Leaders & Legacies
The Legends
of Lake on
the Mountain
An Early Adventure of
JOHN A. MACDONALD
With a Foreword by former
Prime Minister Brian Mulroney
By Roderick Benns
Fireside Publishing House
This book is fiction but many of the characters and events are based on real people and actual historical events.
© 2011 Roderick Benns All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Fireside Publishing House.
ISBN 978-0-9812433-2-0 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-9812433-1-3
eISBN 978-0-9812433-4-4
$12.95 CDN.
Fireside Publishing House www.firesidepublishinghouse.com
For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call (toll-free) 1-800-893-5777.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Benns, Roderick, 1970
The legends of Lake on the Mountain : an early adventure of John A. Macdonald / by Roderick Benns ; foreword by Brian Mulroney. -Collector’s ed.
(Leaders & legacies series ; bk. 2) ISBN 978-0-9812433-2-0
1. Macdonald, John A. (John Alexander), 1815-1891--Childhood and youth--Juvenile fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Leaders & legacies series PS8603.E5598L44 2010 jC813’.6 C2010-906596-4
Printed and bound in Canada by Maracle Press Ltd.
Cover art, book design and illustrations by riad
eBook Development by Wild Element www.WildElement.ca
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the hard work and dedication of Joli Scheidler-Benns, an outstanding editor and partner. What a fantastic series this is becoming because of her efforts.
A special thank you and sincere note of gratitude to the Right Honourable Brian Mulroney for his time and generosity in supporting this book and series concept with his Foreword. To Arthur Milnes, Francine Collins and Robin Sears, thank you for your facilitation and support. For author-historians Richard Gwyn, Jack Granatstein and Patricia Phenix, I truly appreciate your willingness to share your names and credibility to this project.
Many people were there for me during the writing of this book with their specialized knowledge, their contacts and their enthusiasm. Thanks to Janet Kellough and Steve Campbell for their knowledge of Prince Edward County. On a related note, thanks to The Historical Archives for the County of Prince Edward. The staff was most helpful while I conducted research.
Thanks to Ted Hazen of Pennsylvania for sharing his deep knowledge of historical grist mills on both sides of the border.
Thanks to my younger brother, Captain Brad Benns, for imparting his military knowledge for key scenes in this book.
Books in the Leaders & Legacies Series
Book One
The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder:
An Early Adventure of John Diefenbaker
Book Two
The Legends of Lake on the Mountain:
An Early Adventure of John A. Macdonald
Upcoming
An Early Adventure of Paul Martin
An Early Adventure of Lester Pearson
An Early Adventure of Charles Tupper
An Early Adventure of Kim Campbell
...and more
For Brothers
For Captain Bradley E. Benns
of the Canadian Armed Forces
For Clayton, the one I never knew
“...I have fought the battle of Confederation, the battle of union, the battle of the Dominion of Canada...I know that, notwithstanding the many failings in my life, I shall have the voice of this country...”
– Prime Minister John A. Macdonald
November 3, 1873
Contents
Foreword by the Right Honourable Brian Mulroney
1Ghosts
2The Survivor
3Milling About
4Darius
5Treasure
6The Games People Play
7The Colour of Oppression
8Macpherson
9The Lake Serpent
10The Admiral
11Devil’s Lake
12The Lake Effect
13Democracy is Coming
14The Constable’s Search
15A Greater Good
16As Mean as They Come
17Lake of the Gods
18Exodus
19Manifest Destiny
20‘That Lake’s No Good’
21The Leviathan
22Battles are Won in the Mind
23Of Monsters and Men
24A Matter of Perspective
25Imagine What we Could Become
26The Truth of it All
Fiction or fact?
Late August, 1828
in Stone Mills, Upper Canada
(known today as Glenora, in
Prince Edward County, Ontario)
Foreword
by
The Right Honourable
M. Brian Mulroney
18th Prime Minister of Canada
Sir John A. Macdonald never forgot what it was like to be a child. Shortly before his death in 1891 he took the time to answer a letter from a young girl in Ontario’s Prince Edward County, the place where he had spent many of his childhood years. The girl told the Prime Minister that she had previously written to a young man and that her letter had not been answered.
“My dear little Friend,” John A. wrote back, “…I think it was mean of that young fellow not to answer your letter. You see, I have been longer in the world than he, and know more than he does what is due to young ladies. I send you a dollar note with which pray buy some small keepsake to remember me by.”
On the same winter that Sir John A. and the girl had their exchange of letters Macdonald faced Canadians in an election for the final time. As cold winter winds chilled his weary bones, the 76-year-old John A. travelled the young country speaking in person to Canadians a final time. He was greeted by the same shout wherever he went. “Sir John,” people yelled in respect and affection, “you’ll never die.”
