Miss Confederation

by Anne McDonald

  Mercy Coles’s hopes that Leonard Tilley will be thinking of her, and her wish to see him again, as well as her later writing of how her uncle thinks she is “perfect” and “suited [her uncle] in every way” perhaps signifies here, at the end of her journey, a questioning of herself, of her identity, of the identity she has been creating. Why had she stopped being the object of Tilley’s attention, and perhaps others’? She desires to please, and is happy her uncle finds her “perfect.” She discloses insecurity in her search for approval, now that the conference and potential for being wooed are at an end. Mercy doesn’t quibble with the expectations of her as a single young woman when her parents deny her the option to stay at her uncle’s, overnight or all winter. She is willing to live by the conventions expected of her, and does not appear to chafe at the limitations. Earlier, during the conference and tour, Mercy behaved more flirtatiously, teasing and being teased, taking fancies to different men, enjoying the attention she received. Her diary now reflects how a young woman is expected to view and approach life, and how she should perceive herself; it has a more conventional tone, one tied to Victorian ideals.

  The Americans have collected a significant amount of primary source material on the Civil War. In comparison, Canadians have very little direct source material — a miniscule amount — on the making of Confederation. George Brown’s letters to his wife, Anne, written during the Confederation conferences, evocative with revealing personal and political detail; Feo Monck’s unedited journal; and Marcy Coles’s diary are the only first-person, not intended for publication, private accounts we have that chronicle the social side of the events and the impact they had on the crucial relationship building that went on during the Confederation conferences. The Brown letters were only discovered in the 1950s. The Mercy Coles diary is equally important to our understanding of Confederation, the time, and our relationship with the United States at this volatile period.

  November 10, Thursday [en route from Warren, Ohio, to New York City]

  Atlantic and Great Western. We left Warren at 12 o’clock. Uncle and Aunt Haine and George Dunkerton came down to the station with us. We went out shopping with Aunt after breakfast. We had luncheon in the eating saloon. The first I ever was in, it was rather a strange place. Uncle would have us go, so to please him we went. He is a dear old man and petted me to [accept? unclear]. We are to travel all day and all night. We will get in to [unclear] tomorrow morning. [unclear] brought me some cartes of the children. Uncle and [wife?] are going to have Papa’s [unclear] and send them to us. We stayed at Meadville a ½ an hour for dinner. Neither Ma nor I got out for we were not hungry. We are now at Corry [Pennsylvania] the great city for oil. They are building everywhere. There is an [muse? unclear] building just east of where the barrel of oil. Such a splendid lot of oil they run 1500 barrels of oil a day. Making money as fast as they do in California. At Meadville there was a splendid Hotel right at the Station. Pa says it is the finest he has seen in America. I have just had such a nice sleep! We do not get a sleeping car until we stop at Jamestown. Ma and I will then go to bed and sleep well I hope.

  9 o’clock We stopt at Salamanca and had tea. It is a beautiful moonlight night so I think we may safely up to bed. Papa has secured us a berth in the sleeping car and we are going to bed about 10 o’clock. I wonder if Uncle William has got home. He told Papa I was perfect, suited him every way.

  Friday morning, November 11th [still en route to New York City]

  Ma and I had a good safe sleep in the berth. Lucky we had no person but ourselves. We got up as soon as it was daylight and washed our things. We were first and had the clean towel. Pa to [unclear] stopping all through the night at every stopping place. We expect to get into New York at 1 o’clock. We have just seen the place where the train ran over a bridge last [Sun?]day night and killed 5 people. One [?] of the cars are still there.

  St. Nicolas Hotel, New York, ½ past 2

  We arrived here about ½ an hour ago and our trunks have not yet appeared, it is no use grumbling for you do not know who to scold. We are [near?] Broadway such a busy place everybody rushing about. We got into a cab when we arrived at the Station and were driven on board the Ferry boat and did not get out until we were set down at this door. Such a long tunnel we came through just before we got out of the train.

  Saturday, November 12 [en route from NYC to Boston, Massachusetts]

  On board the Metropolis [Fall?] liner.

