Administration History
Late XIX Century History
Note: for previous information about the Great Administration, click here.
The law’s delay is proverbial. Compensatory legislation dragged its slow length along for years, and the loyalists who had suffered in their pocket saw session after session pass, and their claims still unsatisfied. In 1840 the Assembly of Upper Canada passed an Act authorizing the expenditure not of four thousand, but of forty thousand pounds, to indemnify the loyalists who had lost by the ‘troubles.’ However, as the Assembly, at the same time, forbore to provide any funds for the purpose, the Act remained with the force of a pious wish. The claimants for compensation were none the better for it. Then came the union of the Canadas. Five more years rolled away, and, in spite of the usual siege operations of those who have money claims against a government, nothing was done. The various barns and cows and muskets were still a dead loss.
Then in 1845 the Tory administration of Draper put the necessary finishing touch to the quaker act of 1840 by providing the sum of money required. By drawing on the receipts from tavern licences collected in Upper Canada over a period of four years, the government was in the possession of £38,000 for this specific purpose. But, after the Union, it was manifestly unjust to pay rebellion losses, as they came to be known, in Upper Canada and not in Lower Canada. The Reformers of Lower Canada pointed out with emphasis the manifest injustice of such a proceeding. It therefore became necessary to extend the scope of the Act. Accordingly, in November 1845, a commission consisting of five persons was appointed to investigate the claims for ‘indemnity for just losses sustained’ during the rebellion in Lower Canada. This commission was instructed to distinguish between the loyal and the rebellious, but, in making this vital distinction, they were not to ‘be guided by any other description of evidence than that furnished by the sentences of the courts of law.’
The commission was also given to understand that its investigation was not to be final. It was to prepare only a ‘general estimate’ which would be subject to more particular scrutiny and revision. Appointed in the end of November 1845, the commission had finished its task and was ready to report in April 1846. Its ‘general estimate’ was a handsome total of more than £240,000; it gave as its opinion that £100,000 would cover all the ‘just losses sustained.’ Of the larger amount, it is said that £25,000 was claimed by those who had actually been convicted of treason by court-martial. Not unnaturally an outcry rose at once against taking public money to reward treason. The report could not very well be acted upon; and the government voted £10,000 to pay claims in Lower Canada which had been certified before the union of the provinces. Another delay of three years followed, until LaFontaine took the matter up in the session of 1849.
His general idea was simply to continue and complete the legislation already in force, in order to do justice to those who had ‘sustained just losses’ in the ‘troubles’ of ’37 and ’38. The bill provided for a new commission of five, with power to examine witnesses on oath. In accordance with the finding of the previous commission, the total sum to be expended was limited to £100,000. If the losses exceeded that sum, the individual claims were to be proportionally reduced. The necessary funds were to be raised on twenty-year debentures bearing interest at six per cent. LaFontaine introduced and explained the bill, and Baldwin supported it in a brief speech. It was easy enough, with their unbroken majority, to vote the measure through; but the storm of opposition it raised might have made less determined leaders hesitate or draw back.
The vehemence of the opposition was not due merely to the readiness with which the faction out of power will seize on the weak aspects of a question in order to embarrass the government. Such sham-fight tactics are common enough and may be rated at their proper value. The leaders of the British party were sincere in their belief that the success of this measure meant the triumph of the French and the reversal of all that had been done to hold the colonies for the Empire against rebels whose avowed purpose was separation. Twelve years had gone by since they had failed in the overt act. Now Papineau was back in the House, about to receive his arrears of salary as Speaker. In Elgin’s eyes he was a Guy Fawkes waving flaming brands among all sorts of combustibles. Mackenzie had been granted amnesty by the monarch {119} he had called ‘the bloody Queen of England.’ Wolfred Nelson, who had resisted Her Majesty’s forces at St Denis, was to have his claim for damages considered. It was not in the flesh and blood of politicians to endure all this; and before condemning the opposition to this bill, as is the fashion with Canadian historians, we might ask what we should have done ourselves in such circumstances. What the Tories did was to raise the war-cry, ‘No pay to rebels.’ It resounded from one end of the province to the other and roused to life all the passion that had slumbered since the rebellion.
