Part 22

Great, then, was the excitement when the news came that “_Toronto had fallen_.” On the day of the engagement at Montgomery’s Captain Poore and his men left Guelph, and Lamphrey, by now a colonel, with Colonel Young was left in charge of the portion which was to protect Guelph. The knowledge that Galt and Eramosa were strongly disaffected did not tend to reassure the home-guard. It was feared that Guelph, too, might “fall.” For days men busied themselves running bullets, and it was soothing to know that a quantity of powder lay in the octagon house should they keep possession of it--such stores, no doubt, would be seized by the rebelliously inclined once they were in action. In the town of Guelph itself it was proudly claimed that only one man was disloyal, and that he, poor fellow, was only driven so by too long and silent study of grievances, “an honest, decent man otherwise.” As the chief evidence against him was that he went through Preston and other outlying hamlets to buy up all the lead he could find, it seems rather hard that when this was reported he should be apprehended, taken to Hamilton, and lie there in gaol for six or eight months without trial. Mr. James Peters, maliciously termed Captain Peters and said to be at the head of fifty men who were on their way to burn Guelph, was awakened before daylight on the morning of December 13th by the entry of sixteen armed men; the leader drew his glittering sword by Mr. Peters’ bedside and ordered him to get at once into one of the sleighs waiting at the door. After leaving the Peters’ farm these valiant special constables stopped at the house of a farmer magistrate, who not only bade them welcome, put up their horses, and gave the entire party a good breakfast, but delivered an encouraging homily to the magistrate in charge--an officiously zealous Irishman--saying he was glad to see the latter perform his duty so faithfully. When they were well refreshed and ready for the balance of the journey they took their departure, after arresting the host’s son. After that this farmer was not quite so loyal, nor had he such exalted views of a magistrate’s duty; moreover, he wished that he had saved that breakfast. The document upon which the arrests were founded set forth: “That (those enumerated) not having the fear of God in their hearts, but being moved and seduced by the instigation of the devil, and entirely withdrawing the love, and true and due obedience, which every subject of our said lady the Queen should, and of right ought to, bear towards our said present lady the Queen, and wickedly devising and intending to disturb the peace and public tranquillity of this Province ... on divers other days and times, with force and arms at the township of Eramosa, in the said district, unlawfully, maliciously and traitorously, did compass, imagine, and intend to bring and put our said lady the Queen to death.” In spite of efforts of judge and Crown, a jury took eight minutes to return a verdict of “Not guilty.” But in the meantime the building in which the prisoners were confined at Hamilton had been used by Government to store fifty kegs of gunpowder, protected by sand. Early in the morning the seven men, asleep in their two narrow cells, were roused to the fact that the tinder-wood building was on fire. They shouted until they were hoarse, pounded with all their strength, but failed to wake the sleeping guards. Exhausted, they threw themselves on the floor to await the horrible fate which seemed inevitable. But an alarm from without at last roused the guards, who at once set about saving the gunpowder, and gave no thought to the anxiety and terror of those within the cells. For long there was a popular idea that the fire was malicious incendiarism, but there appears to be no definite ground for such a belief.

To ensure safety, a night-watch was set on the Eramosa bridge, as well as at one other point. One night a son of the too well-fed Irish magistrate was on duty. It so happened that at the witching hour a Scotch miller came across the bridge with a wee drap in his ’ee--a strong, muscular fellow, and muscular in his language. His answer to whither was he going and what his errand, was, without preliminary words, to seize the guard by his coat collar and a convenient handful of his trousers, remove him from his path, and, with some oaths, declare that if interfered with he would pitch him into the river.

It did not take much to frighten either guard or pedestrian at such times. Not far from the Galt bridge an old Highlander, who was a bit of a character, successfully tried for a few “treats” from the regulars whom he saw one night in the cosy brightness of the village inn. He also made away with a regular’s red coat. Some of the home corps were on guard that night, and as in the clear atmosphere they saw him coming toward the bridge they guessed his double sin. They demanded his business and the countersign, and fired into the air. He fell flat, vowing he was killed, and never afterwards had he peace in the streets of Galt.

