartered at old Quebec deceived a daughter of one of its citizens
by a promise of marriage, and ruined her. Her brother, a lad of
eighteen, upon discovering her trouble, attended a social function held
in the skating rink, at Quebec, where the betrayer was expected to be
present. He met the lieutenant in the passage leading to the rink, and
demanded if he “intended to marry his sister.” A contemptuous derisive
laugh and insulting remark was the only reply, to which the lad
responded by drawing a revolver from his pocket and shooting the man
dead on the spot.
The avenger of his sister’s betrayal at once gave himself up to the
authorities. The trial, as well as the crime, caused a great sensation,
and though the case was a strong one for the Crown, the jury would not
convict him of murder, and the lad went out from the court-house a free
man.
A somewhat similar case occurred in Upper Canada. Some time before the
railway era, when a steamer conveyed the mails and passengers to and
from the towns on the lake front, a resident of one of these towns took
passage west on the steamer, inducing the wife of one of his neighbors
to accompany him. The round trip up the lake, calling at all the western
and southern ports, occupied about a week. Upon the return of the boat
the injured husband, waiting on the wharf, saw the evil-doer in one of
the cabins, and sent a bullet through the window with deadly aim. As in
the case just related, arrest and trial followed, but no jury could be
got to convict him of murder, such a crime being justified in the eyes
of the people by the more heinous one which provoked it.
* * * * *
In one of the counties fronting on Lake Ontario there lived one W--B--,
a descendant of one of our earliest settlers in this locality, a man who
bore an honored name. Among his possessions was a farm, a homestead of
about two hundred and fifty acres, situated upon the shore of Lake
Ontario. He was a most exemplary man and a member of the Disciples’
church at B----, where he usually went to worship. A son of this man,
having a liking for the water, induced his father to buy him a large
well-found schooner, at a cost of about $9,000, which he sailed as
captain on Lake Ontario. For several seasons he
[Illustration: HAULING CANNON. WAR OF 1812.]
plied this vessel conveying general merchandise as freight. He was not
successful, but, on the contrary, continued at ever increasing loss.
Finally his ship was sold for debt, and he came back to his father’s
farm, where he built a second house and lived with his family. Being
without occupation or friends, he asked his father (now an old man) for
a deed of the home farm. This time the father refused, telling him he
had “sailed away $9,000 in a ship, and he would sail away the farm, too,
if he had a chance.” Then the son went to the leaders and elders of the
Disciples’ church, of which his father was a member, and told his story
and his desire for a deed of the farm.
A general special meeting of the church was called, and it was filled
with both sexes, all being members. J--S--, merchant and agent of a bank
doing business in B----, and afterwards a senator, arose. He spoke
earnestly and pointedly about it being Brother B--’s duty to deed his
farm to his son, and for quite twenty minutes urged upon the assembly
the justice, desirability and reasonableness of the act, advocating it
as a matter of duty, and a proof of fatherly love for the son. One L--,
a resident, and a member and leader of the church as well, followed in
the same strain. His words were listened to with rapt attention, and
after speaking some fifteen minutes he too-sat down.
No one arose to speak on the other side of the question. No one cared to
be opposed to S--, for he was very powerful at that time. Though they
keenly felt the undesirableness of acceding to such a demand, they had
not the courage to express it publicly. The stillness became painful,
and for a moment it seemed there could no way be found to break it.
The aged father, at the time stiff with rheumatism, was present. He
grasped the seat before him. It creaked as the strain of his weight came
upon it, and slowly and laboriously the old man arose. Once on his feet
he stood somewhat bent, but, being a large man, towered majestically
above the rest, and in a clear audible voice said, “I’m not going to
take off my coat and throw it down and ask the Church or anyone else
whether or not I shall put it on again.” The strain was broken,
adjournment followed, and the son did not get the deed he coveted.
Jesse Trull, of Darlington, whose father, Captain Trull, was present as
a member at that meeting, related the anecdote to me. This memorable
church meeting took place about the year 1848. To-day it is hard to
conceive any such state of society as would ask a church to try to
compel a man to deed away his farm.
The transition stage was approaching in Upper Canada. Many of the old
pioneers found it hard to trim their sails to meet the new order of
things, and many of them in fact did not, but followed the old way until
they died and were laid to rest under the sod.
Major Wilmot was one of the early settlers, and lived near Newcastle,
Durham County. He married the daughter of John Steigman, a surveyor.
