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[Contents.]
[Illustrations and Portraits] (In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.) (etext transcriber's note) |
MILL IN DEVON, ENG., IN 1897. USED AND OWNED BY ROGER CONANT PREVIOUS TO SAILING TO AMERICA WITH THE PILGRIMS IN 1623.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
Upper Canada Sketches
BY
THOMAS CONANT
With Illustrations, Portraits and Map
TORONTO
WILLIAM BRIGGS
29-33 Richmond St. West
1898
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight, by Thomas Conant, at the Department of Agriculture.
To Thomas G. Milsted
Of Chicago, Ill., U.S.
A LARGE-HEARTED, FAITHFUL FRIEND AND PLEASANT
COMPANION, UNDER EVEN THE MOST TRYING
CIRCUMSTANCES;
WHO SWAM IN THE DEAD SEA, ASCENDED THE NILE TO
THE MAHDI’S CONFINES, AND LIKEWISE WITH ME
KICKED PARIAH DOGS FROM OUR PATHS
IN CONSTANTINOPLE,
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED,
WITH FULL RELIANCE IN THE HOPE THAT EXPATRIATED
CANADIANS, WHO ARE SO VERY NUMEROUS IN THE
UNITED STATES, MAY ENJOY WITH HIMSELF
(LIKEWISE ONE OF THEM)
THESE RANDOM CANADIAN SKETCHES.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
| PAGE | |
| [Prefatory Note] | [vii] |
| [CHAPTER I.] | |
|---|---|
| Normandy—William the Conqueror—Origin of the nameConant—Devon, England—Sir Walter Raleigh’s home—Richardthe Mill-owner—Roger the Pilgrim—Thefirst Governor of Massachusetts—Salem, Massachusetts—Mill-owners | [9] |
| [CHAPTER II.] | |
| The American Revolution—Personal Rule of King GeorgeIII.—Washington’s politeness—Valley Forge—Washington’sprayer—Raw New England levies—JohnHancock—Other leaders and generals—Colonel Butler—Murder,not war—Roger Conant removes to Canada—Anold deed—Governor Simcoe—York (Toronto) | [21] |
| [CHAPTER III.] | |
| A home in the wilderness—Salmon fishing—An idyllic life—Logging—Furtrade—Durham boats—Rapids of theSt. Lawrence—Trading with the Indians—The Hudson’sBay Company—Coureurs du bois—Maple sugarmaking—Friendly Indians | [32] |
| [CHAPTER IV.] | |
| Waubakosh—Making potash—Prosperous settlers—Outbreakof war of 1812—Transporting military supplies—MoodeFarewell’s hotel—“Here’s to a long andmoderate war”—A lieutenant’s misfortune—“Open inthe King’s name”—Humors of the time—Ingeniousforagers—Hidden specie—Hardships of the U. E.Loyalists | [40] |
| [CHAPTER V.] | |
| Capture of York—Immigration increasing—David Annis—Niagara—Prosperouslumber business—Ship-building—Highfreight rates—Salmon spearing—Meteoricshowers—An affrighted clergyman—Cold winters—Atragedy of the clearings | [51] |
| [CHAPTER VI.] | |
| Discontent in Upper Canada—Election riots—Shillelahsas persuaders—William Lyon Mackenzie—Riotingin York—Rebellion—Patriots and sympathizers—Arelentless chase—Crossing Lake Ontario in midwinter—Aperilous passage—A sailor hero—A criticalmoment—Safe on shore—“Rebellion Losses Bill”—Transportedto Botany Bay—Murder of my grandfather—Canadianlegends—A mysterious guest | [65] |
| [CHAPTER VII.] | |
| Religious movements—Itinerant preachers—$50 a year—Camp-meetings—Weirdscenes at night—Millerites—Worldcoming to an end—Dissenters attempt to fly—Affrightedby a “sun-dog”—Destruction fails to materialize—TheMormons—An improvised Gabriel—Raisingthe dead—Converts—Salt Lake—An Irishrefugee and his poem | [89] |
| [CHAPTER VIII.] | |
| Canadian laws—Cases of justifiable homicide—Ineffectualattempt to discipline a church member—Major Wilmot—AsaWallbridge—“Uncle Ned”—Cows andmatrimony—A humorous dialogue—A witty retort—Anamusing duel | [102] |
| [CHAPTER IX.] | |
| Paring bees—Mirth and jollity—Dancing and games—Playing“forfeits”—Anti-Slavery Act—Canada’sproud distinction—Refugee slaves—“Uncle Tom”—OldJeff—Story of a slave | [120] |
| [CHAPTER X.] | |
| Civil war in the United States—Large bounties paid Canadianrecruits—Prices of products go up—More thantwo million men under arms—I make a trip to Washington—Visitingthe military hospitals—I am offered$800 to enlist—Brief interview with President Lincoln—Apass secured—I visit the Army of the Potomac—90,000men under canvas—Washington threatened bythe Confederates—Military prison at Elmira, N.Y.—Cheapgreenbacks—A chance to become a multi-millionaire | [137] |
| [CHAPTER XI.] | |
| The “Trent affair”—Excitement in Canada—Bombastic“fire-eaters”—Thriving banks—High rates of interest—Railwaybuilding—The bonus system—A sequesteredhamlet—A “psychologist” and his entertainment—Amock duel—A tragic page of family history | [153] |
| [CHAPTER XII.] | |
| Fenianism—A claimant for my father’s farm—A scare atPort Oshawa—Guns, forks and clubs for fighting—Awkwardsquad—Guard catch a young man out courting—TheFenian raid of 1866—A Catholic priest takenprisoner—United States Government at last cries“Stop!”—Adventure in high life—A youth runs awayfrom home—Tragic death of the mother of the runaway—Marriesthe serving-maid—Wedding and funeraljourney in one | [171] |
| [CHAPTER XIII.] | |
| The French in Upper Canada—Sir Wilfrid Laurier—Voyageursand their songs—“A la Claire Fontaine”—Money-lenders—Educationalmatters—ExpatriatedCanadians—Successful railway speculation—A shrewdbanker | [181] |
| [CHAPTER XIV.] | |
| Poor-tax—Poor-houses undesirable—The tramp nuisance—Atramp’s story—Mistaken charity—Office seekers—Electionincidents | [193] |
| [CHAPTER XV.] | |
| Upper Canada’s favored situation—Our Great Lakes—Casesof apparent tides on Lake Ontario—Canadiansas givers—Oshawa’s generous support to churchesand charities—Life insurance—Amusing incidents ofa railway journey—A “talking machine” | [209] |
| [CHAPTER XVI.] | |
| Drinking habits in the early days—Distilleries and mills—Treatingprevalent—Drinking carousals—Deliriumtremens—“One-Thousand-and-One” Society—Twogallon limit—Bibulous landlords—Whiskey fights—TypicalCanadian pioneers—Clearing the farm—Sonsand daughters married—Peaceful old age—Asleep indeath—Conclusion | [228] |
ILLUSTRATIONS AND PORTRAITS.
THOMAS CONANT.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
MRS. THOMAS CONANT.
PREFATORY NOTE.
IN presenting to the public these random sketches I crave the reader’s indulgence. I do not pretend to elegance of style in my writing, and if—as is doubtless the case—the canons of literary form are occasionally offended against in these pages, I ask the kindly consideration of the critics.
If asked my reasons for publishing the volume, I would state: First, the many communications received by me from time to time, from various sources, commenting favorably on my letters to the press, have given me to believe that the Canadian public appreciate and value the relation of old settlers’ stories and the legends and traditions of the past; again, as a son of this noble Province, a descendant of one of its pioneer families, having witnessed much of the marvellous development of the country, I feel constrained to thus preserve records which I believe are historically valuable. I have sought to present glimpses of the rude, free life that obtained in the earlier years of settlement, while at the same time depicting some phases of life in Canada as seen at the present day. Though since Confederation (1867) our Province has been known as Ontario, I have preferred to use the old name of Upper Canada, which seems not improper in view of the fact that much of the matter herein given relates to pre-Confederation times.
It has been my endeavor, in compiling these sketches, to avoid wounding the feelings of others in my references to the living or their friends who have passed away. If, unfortunately, I have done so, I ask the pardon of such persons, and assure them that wherever I have used names or made personal references, I have done so only where I considered it necessary to render the events chronicled historically correct.
For the insertion of some family portraits it is unnecessary to ask the reader’s indulgence, as they are portraits of those who have helped materially in the upbuilding of the Province.
Thomas Conant.
Oshawa, Ontario, Canada,
September 28th, 1898.
MAP OF UPPER CANADA
1898
UPPER CANADA SKETCHES.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
Normandy—William the Conqueror—Origin of the name Conant—Devon, England—Sir Walter Raleigh’s home—Richard the Mill-owner—Roger the Pilgrim—The first Governor of Massachusetts—Salem, Massachusetts—Mill-owners.
Though of the past from no carved shrines,
Canvas or deathless lyres we learn,
Yet arbored streams and shadowy pines
Are hung with legends wild and stern;
In deep dark glen, on mountain side,
Are graves whence stately pines have sprung,
Naught telling how our fathers died
Save faint Tradition’s faltering tongue.
—Adapted.
THERE is no reason to doubt that the progenitor of the Conant family in England and America came originally from Normandy, in 1066, as one of the followers of William the Conqueror. Frederick Odell Conant, of Portland, Maine, whose exhaustive work, “History and Genealogy of the Conant Family,” entitles him to be quoted as an authority, has arrived at this conclusion.
