In
giving our recollections of the Desjardins canal accident which occurred on the
evening of March 12, 1857, the Muser endeavored to tell the story as correct as
memory would help, yet two or three minor errors may have crept in, but nothing
serious to mar the historical part. Memory at times plays it false; but think
of nearly sixty years having elapsed since that memorable night, and is it any
wonder that one is apt to get confused? How many people living in Hamilton
today, who were her sixty years ago, can remember clearly every incident
connected with the accident? We do not claim to be immaculate in writing these
Musings for we are but human after all. A correspondent to the Spectator last
week attempted to correct what he deemed was an error in our statement that the
cause of the accident was the shifting f the bridge a few inches so that the
rails on the bridge were out of gear with the rails on the main line, thus
sending the engine bumping across the ties, cutting the ties and weakening
them. The Spectator correspondent got his story secondhand from his father,
probably years afterward. To corroborate our statement, a gentleman who was
then living in Dundas was coming by train to Hamilton shortly after the new
bridge had been built across the canal when the bridge veered a few inches from
the rails of the main line and the engine left the track and went bumping on
the ties. Fortunately, the driver was running slow and was able to check his
engine immediately. The cars remained on the track, the coupling of the engine
breaking away from the train, thus preventing a second accident which would
have been even more disastrous than the first, for there were more cars in the
train. The swing bridge was considered unsafe, for it was liable to be moved a
few inches by the wind blowing down the valley. It was a short time afterward
that the Great Western made terms with the people of Dundas to have a permanent
bridge built across the canal. It put an end to steamboats and sailing craft
running up to Dundas through the canal, and took from Dundas the proud
distinction of being the head of the lake. It was a loss to Dundas as a
shipping point.
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One night last week, a vagrant was
arrested on Broadway, New York, for begging. Five years ago, the young man’s
father died leaving him a fortune of half a million dollars. While the money
lasted the son lived high, but the time came when he parted with his last
dollar. He was well-educated and a graduate of a university. He had a rich
father and there was no need for him to work, and while the father lived, he
was liberally supported with pocket money. Brought up in idleness, when his
fortune came to him on the death of his father, he had formed dissolute habits
that unfitted him for any employment, he ran the pace while the money lasted
and ended in being arrested as a street vagrant. Money is a blessing when
rightfully used by its possessor, but a curse when squandered in riotous
living. More than one bright young fellow in Hamilton has gone down to his
grave in poverty who began life with every promise of usefulness. The old
registers in the house of refuge would disclose some startling secrets. The
young man who takes an occasional glass of liquor never thinks of where that
appetite will land him. He scouts the idea that he will ever become a drunkard
or a vagrant. He thinks he can control himself; and probably he does for a few
years, but the appetite increases slowly but surely till at last he becomes an
outcast. His friends may strive with him for a time, but constant dropping will
wear a stone, and their patience gives out. He is joined to his idols; let him
alone. While his mother lives, he has a friend, no matter how debased he may
become, but when death releases her from the disgrace and sorrow of a drunken
son, his last hope is gone! Think of the young man of whom mention is made in
this item spending half a million dollars in five years in strong drink and
riotous living, and at the end spending the night in a police station for
begging in the streets for five cents to buy a drink to quench his thirst!
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Every now and then the question arises
as to who was the first white man that settled at the Head of the Lake. The
Beasley family claim the honor for their illustrious predecessor, Colonel
Richard Beasley; then along come the descendants of Colonel Robert Land with
proof that can hardly be doubted, claiming the honor for the colonel, and there
you are. Daniel Defoe wrote a very interesting story in the long ago about a
shipwrecked sailor, Alexander Selkirk by name, the title of the book being
Robinson Crusoe, a castaway on a desert island, who boldly proclaimed himself
as monarch of all his surveyed, and nobody to dispute his rights, when along
came one day a savage brother whom Robinson Crusoe christened Man Friday, to
dispute the ownership of the island and likely would have made a meal of poor
Robinson if the quick-witted sailor had not climbed into his fort and pulled
the ladder after him. In course of time, Robinson Crusoe patched up a peace
with his savage brother, and no doubt they agreed not to disagree about which
it was that claimed priority to the discovery of the island, but they lived on
in their solitude till such time as an exploring party came along and rescued
them. Now, this may be a parallel case with the Beasley and the Land occupancy
of the Head of the Lake. Colonel Beasley came in at the west end of the Head of
Lake and Colonel Land came in at the east end, and they may have come in about
the same time, and neither knew that there was another white man on these
shores. At any rate, there is no documentary proof of who was first, and the
only way out of the difficulty is for the Beasleys and the Lands to get
together and shoot craps for the title of being the descendants of the first
white man that tread the virgin soil of the settlement called the Head of the
Lake. Ancient history cannot always be relied on, as recent events have shown.
Defoe in his novel tells us that the island on which the shipwrecked sailor
spent many years of his life was down in Chile, and was named in history as
Juan Fernandez. Who that has read the capitivating story of Robinson Crusoe
will ever forget Robinson and his man Friday, and what a lonely life it was for
the first white man that set foot on that lonely island. The boys and girls of
the present age know naught of the thrilling description, for they do not read
high-class literature of the bygone age. They can tell you all about bridge,
whist or the latest thrillers in the movies, but ask them about Jack, the Giant
Killer, Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, the Swiss Family Robinson, or even Old
Mother Goose’s Melodies and they will promptly tell you that they never heard
of such characters. It is nip and tuck if they ever read Dickens or Thackery,
or any other the other standard story writers. The Penny Dreadfuls sre good
enough for them. Well, to get back to where we started, history will not always
do to bet on, for along comes some fellow who thinks he knows more than the
original author of the story and the whole thing is knocked into a cracked hat.