  We left New York at 3 o’clock. Such a morning as we had walking and driving the whole time. Yesterday we went wherever we [desired?]. Off to Barnum’s. Tom Thumb and his wife are in Europe but we saw five other dwarfs, 2 albino children with perfectly white hair, such lots of wonders it wd take me a week to think of it all. There was a girl there only 16 years of age with her arms as big around as my waist. She is rather pretty. In the evening we went to the Broadway Theater and saw Owen act [Solon?] Shanghai. It was capital. We have just been introduced to a Mr. [Cumming?], a gentleman from Boston. He is just telling Papa that the Perlys are great friends of his. This morning we went shopping. We bought photograph albums for Loo and Mary. Feathers for them too. A Ladies Companion for Gina, boots for the boys.*** The ladies are certainly the best dressed I ever saw. Nothing but diamonds, every lady at the tables at the St. Nicolas had a diamond ring on her finger. This morning we drove quite to the head of 5th Avenue. There is the most magnificent residence anybody ever saw, such a pretty Episcopal Church the [ivy?] growing all over it. We have been having a race with the [? name of ship]. She [unclear] us at first but the Metropolis got up her steam and soon got ahead of her. This Steamer is a regular floating palace, all white paint and gilt. The [unclear] is the whole length of the steamer from bow to stern. Ma has gone to bed. I must follow [unclear].

  Nov 13th / 64, Sunday, Lemont House, Boston

  We arrived here this morning about ½ past 4. We arrived at Newport at 4. We met a Mr. Cummings on board the Steamer and he got Papa to take tickets for a Pars[?] carriage. It was a splendid affair. The worst of it was we never looked in just as they do in England.**** This seems a very nice hotel. Unfortunately it is raining so I am afraid we shall not see much of the city. We did not see a [unclear] of New York we knew. I thought the Porter was D’Arcy.***** He looked exactly like him.

  Papa has been to the [Lemont?] House.****** The Grays and Popes left there last Thursday. They wd be home last night. He did not ask if the Tuppers were there [now?] [Unclear — Likely?] they were for they all left [Niagara?] together. We have just come in from an hour’s drive which cost $5. Boston is certainly a very pretty place. The Commons in summer must be splendid. Our driver under took showing us the sights. Chester Park is very pretty, rows of trees fenced in, in the centre of the streets. Very handsome residences on each side. I think it is quite as nice as 5th Avenue in New York. The business part of the town is not so [unclear] as Broadway but there are some very handsome buildings. We saw a block built by a Mr. [Bahee?], very handsome shops. I shd liked to have gone to church but it is snowing so hard on the [unclear]. We leave tomorrow morning for St. John New Brunswick in the Steamer. I hope we shall have a day in St. John but I am afraid not.

  Monday afternoon, November 14

  [en route from Boston to Portland, Maine]

  On board the New Brunswick. We left Boston this morning at [2?] o’clock. I had not been on board many minutes before I had to [unclear] my bed and here I have been ever since. I have been very seasick. All hands have gone to dinner. I could not bear to go below. The Stewardess gave me some soup for lunch, but it came up directly.

  November 15th, Tuesday evening

  [en route from Portland to Saint John, New Brunswick]

  I got up and went on shore at Portland to get my tea last night. When we came on board again I thought I saw a face I knew and who should it be but [John?]. He was as pleased to see us as we were to see him. He has just come from Quebec and has been from the Island for 3 weeks. I am in
the wheel house writing. I slept so poorly last night, we heard that something in [very/every?] [unclear]. We get to [?]port. All the rest of our party went down in this same boat last week. We will not get into St John tonight until 9 o’clock. I wonder if we shall see Mr. Tilley [emphasis mine]. The Steeves are home.