Edward Nathaniel Conant, of Oakham, Rutland County, England, a member of the English branch, told the author, when visiting Lyndon Hall, in 1894, that he had seen the name Conan—from which Conant has been evolved—on a castle archway in Normandy. In 1896 the author met a Frenchman of the same name in Melbourne, Australia, who was, no doubt, a descendant of the branch of the family that remained in Normandy when the others came over with William to the conquest of England. There are several derivations given of the name Conant, many of which would establish it as of Celtic origin; and though a Conant came over to England with William, it would appear his ancestors had come originally from Cornwall and Devon to Brittany. The meaning of the name is almost as variously given as its origin, but it appears that the conclusion arrived at by the family historian and genealogist is that it is equivalent to the word in the Welsh, Irish, Saxon, Dutch, German and Swedish tongue, and also the Oriental, signifying chief or leader.
Although the Conants probably returned to Normandy during the reigns of William and his sons, they finally settled at East Budleigh, in Devonshire. It is unnecessary here to trace the succeeding generations of the family, as we have to do only with the immediate connections of Roger Conant, known as the Pilgrim, who emigrated to the English Colonies in America in 1623, and from whom all the Conants in the United States and Canada are descended.
The picture which forms the frontispiece to this volume is a faithful one of the mill yet standing on the Conant lands at East Budleigh. This mill was owned and occupied by Richard Conant, father of Roger the Pilgrim. It will be observed that the part of the stone building at the end farthest from the water-wheel is now used as a residence. Whether it was so occupied by Richard Conant the author has been unable to ascertain. There are indications that a residence had been located back from the mill and on rising ground farther from the road. The mill is a long stone structure. In front of the part used as a dwelling is a yard, and at one side farm buildings. Mr. Green, the present Rector of East Budleigh, assured the author that there is no doubt of its being the identical building and mill occupied and used by Richard Conant. The family records (parish register) are in Mr. Green’s care. There are entries of the birth of John Conant in 1520 and of his son Richard, born in Devon in 1548. These are on parchment, the latter yellow, covered with leather, wood-bound and worm-eaten.
Back of the house and mill a small spring creek runs. It has been turned from its bed by the rising ground, so that no artificial dam is needed, and to-day, as in 1560, it runs over the wheel and pours from the flume. In volume it is four inches deep and twenty wide, and is about six feet above the wheel. The latter, of course, has been renewed, being an overshoot about fourteen feet in diameter, but its foundations are now just as Richard Conant originally laid them. The lands owned by Richard Conant probably amounted to about two hundred acres. The glebe land, extending nearly to the mill, which is about five hundred yards from the church, and the Conant lands extending to the farm of Sir Walter Raleigh, we may conclude to be the probable extent of the property.
Roger’s father, Richard, inherited the mill from his father. He graduated at Emanuel College, and was also Rector of East Budleigh. The book of his charities accounts is still extant. On the fly-leaf are the words, “This book was bought in 1600, to mark the amounts of charities,” etc. It is in Richard’s handwriting. Every few pages are signed by him, and the entries are neatly made, not a blot, erasure or scratch upon the well inscribed pages. The amounts vary from one penny to sixpence. All this is evidence of the careful upbringing and piety practised in the home of Roger Conant, the man destined later to exert so beneficent an influence for the well-being of the Massachusetts Colony in America.
Ascending for three-quarters of a mile the little burn whose waters turned Richard’s mill-wheel, one finds it running by the door of the Raleigh homestead, Hays Barton House.
His living near the man who drew so much attention to the New World would suggest that Roger Conant’s ambitions to seek a new home in the wilds had been fired by the tales told by the adventurous knight; and hearing of its wonders and possibilities possibly made the lad restless, and later on willing to sail away to America.
The Raleigh pew in East Budleigh church is at a right-angle from the Conant pew, and not ten feet away. They both face the pulpit, and as these were possessions as hereditary as their lands and homes, there is nothing improbable in the idea that the families were well known to each other.
On the Raleigh pew-ends are carved the armorial bearings of the family, the lower part cut off. This was done when Sir Walter was attainted for treason, and may be a curious instance of the penalties exacted from the families whose head suffered such attainder at the hands of the sovereign. On the Conant pew is the head of a North American Indian. It is well done. The Indian features, high cheek-bones and large nose, are faithfully depicted. On the other pews are negroes, ships’ paddles, tropical trees and foliage. Sir Walter’s father was Rector of East Budleigh when Richard Conant ran his little grist-mill and attended the church.
Roger could not, in the natural order of succession, inherit the mill from his father, so he went early to London. No doubt the seeds sown by the study, as a child, of the quaint carvings in his parish church had an influence in directing his manhood’s steps.
The church is a small stone leaded roofed building. It is dedicated to All Saints, and was consecrated by Bishop Lacy about A.D. 1430. It consists of a nave and chancels, and north and south aisles. It is eighty feet long and forty-eight and a half feet wide. The tower, which contains five bells, is seventy-two feet high. It is a Norman embattlemented tower with a chimney-shaped buttress. (Vide “History and Genealogy of the Conant Family.”) About the church is the graveyard, walled in and the earth dug away, leaving the church and graveyard isolated, and above the level of the surrounding roads and lands.
Although the Conants are buried here, no stone or monument has been found to mark the spot where they lie. The Rector told the author that all the Conants had moved away, leaving none to care for the graves of their ancestors. This was probably the cause of the absence of any information by which the place of burial could be ascertained.
A brother of Roger’s—John, matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford—was made a full Fellow, 10th July, 1612; B.D., 2 Dec., 1619, or 28 June, 1620. He resigned his fellowship, and was instituted Rector of Lymington, a country parish near Ilchester, Somersetshire, on the presentation of Sir Henry Rosewell, and on the 20th of January, 1620, compounded for the firstfruits of the living—the sureties of his bond being his brothers Christopher and Roger. The name of Rosewell or Rowswell, is well known to students of the history of Massachusetts. Sir Henry’s name stands first among the grantees in the Patent from the Council of Plymouth—a fact which bears some significance to the emigration of Roger and Christopher to the New World, and also indicates that Conant had already espoused the cause of the Puritans.
The above is taken from the “History and Genealogy of the Conant Family,” and is necessary to connect Roger’s early life with the period of his emigration to the New World.
Roger was baptized at All Saints’ Church, East Budleigh, on the 9th April, 1592. He was the youngest of eight children. His after life showed that the integrity and piety which characterized his parents and elder brothers had been instilled into his mind in childhood. Like his brothers, he evidently received as good an education as the times would afford. He was employed to lay out boundaries, survey lands and transact other public business. The records of the Salters’ Company, to which he belonged, have been burned, so that no more authentic proof of his having been a freedman of the company can be adduced than the presumptive evidence given by the fact of his signing his brother John’s bonds as “Salter of London.” He married in London in November, 1618, and emigrated with the Pilgrims to New England in 1623.
Members of the Drysalters’ Guild of London (the ninth of the twelve great livery companies, and chartered by Queen Elizabeth in 1558) have certain privileges and perquisites. To illustrate this more fully, the author during a visit to London, at the time of the Queen’s Jubilee, 1887, learned upon enquiry that by the laws of primogeniture (only abolished in Upper Canada in 1841) the direct descendant of Roger Conant was entitled to two meals a day and a bed to sleep on. The perquisite is not retroactive and an application for any commutation could not be regarded, but he was told that the two meals a day and a bed would be given to the direct heir of Roger Conant, the Drysalter, whenever he chose to claim them.
It is not certain what was the name of the vessel in which Roger Conant sailed, but from the fact that his brother Christopher was a passenger in the Ann, which arrived at Plymouth about 1623, it may be inferred that Roger accompanied him. In a petition to the general court, dated May 28th, 1671, he states that he had been “a planter in New England forty-eight years and upwards.” This would fix the date of his arrival early in 1623. Roger did not remain long in Plymouth. There were differences between him and the Pilgrim Fathers, he being a Puritan and they Separatists, and although these differences were not sufficiently marked to subject him to the treatment meted out to Allan and John Lyford, he left Plymouth for Nantucket, where they had settled soon after their expulsion from the former place. While here he appears to have made use of the island in Boston harbor, now called Governor’s Island, but then and for some time afterward known as Conant’s Island.
The Dorchester Company was formed in 1622-3, and in 1624-5 Roger Conant’s reputation as “a pious, sober and prudent gentleman” reaching its associates, they chose him to manage or govern their affairs at Cape Ann. While here a proof of the truth of the report was given them in the magnanimity and justness, as well as prudence, exercised by him in settling a dispute over the possession of a fishing stage between Miles Standish, “the captain of Plymouth,” and a captain Hewet, who had been sent out by the opposite party. This scene has been made the subject of a window in the Conant Memorial Congregational Church, recently erected at Dudley, Mass., by Hezekiah Conant.
Cape Ann was not a suitable place for settlement; the land was poor and the merchandise brought from England unproductive of lucrative returns. Roger selected a site “on the other side of a creek called Naumkeag (now Salem),” and shortly after removed there.
During his stay at Cape Ann Roger occupied the great frame house which had been built by the old planters in 1624. The frames, it is said, and probably with truth, were brought from England. The timbers are oak, yet sound, and in existence still as a part of a stable. The house, as given in the accompanying illustration, is taken from a drawing made in 1775. It is similar to many of the old houses of the same date, and still the most picturesque features of the villages in Surrey and Devon.
