Blood and Daring

by John Boyko

  The next day, Macdonald was back at work with scorched hands, a burned shoulder blade and singed hair, but still ready to lead the discussions. Some minor changes were made regarding the apportioning of powers between the federal government and the provinces. But the essence of what had been decided in Charlottetown and Quebec remained unaltered: a highly centralized, federal state, loyal to the monarchy. The new nation and Constitution would be founded not on Thomas Jefferson’s ringing declaration of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” but rather on a more staid promise of “peace, order and good government.” The phrase was both process and goal. In its modesty, and with an eye to the blood just spilled south of the border and more recently at Ridgeway, the phrase was as brave as it was so very Canadian.

  The final draft was rewritten as a bill and introduced by Carnarvon in the House of Lords on February 12, 1867. He tried to put it all in context: “This Confederation of the British North American Provinces … in population, in revenue, in trade, in shipping, it is superior to the Thirteen Colonies when, not a century ago, in the Declaration of Independence, they became the United States. We are laying the foundation of a great State—perhaps one that at a future day may even overshadow this country.”116 It passed without amendment and with little comment. On March 8, following not a single word of debate, the House of Commons passed the bill. Queen Victoria signed it a couple of weeks later. The Civil War had thus seen the destruction of one country and the renewal of another; and with that signature, the immeasurable role it had played in the creation of one more was nearly complete.

  Macdonald had been in the galleries of the British Parliament for both historic moments which marked the birth of a nation and the crowning achievement of a career already long and distinguished. With the passage of the British North America Act, Macdonald had forged a nation and frustrated America’s dream of Manifest Destiny. But Seward and other dreamers were not yet ready to surrender. Despite the guns having fallen silent, the Civil War was not really over and Macdonald could not yet rest.

  * Eye witness accounts and Booth’s diary entries tell different versions of the event, including what was yelled and whether Booth broke his leg when hitting the stage or in a fall from a horse while fleeing. The version related here is the most commonly held view.

  * Boston Corbett was an interesting man; after having been tempted by a prostitute, he cut his testicles off with a pair of scissors to avoid again offending God with such impure thoughts.

  * Booth’s handwritten note to Johnson said, “Don’t wish to disturb you; are you at home?” Booth and Johnson had never met.

  * The fight over the Tenure of Office Act led to the House passing articles of impeachment, although the Senate did not concur. The act was later found to be unconstitutional. Johnson was thus the first president to assume office as a result of an assassination and the first to be impeached.

  * Newton had left the Civil War in 1864, while Alonzo had remained in the service until the end, leaving as a second lieutenant with the 9th U.S. Coloured Artillery.

  EPILOGUE

  DANGER IN THE WAR’S SHADOW

  THE CLOCK’S FIRST GONG announced midnight. Few heard the second, as 101 guns roared in succession, announcing the start of the glorious day. An enormous bonfire was set ablaze. Every church bell in Ottawa chimed, and spontaneous cheers erupted from the crowd on Parliament Hill. It was July 1, 1867, and Canada had been born.

  There were twenty-one gun salutes in Saint John, Kingston and Hamilton, and fireworks in Montreal and Toronto. In many towns, shops closed for the day as people enjoyed parades, dances and concerts. But the black bunting on a number of Nova Scotia shops and the black border on some of its newspapers spoke for those who still believed they had been hoodwinked into a bad deal. The Halifax Morning Chronicle’s headline read, “Died! Last night at twelve o’clock, the free and enlightened Province of Nova Scotia.”1

  John A. Macdonald had been appointed the new country’s first prime minister. He and several of his colleagues had been rewarded with knighthoods. He was enormously popular even among those who opposed him and his policies. To his countrymen, he was simply Sir John or John A. He was a rascal, but he was their rascal.

  Macdonald had come back from the final London conference happy and married. After a decade as a widower, he wed Susan Agnes Bernard, who offered love and the stability that had been too long absent in his life. He kept his promise to reduce his drinking—not end it, mind you. The now lively Macdonald household hosted dinner parties as one would expect of a head of government and, according to current practice, all expenses came out of his pocket.