  Stubbs Hotel, Saint John, NB

  We arrived here at 8 o’clock. We met such a nice man on board the Steamer, Mr. Solomon and his wife of South Carolina [likely she means Georgia]. They were at Atlanta when Sherman captured it. Their house was shelled and they were ordered to depart. He gave me a 10 dollar note. I am to keep it until it is worth its equivalent in gold. Uncle William gave me a 100 dollar one but Mr. Solomon says it is forgery. Mr. Eckhart and Mr. Solomon are taking a glass of brandy and water with Papa. I found a note here from Mr. Tilley with his copies of the photographs of St. Peter’s on the Island. He says they had a very pleasant trip down. He encloses a pass for us to go over the railway free. We started off to Mr. Manson’s the moment we arrived and bought Eliza******* a bonnet. The shop was shut but we rapped at the door and they opened the door, ½ past 10. I have just written to Mr. Tilley to thank him for his pass.********

  November 16th, Wednesday afternoon [en route from Saint John to Shediac, NB, by train, and Shediac to Charlottetown, PEI, by ship]

  We left St John this morning at 8.******** We arrived at Shediac at 2 [or 12?]. There we found James Duncan, John Yeo and Louis [Lewis] Carvell.******** Quite an addition to our party. Mr. Carvell has given me his carte and we have been chatting ever since we came on board. He thinks he will probably remain in the Island all winter. We expect to get to Summerside in a few minutes. I have not been the least seasick. I did not see Mr. Solomon this morning. We sang “Bonnie Blue Flag” last night before we went to bed.******** We are nearly home. The light was not lit on St. Peter’s Island and we have gone about 12 miles out of our way. We will not get to the wharf until after 11 instead of a few minutes after 10. I have had nothing to eat since breakfast so will be well prepared for my supper. I expect they will be tired waiting for us. I have been sitting about chatting with Mr. Carvell for four hours, Mr. Eckhart occasionally joining in the conversation. He is a very nice man and I have had a very pleasant conversation.

  And there ends the diary. Pleasant. A good word, and a completely impossible word to sum up this hopeful and fantastic journey of Confederation — a journey aiming for a future, intending a future, for her, for her province, for the politicians wanting a bigger, broader life of their own, and for the country that would be.

  Some got what they wanted. Canada, finally, by 1867, had become a country. John A. Macdonald became its first prime minister. He did marry again; he married his former secretary Hewitt Bernard’s sister, Agnes Bernard, a strong woman who helped keep him more sober and healthier than he might have been otherwise. The politicians who’d remained pro-Confederation became ministers in Macdonald’s new federal government. Charles Tupper even became prime minister for a while, a short while. Leonard Tilley was a minister in Macdonald’s government for eighteen years, and was lieutenant-governor of New Brunswick twice, the second term ending in 1893. He remarried in 1867, to a twenty-three-year-old woman, eight months younger than his eldest son. But Edward Whelan died in 1867, D’Arcy McGee was assassinated in 1868, and William Pope left government after his anti-Confederation brother, James Pope, became premier of PEI. (James Pope was premier when PEI did finally join Confederation in 1873, but that may have had more to do with the railroad, and how important it was to him, than with any nationalist feeling.) William Pope continued to fight for Confederation on PEI, until the Island, on the brink of bankruptcy because of the railway, finally joined Canada. Colonel Gray of PEI left politics, too, at the end of 1864, when PEI didn’t join Confederation. And George Coles turned completely against Confederation when the offer of money to buy out the Island’s absentee landlords and resolve the land question was dropped.

  More than that, Coles, though he was premier again by 1867, resigned his seat in August 1868 because his mind was deteriorating. He was thought to be mad, and had first been locked up in his own house, then admitted to the New Brunswick Lunatic Asylum in June 1869 for two years. He came home again, but got worse, and was placed in the Prince Edward Island asylum by June of 1871. Not only were methods of treating mental illness at the time draconian and of limited use, but the Island’s asylum was also in terrible shape. It was described as “worse than the Black Hole of Calcutta.” By the summer of 1869, Coles’s wife had to ask that his business affairs be taken away from him, and the committee in charge of it discovered his debts were greater than his assets. His brewery business was put up for sale, as well as a number of properties, in order to maintain his family; six of Coles’s children were still at home, including Mercy. Mercy’s mother, as well as Mercy’s two young brothers, her sister Mary Victoria (until she married in 1871), and her only other unmarried sister, Alexandrina Octavia, continued to live at Stone Park Farm until 1875, when it was sold.