This house was occupied by Endicott when
ROGER CONANT’S HOUSE, SALEM, MASS., 1628, FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASS. BAY COLONY.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
appointed Governor, it being taken down and removed to Salem. The exact site of Roger’s house, the first built in Salem, cannot be ascertained. Subsequent records go to show that the stability, the permanency and good government of the colony were largely dependent upon the influence of Conant, although after the appointment of Endicott as Governor, under the new patent, he was no longer the head. During the rivalry between the members of the old and the new company his self-denial and upright character won him friends on both sides and secured that harmony which resulted in the public good; he “quietly composed that the meum and tuum which divide the world should not disturb the peace of good Christians.”
There has been some controversy among the antiquarians on Roger Conant’s claim to the title of first Governor of Massachusetts. He is, however, entitled to the honor, for the colony of which he was the recognized head for three years was the first permanent settlement in the territory, and from it the other colonies sprung. There are many documents extant, besides entries in the records of the Governor and Company of Massachusetts Bay, which go to prove how frequently Roger Conant was called upon to fill offices and do his share in the numerous works inseparable from the building up of a country, the knowledge and experience as well as the influence of the “prudent Christian gentleman” being invaluable to his fellow-townsmen and settlers.
In 1668 that part of Salem known as Bass River, on the Cape Ann side, was incorporated under the name of Beverley, and one of the most interesting incidents of his long and active life is Roger Conant’s effort to change this name for that of Budleigh. The original petition, which however was not granted, is among the Massachusetts archives. It is interesting as showing how the memory of his birth-place still remained fresh in his affections. He died November 19th, 1678, in the eighty-eighth year of his age. From this date until that of the Revolution the succeeding generations of Conants have left individual records of worth, as landed proprietors in the State of Massachusetts; but it is unnecessary here to enter into their history. Several of them were graduates of Harvard University, and many of them mill-owners, thus carrying on the calling and talents of their ancestor, as we shall see, to the seventh, eighth and ninth generation; Hezekiah Conant, of Pawtucket, being a large owner of the great thread works of J. P. Coates, employing five thousand hands; and Daniel Conant, the author’s father, also a mill-owner in Upper Canada, a property which contributed largely to his success.
CHAPTER II.
The American Revolution—Personal rule of King George III.—Washington’s politeness—Valley Forge—Washington’s prayer—Raw New England levies—John Hancock—Other leaders and generals—Colonel Butler—Murder, not war—Roger Conant removes to Canada—An old deed—Governor Simcoe—York (Toronto).
“There are moments, bright moments, when the spirit receives
Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves;
When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose,
Like the innermost leaves from the heart of the rose;
And thus when the rainbow had passed from the sky,
The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by;
It left my full soul like the wings of a dove,
All flutt’ring with pleasure, and flutt’ring with love.”
UPON the outbreak of the American Revolution there were three brothers, Conants, of the sixth generation from Roger the Pilgrim, in Massachusetts. Two of these took sides at once with the patriots and joined Washington’s army when that General came from Virginia and took command at Cambridge. One of them, Daniel Conant, was wounded at Lexington, April 19th, 1775.
The third, Roger, and the author’s immediate ancestor, believed that the wrongs of the colonists would be righted in time by petition, and while expressing his sense of these wrongs, refused to join the patriot army. Copy of statement in “Conant Genealogy,” page 252: “The name of Roger Conant of Ealton appears on the muster-roll of Capt. Abiah Mitchell’s Company, which was down at the Alarm” (“Mass. Arch. Lexington Alarm Lists,” Vol. XIII., p. 16) and Roger Conant served one month and twelve days as corporal in Scott’s Company of Ashley’s Regiment, “which marched from Westmoreland, Chesterfield and Hinsdale to Ticonderoga on the alarm of May 8th, 1777” (N. H. State Papers, Vol. XV., p. 6). To-day, however, we all rejoice at the success of the colonies, and that the personal rule of King George III. was terminated.
The brothers met frequently and talked over current events. Among the reminiscences of these conversations the following anecdotes have been handed down from father to son, and although they have no direct relation with Upper Canada, they may be worth repeating, as showing a little of the personal character of some of the actors in the life of that time.
Washington, when at Cambridge, was riding one day to a distant part of the field, attended by several of his aides and gentlemen of the New England Colonies. On the way he met a mounted negro, who took off his hat and bowed very profoundly, showing his teeth and the whites of his eyes as he smiled and exclaimed, “How are you, General, how are you?” General Washington quickly lifted his hat, and though not halting his horse, replied courteously to the salutation.
One of the New England gentlemen who accompanied him remarked to Washington, “I wonder you take the trouble to salute that negro!”
Washington replied, “It would, indeed, be a hard matter if I had not as good manners as a negro.”
The fortunes of war in 1777-80 brought the struggle to Valley Forge, just north of Philadelphia. Here the patriot army wintered in log cabins in the forest. Daniel Conant returned to his place in the ranks, and during the long winter met most of the inhabitants of the neighborhood. Among these was a fatherly Tory Quaker who one day met Washington on foot, walking within the lines, looking sad and dejected. “The British will hang thee, George,” said the Quaker. In a twinkling the great man revived, pulled down the collar of his coat, and saying, “This neck never was made for a halter,” walked briskly away.
A few days after the Quaker was walking alone in the forest. While making his way he heard a voice being lifted up in prayer. Pushing the bushes aside in the direction of the sound, he saw Washington, bare-headed and kneeling in the snow, with upturned face and closed eyes, asking the God of battles to preserve his little army and himself, and to favor the right.
Reverently the Quaker waited until the General had ended his prayer, then he stepped to his side as he rose, and said, “George, thee will succeed and conquer the British.”
As to the character of Washington, there never were two opinions; he seemed always to tower above all and every one. At first when he came to New England, they said, he was disposed to find fault and look with doubt upon the New England levies. Time, however, corrected that, and not a few of the Revolutionary generals and leaders among them became known as genuine men.
John Hancock the Conant brothers did not care for, saying that he went into the war mainly to avoid the heavy suits then pending against him for customs dues. Among the leading civilians they admired and revered John Adams and Benjamin Franklin, although they did say of Adams that he was always finding fault with the British Government, and that he was offered lucrative offices in order to keep him quiet; but he was not to be held.
General Knox, who was a Boston bookseller, they always spoke well of. Greene and Schuyler they thought were men who possessed real military ability and were high-minded gentlemen. Ethan Allen and General Putnam they thought brave men, but not in possession of military abilities.
Roger Conant said of Sir William Johnson, that “he was the cleverest man he had ever met. He could manage both Indians and white men.” He had met Brant also, and always spoke of him as “one of nature’s noblemen with a tawny skin.”
Colonel Butler, of Butler’s Rangers, and his acts were most frequently recalled; words failed to express the abhorrence of this marauder and his acts. Roger Conant had tarried in New York State when on his way to Canada, and knew something of the horrors of the civil war. He had met Butler and readily listened to tales told him in later years by a man who had been one of Butler’s Rangers. This man lived with Roger Conant as his hired servant. He told him that he and others, with Butler in command, had many times entered defenceless houses and murdered at the first instance the man and wife. Next the children were brought before the great gaping open wood fireplaces of those days and bayoneted, the bayonet passing quite through their little bodies, and were held over the flames that the soldiers might “watch them squirm,” as he expressed it. The man would also frequently call out in his troubled dreams when asleep, such words as, “There they are! Don’t you see them squirm? Bayonet that big boy!” acting over again the murderous scenes. These stories were told the author by his ancestors many times as no fanciful picture.
On another occasion Butler captured a small garrison of Continentals in New York State, who marched out and surrendered their arms. One among them, a former neighbor of Butler’s, came to the gate and bade the major “Good day.” During the early period of the war this man had been enrolled among King George’s levies, but had never served. “Stand out by that tree,” said Butler, and the man obeyed. On the last man emerging from the garrison and surrendering his arms, Butler ordered half a dozen of his Rangers to “Right about face—present arms—fire!” and his neighbor never breathed again.
During the early months of the war and its continuance the brothers Conant met of an evening behind blinded windows and closed doors. On canvassing matters thoroughly they came to the conclusion that the colonies would never succeed, and that Great Britain would in the end wreak terrible vengeance on those in rebellion. Britain’s name carried with it a sense of power and unlimited resources, and Roger Conant could not make himself believe that she would ever let the colonies go. As time went on, too, his position in Massachusetts became a difficult one, so he resolved to leave all and flee to Canada.
He had been educated for the law, and had attended Harvard University. He owned several thousands of acres of land, both in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Money was a scarce commodity then, as every one knows who has read attentively the history of that struggle, and for his large property Roger Conant could only get together $5,000. This, with the aid of his brothers, he obtained in gold, and in 1777 he set out from the vicinity of Boston with his family. Their conveyance was a covered waggon drawn by two horses, and following was an ox-team drawing a cart laden with household goods and farm implements. His first stop was about the Hudson River. When there the commandant of that point asked him to look for a deserter from the American army. A photographic reproduction of the captain’s order is herewith given. Strange to say, it is not dated; but it was given in the year 1777.
From the records extant Roger appears to have made some stay here—some authorities say on land of his own, which he sold later. A quit-claim deed is reproduced in fac-simile ([page 29]), conveying a valuable island on the New England coast. Reserving
DEED OF ISLAND IN BOSTON HARBOR.