  The Civil War had been over for two years, but neither the United States nor Canada had yet to emerge from its shadow. Lingering judicial questions and humanitarian concerns needed to be addressed. Of greater importance was the link drawn between Canada and America’s competing urge for territorial expansion and the settlement of claims against Britain for having allowed Confederate ships to be built in its harbours. As he listened to the church bells and gunfire echo down the Ottawa River late into the warm July night, Macdonald understood that Canada was still more an idea than a fact. He knew that there were men in Washington determined to erase that idea before it could take hold. Until crucial issues were settled and those men confronted, the Civil War was not really over and Confederation not yet complete.

  QUESTIONS OF JUSTICE

  The trials of Fenian raiders captured on Canadian soil had caused international consternation in the winter of 1866. When their sentences were announced in January, there had been outrage. Twenty-five Fenians had been found guilty and sixteen sentenced to death. Macdonald was as politically astute and generous in dealing with such matters as Lincoln had been. He quietly commuted the sentences to life imprisonment and the sixteen joined their comrades in Kingston’s penitentiary. Over the next four years, he arranged for all to be released and many received full pardons. In so doing, Macdonald respected Canadian law and American diplomatic appeals. He allowed punishment without creating martyrs.

  Among the other judicial questions demonstrating the war’s continued effects on Canada’s civil society was the matter of Lt. Col. George Denison. The colonel had spent the war playing an interesting game; he had served as an officer in the Canadian militia while maintaining his very public support for the Confederacy. He was the only member of the Toronto City Council who voted against sending a letter of condolence following Lincoln’s assassination. He later wrote a history of the Fenian Raids that, while exaggerating his role, burst with nationalistic pride at the way Canada had defended itself against invasion.

  Denison insisted on being compensated for losses suffered as a result of his association with Jacob Thompson’s Canadian-based Confederates. In late October, 1864, as part of what would become the Philo Parsons incident on Lake Erie, Thompson had arranged for Denison to purchase the steamer Georgian from Kentucky’s Dr. James Bates for eighteen thousand dollars. Through another arrangement with Thompson, Denison had then purchased a second ship called the Georgiana. It was also moored at Collingwood, on Lake Huron’s charming Georgian Bay. In February 1865, Denison hired William MacDonald to perform a number of upgrades on the Georgiana. MacDonald had been one of Thompson’s men and was a fugitive for having been involved in the burning of New York. In April, under the power of the Alien Act, John A. Macdonald, as attorney general, had the Georgiana seized. Denison was on board when Toronto’s Collector of Customs arrived to do the deed.

  Denison protested through political channels, and then the courts, with the unconvincing claim that the ship had not been purchased for Thompson and that the modifications had nothing to do with preparations for armaments. Long after Appomattox, Godfrey Hyams, the agent who had infiltrated Thompson’s inner circle and warned Canadian and American authorities of many Confederate activities, was called to testify at a hearing intended to settle Denison’s monetary claims. He explained that the ship was indeed being outfitted for
use as a Confederate privateer. He told of grenades, guns, Greek fire, and other weapons being gathered for the ship at the time it was seized. He also identified the Toronto arms manufacturer that Thompson had regularly used. Hyams took police to the Agnes Street house that had served as Thompson’s arms factory. He showed them the secret rooms and doorways, the twenty-six shells still on shelves awaiting delivery, and the secret compartments on wagons still parked outside.2

  The case dragged on through a number of frustrating appeals. It was finally resolved in November 1867. As part of the settlement, Denison was required to pay Thompson thirteen thousand dollars for it had been established that, despite his claims to the contrary, it was his promissory note that had allowed the ship to be purchased in the first place.3 The case ended up proving in court what many suspected and others knew: Canada had supplied arms to the South.

  HUMANITARIAN ISSUES: CONFEDERATE REFUGEES IN CANADA

  When Robert E. Lee and then other Southern generals offered their swords in the spring of 1865, they were faced with the conundrum of remaining in the shattered South or fleeing the land that would be ruled by their enemies. Many fled, and a number came to Canada. Their arrival bolstered the already substantial Confederate communities in the towns where they settled. The stories of three prominent refugees tell the tale.