  While he was locked away, George Coles wrote that he was worried his family would starve to death. On September 14, 1873, he wrote: “Stone Farm House Locked in a Bed room / Deserted by God & Man / The Miserable and Unfortunate / Hon. George Coles.” Coles died on August 21, 1875. He never regained his sanity. For the man who had achieved responsible government for Prince Edward Island and established the Free Education Act, it was a sad and sorry finish.

  And Mercy Coles? Mercy never did marry. She lived to be eighty-three years old. Her father’s insanity can’t have helped her case. Her youngest sister, Octavia Alexandrina, who was fifteen years younger than Mercy, didn’t marry either. In Mercy Coles’s obituary, in the Charlottetown Guardian on February 12, 1921, it says, “She was a recognized authority on the early history of the province and indeed of Canada.” She’d kept all her mementos of her journey to Quebec, such as the dance cards of which she writes, “filled out by [the men] themselves,” and the photo “cartes” she’d received. Her obituary notes that the friendships she’d made with the famous Fathers continued, but now she’d survived them all.

  Aside from the “Extracts of a Diary” in the Charlottetown Guardian of 1917, and the obituary notice in 1921, not much more is known of Mercy Coles’s life. There are two final travel diaries held by Library and Archives Canada (LAC). The main one covers a trip in August 1878 (George Coles would have been dead three years) to Montreal with her sister Alexandrina and her mother. Mercy was forty, her sister was twenty-five, and her mother sixty-one years old. Mercy writes of the places and things they saw; it is a typical travel diary, interesting as a travelogue, but with little of historical note in it.

  As to personal matters, it’s clear Mercy may still have had hopes for marriage. Her sister Alexandrina must certainly have had. Mercy writes, “There are a great many passengers on board, some very nice looking gentlemen [emphasis mine]. I have got mother in my stateroom. Drina takes a Miss Randall who is going to Halifax. The Head Steward made as much fuss over our coming back as if we belonged to him.”

  The second travel diary is from 1879, covering a trip to New Brunswick, and the LAC version is only two pages long. Both diaries are quite difficult to decipher, though the 1878 one is clear in parts.

  Mercy outlived both her brothers and all her sisters, except for Alexandrina, who died in 1927. Her mother passed away in 1893. In the 1881 PEI census, Mercy, Alexandrina, and their mother are listed as living with Mercy’s brother Charles, who, at twenty-two years of age, was listed as “head of the household.”

  In Mercy’s obituary, the Guardian further says, “[She was] an estimable lady, friendly, sociable, charitable and intellectually brilliant.” In her later diaries, she returns to her vivacious self, commenting on the behaviour of others, and the gentlemen they met on their trips. Perhaps Mercy was speculating on possible matches there could be for her or her sister when she wrote of the “nice looking gentlemen.” We will gi
ve the last, “pleasant” word to Mercy. Her 1878 travel diary ends here:

  What a delightful time we had. I never enjoyed myself more, we never heard a cross word or saw a black look. I shall always remember my trip on the Miramichi as a bright spot in my life.

  * * *

  * The French acrobat Charles Blondin is better-known to history, but the Great Farini — William Hunt of Port Hope, Ontario — was by far the better businessman and had greater success at making a living with his acrobatic feats. There was a rivalry between the two acrobats in the early 1860s at Niagara Falls, and they each tried to outdo the other in various tricks — crossing a tightrope blindfolded, or with their feet in sacks. They carried tables, stoves, and washing tubs on their backs, and stopped midway to use them. Blondin made an omelette, and lowered it down to the Maid of the Mist. In Farini’s case, he lowered himself down to the boat, and climbed back up again. Blondin carried his agent across, piggyback style.

  Farini seemed to recognize the importance of the Confederation talks, and while the Fathers met in Quebec, he offered to wheel the governor general, Lord Monck, across a tightrope over Montmorency Falls. Farini’s biographer, Shane Peacock, reports that Monck agreed, but in the end the powers that be wouldn’t allow a line to be strung across the falls. There are no other reports of Farini cavorting with the delegates, or dallying with their lives. Mercy doesn’t mention Farini anywhere in her diary.