Humours of '37, Grave, Gay and Grim: Rebellion Times in the CanadasLizars, Robina
History
Humours of '37, Grave, Gay and Grim: Rebellion Times in the Canadas
Lizars, Robina
Canada -- History -- Rebellion, 1837-1838
Why should the good Tiger’s memory be too heavily assailed for his
fondness and capacity for liquids. Maréchal Saxe, in his hale youth,
could toss off a gallon of wine at a draught; and when Wolfe’s men
reached the crest of the hill he had grog served out to them, while he
spoke kind and encouraging words after their terrible climb. Why should
not Goderich and the Tiger appear in these tales oscillating between
history and myth? It was called a Goderich custom to conceal the glass
in the hand while the liquid was poured in; but Whiskey Read, teamster
and trader, earned his sobriquet because his load to Goderich was so
many barrels of the terrible liquid.
In time Dunlop was advised that ten thousand dollars lay to his credit
at the Bank of Upper Canada in Amherstburg. Thus were unnecessary miles
added to a journey already delayed and cruelly long. Doctor and aides
made their way there--that place renowned for loyalty, rattle-snakes
and turkeys--astonishing all Windsor on his way through it by the
display of a half-crown piece which had turned out from some forgotten
pocket corner. So much specie had not been seen there for a long
time; they knew no money but the wild cat shin-plaster. From Windsor
they proceeded by water; and after further adventures, immersions and
escapes, there was the final discovery of Jamie Dougall in a little
low-ceilinged shop, manager of the Bank of Upper Canada. But there was
no money yet for Huron, and they must wait some days for its possible
arrival. So, with as much patience as might be, they established
themselves at Bullock’s Hotel, and after five days’ waiting the money
did arrive. The Doctor in the meantime had intended to divert an hour
by calling upon the officers at Fort Malden; but the dress suit of
claret-coloured cloth, the coat tails lined with pink silk, with which
he had provided himself, was now all too small, and when arrayed in it
he looked and felt so much like the letter T, that he called lustily,
“Kydd, Kydd, come and let me out.” In his dirty homespun and Tam the
visit had to be made, and the straight-jacket was never seen again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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