From him he learned field surveying, and did many years’ work for the
Government. A relative of mine lived for years with Wilmot, and was to
have been his heir, but left him too soon. He told me Wilmot was
implicitly trusted by the Government, and often he had gone out
surveying with him, and many times to York to make reports to the
Government. During these years of surveying Wilmot picked out many
desirable lots for himself, and ultimately got a title to them all.
Consequently, as you may easily understand, he became a very rich man.
Asa Wallbridge lived near him, upon a large farm. This neighbor was the
forefather of all the Wallbridges in this part of Upper Canada, a most
influential family. Both of these farm homesteads were overflowing with
abundance--great houses, many cattle, sheep, hogs and horses, and
everything which then represented a rich and prosperous home; yet, my
relative said, Wilmot would pack provisions in a one-horse waggon, stow
in his compass (the theodolite had not come into use at that time),
tripod and chain, sit down in the bottom, and take the young man, my
relative, with him to spend a whole week in surveying, perfectly happy
and contented.
One day they were passing Wallbridge’s, about the usual pig-killing
time, and Wilmot accosted Wallbridge thus: “Good morning, Mr.
Wallbridge; would you like to buy some pork?” “No, Mr. Wilmot,” was the
reply, “I have as much pork as you have.” Then Wilmot added facetiously,
“Well, I thought perhaps you wanted some grease to fry your pork in,”
thus intimating that Wallbridge’s hogs had not a reputation for fatness.
These men with their families led most enjoyable lives, happy, free and
contented, with the greatest of plenty of homely fare. But as Wilmot
grew older Newcastle grew, and the forest was cleared; the settlers
became more and more prosperous; well-built houses replaced the log
houses, carriages the pioneer-cart, and other luxuries of civilization
became the daily portion of the people. Yet on a fine morning Wilmot
would hitch a yoke of oxen to a cart, bestride the axle, and having
secured a long gad, would drive in to the village post-office at
Newcastle and home again. Carriages and fine horses he could not take
to, although then a very wealthy man.
Another old man, but lately deceased, was a continual source of
amusement to the settlers. He died as he had lived, an enigma from the
first to the very last. As nearly as I can learn he was born in Quebec
Province, in the year 1782, and removed to this Province with his
parents some time about the beginning of this century. Upon the death of
his father he inherited some of the choicest lands in Ontario and for
many years of his life passed for a rich man. A character he was in the
neighborhood, and so recognized by all who knew or had ever heard of
him, far or near. Perhaps the prime causes of his noted peculiarities
were in his continually avowed interest in cows and matrimony. In those
days the struggling settler was glad enough to get a cow in any honest
way he could, and our friend was the man to accommodate all those in his
locality in need of one. His system was to let the farmers take a cow
from him for three years, and at the end of that time the farmer must
return to Uncle Ned (for so he was called) the identical cow lent and
another--the other to be generally a calf from the cow lent, grown to be
a young cow itself. During this time the farmer had free use of the cow,
and all the other increase there might be from her. The arrangement
seemed to be quite advantageous to the farmer as well as to Uncle Ned.
It enabled the former to get his first nucleus of a stock without cost
to himself of anything more than the feed of the cow; and it equally
paid Uncle Ned, for on his capital outlay of, say, $20 (for a cow), in
three years he had it doubled, or about 33⅓ per cent. per annum,
barring accidents of course. He seems never to have farmed his lands,
but thought of nothing else, and talked of nothing else at any and all
times, but cows--save and always excepting matrimony. Yet though he
lived to be seventy-five years of age, he never attained the
consummation of his connubial ambitions.
But not to leave the cows too quickly, it is as well to say that Uncle
Ned used generally to take in those days what were called “notes” for
the cows. They were termed notes, but since the short document went on
to enumerate that the signer should return two cows at the end of three
years, etc., it would almost appear that such “notes” were short
contracts. However, be that as it may, sometimes our friend had as many
as one hundred cows out at a time, and consequently one hundred notes on
hand for them. The curiosity in this particular was, that although Uncle
Ned could not read or write a letter, he could and would at any time
pick out from the one hundred notes any one asked for.