REWARD FOR A DESERTER, 1776, AT WEST POINT.
DEED OF ISLAND IN BOSTON HARBOR.
wood in a deed is peculiar, and it is set forth in a singular way. The Charles Annis mentioned in this deed was a relative of Roger Conant’s, and came to Canada from Massachusetts soon after him. From him most of the Annises in Canada are descended.
Leaving his family at Geneva, New York State, Roger Conant came on to Canada, arriving at the locality afterward called Darlington, County Durham, Ontario, in October, 1778. The first Crown grant of land to Roger Conant was made December 31st, 1778. It consisted of lots 28, 29, 30 and 31, in the Broken Front, Darlington; also south halves of lots 28, 29, 30 and 31, 1st concession Darlington, County Durham—in all about 1,200 acres. After building a house on his land, and probably clearing some portion of it, he returned to Geneva.
What he did between this date and 1794, when he brought his family to Canada, is not known. It is said that during these intermediate years he went to and from Massachusetts several times, in order to collect the proceeds of the sale of his property there. It was during these years that, it is said, he lived among Butler’s Rangers, and from their deeds of violence learned to execrate their memory.
In 1794 he set out again, stopping at Genesee Falls, where Rochester, N.Y., now is. Once the author asked why they did not remain there, and was told that “it was only a black ash swamp, and they did not want it.”
Governor Simcoe’s proclamation, offering grants of land in Upper Canada to those who would come and occupy them, hurried Roger Conant’s journey. Arriving at the mouth of the Niagara River, and hiring a flat scow in which to ferry himself, his family and effects over, he landed at Newark, then the capital of Upper Canada. While there he met Governor Simcoe, who tried to induce him to go up Yonge Street to lands on Lake Simcoe; but not relishing the idea of leaving the shores of Lake Ontario for the wilderness, he refused. The Governor then asked him if he would fight against Canada if trouble came. Roger’s reply was, “No, sir, I will fight for the country which protects me.” And, as we shall presently see, he made good his promise by aiding the British cause in the subsequent war of 1812.
Following the lake shore, camping at night, and fording the streams where they debouch, they at last reached the site of York, then a cluster of Indian wigwams with a few houses in process of erection. The river Don being too deep to ford, they hired Indians to convey them over in their canoes. The waggons were taken apart and so ferried across, when they were put together again, and the emigrants proceeded along the broken shores of the lake.
CHAPTER III.
A home in the wilderness—Salmon fishing—An idyllic life—Logging—Fur trade—Durham boats—Rapids of the St. Lawrence—Trading with the Indians—The Hudson’s Bay Company—Coureurs du bois—Maple sugar making—Friendly Indians.
“Our young, wild land, the free, the proud!
Uncrush’d by power, unawed by fear,
Her knee to none but God is bow’d,
For nature teaches freedom here;
From gloom and sorrow, to light and flowers
Expands this heritage of ours:
Life, with its myriad hopes, pursuits,
Spreads sails, rears roofs, and gathers fruits.
But pass two fleeting centuries back,
This land, a torpid giant, slept,
Wrapp’d in a mantle, thick and black,
That o’er its mighty frame had crept,
Since stars and angels sang, as earth
Shot from its Maker into birth.”
GOLDEN autumn days were those when the emigrants’ long journey was nearing its end. Provision must first be made for the cattle and horses. October was upon them and winter near.
ROGER CONANT’S FIRST SETTLEMENT IN DARLINGTON, CO. DURHAM, UPPER CANADA, 1778.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
At Arnall’s Creek—then known as Barber’s Creek—they found a flat of marsh-grass quite free from the forest trees which then were universal above the water’s edge of Lake Ontario.
Here they pitched their tents, the creek and lake forming two sides of a triangle for defence from wolves, leaving one side only to be protected. Salmon would run in November, and the winter’s supply of fish could be secured from the creek, and the marsh-grass gathered for the stock from the flat at its mouth.
The illustration opposite is of the first house built by Roger Conant in Upper Canada. The foundation of it yet remains close by the waters of Lake Ontario. The man in the foreground of the picture is pounding or crushing grain with a burnt-out stump as a mortar, using as a pestle a billet of wood which is attached to a spring pole, thus raising it easily. There was no mill nearer than Kingston where the corn could be ground. At Port Hope (then called Smith’s Creek), in 1806, Elias Smith erected a grist-mill. Previous to that date the settlers took their grist by boat to Kingston, at the foot of Lake Ontario, 110 miles distant. The journey occupied several days, necessitating their camping on the shores at night.
At the home by the broad waters of Lake Ontario the settlers led a truly idyllic life. The unerring rifle supplied them with meat, the waters with fish, and the distant mill with flour until a crop could be grown from the cleared land next season. They spent the days “logging” (felling the trees) and the nights burning. The bright flames among the trees and against the dark background of the dense forest made a picturesque scene. A singular fact about “logging” is that the log-heaps burn better at night than by day; therefore the logging was done in the day-time and the burning by night. (See illustration, [page 40].) But to make money in this new country, where there were no neighbors nor any travellers to buy, nor any money to buy with, was a more difficult feat than making a home.
Furs and furs only would bring money. Possessing some capital (about $5,000, as already stated), Roger Conant made his way to Montreal by canoe, and there about 1799 had Durham boats built—broad-beamed open flat boats, strongly built for rowing and towing. These he filled with blankets, traps, knives, guns, flints, ammunition, beads and tomahawks, bought in the Montreal stores, to trade with the Indians for furs.
On [page 48] is an illustration of three Durham boats ascending the rapids of the great St. Lawrence River, each towed by three men. They were launched above the greater rapids near Montreal, and hugged the shores while passing the others. An axe was always ready to the hand of the man who sat in the boat and steered, for should the rapid be too strong and get the mastery of the three men who were towing from the shore, the rope was quickly cut, and the Durham, freed, shot like a catapult down stream, until it was lodged in the first cul-de-sac below. It was manifestly a most tediously slow and weary mode of progress. There were no canals built then as now, to form an easy highway past the rapids. Once attaining Lake Ontario they paddled and rowed, still keeping close along shore and camping at some convenient landing-place at night.
In the illustration on [page 65] we have a fair representation of an Indian trading scene. The goods brought from Montreal in the Durham boats have been carried back to a spot a few miles from the lake shore, in charge of the trader and his assistants. Three guns were fired in quick succession upon reaching camp the previous night, as a signal for all Indians within hearing to come with their furs to trade on the morrow. A beaver skin is lying upon the ground, an Indian is negotiating for a blanket, while another is looking at a gun, and others are coming in with their furs on their backs.
A few days’ trading exhausts the goods brought by the trader. He returns home with the furs received in exchange, deposits them, replenishes his pack, and sets out on other trips in different directions, until all the goods are exchanged, and the following summer the furs are taken to Montreal in the same Durham boats, where gold and silver, as well as a further supply of goods, are obtained for them.
There is no record of Roger Conant having shipped his furs direct to London, England. As good prices were paid for furs in Montreal, it is most probable he disposed of them there. Year after year the trade was continued without interruption. It brought wealth to the author’s grandsire, honestly and fairly obtained.
The great Hudson’s Bay Company maintained a regular chain of trading stations upon the north shore of Lake Ontario, as they did in the far west and the Arctic north. The trading stations on Lake Ontario being near to Quebec and Montreal, and close together, were easily supplied with trading goods.
At the period of which we are now writing, when my forefather became an opponent to the great Hudson’s Bay Company in the fur trade (1798), that Company had a trading station very near his home—only some three miles to the west, and on what is now known as Bluff Point, a promontory two miles east of Port Oshawa. This trading station was not fortified, but consisted of a well-built, commodious log-house, with flat roof, and the corners of the house squared and neatly joined. Standing upon the promontory, it was easily accessible to the boats passing up or down the lake. In the spring the boats would come up from Montreal, generally gaily painted, and rowed quite close to shore, with song and laughter. After making the round of the trading stations of Lake Ontario, they came back in the same manner in the fall, laden with furs and Montreal-ward bound. “Here come the Hudson Bay boats!” was the word on the day of their arrival. During their first years in the wilderness the visit of these boats was an event in the lives of the settlers.
Halcyon days were these for the coureurs du bois (as the Frenchmen were called who manned these boats), who were often traders themselves. However, the influx of settlers and fur traders, such as my forefathers were, presented such a strong opposition to the Company, that it gradually gave up Upper Canada as an exploiting ground, and maintained its hold of regions more inaccessible. A princely heritage, forsooth! All of fertile Upper Canada to roam over—mastery of the Indians—and a steady stream of gold coming in from the trade in furs.
This Hudson’s Bay Company is one of the marvels of the world. Its charter was granted by Charles II. in 1670 to some favorites, and from this inception it rapidly went on to growth and prosperity, acquiring almost despotic rule over its territories. Its servants never have plundered it. Its factors, having charge over stores and furs of immense values, away off from white men or the eyes of any who could take an interest in watching them, have always been faithful to their trust. There is no record extant of a dishonest factor. No government, priest or king ever had servants more faithful than have been the directors of this Honorable Hudson’s Bay Company of Fur Traders for the two hundred and twenty-eight years of its existence.