  Jubal Early was a celebrated general, having led troops in several major battles, and offered punsters the chance to quip that Gettysburg was lost because Early arrived late. He was later accused of allowing a mass hanging of deserters and he was relieved of duty in late March 1865 for his failure in the Valley Campaign. At the war’s end, Early fled to Mexico but, finding conditions there inhospitable, he moved on to Cuba and then, in the spring of 1866, to Toronto. He happened to arrive on the same day that Union general William Tecumseh Sherman was being welcomed with great pomp and afforded the honour of conducting an inspection of the city’s militia. Early was miffed at being ignored, but accepted the hospitality offered at George Denison’s grand home.4

  When Early was in Mexico, Lee had written explaining that he was preparing a history of the war but needed documents relating to its final years. Early promised to help.5 Instead, he gathered papers and began a book of his own, writing the bulk of it in Toronto. It was released by Toronto publisher Lovell and Gibson and became a sensation in Canada and the United States. The book was like Early himself—unrepentant, stubborn and proud. Along with Southern journalist Edward Pollard’s work, Early’s book established the idea of the “Lost Cause” as the lens through which generations of Southerners interpreted the war.

  Early enjoyed life in Toronto, lived for a time in Niagara Falls and then in Drummondville, in Quebec’s idyllic eastern townships. When President Johnson declared a general amnesty for all former Confederates on Christmas Day 1868, Early packed up and went home to Virginia.

  General George Pickett revealed himself the master of the understatement when, asked why his famous Gettysburg charge had failed, he laconically responded, “The Yankees had something to do with it.”6 Pickett and his wife, Lasalle, moved to Montreal in early 1866. They stayed at a fine house owned by a gentleman on an extended stay in England, and then at the comfortable St. Laurent Hotel. He cut off his famous ringlets and settled into civilian life, accepting salutes every day from the city’s many Southerners and Southern sympathizers. Pickett soon found, however, that one cannot eat notoriety. Lasalle was eventually forced to sell her jewelry and they moved to Sherbrooke, where they lived quite modestly, while she gave French, Latin and piano lessons. They, too, left Canada with the news of the Johnson amnesty.

  The most important Confederate refugee in Canada was Jefferson Davis. He was a devoted family man with a sincere and boundless love for his wife, Varina, and their seven children. Davis was a skilled military tactician and dedicated public servant who worked tirelessly for the advancement of the public good, as he saw it, through a long career untainted by even a whisper of scandal. Davis had received word from Lee that Petersburg had fallen on April 2, 1865, and hours later he left Richmond. On May 10, he was recognized and arrested by a passing group of Union soldiers near Irwinville, in south Georgia. Twelve days later, the worn and bedraggled ex-president was taken to a cold, damp cell in Fort Monroe, where he was shackled and humiliated.

  Varina had sent their children north to Montreal, where they lived with her mother and sister, who had been there for some time. They attended school and settled into a quiet life in their new home. Varina worked tirelessly to secure the release of her husband, and was eventually allowed to live nearby to visit him. In June 1867, President Johnson approved Davis’s parole. Varina gathered the haggard and ill ex-president and left the next day to join their children in Montreal.

  They arrived to a hero’s welcome. Former Confederate consul to Havana Colonel C.J. Helen and Confederate minister to Britain James Mason, who had been living for over two years in Niagara Falls, had organized the welcome. A large and boisterous crowd cheered, clapped and sang.

  After a brief time with their children, the two set off on a tour of Canada. At the harbour in Kingston, a cheering crowd greeted them on arrival and mobbed them as they stretched their legs on shore. Denison helped organize their reception in Toronto and it was magnificent. Six to seven thousand people applauded as the steamer docked. A New York Times reporter was there and noted that at a luncheon in Davis’s honour, “all the Confederates in the City, besides large numbers of Canadians, paid their respects.”7 Davis smiled and shook hands, but was obviously not well. Denison observed, “I was so astonished at the emaciation and weakness of Mr. Davis who looked like a dying man, that I said to a friend near me, ‘They have killed him.’ ”8