In the debate on the second reading of the bill a scene almost without parallel took place on the floor of the House. The Tories taunted the French with being ‘aliens and rebels.’ Blake, the solicitor-general for Upper Canada, retorted the charge, and accused the Tories of being ‘rebels to their constitution and country.’ In a rage Sir Allan MacNab gave him ‘the lie with circumstance,’ and the two honourable members made at each other. Only the prompt intervention of the sergeant-at-arms prevented actual assault. The two belligerents were taken into his custody. Some of the excited spectators who hissed and shouted were also taken into custody; and the debate came to a sudden end that day. Those were the days of ‘the code,’ and why a ‘meeting’ was not ‘arranged’ and why Sir Allan did not have an opportunity of using his silver-mounted duelling pistols is not quite clear. The tempers of our politicians have much improved since that violent scene occurred. No slur on the word of an honourable gentleman, no imputation of falsehood, would now be so hotly resented in our legislative halls.
The violence and the excitement which prevailed in parliament were repeated and intensified throughout the country. Everything that could be effected by public meetings, petitions, protests, was done to prevent the bill from passing, or, if it passed, to prevent the governor-general from giving his assent to it, or, as a last resource, to induce the Queen to disallow the obnoxious measure. The whole machinery of agitation was set in motion and speeded up, to prevent the bill becoming law. ‘Demonstrations’—in plain English, rows—took place everywhere. Sedate little Belleville was the scene of fierce riots. Effigies of Baldwin, Blake, and Mackenzie were paraded through the streets of Toronto on long poles ‘amid the cheers and exultations of the largest concourse of people beheld in Toronto since the election of Dunn and Buchanan.’ Finally the effigies were burned in a burlesque auto-da-fé. This ancient English custom was a milder method of expressing political disapproval than the native American invention of tar-and-feathers; but it seems to have been equally soothing to the feelings. An outside observer, the New York Herald, expected the disturbance to end in ‘a complete and perfect separation of those provinces from the rule of England’; but in those days American critics were always expecting separation.
No clearer mirror of the crisis is to be found than in the words of the man on whom lay the heaviest responsibility, the governor-general himself. This is his private opinion of the bill: ‘The measure itself is not free from objection, and I very much regret that an addition should be made to our debt for such an object at this time. Nevertheless I must say I do not see how my present government could have taken any other course.’ He also calls it ‘a strict logical following out’ of the Tory party’s own acts; and he has ‘no doubt whatsoever that a great deal of property was wantonly and cruelly destroyed at that time in Lower Canada.’ He was petitioned to dissolve parliament if the bill should pass; his judgment on this alternative runs: ‘If I had dissolved parliament, I might have produced a rebellion, but most assuredly I should not have produced a change of ministry.’ The other alternative of reserving the bill seemed, as he balanced it in his mind, cowardly. He would create no precedent. Bills had been reserved before, and had been refused the royal sanction; to reserve this one would be no departure from established custom; but, he writes to Lord Grey, ‘by reserving the Bill, I should only throw upon Her Majesty’s Government … a responsibility which rests, and ought, I think, to rest, on my own shoulders.’
The sentences which follow evince an ideal of public service that can only be called knightly. The executive head of the government was ready to face failure and disgrace, to the ruin of his career, rather than shirk the responsibility which was really his. ‘If I pass the Bill, whatever mischief ensues may possibly be repaired, if the worst comes to the worst, by the sacrifice of me. Whereas if the case be referred to England, it is not impossible that Her Majesty may have before her the alternative of provoking a rebellion in Lower Canada … or of wounding the susceptibilities of some of the best subjects she has in the province.’ From the first Elgin had firmly made up his mind to fill the rôle of constitutional governor; he believed that the best justification of Durham’s memory, and of what he had done in Canada, would be a governor-general working out fairly the Dictator’s views of government. Although he had definitely made up his mind what course of action to follow, he was never betrayed into committing himself before the proper time. Deputations waited on him with provocative addresses; but none was cunning enough to snare him in his speech. The ‘sacrifice’ came soon enough.