Sugar-making was another pursuit which, if it did not add great wealth to the settler’s pocket, at any rate increased his home comforts. The illustration on [page 78] is a good representation of a sugar-making camp in the bush. The troughs at the foot of the trees receive the sap, which drips from a transverse slit in the bark, made by two blows of a hatchet, at some few feet above the ground. This trough was then no more than a hollowed-out half log, the ends left closed. The sap runs best during the day, as the warmth of the sun draws it up to the branches. It is carried in pails to the great caldrons, set over the fire on a cross limb, and poured into the one on the right side. When it has boiled, it is then transferred in rude ladles to the caldron on the left, where it is further reduced by boiling, and becomes sugared sufficiently to ensure its hardening when poured into the pans and other receptacles. When hard, these are turned out and set upon cross-sticks in tiers to dry. The earliest sap which rises makes the lightest colored sugar.
The Indians are about and assisting in the work. They were always friendly, never stole or deceived, and were ever the white man’s friend in Upper Canada. Those in the neighborhood of my grandfather’s settlement were chiefly Mississaugaus. Every summer they went away to the small lakes north of Ontario, and came back in the fall for the salmon and sturgeon fishing, living in lodges or wigwams. These are covered with birch bark. The illustration, given on [page 84], is not overdrawn as a representation of an Indian camp.
CHAPTER IV.
Waubakosh—Making potash—Prosperous settlers—Outbreak of war of 1812—Transporting military supplies—Moode Farewell’s hotel—“Here’s to a long and moderate war”—A lieutenant’s misfortune—“Open in the King’s name”—Humors of the time—Ingenious foragers—Hidden specie—Hardships of the U. E. Loyalists.
“Now push the mug, my jolly boys,
And live while we can,
To-morrow’s sun may end our joys,
For brief’s the hour of man,
And he who bravely meets the foe
His lease of life can never know.”
WAUBAKOSH was an Indian chief of the Mississaugaus. Every fall, from the year 1808 to 1847, he came with his tribe (or at least 150 of them) to the shore of Lake Ontario, that he and they might fish.
Their lodges were almost invariably constructed on the bank of a creek, near its mouth, that they might take the salmon ascending the stream in November to spawn, and fish in the lake from their boats, with light-jack and spear, for sturgeon.
LOGGING SCENE. ROGER CONANT IN DARLINGTON, CO. DURHAM, UPPER CANADA, 1778.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
First he came as a young Indian brave, before he became chief, and, on attaining the chieftainship and a wife, the only difference which the few white settlers here at that time could discover in his attire was that his deerskin leggings were more beautifully fringed at the seams, and his moccasins likewise were more elaborately wrought with porcupine quills.
Waubakosh was never known to commit a mean act. He was always friendly, and every succeeding fall his coming back was looked for with certainty by the white settlers, who got their living in the clearings and from the waters, as much hunters and fishermen as farmers.
On bidding his white friends good-bye, about December, 1847, as he set out for the Indian encampment about Nottawasaga, in the thick woods, the Indian chief expressed the fear that he might never come back again. His fears were only too well founded, for he never did return. Old residents who knew him have been heard many times to wonder what was his ultimate fate. More strange still to say, not one of his tribe ever came back again to lodge any length of time. A noble-looking red man, he has been described as tall and straight, with a good face and a pleasant eye—in very truth, one of Nature’s noblemen.
Many of his companions who predeceased him were buried near his camping-place on Lake Ontario. Their tomahawks, beads, flints, spears, ornaments, and buttons, and their skulls as well, have been found in recent years by those seeking for traces of the aboriginal red man.
As a means of money making, next to the fur trading in Upper Canada came the making of potash. Ashes were about in plenty, and were easily gathered from the burnt heaps of logs.
In the illustration facing [page 97] the artist has endeavored to show the intense heat required. The fire about the kettle is blazing furiously. This is the “melting scene,” and the last firing before the potash will be done. The driest and most inflammable wood was needed to secure the great heat that was necessary.
Potash, from 1800 to about 1840, brought some $40 per barrel in Upper Canada, and with the fur trading helped to make wealth for my grandsire and others.
On the breaking out of the war of 1812, between Britain and the United States, the settlers in Upper Canada were generally on the high road to prosperity, cultivating a land as fertile as any under heaven outside the valley of the Nile, and with less waste land than in any country of like extent. Such was and is Upper Canada. It is blessed, too, with a mild, salubrious climate, where the four seasons are distinctly marked.
We have seen that husbandry, begun about 1812, gradually became a national industry. Wheat at that time could only be sold for one-half cash and one-half store-pay. The usual price was two shillings (Halifax) per bushel, or about 48 cents, and it was almost invariably fall wheat. The author’s ancestors did considerable at farming, but were mainly fur traders and producers of potash up to the time of the war. Clothing was almost invariably hand-spun and woven. Deer-skin, however, was largely used for men’s leggings, moccasins, and even women’s dresses.
A story is told of a young girl having one dress only, which was made of deer-skin. By many weeks’ constant wear it had become soiled. One day, while all were away, she embraced the opportunity to wash this precious deer-skin garment, and dry it before the fire. When the family returned they found the girl in bed weeping because she had no dress. It had shrunken so much as to be too small to wear again.
When the war of 1812 was declared, the British Government was anxious to send cannon and military supplies into Upper Canada from Montreal. At first these were sent by water (see [page 104]), but later on the fear of capture by the enemy caused them to be sent by land. A main highway, leading from York to Kingston, had been surveyed by the Government and chopped out of the forest. In many places, however, the settlers being so few, it had from disuse become overgrown again with young forest, making it impassable for laden waggons. It was known generally as the “Kingston Road.” At some places it lay quite close to the lake, and at others receded two or three miles inland; consequently only some sections were used for traffic in 1812. One of these sections was at Harmony, a small village one mile east from Oshawa.
Here a large frame hotel had been built, kept by one Moode Farewell. This was one of the stopping places or houses of entertainment for the military men who passed to and from Montreal and York during the war.
The illustration given at [page 122] is from a water-color drawing made from a photograph of this hotel. Joviality and good cheer were characteristic of it, and many a merry night was spent there by the British officers. Many times my grandfather saw them call for liquors in the bar-room on arrival, each grasp his glass, touch his companion’s and drink to the usual toast of “Here’s to a long and moderate war.” Could those old walls speak to-day they would recall the many, many times this toast was given.
Fun, too, was always in order. One evening a young lieutenant, a recent arrival from Britain, came in. The heavy rain had soaked his thin buckskins and leggings. On leaving the bar-room for supper he hung them to dry on a chair back before the fire-place—a great cavernous fire-place, large enough to take in a four-foot back log two feet in diameter.
My mischievous grandsire watched the leggings and helped them on with their drying by placing them squarely before the fire. When the young lieutenant came out from supper his consternation was amusing. His property had become a shrivelled, hard piece of buckskin, shapeless and useless.
“Why did you not mind my leggings?” he cried wrathfully. “Oh, I did mind them well—just see how dry they are,” was the reply. General laughter followed, and the “long and moderate war” toast was again drunk.
Moode Farewell, the owner and keeper of this hotel, was the father of a numerous family, many of whom and of their descendants have risen to high places both in Canada and the United States. He was a man of boundless energy, pluck and endurance, and amassed a considerable fortune.
About eight miles westerly from Farewell’s was Lynde’s tavern, on the Kingston Road. Between these two points, on the way from York to Montreal, the Government had frequent occasion to have despatches passed during the war. As he had promised Governor Simcoe on coming into Upper Canada in 1794, Roger Conant aided the Government, even if he did not fight for it, by carrying despatches between these two points whenever he was called on so to do. His house stood very near the shore of the lake, a new and larger one having been constructed near the first. Along the lake shore, past this house, the heavy freight and military supplies were drawn.
Frequently during the continuance of the war of 1812 a midnight summons came to him, first a knock at the door, and then the demand, “Open in the King’s name!”
“In a moment, gentlemen,” was the answer, and as soon as ordinary garb could be assumed the officers were admitted.
“Get your oxen, sir, and draw a gun to York” came the command.
“Certainly, gentlemen, but can’t you wait a moment, that I may feed the oxen before setting out?”
By placing food and good cheer before the officers and men sufficient time usually was gained, but after once starting out no stop would be permitted until the fort at York was reached, about thirty-five miles westerly along the beach, the intervening streams being crossed by wading. Sometimes the freight to be hauled consisted of other military supplies.
Rough and formal as the soldiers were, my grandfather said the officers were invariably fine men, and he was always well paid in coin when he reached the fort at York. On one occasion, on arrival with a gun, the commissary officer came to him and asked if he would sell a yoke of his oxen. Nothing loth, he consented £14 (Halifax) were handed him, and the oxen became beef for the garrison. This was a very lucrative trip, with the pay for hauling and for the oxen, and the country served at the same time.
The records of the time are not without the humorous side. The following recount some of the tricks of the soldiers, always ready to add variety to their bill-of-fare:
Skirting along the shore, and pulling up their boats at night, came some troops on their way to Toronto, who were billeted to lodge with a settler for a night. Now, this settler had a number of hogs, and on arising next morning he missed one from the lot. Supposing the soldiers had stolen it, he at once complained to the captain in command, who instituted a thorough search among all the boats, but all to no purpose—the hog was not to be found, and the command set off. Upon landing the following night after the day’s row the missing hog came to light. The captain, puzzled to know how it could be so successfully concealed, offered pardon to the offenders if they would only tell how they concealed it. Taken at his word, they showed the captain how they had opened the hog down the front its whole length, and placed it like a sheath on the keel of the boat, so that the water thoroughly hid it, and nailed it there. Of course, no one thought of looking into the water under the boat for the hog. It would be superfluous to add that the captain had fresh pork for supper that night.