As we can see from books like this Leaders & Legacies series volume on Sir John A. that you are about to read, the Canadians who shouted that prophecy more than one hundred years ago were correct. Sir John A. Macdonald’s life and legacy continues to stir and inspire us to this very day. And because, in part, of books like The Legends of Lake on the Mountain: An Early Adventure of John A. Macdonald, he remains with us still.
One of my fondest memories of my own service as Prime Minister of Canada was a trip to Kingston, the Canadian home of Sir John A., which I took on June 6, 1991. It was the one hundredth anniversary of Sir John A’s death. At the Macdonald family plot at historic Cataraqui Cemetery it was my honour to represent all Canadians that day in paying respect to the memory of our greatest Prime Minister.
As they do every year on that date, Kingstonians had gathered in great numbers at the cemetery. People from all walks of life and all political persuasions were united in paying tribute to Canada’s Father of Confederation. I returned to my duties in Ottawa energized by my visit to Kingston and inspired again by Sir John A’s example and story.
Like all Prime Ministers, I began my life-long love of books and
reading during my childhood. As a class project in Grade 5 in Baie Comeau, my teacher required me and my fellow students to keep a daily diary for one term. My late mother, Irene Mulroney – just as I suspect your own parents have done – kept my diary long after I’d forgotten it. Only recently, I reviewed this diary as I was writing my Memoirs.
When Roderick Benns first approached me about contributing this Foreword to his adventure book about our first Prime Minister, I immediately thought of one of the diary passages I had written in Baie Comeau more than 60 years ago and only recently read again.
“Yesterday I finished my story-book about Buddy and the G-Man mystery,” I wrote on October 10, 1947. “It was a very good book and I liked it very much.”
Written by legendary children’s author Howard Garis, Buddy and the G-Man Mystery or, a Boy and a Strange Cipher, was first published in 1944. Like countless other young people across North America, I spent hours enthralled by that adventure story. Decades later, I can recall how the book and so many like it I read after my frequent visits to the town library inspired me and stirred my imagination.
In addition to serving as Prime Minister, John A and I had something else in common – we have both lost a brother. I was always struck by the fact that even late in life John A. had never forgotten his brother, even recording his death in the family’s memorandum book where, for some reason, it had been left out.
My brother – who was also named John – sadly passed away shortly after he was born. While I never knew him I often wonder what it would have been like to have had an older sibling. I wonder about the kind of person he might have been. I wonder how our lives might have been shaped by one another.
Prime Ministers are human beings, as the Leaders & Legacies series shows through storytelling. They suffer devastating personal tragedies, sacrifice their personal freedom, and agonize over the issues that might threaten their beloved country. They do this on behalf of all Canadians. But they persevere. If I were to take on the role of mentor for even a brief moment, I would say to any young person reading, persevere. Persist as John A Macdonald did. Find your own unique way to serve your family, community or country.
I am confident that young Canadians reading The Legends of Lake on the Mountain: An Early Adventure of John A. Macdonald will find themselves inspired and engaged like I was upon reading my first adventure novels in Baie Comeau as a boy. This wonderful story will also serve to inspire young readers to learn more about Sir John A. Macdonald and early Canada along the way.
Mr. Benns and his wife, Joli, who served as editor of The Legends of Lake on the Mountain: An Early Adventure of John A. Macdonald, are to be congratulated for all the work they have done in bringing this important book to fruition.
The Right Honourable M. Brian Mulroney
18th Prime Minister of Canada Montreal,
Quebec September 2010
Chapter 1
Ghosts
Here lies John A. Macdonald.
Born January 11, 1815 in Glasgow, Scotland.
Died August 20, 1828, in Stone Mills, Upper Canada.
A clever boy – but just not clever enough.
John considered how his tombstone would read as he sweated underneath Owen Boggart’s armpit. Although he had escaped the heavy-set man-child and his meaty fists all summer, John had finally pushed his luck too far as Owen dragged him across the ground.
Owen was not so inclined to win spelling bees or solve complex sums in his head. What the fourteenyear-old was known for was his effectiveness at wreaking vengeance – especially on those who might be poking fun at him.
Lanky and far lighter than his adversary, John was surprised to find himself being dragged to the stone flour mill. It was John’s father, Hugh Macdonald, who ran it. He pictured the overweight boy crushing him into flour. The Macdonald’s house was only thirty feet away, but no one was outside to hear the commotion. John saw another perfect sunset washing across the bay, bathing the village in a painter’s light. He was sorry he had to see it through the filter of Owen’s armpit. Stone Mills was a small, bustling community that sat on the edge of the Bay of Quinte, a magnificent collection of long, watery fingers that stretched out into Lake Ontario. Not only did the village sit along the bay, supporting the Macdonald’s flour mill and other businesses, it also rested at the bottom of a spectacular, forested, flat-topped hill nearly two-hundred-feet high. The locals just called it a mountain.