In spite of all the furies of opposition within the House and out of it, the Indemnity Bill passed by a majority of more than two to one. The next question was what would Lord Elgin do? Would he give his assent to the bill, the finishing vice-regal touch which would make it law, or would he reserve it for Her Majesty’s sanction? Some unnamed {124} persons of respectability had a shrewd suspicion of what he would do, as the sequel proved. An accident hastened the crisis. In 1849 the navigation of the St Lawrence opened early; and on the twenty-fifth of April the first vessel of the season was sighted approaching the port of Montreal. In order to make his new Tariff Bill immediately operative on the nearing cargo, Hincks posted out to ‘Monklands,’ Lord Elgin’s residence, in order to obtain the governor-general’s formal assent to this particular bill. The governor did as he was asked. He drove in from ‘Monklands’ in state to the Parliament House for the purpose. The time seemed opportune to give his assent to several other bills. Among the rest he assented in Her Majesty’s name to the ‘Act to provide for the indemnification of parties in Lower Canada whose property was destroyed during the Rebellion of 1837 and 1838.’ What happened in consequence is best told in his own words. ‘When I left the House of Parliament, I was received with mingled cheers and hootings by a crowd by no means numerous, which surrounded the entrance of the building. A small knot of individuals consisting, it has since been ascertained, of persons of a respectable class in society, pelted the carriage with missiles which they must have brought with them for the purpose.’ The ‘missiles’ which could not be picked up in the street were rotten eggs. One of them struck Lord Elgin in the face. That was the Canadian method of expressing disapproval of a governor-general for acting in strict accordance with the principles of responsible government. But this was only part of the price he had to pay for doing right. Worse was to follow.
Immediately after this outrage a notice was issued from one of the newspapers calling an open-air meeting in the Champ de Mars. Towards evening the excitement increased, and the fire-bells jangled a tocsin to call the people into the streets. The Champ de Mars soon filled with a tumultuous mob, roaring its approbation of wild speeches which denounced the ‘tyranny’ of the governor-general and the Reformers. A cry arose, ‘To the Parliament House!’ and the mob streamed westward, wrecking in its passage the office of Hincks’s paper the Pilot. The House was in session, and though warned by Sir Allan MacNab that a riot was in progress, it hesitated to take the extreme step of calling out the military to protect its dignity. At this time the whole police force of the city numbered only seventy-two men, and, in emergencies, law and order were maintained with the aid of the regiments in garrison, or by a force of special constables.
Soon the House found that Sir Allan’s warning was against no imaginary danger. Volleys of stones suddenly crashed through the lighted windows, and the members fled for their lives. The rabble flowed into the building and took possession of the Assembly hall. Here they broke in pieces the furniture, the fittings, the chandeliers. One of the rioters, a man with a broken nose, seated himself in the Speaker’s chair and shouted, ‘I dissolve this House.’ It seems like a scene from a Paris émeute rather than an actual event in a staid Canadian city. Soon a cry was heard, ‘The Parliament House is on fire.’ Another band of rioters had set the western wing alight, and, in a quarter of an hour, the whole building was a mass of flames. Although the firemen turned out promptly, they were forcibly prevented by the mob from doing their duty, until the soldiers came to their support, and then it was too late to save the building. Next day only the ruined walls were standing. The Library of Parliament was burned in spite of efforts to save it, and the student of Canadian history will always mourn the loss of irreplaceable records and manuscripts in that tragic blaze. One thing was rescued. Young Sandford Fleming and three others carried out the portrait of the Queen. It was almost as gallant an act as rescuing the Lady in person.