His ideas of matrimony were early developed. At the age of twenty-two he
is reported as wandering about the neighborhood in search of any
eligible single ladies who were supposed to be in the matrimonial
market. By so going about from house to house he became acquainted with
the wants of each household in any special particular. Was a family out
of cats, at the next visit in his capacious pocket a kitten was found
nicely and snugly curled up. Would some farmer like a dog, Uncle Ned
brought along a puppy on the occasion of his next hunt in the
matrimonial line. Had the family spinning wheel worn out its spindle and
become useless for the want of one, Uncle Ned did not fail to bring one
next time. Did the good housewife need some saleratus from the store at
the distant corners, in these days before soda became known, Uncle Ned
brought the desired pound package of saleratus, that the family cake
should rise in the dough and be toothsome and pleasant. In fact, Uncle
Ned gradually became, with his obliging attentions to the wants of his
neighbors, and by his quaint idiosyncrasies, the darling of the
neighborhood. And he never ceased, from the time he was twenty-two years
of age up to his seventy-fifth year, to go the rounds of his neighbors,
always careful to supply their little wants, and always in search of a
wife. Did he at one time think of breaking the route, and of stopping
at another and a new farmer’s house for dinner, he would approach the
man of the house, out in the field, and without a word of apology or
preface, ask, “Does your wife make strong tea?” “Well, I never heard of
any complaint on that point,” he is answered. “Ah! I thought I would
stay to dinner with you, but if your wife don’t make strong tea I won’t
stop.” He decides to stop, and earnestly enquires about a maiden lady
living in an adjoining township, who is known to the farmer, he having
removed from the township and locality of the maiden. On his tip-toes,
and as silently as an Indian, Uncle Ned approaches the farmer, who is
about his work in the field, and whispers in his ear:
“Has she got a farm?”
“Oh, yes; she has three hundred acres.”
Uncle Ned retreats some rods, to the point from which he so noiselessly
advanced, exploding with loud and jovial laughter. Up again he comes on
tip-toe, and whispers,
“Is she engaged?”
“No, I think not.” And away he backs off again amid another burst of
laughter.
Again he steals up, and whispers, “Can she spin flax and make her own
shifts?”
“Oh, yes; she can spin as well as any woman in the county.” And he
backs away, with the laughter louder than before.
Now he comes again: “Has she got red hair?”
“Yes; she has red hair.”
No laughter this time, but he hangs his head and backs away, muttering
to himself, “Well, that’s too bad. I do hate red hair. But then, since
she has three hundred acres, that will make one overlook the red hair
after all.”
And he comes on again, more cautiously than ever before, and whispers,
“I have as good a new suit of clothes at home in my trunk as any man
has, and they are paid for, too. Now, do you think I had better wear
this new suit the first time I go to see her?”
“Yes, I think I would the first time; but since the people are plain
people they might think you too extravagant if you wore it the next
time; and then I think I would wear the common suit on all visits after
the first one.”
Ned backs away. “Ha! ha!! ha!!!” and bawls out to the farmer, “Don’t be
in a hurry to go to work; you’re not working by the month.”
He steals up again: “Don’t you think Sam Green would be a good man for
me to take with me the first time to introduce me?”
“Yes, he’s just the man.”
“Ho! ho!! ho!!!”
Forward he comes again, and whispers, “You tell Sam Green to tell her
that I’ll stock the land with cows. Tell her that I’ll hire a girl to
nurse the baby. Tell her that I’ll wear my good suit the first time I
come to see her, but during all the rest of our courting I’ll only wear
my working suit.”
At this juncture the good wife calls from the door “Dinner!” and Uncle
Ned has to cease this courting by proxy to go in and see if the tea be
really strong enough for him. Courting thus by double proxy it was in
this instance, as his courting generally was done. That is, this farmer
must tell Sam Green, and Sam Green must tell the red-haired maiden in
the adjoining township. It is more than likely the maiden never heard of
Uncle Ned either before or after his resolve to court her, unless it be
through the lone intermediary of Sam Green. It is probable for a year of
his life this red-haired maiden was the subject of Uncle Ned’s
matrimonial thoughts; then at the expiration of the year another lady
comes to take her place--or rather, another lady comes to take the place
which the red-haired lady was supposed to take, but never did.
Along the road again, some eight or ten miles away from his home, on
foot (always on foot, for he was never known to ride), Uncle Ned
approaches Farmer G--, and whispers, “Do you know the widow T--?” “Yes,
what about her?” “Is she smart?” “No, she’s like her husband was, rather
lazy.” “Oh, that’s bad.” No laugh this time; he whispers, “Has she any
land?” “Yes, she has fifty acres.” “Well, I must overlook her laziness.”