At another time, as the troops were marching past a settler’s house they came upon a flock of geese. After the men had passed one of the geese was discovered missing, and the owner came to the camp that night and demanded a search for it. A most thorough search was instituted among the camp baggage, but no bird was found. Next day, however, while on the march, the captain had a part of this goose brought to him at his meal. After partaking of the toothsome dish his wrath was no doubt much mollified, and he asked how they had brought the goose along, seeing no visible way of doing it. His surprise was great to learn that the drummer of the troop had unheaded his drum and placed the bird inside. Well, these poor fellows deserved well of this country for the hardships which they encountered in its protection, and they were right royally welcome to both hog and goose, and should be freely forgiven.
DURHAM BOATS ASCENDING RIVER ST. LAWRENCE, WITH GOODS FOR INDIAN FUR TRADING.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
Sometimes oxen were impressed to draw specie to Toronto, and the old men used to say that they would far rather draw the cannon than the specie. While drawing the latter, which was in boxes about a foot square, the guards were very strict, and would not allow much rest for the driver or the oxen. Like the story of Captain Kidd’s buried treasure, there have been stories told of a box of this specie being hidden while on the way by the officer in command. It has been a rumor current among old 1812 men that a box of specie was placed in one of the gullies near the lake shore on the Scarboro’ Heights. From all that can be gathered, it would appear true that some specie was deposited there. Persons armed with various amalgams on the ends of sticks, others with witch-hazel twigs, have searched for this specie. It is more than probable, however, that the officer who hid it came back for it after the war was over.
The lot of the U. E. Loyalists who came here was one hard enough to deter the most resolute among us to-day from willingly entering upon its like. Those of us who would voluntarily for patriotism, or even for money, enter upon such a wild heroic life of toil are few, very few indeed. Think of going from Oshawa to Kingston to mill as one of the hardships they had to contend with. Yet they laid the foundation of fortunes for their successors, and those who held on to their inherited lands are to-day among the richest families in Ontario. They, at least, have particular cause to be loyal and faithful for the good they have received at their country’s hands. But those holding on to these royal grants are very few indeed as compared with the number who originally inherited them. I do not think I can count more than a dozen families to-day, between Toronto and Kingston, who own these grants in direct descent by inheritance.
CHAPTER V.
Capture of York—Immigration increasing—David Annis—Niagara—Prosperous lumber business—Ship-building—High freight rates—Salmon spearing—Meteoric showers—An affrighted clergyman—Cold winters—A tragedy of the clearings.
“Peculiar both!
Our soil’s strong growth,
And our bold native’s hardy mind;
Sure heaven bespoke
Our hearts of oak
To give a master to mankind.”
ON April 27th, 1813, upon the taking of York by Chauncey and his fleet, orders were given by the officer left in command of the British militia when General Sheaffe retreated to blow up the fort. The boom of the explosion was distinctly heard by my grandsire, Thomas Conant, at his home thirty-five miles distant. With the exception of this incident no records connected with the events from that time until the close of the war in 1814 have been preserved among the reminiscences of the family.
The supplies needed for the soldiers had encouraged agriculture in the back townships and brought money into circulation in the country. At the close of the war immigration increased, sturdy settlers coming into the country both from the British Isles and the United States. The settlement of the wild lands, the clearing of the forests and the building of roads went on apace; an era of prosperity and wealth succeeded as peace became assured.
The most thriving industry was that of the lumberman, awaiting whose axe lay the magnificent forests of timber which covered so large a portion of Upper Canada. My father embarked in this trade. His mother’s decease induced his relative, David Annis, a bachelor, to ask for and adopt him as his heir.
David Annis was a descendant of the Charles Annis mentioned in the quit-rent deed given on [page 29]. Though unlettered and untaught, even unable to write his own name, David was possessed of excellent business ability and an untiring body; a man of fine heart, a friend to the poor, and hospitable to all. It is said of him that no Indian or white ever went from his door hungry. Together he and Daniel Conant built what was probably the first lumber mill erected in the Home District. Its capacity was seven thousand feet of lumber per day only. At [page 135] a picture of this mill is given.
All that lumber (generally pine) would have been
DAVID ANNIS.
THE AUTHOR’S UNCLE.
valueless when manufactured unless means had been provided to take it to market by schooner. Niagara, at the mouth of the Niagara River, was, even as late as 1835, one of the largest towns in Upper Canada. Thither the lumber must be taken to find a market. No wharves had then been built upon the north shore of Lake Ontario, and lumber must be floated down the stream from the mill in rafts to the lake, and so placed on board the waiting schooners. Three vessels were built by ship carpenters (many of whom came from the United States) of the lumber sawn at the mill. They were built on fine lines and had excellent sailing properties, their owners boasting they could sail them “as close to the wind’s eye as any craft that ever floated.”
Pine lumber brought at that day (1835) $7 per thousand feet in cash at Niagara; therefore the lumber mill paid $49 per day of twenty-four hours during the season of sawing. To supply the demands of this trade vessel after vessel was built, and soon return freights began to be offered, such as salt from Sodus, N.Y., and flour in barrels, to be carried to Kingston, until the business of lumber manufacturing and vessel freighting was, at that early period in the history of Upper Canada, as productive as the output of a paying gold mine. The author’s father served on many of his schooners as captain and supercargo as well, and never lost his love of the water and its attendant adventure.
One of the most important occurrences of the time, and one from which many reckoned their local history, was a remarkable display of falling meteors. The following account is taken from memoranda left by my mother, and as told by my father:
On the night of the 12th of November, 1833, my father, then a young man, was salmon-spearing in a boat in the creek, at its outlet into Lake Ontario, now Port Oshawa. One of his hired men sat in the stern and paddled, while he stood close beside the light-jack of blazing pine knots, in order to see the salmon in the water. He, in common with the inhabitants generally, was laying in a stock of salmon to be salted down for the year’s use, until the salmon “run” again the following fall.
At or about ten o’clock of this evening, as nearly as he could judge, from out of an intensely dark November night, globes of fire as big as goose eggs began falling all around his boat. These balls continued to fall until my father, becoming frightened, went home,—not forgetting, he quaintly added, to bring with him the salmon already caught. On reaching home, Lot 6, B. F. East Whitby, the whole household was aroused, and frightened too; but the fires ceasing they went to bed, to pass a restless night after the awe-inspiring scene they had witnessed.
Getting up before daybreak next morning, my father raked over the embers of the buried back log of the big fire-place and quickly had a blaze. Happening to glance out of the window, to his intense amazement he saw, as he said, “the whole sky filled with shooting stars.” Quickly he called to the men, his hired help in the lumbering business, to come down stairs. They needed not a second invitation, and among them was one Shields, who, on reaching the door, dropped in a twinkling upon his knees and began to pray. The balls of fire continuing, his prayers grew more earnest, if vigor of voice could be any index to his religious fervor. Of the grandeur of the unparalleled scene my father said almost nothing, for I am led to think they were all too thoroughly frightened to think of beauty, that being a side issue entirely. The fiery shower growing more dense, my father went out of doors and found the fire-balls did not burn or hurt. Then he went to a neighbor’s—a preacher of renown in the locality—having to pass through woods, and even in the darkness, he affirms, the fire-balls lighted his way quite distinctly. The preacher, already awake, was seated at the table beside a tallow dip reading his Bible, with two other neighbors listening and too frightened, he said, to even bid him good morning. He sat and listened to verse after verse, and still the stars fell. The preacher gave no explanation or sign, but read on. Looking eastward, at last my father saw a faint glimmer of breaking day. Once more he came out into the fire and made his way homeward. Before he reached there daylight broke. Gradually the fire-balls grew less and less, and, with the day, ceased altogether. To find a sign of them he hunted closely upon the ground, but not a trace was left of anything. Nor was any damage done. What became of the stars that fell he could not conjecture.
Realize that in 1833 astronomers had not taught Upper Canadians in regard to meteoric showers, as we know to-day, and we do not marvel at their consternation and fright. Such was the greatest meteoric shower the world probably has ever known. Its greatest density was said to be attained in this section of the continent.
A bit of doggerel went the rounds at that time. It was made, I believe, by one Horace Hutchinson, a sailor whom my father had on one of his schooners. Here is the first verse:
“I well remembered what I see
In eighteen hundred and thirty-three,
When from the affrighted place I stood
The stars forsook their fixed abode.”
A better sailor he was than a poet, and yet, bad as the verses were, they were very popular in the thirties in a large section of the Home District, of which this is a part.
E. S. Shrapnel, the artist, paints the picture ([page 144]) from an actual photograph of the house, he obviously supplying the kneeling man.
Shields, who made so great a fuss, was employed by one of my father’s foremen at the lumbering, and the picture and its story are true in every essential particular.
Upper and Lower Canada were thought by many to have extremely severe winters. It is probable the belief was well founded, but the climate of Upper Canada has undergone a very material change since that period (1835). To-day Upper Canada is pre-eminently a fruit-growing country. Apples, pears, peaches and grapes are staples in this favored land.
COLD WINTERS OF YORE.