Nor was the destruction of the Parliament Building the final outbreak. Next evening the mob was at its work again, attacking the houses or lodgings of the various Reform leaders. LaFontaine’s government ordered the arrest of four ringleaders in the last night’s riot. In revenge his house was entered forcibly, the furniture smashed, the library destroyed, and the stable set on fire. In fact, for three days Montreal was like a city in revolution. A thousand special constables, armed with pistols and cutlasses, in addition to the soldiery were needed to restore something like order in the streets. But the rioting was not over even yet. The most violent scene of all took place on the thirtieth of April. The House was naturally incensed at the insults offered to the governor-general and drew up an address expressing the members’ detestation of mob violence, their loyalty to the Queen, and their approval of his just and impartial administration. It was decided to present the address to him, not at the suburban seat of ‘Monklands,’ but publicly at Government House, the Château de Ramezay in the heart of the city. Such a decision showed no little courage on both sides, but the end was almost a tragedy. Lord Elgin came very near being murdered in the streets of Montreal.
On the day appointed he drove into the city, having for escort a troop of volunteer dragoons. All through the streets his carriage was pelted with stones and other missiles, and his entry to Government House was blocked by a howling mob. His escort forced the crowd to give way, and the governor-general entered, carrying with him a two-pound stone which had been hurled into his carriage. It was a piece of unmistakable evidence as to the treatment the Queen’s representative in Canada had received at the hands of Her Majesty’s faithful subjects. When the ceremony was over he attempted to avoid trouble by taking a different route back to ‘Monklands,’ but he was discovered, and literally hunted out of the city. ‘Cabs, calèches, and everything that would run were at once launched in pursuit, and crossing his route, the governor-general’s carriage was bitterly assailed in the main street of the St Lawrence suburbs. The good and rapid driving of his postilions enabled him to clear the desperate mob, but not till the head of his brother, Colonel Bruce, had been cut, injuries inflicted on the chief of police, Colonel Ermatinger, and on Captain Jones, commanding the escort, and every panel of the carriage driven in.’ Even at ‘Monklands’ Lord Elgin was not entirely safe. The mob threatened to attack him there, and the house was put in a state of defence. Ladies of his household driving to church were insulted. To avoid occasion of strife he remained quietly at his country-seat; and, for his consideration of the public weal, was ridiculed, caricatured, and dubbed, in contempt, the Hermit of Monklands.
The riots did not end without bloodshed. Once more the rioters attacked LaFontaine’s house by night; shots were fired from the windows on the mob, and one man was killed. The appeal to racial passion was irresistible. A man of British blood had been slain by a Frenchman. The funeral of the chance victim was made a political demonstration. LaFontaine was actually tried for complicity in the accident, but was acquitted. Montreal underwent something like a Reign of Terror; a murderous clash between French and English might come at any moment. Elgin was urged to proclaim martial law and put down mob rule by the use of troops. Wisely he refused to go to such extremes. The city authorities themselves should restore order, and at last they did so with their thousand special constables. Those April riots of ’49 cost Montreal the honour of being the capital of Canada, and ultimately caused the transformation of queer little lumbering Bytown into the stately city of Ottawa, proudly eminent, with the halls of legislature towering on the great bluff above the glassy river.
Of Elgin’s conduct during this long-drawn ordeal it is almost impossible to speak in terms of moderate praise. He must have been less or more than human not to feel bitterly the insults heaped upon him. The natural man spoke in the American who ‘could not understand why you did not shoot them down’; and also in the Canadian who ‘would have reduced Montreal to ashes’ before enduring half that the governor endured. But Elgin acted not as the natural man, but as the Christian and the statesman, He refused to meet violence with violence; and he refused to nullify the principles of popular government by bowing before the blast of popular clamour. But a more unpopular governor-general never held office in Canada. (1)
Resources
Notes
- Archibald MacMechan, “Popular Govrerment. A Chronicle of the Union of 1841” (1916), Toronto, Glasgow, Brook and Company