  It was then on to Niagara Falls and another large crowd. A band welcomed them with “Dixie” and “Bonnie Blue Flag,” followed by a rousing three cheers for Davis and another three for Mason. Not sure of Davis’s plans in Canada, the New York Times article concluded, “If he remains in Canada he may spend it at this little town of Niagara where a pleasant Confederate society is springing up.”9

  Davis returned to Montreal, where Varina’s entire family soon joined them. Toronto publisher John Lovell arranged for them all to move from their rather run-down boarding house to a Mountain Street mansion, paid for by Canadian supporters. It was there that Davis concerned himself with personal finances, which were abysmal, and with efforts to regain his health, which was awful.

  Just before the fall of Richmond, boxes of official Confederate government documents had been gathered and shipped through Halifax to Montreal, where they were stored at the Bank of Montreal. Varina arranged for some of the boxes to be brought to them so that Davis could begin work on a history of the Confederacy that he had said he wanted to write. After only a short time, however, it proved too much for him: one afternoon, Davis stood and walked away saying, “Let us put them by for awhile, I cannot speak of the dead so soon.”10

  When September came, the family moved to Lennoxville to be near Jeff junior, who was enrolled in Bishop’s College. He was welcomed at the school by a number of other children of Confederate refugees.11 The family stayed at the modest Clark’s Hotel and continued to welcome a steady stream of visitors. Finance Minister Alexander Galt was among those who called on Davis and fussed over gifts for the children.12 Autumn among the riotous colours of Quebec’s hardwoods promised tranquil beauty for recuperation, but Davis could not really rest, as his trial for treason was set for late November. On November 19, the Davis family left Montreal to face his accusers in an America still struggling to reconcile the horror it had inflicted upon itself.*

  ISSUES OF SURVIVAL: THE ALABAMA AND ANNEXATION

  From the outset of the Civil War, Canadians had worried about what would happen when it ended. Two days after Lee’s surrender, Macdonald had written to George Brown, predicting that the Union, “flushed with success,” would turn its armies and fleets northward to take Canada. He spoke of Seward’s goal of seeing the United S
tates “overspread the continent.”13

  By late 1868, however, the mighty American military had been largely demobilized. There were only about fifty thousand men left in uniform, and most were deployed in the south and west. The threat of armed intervention in Canada was consequently greatly reduced. Nonetheless, the expansionist goals of many American policy makers remained. If Canada could not be won through invasion, perhaps it could be bought or traded for. Both potential tactics stemmed from the unresolved wartime issue of the Alabama claims.

  The claims arose from one of Lincoln’s first aggressive acts—the blockade of Southern ports. Lincoln had hoped to suffocate the South by stopping shipments of armaments and supplies in and cotton out. Davis had already issued letters of marque in an attempt to create a privateer navy and sent agents to Britain to have ships bought or built.14 Thirteen ships were eventually obtained—among them was the Enrica. Working from offices in Liverpool, Confederate agent James Dunwoody Bulloch arranged financing and then placed the order for the Enrica with Birkenhead’s Laird Brothers in October 1861.15* Code-named “290,” the 900-ton, iron-clad steamer was, according to the paper work, a freighter to be sold to a Spanish company. Its design, however, clearly indicated that it was to be a battleship. The Enrica was launched in May 1862.

  American minister to Britain, Charles Adams knew of the secret Confederate shipbuilding operations and specifically about the Enrica. He asked Foreign Secretary Earl Russell to have it inspected and seized as tangible proof that Britain had violated its declaration of neutrality. While a bureaucratic shuffle ensued, the wives and children of the crew and some of the shipbuilders boarded the Enrica for what was to be a short test run on the Mersey out of Liverpool. It all looked innocent enough. Around the first bend, though, the passengers were put ashore and the Enrica put to sea. She steamed to the Azores, where armaments were installed and ammunition loaded. On August 25, the Enrica was re-commissioned as the CSS Alabama and joined the growing British-made Confederate navy. The Alabama became a predator, sinking sixty-four American commercial vessels and an American warship. Secretary of the Navy Gideon Wells ordered the USS Kearsarge to find and sink the Alabama, and a global hunt began.