Old men tell us that our winters are less severe now than they were fifty or sixty years ago. The long unbroken spells of extreme cold which they used to experience in the early days of our history, are not known now. It is true we do get a cold spell during the winter, now and again, and sometimes deep snow; but these cold spells soon break, and the deep snows do not remain all winter. Not long since I was talking with one of the Grand Trunk Railway conductors, who had been on the line for over twenty years. He said that when he first came on the line it was not at all unusual to have the snow even with the car steps for miles. At other places, he said, they would for long distances pass through tunnels of snow piled or drifted as high as the car tops, whereas now the railway company seldom send out their snow-plough at all, nor does the snow seriously hinder the running of the trains.
It may be that the snow does not now lie as deep as it did before the land was cleared, but is more drifted. This no doubt is true, in a measure, but then if we got as much snow as our fathers used to, and this drifted, the consequences would be most disastrous, and would be an effectual bar to locomotion.
The winter’s cold of former years can be best illustrated by the relation of an anecdote. An old gentleman, still alive and approaching his fourscore years says he was one day driving through a seventeen-mile belt of woods, in this province, with one horse drawing a jumper. The jumpers of those days were made by using two green saplings for runners, bending them up for the crooks. Beams and uprights were made of green saplings, like the runners. An axe and an auger were the only tools used in their construction, and generally there was not a particle of iron in any shape. Rude as they were, they served their purpose admirably, and lasted well enough through one winter. The day was intensely cold, so cold that it was dangerous to leave any part of the body exposed for a moment. He saw a man sitting bolt upright in the snow on the path before him. His first thought was “What will this man be doing here alone, sitting down in this awful cold.” Coming up to him, he reined up his horse, and called to the man; receiving no answer, he tapped him with his whip, and, to his astonishment, the blow resounded as if he were striking a piece of marble. The poor fellow was frozen solid through and through. He was a settler, who lived some thirty miles farther on, and who had set out to go to some settlement, but becoming exhausted by the long weary tramp in the snow, sat down for a few moments’ rest, became drowsy from the soporific effects of the cold, and froze as he sat.
To convey to the younger generation of Upper Canadians an idea of some of the difficulties which our forefathers encountered in subduing the dense forests of our Province, I will relate a true instance of an occurrence about sixty years ago:
A man and his wife, with two children, moved into the Township of Ops, into a dense forest, eight miles from the nearest settler. For months he chopped away at the forest trees, all alone, and succeeded at length in making a clearing in the forest, and erecting a log-house for himself and his family. The logs were peeled and notched at the ends, and laid up squarely, each tier making the house the diameter of a log higher. A hole was cut through for a doorway, and another for a window. To form a door he split some thin slabs from a straight-grained cedar, and pinned them with wooden pins to cross slats. The most ingenious parts of the construction, however, were the hinges. Iron hinges he had not, and could not get. With the auger he bored a hole through the end of a square piece of wood, and, sharpening the other end with his axe, he then bored a hole into one of the logs of the house, constituting in part a door-jamb, and drove the piece of wood into this hole. This formed the top part of the hinge, and the bottom part was fashioned in exactly the same way. Now to the door, in like manner, he fastened two pegs of wood with holes bored through their ends. Placing the ends of the hinges above one another they presented the four ends with holes leading through them, the one above the other. Next he made a long pin with his handy jacknife, leaving a run at one end of it, and making it long enough to reach from the top to the lower hinge. Through the holes at the ends of the hinge this long pin was placed, and thus the door was hung.
The roof of the log-house was perhaps the greatest curiosity. Hollow basswood (linden) trees were generally used. These were first cut the length required, then split through the centre, each half forming a trough. A layer of these troughs was laid lengthwise from the ridge-pole to the eaves, all over the house-top, upon their backs, the bark side down. Over these was laid a second layer, reversed, or bark side up, and the edges of the upper layer fitted into the hollows of the lower one. In this way the settler made a roof for his house quickly and easily. Such a roof shed water tolerably well, too, until the logs began to rot.
This primitive house built, the settler put in a small crop in the tiny clearing. At this period in the country’s history the virgin soil produced bountifully, and the crops once put in were almost sure to give fair returns. When autumn came with its gorgeous colors—the leaves of the forest in the north temperate zone rivalling in beauty anything the tropics can show us—the settler’s crop was a good one.
Unfortunately, however, he was confined to his rude bed, too ill to gather in his harvest. Eight miles away his nearest neighbors followed the “blazes”[A] on the trees through the woods and came and secured the settler’s crop for him, then departed, leaving him and his household all alone in the deep, silent forest. Days and weeks rolled along and no one came again, while the poor man got perceptibly worse. Winter at last set in with the severe cold of those days. Snow, deep and lasting, soon fell, and covered all things animate and inanimate with a pure white mantle. To have a huge pile of logs at the door was the custom of those days, to supply the winter fire in the great capacious open fire-place. Our settler had not neglected to secure the traditional and useful pile of logs before his illness. Many dreary days passed over this little snowed-in household, the husband and mainstay still sick, and gradually growing weaker. Wolves howled around the door nightly. Seeing no one out of doors, they gradually became bolder and would approach to the very door of the cabin.
[A] Marks on the trees made by the axe to indicate a path or way from one spot to another in the woods.
To the poor disconsolate wife’s inexpressible grief, the husband died and left her alone in her solitary loneliness with her two children, the eldest of whom was only eight years of age, and the second one just able to walk. What dreadful isolation this, with no one nearer than eight miles to help her perform the sacred rites of sepulture! Among the tools in the house was an old mattock, used in grubbing up the forest roots in the clearing. With this she attempted to dig a grave. Unfortunately for her, however, the snow had fallen later than usual in the autumn, after the ground had become frozen quite hard. All her efforts failed to penetrate through the deeply frozen crust, and she almost feared she could not bury her husband at all. To place the body out of doors she dare not, for it would only become food for the prowling wolves, and the idea was so revolting to her that she could not entertain it. Some solution, however, must be sought for the difficult problem, and this clever, self-reliant woman finally solved it.
Remembering that the pile of logs at the door beside the house had been put there before the frost came, with the aid of a hand-spike she rolled one back away from the side of the house. It was a large log from which one above it had been removed for the daily burning on the hearth. To her joy, under this log the ground was scarcely frozen, being under the pile and sheltered by the side of the log cabin. There with the mattock she dug a grave, dragged her husband’s body to it, rolled it gently in, and covered it over with the soil she had taken out. Then back again over the grave she rolled the log, to protect it and prevent the wolves disinterring the body. She then went to the settlement, leading her youngest child by the hand, the other following in the track made in the deep snow.
A harrowing tale is this, but it is a true one. It was by just such people that the Province of Upper Canada was made what it is, and by their sufferings, buffetings and privations we enjoy the privileges which we have to-day. Let us drop a kindly tear to the memory of this brave woman, and look back with fond remembrance to our pioneer ancestors who, although often unlettered and uncultured, did so much for us.
ROGER CONANT TRADING WITH THE INDIANS FOR FURS.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
CHAPTER VI.
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
MAPLE SUGAR MAKING.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
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
INDIAN WIGWAMS OF BIRCH BARK.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
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.
CHAPTER VII.
Religious movements—Itinerant preachers—$50 a year—Camp-meetings—Weird scenes at night—Millerites—World coming to an end—Dissenters attempt to fly—Affrighted by a “sun-dog”—Destruction fails to materialize—The Mormons—An improvised Gabriel—Raising the dead—Converts—Salt Lake—An Irish refugee and his poem.
“On some fond breast the ’parting soul relies,
Some pious tears the closing eye requires,
E’en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires.”
BEFORE churches were built in the early settlements services were held by itinerant preachers at the houses of the people, or else in the school-houses, if accessible. Most of these itinerant preachers were earnest, zealous men, and labored honestly for what they considered to be right and their duty. Subsisting upon the cosmopolitan (to them) parishioners, their real need of money was not excessive. It is related of many of them that they did not receive in money more than $50 to $100 per year during their whole stay in the vicinity. Donations in kind being frequent, and usually abundant, the need of money was not felt. Money, indeed, to the pioneer was too precious to be lightly paid out, or even talked over, except of necessity. Most of the settlers in the neighboring townships who had not received Royal grants, had bought their lands from the Crown, the Canada Company, or the Bursar of Toronto University.
Although the price was usually about $4 per acre, with long terms allowed for payment, and the vendors were very lenient, yet pay-day inevitably came around, and every Halifax pound obtained must be hoarded against it.
My earliest recollection of an itinerant preacher is of one particular man whose visits were made quarterly, and who always sang at night:
“How happy is the man
Who has chosen wisdom’s ways,
And has measured out his span,
To his God in prayer and praise.”
He was as happy and light-hearted as the birds of the air. His hands were not hardened by incessant chopping of forest trees, nor was his face blackened by burning log-heaps. Just how it was I never quite knew, but one day he borrowed a saddle and $40 from my father, and forgot to come back again. My father did not, so far as I can remember, participate in the ideal joys of this itinerant, nor did he seem to be disturbed or unhappy from deprivation of them.
The genuine camp-meeting was every summer the great feature, and was looked upon as the special means of grace. Tents and shanties were put up in a grove, and furnished with rude tables and beds, with seats arranged outside, and a rostrum for the minister. Four crotched sticks were stuck in the ground, with beams across, and sticks upon the beams. On these earth was laid to make a hearth, and a fire built on it. Such elevated fires shed weird lurid gleams over the scene at night. So far as I can recollect I have never seen (and I have seen a little of all lands) anything more picturesque. The shouting preacher, the groaning penitents, the managers or elders flitting about among the hearers, while mischievous, unsympathizing boys perched on the trees, ready for any prank which might present itself; each separate platform of fire casting its dancing shadows, showing up each detail distinctly—all combining to make a scene never to be forgotten. (See [page 209].)