There are some ludicrous magistrate stories in all districts. As in the first days of Franco-Anglo-Canada it had not been thought requisite that officials should know both languages, so in these early provincial days it was not a _sine qua non_ that magistrates should read and write. A “dockyment” was brought before one, a blacksmith by trade. He sat down on his anvil to “execute,” looking ineffably wise while he held the paper head down. “But, your worship, the document is upside down,” said the humble bailiff. “By the virtue of my office, I hold it whichever way I d--- please,” said his worship, stamping his foot, and convinced he was as well in his wits as any man in Middlesex. On the other hand, one western bailiff never lost a chance to display his knowledge of whatever language, dead or living, he might opportunely happen to think. When questioned by his magistrate as to the non-appearance of an expected prisoner, the bailiff proudly replied, “Non est comeatibus, c’est in an awful mess, parceque cum swampibus.”

* * * * *

In Huron proper, while the people were devising means to secure recognition of what they deemed their rights locally, not one man rebel to his country was to be found; indeed, no one who knew his circumstances will apply that term even to the unfortunate Van Egmond. “Blame Van Egmond? I blame the Family Compact a devilish sight more than I blame him,” says one. Sir Francis Bond Head ought to be considered an authority, and he affirms the Queen to be the head of this Family. “And what are we going to fight for?” asked one western man, with his draft-slip in his hand. “Against Mackenzie? Never!--the only man who dared to speak for us--never!” These true reformers considered that they were most loyal to their Queen when loyal to her and themselves too, and the remembrance of the day which called them to arms carries with it a regretful thought for Van Egmond.

In Goderich the arms consisted mainly of pitchforks, scythes and pikes, the latter made for the occasion by George Vivian, of that place. Each had a cruel crosspiece, with all points sharpened, to be used either as bayonet or battle-axe. A few lucky warriors had flintlocks.

One great source of complaint was the class of firearms supplied. Some relics of one lot of “useless lumber” sent up under the charge of the present Mr. Justice Robertson’s father are still about the Goderich gaol, and the specimens extant show the complaint to have been a just one.

There was also “a plentiful crop of captains and colonels.” Drill was held in the large room at Read’s hotel, and the boys who looked on were much edified by such display of valour and clanking of metal. This regiment has been handed down to local fame as “The Invincibles,” “Huron’s True Blues,” “The Huron Braves” and “The Bloody Useless.” When the call to arms came all turned out with good-will, and the fact that lone fishermen, pigs and ponies proved to be their only visible enemies can cast no discredit on the valour of their intention. Their hardships were many, and the complaints heard few.

Somewhere on the lake border, where the juniper and tamarack made the best undergrowth, wandered Ryan, a fugitive from Gallows Hill, the man made famous by the death of Colonel Moodie. Many miseries were his until the opening of navigation, and by the time he was taken off by a friendly American schooner he was reduced to a skeleton.

It was on Christmas Day, in the rain, that Captain Hyndman and his followers set out for Walpole Island, a journey which meant the extreme of roughing it. Captain Gooding and his Rifles left on the 7th of January, and were fortunate in being able to return all together when their service was over; but those who were with Captain Luard at Navy Island had to get back just as their strength would allow. Captain Lizars and Lieutenant Bescoby took their men to Rattenbury’s Corners, where they spent most of the winter, thus being saved many hardships suffered by their townsmen. Edouard Van Egmond was a most unwilling volunteer, for his ill-advised father, brave soldier and good pioneer as he had been proved, was by that time with Mackenzie in Toronto. Edouard resisted the press; but his horses were pressed into service, and their young owner said that wherever they were he must follow. The Invincibles were evidently at liberty to display individual taste in uniform, and Major Pryor took his way to the frontier picturesque in blanket-coat, sugar-loaf toque and sword; nor was the line drawn at the combination of blanket-coat, epaulets and spurs. The regulars among them did not disdain to be gorgeous, too, and one tall, handsome Irishman looked particularly magnificent in a uniform specially procured from England. He was a truly warlike and awe-inspiring sight, and having served through the Spanish campaign, and at Waterloo, had the usual regular’s contempt for militia. His charge was the commissariat from Niagara to Hamilton and London, and on one occasion, at a certain point on the Governor’s Road, was challenged by a guard, Private McFadden. His Magnificence merely vouchsafed, “Get out of my way, you young whippersnapper!” disgust and indignation making a strong brogue stronger. McFadden lifted his musket and was just about to fire, when a mutual acquaintance opportunely arrived to save the regular from the volunteer.