Defoe told us that Robinson Crusoe was the first white man that inhabited the
island of Juan Fernandez, and along comes a newspaper reporter the other day
and makes the broad statement that Dan did not know what he was talking about.
You that have kept in touch with the reports about the Dresden, a German war
vessel, being chased into the harbor of Juan Fernandez, and there found a
watery grave, will remember that the newspaper fellows tore to piece’s DEefoe’s
story, which was written before any of them were born, for Daniel Defoe has
been dead awhile now, and his body lies in a vault in Bunhill Fields, in the
City road, London, England, with all the other literary and historical
characters of his day. They tell us now that Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday
never lived on that island, and that the old story is either a myth or a pipe
dream of the ancient author. Well, what is one going to do, when such
iconoclasts are already giving history a black eye ?
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And here we are again at the point
from which we started, and still the question arises, was Colonel Beasley or
Colonel Land the first white man who tramped the wild grass that grew so
luxuriantly at the Head of the Lake? Some of the ancient red men, who used to
fish in the bay or scalped white men who out on a little frolic might be able
to decide it; but they are all dead now. The records in the county registrar’s
office ought to tell the story, for in them are the names of the early settlers
from the days when the U. E. Loyalists hiked from the country across the
Niagara river. The other day the Muser thought he would go to the fountain head
of information and made an early morning call on the young ladies who
faithfully guard these ancient records and find out which was which. They
searched the musty tomes, beginning with the letter B and then on through L.
The first entry made by Colonel Beasley was the land now known as Dundurn park
in the year 1790. Matthew Cain located on the first concession in 1798, and
these was afterward deeded to one of the Lands in 1800. The registrar’s books
could not settle the question as Colonel Land may have entered his land on a
squatter’s title before the government survey was made. The earliest history we
have of Colonel Beasley is given in Mrs. Simcoe’s diary, which has been put in
readable shape by John R. Robinson, the Toronto editor, who can tell you all
about the building of Solomon’s Temple and of Freemasonry in Hamilton. In Mrs.
Simcoe’s diary, the claim is put forth flat-footed that Colonel Beasley was the
first settler at the Head of the Lake. Nowhere is the descendants of Colonel
Land’s chance to call on John B. Robinson to prove and settle forever this
vexed question. Colonel Beasley was an Indian trader, but none of his
descendants that are now living can tell from whence he came. All they know is
that he was the owner of Dundurn park, when it was part of the forest, washed
at its base by the waters of the bay, or Macassa as it was called by the
Indians. It is stated that the house of Richard Beasley was west of the present
site of Dundurn Castle, and that the building was afterward incorporated with
the castle; but this is not likely, as the first dwelling must have been built
of logs, and the west end of the castle is of brick. It is hardly possible that
there was a brick building in this section in those early days. The so-called
castle is a substantial brick building and well-proportioned. Senator McInnes,
the last owner of Dundurn Castle told our informant that the stone building at
the western part of the castle, once used as a gymnasium, was built prior to
the main structure. The descendants of the Beasley family claim that the
colonel moved into his house at Dundurn immediately after his arrival at the
Head of the Lake, and that his sons, Richard, George, David C. and Henry were
borne in the house, the last born in 1793. Without documentary evidence, it is
believed that the colonel’s first home was on the site of Coote’s Paradise,
so-called from a Captain Coote, who spent a great deal of his time duck shooting
in the marsh below the hill, which abounded with wild fowl and tortoises.
Governor and Mrs. Simcoe were frequent guests of Colonel and Mrs. Beasley.
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Teach the boys and girls to be loyal
to the flag of their country. In the United States, the Stars and Stripes is
raised every morning at the school house and at the close of the day, it is
hauled down with all the pomp and ceremony observed by the army and navy. When
the flag is raised one verse of the Star-Spangled Banner is sung by the
children, and the same is done when the flag is lowered in the evening. The
children enter into the spirit of it, and it brings them closer to the flag
than it would be possible by any other means. No wonder that our Canadians call
the Americans flag-worshippers, for it is instilled into the heart of an
American child from its birth. When the civil war began in the United States in
1861, there were less than 25,000 soldiers to defend the flag. Within a week
from the time President issued his call for 75,000 men, the call was answered
by twice and thrice 75,000, and there was sore disappointment to those who were
not mustered into the service. In Cincinnati, this old Muser was employed by
the Daily Enquirer, and from that one building alone nearly fifty men gave up
good-paying situations and took the oath as volunteers for $11 a month. The
Muser heard the call of Father Abraham and responded with the others. Within a
day or two, more than two hundred printers had signed the roll, and two
companies of printers went out with the first two regiments, the Fifth and
Sixth Ohio. Before the war ended nearly three million men were on the firing
line in the northern army, and at least half that number under the Confederate
flag. Those volunteers had been taught from childhood, Hats off to the Flag!
The boy scouts in Canada are being taught , Hats off to the Flag! And the time
may come when the lesson taught now may be of value to their native land. The
derisive term, “flag flappers” is not evidence of loyalty at least, and the
expression may in time come back to plague those who sneer at the flag of their
country.
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