For the space of another year the widow T--engrosses the current of his
thoughts, and becomes the constant theme of his talk. And yet it is not
at all probable that he ever met her, either before her husband’s death
or after, when she was supposed to be in the matrimonial market. As he
journeyed along down life, always on the same themes of cows and
matrimony, some of the neighbors at whose house he used to stop would
deem him crazy. Well, if he were so, it was madness always with a method
to it, and in his bargains about his cows he frequently displayed
considerable shrewdness and business ability. A distant farmer came to
him one day to make a bargain to get two cows to double as already
described. It so happened that the cattle were out in the field, and
they together went out to see them. In talking over the details of the
bargain the farmer sat down upon a convenient stump. During the
weariness of a lengthened conversation he, as he sat, happened to begin
trotting his foot and contracting the fingers of his left hand, which
the quick eye of Uncle Ned noticed.
“Are you a fiddler?”
“Yes, I fiddle sometimes.”
“You can’t have any of my cows, for I never knew a fiddler to be worth
anything in my life,” and he wouldn’t let him have the cows at all.
So far as I know he was never known to actually address himself to the
object of his affections for the time being, and likewise the theme of
his talk, but the once. This time he called upon a farmer and asked him
if he knew of Mr. E.--’s girls. The farmer told him he did, but that he
(Uncle Ned) was crazy. Said he in reply, “Do you know, Ezra, why there
is no danger of your ever going crazy?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Well, you don’t know enough. It’s only bright men who go crazy.”
In this instance the farmer takes Uncle Ned to Mr. E--’s and gives him a
kind of general introduction to the father, mother and two daughters
assembled, in this wise: “See here, folks, this is Mr. S--in search of a
wife.”
“Come in, sir, come in.” The girls, seeing a huge chance for fun, lent
themselves to the joke, and so kept it up for the space of a couple of
years. At the termination of each visit, as he was about to set out,
one of the girls would put in a plea for a new dress, which Uncle Ned
would promise faithfully to bring, and he was generally as good as his
promise. At the next visit the other girl would ask for a piece of
cloth, and again, as before, he brought it. For the whole two years the
girls did not discover which one of them was the object of his
affections or regard. Still his visits continued during the intervals
spared from his dealings about his cows, and the idea of matrimony never
for a moment left his brain.
* * * * *
There are not many records extant of duels having been fought in Canada.
The following was possibly one of the last, and perhaps the most amusing
instance of such “honorable combat”:
It was during the closing days of the Canadian rebellion, when the
troops were about to be disbanded. A ball had been given in Whitby, at
which many of the officers of the troops, as well as society people of
the sparsely settled country, attended. Among the guests at this ball
were two young men, one in later years a public official in Newcastle,
the other a resident of Oshawa, lately deceased. Both of these men were
well mounted, as most persons were who travelled the bad roads in the
early days of April of the year 1838.
Tradition tells us that the ball was both gay and stylish, and many of
the young ladies of the gathering were ambitiously gotten up for the
occasion. Indeed, a gentleman now among the living, who was present,
describes a lady’s head-dress of ostrich plumes which extended quite two
feet above her head, and nodded with every motion, involuntary or
otherwise, of the wearer. The supper, too, was the best that the day
could give, mainly substantial perhaps, but of the lighter culinary art
there were some cakes, and very attractive ones too--so much so, that
one of the young men whom we have mentioned accused the other of
pocketing some of them. This accusation could only be wiped out with
blood, and was most indignantly denied. The accused purloiner of cakes
mounted his steed and made his way to Richard Wood’s tavern, then kept
by him in a story-and-a-half wooden building on the south-west corner of
Oshawa “four corners.” The old tavern stood about one hundred feet back
from the road, just south from where Morgan’s grocery store now is. A
circular stage road led to its hospitable doors, and a low veranda or
“stoop” extended along the whole north side of the hotel.
By the time the accuser arrived the accused had possessed himself of an
immense old horse-pistol, and challenged his antagonist to fight a duel.
The latter declined to fight with such a crude weapon, but insisted on
getting proper duelling pistols, if his antagonist really must fight.
The late Capt. Trull, of Darlington, then had command of the few troops
stationed in Oshawa. He tried to break up the duel and prevent
bloodshed, but without success. At each end of the “stoop” of the hotel,
just as it was becoming daylight, April, 1838, the principals took
stations ready for the word. Capt. Trull actually placed his own person
between the men, so anxious was he to stop the fray. But the word was
given, and one of the duellists, proving himself game to the last,
managed to dodge out of the way of Capt. Trull’s person and fired
deliberately. The other, unhurt, threw down his pistol and ran as fast
as his legs could carry him around the hotel. And now Capt. Trull, who
had been so anxious to prevent the fight, became so disgusted at the
man’s cowardice that he picked up the pistol where it had been thrown by
the fugitive and made the best gait possible after him to fire at him
for being so great a coward. So laughably ended Oshawa’s only duel.