Some of the distressing events which centred in the Windsor neighbourhood had a direct or indirect connection with Huron names. Peter Green, of Goderich, the garrison tailor, who lived in a house almost adjoining the barracks, with his family was shut up in it by the patriots, who intended to roast them to death. Green, a staunch Mason, but who nevertheless had given up his Goderich lodge through his distaste towards a brother Mason (Thomas Mercer Jones, the Huron exponent of the Family Compact), put his trust in Providence, and thrusting out his hand made a Masonic sign. He was understood by one of the enemy and allowed to leave his burning house. As he went he was carrying his youngest child; in spite of masonry a stab was made at his burden, which Green warded off at the expense of his own hand. Bad as matters were, his membership saved him and his from death. Ronald MacGregor and his family, who had moved from Goderich to Windsor in ’36, were burned out at the same time, escaping in their night-clothes.

When the Bloody Useless were at the front they saw no active service; but their sufferings were not inconsiderable. Some of them had quarters in a church, where the narrowness of the pews and benches and the scantiness of the blankets led to much discomfort. But the real hardship fell to those whose lot took them to some deserted Indian shanties where filth of all kinds and melted snow on a clay floor were poor inducements to rest. The snow shovelled out to the depth of a foot still left enough behind to be melted by the warmth of the wearied bodies, which, stretched side by side, were by morning held fast by the snow-water again frozen. The hearty, cheery spirit of Dunlop, who doubled the rations, was better than medicine, or even than his liberal allowance of grog. When they moped he would order them out for a march, leading them in his homespun checkered dress and Tam o’ Shanter, closely followed by the Fords (“the sons of Anak,” because they were all six feet six), the Youngs, the Annands, and other stalwart township pioneers, not forgetting some sailors who had been pressed into the service, each man shouldering a pike ten feet in length. “Ah me, what perils do environ the man that meddles with cold iron,” quoted the Doctor; “in the British army it was understood that the only use of a musket was supposed to be that it could carry a bayonet at the end of it.” But his own armament was chiefly that supplied by George Vivian. The Doctor’s hardy frame knew nothing of the sufferings of his men. On one occasion when he took a company of sixty from Bayfield, he expected to make Brewster’s Mills easily; but the men were half tired, and he appropriated for their rest two shanties by the way. Next day they went on to the Sable, but the men were completely done by the time Kettle Point (Ipperwash) was reached. Get on they must, as many as might; so the Doctor proposed, “All of you as are fit, come with me.” Of the sixty, twenty-six went on with him, and one survivor tells that that march was the hardest work he ever did; “but the Doctor stood it finely.” About the same time Dunlop and his men found themselves dependent for shelter on two women who had no comforts to offer such a company. Some of the men grumbled, but the Doctor asked for whiskey. The women showed him a barrel newly opened; whereupon he put a man in charge, and ordered horns all round. The hostesses were anxious to give a bed to the Doctor, but he would have nothing that his men had not. Calling to Jim Young to bring him a beech log, he disposed himself in his blanket on the floor; when the log came he put one end of his blanket over it for a pillow and slept soundly until morning. “Our fathers ... have lain full oft ... with a good round under their heads instead of a pillow. Pillows, said they, were thought meet only for women.”

The hopes and the fears, the occasional feasts and many involuntary fasts, hardened all consciences when a search for supplies was on hand. In these times even the future first sheriff of Huron did not consider house-breaking criminal nor a raid upon a potato-pit larceny. Once Colonel Hyndman and some others had three-weeks’ leave and started on their homeward trip by the lake-shore, some seventy-five miles at the least, and unnecessarily added to by a false calculation which caused them to retrace their steps and increase their already long walk by ten miles. Sergeant Healy was twice nearly lost on the way; first by falling in a creek, and afterwards through exposure to cold--for their tramp led them through a country covered with two feet of snow. Healy begged them to leave him to his fate, saying that although he was an old soldier, and had served his sovereign in all parts of the world for twenty-one years, he had never suffered as he was suffering then. Needless to say they did not desert him, and they got him to Goderich as best they could; but he served no more on the Canadian frontier.

The men were much interested in the droves of half-wild cattle and horses to be seen on both sides of the Detroit and St. Clair Rivers. The horses were so numerous that it is said strings of them could be seen each way as far as the eye could reach, and as late as ’46 fifty dollars would buy a good one. In various “Legends of the Detroit” many interesting stories are told of these hardy, clever little animals, the direct descendants of one of the most celebrated of the stock of 1665--the French horses called by the Indians the Moose Deer of Europe. The French river settlers cut their fodder in the summer, stacked it, and turned it over to the ponies in the winter for them to feed from at will. Water-holes in the ice were made for the wise little animals, and beyond these two items they received little attention from their owners. One of the Invincibles thus describes a raid on our men by the enemy:

“Skimmings, of Goderich, was on guard, and reported that he heard the rebels galloping through the bush. Young told him that that was an impossibility, as they would have to come from the opposite direction. Skimmings was sure he heard the tread and gallop, and was loaded to the muzzle to receive them. Presently a drove of ponies appeared, making for their water-holes--and there was another scare over, and Skimmings never heard the last of it.”