The camp-meeting generally lasted a week, and I would not for a single moment wish to convey the idea that much good was not accomplished by these gatherings, although they certainly were not without some traces of fanaticism.
The “Millerite scare,” as it might be called, was another instance of the extent to which religious fanatics could influence their hearers and affect their lives. From some manuscript left by my mother, and the account given me by my father, and by my uncle, David Annis, I have gleaned the following anecdotes of this curious event in our country:
During the winter of 1842-3 the Second Adventists, or Millerites, were preaching that the world would be all burnt up in February, 1843. Nightly meetings were held, generally in the school-houses. One E—H—, about Prince Albert, Ont., owned a farm of one hundred acres and upwards, stocked with cattle and farm produce, as well as having implements of agriculture. So strongly did he embrace the Second Advent doctrines of the Millerites that he had not a doubt of the fire to come in February and burn all up, and in confirmation of his faith gave away his stock, implements and farm. Sarah Terwilligar, who lived about a mile east of Oshawa “corners,” on the Kingston Road, made for herself wings of silk, and, on the night of 14th of February, jumped off the porch of her home, expecting to fly heavenward. Falling to the ground some fifteen feet, she was shaken up severely and rendered wholly unfit to attend at all to the fires that were expected to follow the next day. (See [page 220].)
The house in the illustration is the one from the windows of which the attempt to fly was made. The wings were made of silk. Though, in the picture, they appear to do their work, they did not prevent the wearer falling to the ground about fifteen feet, and suffering the result in a broken leg.
Mr. John Henry, on that 14th day of February, was riding alone and met a man on horseback coming at the top of his speed. Accosting Mr. Henry he said, “Say, stranger, do you see that sign in the sky?” Mr. Henry looked up and saw only a sun-dog, frequently seen then and now in the winter season, and replied, “Yes, what of it?” “Well, that’s the Lord coming to-morrow to burn the world up,” and Mr. H. replied, “Get out! that’s only a sun-dog.” “Oh! you are an unbeliever,” was the retort, as the man dug spurs into his horse’s sides as if to ride away from the fire he felt so near. My father told me that on the evening before the final great day, he took a sleigh-load of neighbors down to a meeting in a log school-house near where Ebenezer Church now is, in Darlington. So deep was the snow, he said, that they had no difficulty in driving over the fences. Arriving at the log school-house, they found it densely packed, and most of the auditors standing. Being late, they sought to push themselves in, when someone from the middle of the room called out, “Stand back, boys, you don’t know breeding.” But they pushed on heedless of breeding or the want of it, and got in a few feet from the door, where they stood and listened to some Millerite in the master’s rostrum desk, as he told about the terrible fires to come on in a few hours. His words riveted the attention of all, cramped and uncomfortable as they were in the crowded room.
Tallow dips, fastened in tin reflectors, shed a mild light over all, and the heat from the crowded room became so great as to give a taste, an intense one, too, of the awful heat promised when the fires should appear. The old log school-house had been used before as a rude pioneer dwelling, and a cellar had been scooped out below the centre. Without an instant’s warning the old floor-beams broke and the crowd, who all expected to go up, as the Millerite preacher assured them, were let down with unexpected precipitancy. The scene, my father said, was too ludicrous for description. Screaming, fainting, pulling, praying, squirming, the dense mass fought to get out. Fortunately the tallow dips were fastened to the walls and continued to light up the place. My father dryly said he made his way out, got his load and went home (at Port Oshawa) and to bed. The next morning he found the snow as usual upon the ground and no signs of fire.
A. S. Whiting, the manufacturer, tells of his experience of the Millerite scare. During the long winter he was peddling eight-day clocks from house to house—clocks which he had brought with him from Connecticut. For many weeks he had heard that the immense snow mantle in that part of Upper Canada around Port Hope would turn to blood and burn up. On the afternoon of the 14th February, 1843, he, with his horse and sleigh and a load of clocks, was driving north from Port Hope. It was a gloriously bright, sunny day of clear bracing cold, with not a cloud in the sky. Just at nightfall he arrived at a small village and drove direct to the tavern. Tying his horse to the hitching-post, he went into the bar-room to ask for lodging and food for himself and the steed. He found no one, so pushed on into the sitting-room usually provided for guests. No one was yet visible. Then he called out, but received no answer. Going on from room to room, he finally reached the kitchen. Here he found a woman crying and sobbing. Upon asking for the landlord, and also questioning the hostler where to find him, he was told they had “all gone to meeting.”
“Well, I want to put my horse in the stable and then have some supper,” the traveller exclaimed.
“There is no use of eating, for we shall all be burnt up before morning,” the weeping woman managed to get out between her sobs.
“Well, never mind, I’ll go and put up my horse, while you get me some supper.”
On partaking of his supper, he asked for his room; still there was no one else about, and on retiring he was told in faltering words that he would be burnt up while he slept.
The sun set that night in more than usual splendor; all nature seemed serene and peaceful, and he could discover nothing to betoken the awful deluge of fire so soon to rain upon them. He slept well, and did not waken at two o’clock in the morning to see the two feet of snow turn to blood and commence to burn. Next morning, at the usual hour, rising and feeding his horse, he called loudly for someone to get him breakfast. After a time the inmates appeared, looking haggard and worn, and very much surprised that they were still alive. After breakfast, when he was about setting out, he asked “if they wanted pay, since they were all going to die so soon.” This broke the spell and brought them back to mundane things. They promptly enough asked for and received pay for the entertainment of man and beast.
All that day, the narrator said, he could do no business, because the people had not gotten over the surprise of finding themselves alive.
Just why they had fixed on that special day and hour is past finding out. Since that time there have
POTASH MAKING. THE MELTING SCENE.
BARCLAY, CLARK & CO. LITHO. TORONTO
been many attempts to fix the time for a general conflagration, but nothing ever became so general as this of the Millerites. It is said the Scotch were not as a class believers in the doctrine, and had no disposition to scare themselves to death.
During the summer of that memorable year (1843) the Mormons came to the country, in the hope of making converts. At Butterfield’s Corners (Taunton) a man named John G. Cannon held forth for several days, sometimes in the open air and again in the houses of those inhabitants who appeared to have leanings that way.
On one occasion, in the midst of a heated harangue out of doors, he raised his right hand and said, “I ask Heaven if this is not true?” at the same time looking upwards. A moment, and the answer came from above, in a deep bass voice, “It is true,” thus startling the audience almost into belief. Again, on making the assertion that the golden tablets of brother Joseph Smith were inspired, he asked, raising his voice, “Are they?” and again came the deep-voiced reply, “They are.” One of the men, listening, declared there must be a man in a hollow basswood tree standing near, and said he would go for his hired man with his axe and have it cut down. “Don’t you touch it,” the Mormon cried authoritatively; “if you do the Lord will strike you dead.” Perhaps half convinced, the man did not have the tree chopped down, the fraud passed, and the Mormon thus scored what appeared convincing arguments.
Quite near this scene a young girl was very sick with a fever, and lay in a state of coma. That he could raise the dead he now gave out, as in the illustration ([page 228]) he is represented as doing. And it is only fair to the Mormon to add that after his pressure and manipulations over the girl she did open her eyes and look about.
Several converts were made. Among these a family of the name of McGahan embraced the faith, sold their farm for $4,000, gave the money to the Mormon, and went off to Salt Lake. Another, named Seeleys, also sold all and went, but they could not raise much money.
My father had charged me many times, that if ever I went to Salt Lake I should go and see these people. In 1878 I happened to be in the Mormon centre. From a man cutting stones for the new Mormon tabernacle I enquired for the family. The stone-cutter dropped his mallet as quickly as if shot, and replied that he knew them well, and would get a conveyance and take me to them, twenty-five miles down Salt Lake valley, and assured me of a most hearty welcome.
I did not, however, accept his offer, for, honestly, I confess I was afraid of the Mormons. As a “Gentile” I feared to risk my life among them, and preferred not to leave the protection of United States troops at Camp Douglas.
After the Irish rebellion there came to New York State a talented Irishman, who lodged on the United States side of the Niagara River at the Falls. From that point of vantage he daily watched the Canadian shore just across the river. Like the moth and the candle, he could not keep away from Britain after all. But while he remained there this is what he wrote of us:
THE RED-CROSS FLAG.
I.
Beside Niagara’s awful wave
He stood—a ransom’d Irish slave;
Self-ransom’d by a woful flight,
That robbed his heaven of half its light,
And flung him in a nation free—
The fettered slave of Memory.
II.
The exile’s eye strove not to rest
Upon the Cataract’s curling crest,
Nor paused it on the brilliant bow
Which hung aslant the gulf below;
The banks of adamant to him
Were unsubstantial all and dim,
But from his gaze a child had guessed
There raged a cataract in his breast.
III.
A flag against the northern sky
Alone engaged his eager eye;
Upon Canadian soil it stood—
Its hue was that of human blood,
Its red was crossed with pallid scars—
Pale, steely, stiff as prison bars.
“Oh, cursed flag!” the exile said,
“The hair grows heavy on my head;
My blood leaps wilder than this water,
On seeing thee, thou sign of slaughter.
Oh, may I never meet my death
Till I behold the day of wrath,
When on thy squadrons shall be poured
The vengeance heaven so long has stored.”