The
Hamiltonians of three-quarters of a century ago were a sturdy lot of fellows
and had their eyes and ears open for anything and everything that would advance
the interests of their new home. Although there was a beautiful bay, triangular
in shape, being about five and a half miles long and three miles and
three-quarters at its widest part, yet that strip of sand now designated as the
Beach, cut the town off from lake navigation, and the nearest steamboats could
get here was at Wellington Square. The canal connecting the lake with the bay
had not yet been completed, and this set the old boys a-thinking if there was
not some quicker way than by water for the outside world to reach Hamilton.
About that time, two or three short railroad lines had been built over in the
United States, and the question naturally presented itself to the old boys. Why
not have a railroad from Hamilton to Niagara Falls on the east and to Detroit
on the west, and thus open up the new country of Canada to people seeking
locations for homes? There was not a railroad in Canada three quarters of a
century ago, nor was there till 1836, when a short line of ten or twelve miles
was built from Laprairie, across Montreal out to the American border. In 1830
came the suggestion of a railroad from Hamilton to the Falls, and this was the
first conception of what afterward materialized as the Great Western Railway.
The name of but one of the early dreamers of Hamilton’s future greatness as a
railway center has been handed down to posterity and the only place in which
the historian will be able to find it is in the archives of the Great Western
company. The negotiations were not matured then, for it was more than twenty
years later before the first train arrived at the Hamilton station. A few years
after the Great Western had been built by English shareholders sent out to
Hamilton a careful accountant to go over the expense account in connection with
the construction of the road. Among the first items the accountant struck was a
charge by Sir Alan Macnab, in 1831, for expenses to and fro from Buffalo, in
the interest of constructing a railroad from that city to Hamilton; and,
occasionally, as the accountant proceeded, he found similar charges for Sir
Allan alone and for delegations to Buffalo. In those days it was a matter of no
small expense to make a trip from Hamilton to Buffalo, as it had to be done
overland, there being no boats on the route from Wellington Square to Niagara,
and it is unnecessary to say that economy did not enter into any part of the
negotiations of railroad building even in those early days before the boodlers
came upon the scene. Of course, there was a stage coach line from this city to
the Falls, but think you a man of Sir Allan’s standing would ride in a common
stage, not much. Nothing less than the family coach andfour prancing steeds
with full livered coachmen and postillions. These were grand days for the
future Laird of Dundurn, and it is needless to say that he acted well his part
and did credit to the city, whose representative he was. However, it was too
early in railroad building to get capital interested, especially in a road that
would run through an unsettled country, for Hamilton had less than 2,000
population, and there were no towns between this city and Detroit that had more
than a few hundred each. From some cause the negotiations came to a stop, and
it was not till the Great Western was completed that Sir Allan was able to get
refunded to him the money he had expended away back in 1830-1831.
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As a matter of history, it might be
well to remember that the first schooner that ever entered Burlington bay was
sometime during or just after the war of 1812, and that it was commanded by
Capt. Zealand. The canal through the Beach was not completely till nearly
twenty years later. Prior to that time, Wellington Square was the end of lake
navigation, and while there was a channel across the Beach somewhere between
the electric power house and the Hotel Brant, it was not deep enough for
vessels of any draft to enter the bay. Capt. Zealand was a courageous mariner,
and his home being in Hamilton, he determined to find some way to bring his
schooner into the bay. It is said that he coasted along the north shore to the
point where Stony creek empties into the lake and here he found an inlet deep
enough to sail his vessel through. He found no difficulty as there was a depth
of water far beyond the draught of his schooner, and he made the passage in
safety. This inlet is now crossed by the radial cars at the south end of the
Beach, and its outlet is beyond the city waterworks pumping station and toward
the mouth of the Stony creek. Old citizens, in telling the story, recall the
pride Capt. Zealand always expressed in having been the pioneer navigator to sail
a vessel into Burlington Bay. There may be old maps in existence that give the
two channels by which the bay was entered from the lake, but a faithful search
has been fruitless to find one. Work on the Burlington canal began about 1826,
but it was not until 1832 that it opened for navigation. Evidently, the first
canal was poorly constructed, for within a few years the piling had rotted and
the channel filled up so badly that only boats of light draught could enter the
bay. The work was reconstructed in a more substantial manner in the early
forties, and during the past two years large sums have been expended in
rebuilding the piers and in deepening the channel the largest freight steamers
can enter the bay.