On top of the flattened mountain was a small, mysterious lake, which John desperately hoped he would see again, if he survived this ordeal. There was nothing he loved more than to explore its twisted shoreline. John had even heard rumours lately that there had been sightings of something strange in the lake – something incredible.
The mill grew closer.
Perhaps Father was still working at the mill? John’s silent question was answered by Owen, as if he could pluck it out of his head and spit it back at him. “Your father’s not there. You think I’m stupid?” asked Owen.
John bit his tongue. He was often amused by such obvious questions. As the hot breath of the furious boy scorched the back of his neck John kicked and thrashed in vain. He realized the mill would have recently shut down and his father would be putting in time helping the Robinson’s with their new barn, as he had been doing all week.
The sun winked out of view as they entered the main floor of the three-level mill. John hoped to see one of his father’s employees still working. Only the silent millstones stared back at him. He could hear the lull of the waterfall behind the mill, which powered everything. John listened for sounds from the basement where the meal bins were located but didn’t hear anyone there, either. Finally, he craned his neck upwards in case anyone was still in the grain storage area of the attic. No sound. No one.
“You better not scream, Johnny. If you do, you’ll only make things worse for yourself.”
Owen was bold enough to humiliate John on his own property. In fact, he was even bold enough to call him ‘Johnny.’
“Listen,” said John, “Obviously there is some clear misunderstanding. What is it exactly that you think I’ve done?”
The boy grunted. “You know what you did. You and George put a dead squirrel in my hat when I had it off at the bay yesterday. And now yer gonna get what you deserve – and George is next.”
John, despite being folded underneath Owen’s unpleasantly-scented armpit, managed to pop his curlyhaired head out and feign shock. “Now what would give you the impression that George and I would do such a thing?”
“Hilda Scott saw you both do it.” With that, Owen head-locked John again and continued dragging the slimmer boy toward a corner of the large, open room.
“Hilda Scott!” John snorted. “You know you should never take the word of a Scot.”
John began to sweat more as he realized his humour wasn’t going to secure his escape this time. It was time to change tactics. “You’re right. It was a dastardly prank,” said John. “Perhaps I could help you in school with your worst subjects?” John wondered if that would mean ‘everything,’ but didn’t say so.
“You should know I don’t go to school anymore, Johnny. Not that I ever did with you anyway. Not everyone gets to go to a fancy grammar school in Kingston. Some of us just make do with what’s here.” Owen tightened his grip on John’s neck.
“You show up in the summer here at Stone Mills, thinking yer something special,” Owen said. His fleshy face was heated. “Well this summer, maybe you’ll figure out yer nothing special…”
The sound of voices outside in the distance prompted Owen to release his grip slightly. John wondered if he should try to break free and run as Owen jerked his round face toward the noise. The powerful boy forced John up against a huge pile of flour sacks that were sitting in the corner. One of the sacks was torn open, already oozing ground white flour.
The thickset boy shoved one of his paws in swiftly and scooped a generous amount of flour. He rubbed it all over John’s face and curly locks of dark hair until every inch of his hair and face were covered in dusty, white flour. John gasped and coughed as some went up his nose and in his mouth. With a satisfied smirk, Owen shoved his instant ghost to the ground.
“Yer lucky that’s all you got, Johnny,” spat the giant boy. And without another word Owen hulked away from the mill, running east along a dirt path, wiping his white hand on his shirt as he ran. John watched him go from a small window in the mill, blinking flour from his sweating eyelids. When he felt he was out of view, John punched the air with his fist in glee and let out a long whoop.
He had survived Owen Boggart! John mentally dismantled the tombstone he had created earlier, then burst from the darkened doorway. He ran west and at the last second, John locked eyes with a young boy, perhaps four-years-old, who was out walking with his grandfather. The boy opened his mouth and screamed at the ghostly image charging toward him. The flour-covered John began to scream because he thought Owen must be behind him. John barrelled the young boy over, tripping himself along the way.
“Dang fool!” he heard the older man yell.
“Apologies!” hollered John, who had already picked himself up and scurried along the shore. His bare feet splashed along the bay, forcing warm sand between his toes. He fled to the very edge of Stone Mills, laughing so hard he had to clear tears from his eyes as he ran.
The more he ran, the more he thought how much the young boy had reminded him of his younger brother, little James, who had died at age five. John remembered how James had followed him everywhere, in the way little brothers do, even though John had only been seven.
As the sunset bled across the bay, John collapsed in a ghostly heap on the shoreline. Memories of the tavern in Kingston flooded his mind and he pressed his palms to his eyes. His tears of laughter had already turned to tears for the cruel death of his little brother.
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