At Colonel Hyndman’s quarters on Walpole Island a challenge was given to three of these inoffensive Indian ponies, by a sentry who had an infirmity of stuttering. Fearing that he had not been understood, he repeated his challenge; and still once again, unwilling that any should perish through his poor speech. Determined to be merciful in spite of this contemptuous silence he called out the guard, who were some time in arriving at a knowledge of the matter, for between the sentry’s fright and his stutter he was unintelligible. The lanterns of the guard revealed the homeless trio, supplementing their scanty supper by picking up stray bits of fodder which lay about the camp.

Of the practical jokes most of them were played on officers, either by their subordinates or brother officers. Major Pryor was at Sarnia with Colonel Hyndman, and the latter was very anxious indeed to break the monotony of the times. His chance came one evening when there was exchange of sentries, and Pryor had gone off to spend a convivial hour. Hyndman gave very strict orders as to the enforcing of the password, and then waited results. Major Pryor staggered back to the line, very drunk indeed. When challenged he stuttered that he was the f-f-fellow’s major.

“I don’t care who you are--what’s the password?”

“Don’t know, b-b-but I’m your Major!”

“Into the guardhouse with you then, if you don’t know the pass,” and the major was ignominiously hurried off. When he got there he was clear enough to see that the men knew him.

“Very well, then,” said one; “if you give us an order on the Commissary for a gallon of grog we’ll let you go.”

“Give me a p-p-pen then,” said Pryor, “and you can have your g-g-grog.”

He duly wrote the order, which one of the men altered from one to two gallons, and was thereupon set at liberty.

There was little ceremony spent on the furnishing of the commissariat. When a beast was noticed by an officer it was decided that that animal must at once be annexed; but as far as can be learned now there was always a fair remuneration made to the owner. It was claimed by the rival messes that equal fairness was not observed in the distribution of a suddenly acquired dainty. Dunlop had become possessed of a sheep, and great was the rage of Pryor when it was found that the former had requisitioned for the whole animal, for they had all been living on pork for weeks. The Doctor could not resist such opportunity for jokes, and mutton _versus_ pork caused Pryor many an irritation. Nicknames, too, grew from the work and doings of ’37 as easily as they were coined by Dunlop at other times. “Toddy Tam” was the head of the Commissariat, and Robert Young, of Glasgow, who was butcher to the Huron militia, was in consequence called Killit-and-Curit. Thereafter he was best known as Killie Young.

A grand dinner had been the cause of Major Pryor’s guard-house experience. A baker and a butcher had been sent to ransack the countryside for provisions for it, and extraordinary success had crowned their efforts. Colonel Hyndman asked “Toddy Tam” not to serve the major with any of the new-gotten delicacies until he, Hyndman, had entertained his fellow-officers at a dinner. And such a dinner, to men who had been half starved! Mutton and turkey boiled and roast, fowls, and pastry of all sorts and descriptions. “Good God, Hyndman!” exclaimed Pryor, “where did you get all that?”

Hyndman gravely replied that these were his rations. Toddy Tam arrived at the head of the stairway just in time to hear Pryor heaping abuse upon him, saying that “that d---- fellow, the Commissary, had served _him_ with nothing but salt pork ever since he came to Sarnia.” The irate major just then caught sight of the offender, and would have thrown him down the stairway but for the interference of Captains Gooding and Lizars. Careful management and pre-arrangement on the part of his tormentors lodged the gallant and stuttering major in guard-house.

On another occasion, when Hyndman was in advance of Pryor by a day’s march, the former halted his men for rest at Mrs. Westlake’s, where comforts and food were in plenty. Reckoning on the major’s usual blustering manner to bear him out, Colonel Hyndman advised Mrs. Westlake that Major Pryor would arrive next day, and that she had best be on her guard. When Pryor and his men arrived he at once ordered this and shouted for that, desiring the household to bring him every thing at once. To his amazement in marched Mrs. Westlake, a huge pistol in her hand, who without more ado began the work of converting a bully into the most civil and astonished of officers. But with all his faults of manner Pryor had his good points, and only two days previous to this had sent home his man-servant and horses, determined to march with his men and share their hardships.