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Fifty years ago, the Beach was a
dreary strip of sand only inhabited by fishermen and a couple of tavern
keepers. Along the beach shore, wild duck was plentiful during the season, and
nearly every fellow that could hold a gun went down to have a pop at the birds.
It was not decreed that all of the shooters would fetch down a duck, so that
there was quite a traffic carried on by regular hunters who furnished ducks for
the amateurs, as no one would dare return home without a bird or two suspended
from his shoulders. John Dynes made his reputation in those days for duck and
fish dinners, and it has descended down to the present generation, for now and
then we read of game dinners at Dynes. The future historian of Hamilton will
find much of interest to write about. About
600 yards north of the canal, on the lake front of the Beach, there
stood an old fort that gave shelter and protection to Canada’s defenders in the
war of 1812. It is only a memory of the past, for not a vestige of it was to be
seen half a century ago. The early surveyors gave it a place on the plots of
the Beach, but now it is not even noticed, and save by measurement on the old
plots, it would be hard to locate the exact spot where it stood. In the early
days, no one thought of preserving old landmarks or marking historic spots, and
even now there is not much veneration for relics. Probably the local historical
societies give some attention to these things.
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Sometime about the year 1820, the
village of Wellington Square was first settled. It was a pleasant location for
a town, and at that time the head of navigation on Lake Ontario. It was named
in honor of England’s great general, who had for himself and his brave army
victory at Waterloo. The name of this village, which was historic and meant
something, ought never to have been changed. During the war of 1812, it was a harbor
of refuge for the lake fleet of Canadian shipping when hard pressed by the
enemy, the fort on the Beach, with its armament of cannon, affording
protection. The early settlers looked forward to the time when the scattering
village would become a great city, as the canal was merely a suggestion, and
there was no entrance into the bay, only for vessels of a very light draught,
the natural channel being too shallow, save in seasons when the lake was
unusually high. The rich farming lands and the hills of the township of Nelson
made an ideal background for the future city. Hamilton had been laid out in
1813, seven or eight years before Wellington Square was christened, but of the
two villages, the latter place had the start in growth and population because
of its location at the head of navigation. When the government decided on
making the canal through the Beach, Wellington Square saw its finish, for after
the year 1832, when the canal opened for traffic, the lake steamboats only made
it a stopping place. Its population was 400, now it is not more than 1,300 – an
increase of 900 in 60 years. It must have been quite a thriving settlement 60
years ago, for it then had a grist mill, foundry, tannery pottery, two dry
goods stores, six groceries, one drug store, four taverns, one saddler, one
tinsmith, two wagon makers, two blacksmiths, one baker, four tailors, and one
doctor to look after the physical condition of the villagers. To care for the
religion and morals of the people there were two churches – Episcopal and Free
Church. At that time, the village boasted of one schooner that was owned there.
The grist mill have had a reputation for good flour, for in the year 1844,
10,922 barrels were exported. The shipments of wheat the same year amounted to
34, 921 bushels.
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Some years ago, Tom Wilson, a local architect
in men’s wearing apparel, had a contract for making uniforms for the fire
department, and as competition was close there was not any great profit in the
job. When contractors get to figuring against each other, the boss’ end of it,
after the expenses having been paid, would not buy his wife a diamond sunburst
for a Christmas present. A man cannot take a run and jump on a contract for
building suits of clothes for a fire department, for the members are such
stout, lusty fellows that the numbers of yards of cloth that would make a suit
for two of them would be enough to clothe three of the ordinary run of mankind.
Just fancy the number of yards of clothe it takes to cover the Big Chief. When the
members of the department called on Tom Wilson to leave their measure, Tom was
glad of an extra order for themselves or their boys. Said the chief, “Tom, I
have a boy about sixteen years old; what will you charge to make him a suit?” the
chief having selected the cloth from Wilson’s stock. “Send him around,” said
Tom, “and I will fix him for $14.” A few days afterward, the sixteen year old
boy called, and when Tom saw him, he almost dropped dead of heart disease.
There before him stood a six-footer; almost as stout as the Big Chief and
weighing no less than 200 pounds. Tom stuck to his bargain and made the boy an
elegant suit of clothes, but after that he was careful to see sixteen year old
boys before he gave their fond papas an estimate on what a suit of clothes
cost.
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