My
! My! Here it is Christmas again, and it only seems to be the other day that we
were celebrating the Christmas of 1907. How time flies! Away back sixty or
seventy years ago, when we old stagers were boys and girls in Hamilton, it
seemed so long between the Christmas anniversaries that we used to think that
the next Christmas would never come. Happy days of childhood, when we laid
awake on Christmas eve waiting for dear old Santa Claus , with his reindeer and
his sleigh loaded with presents to gladden our hearts in the morning. The
wiseacres were not then abroad to tell us that Santa was only a myth, nor did
the learned preachers denounce from their pulpits parents who delighted to tell
their children stories of the old fellow coming down the chimney and filling
the stockings that were hung in front of the old-fashioned fireplace, for
stoves were a rare comfort in Hamilton, except in the homes of the
well-to-class. Old Hamiltonians will never forget those days. They may have
more money now and live in better houses, heated with hot water or hot air, but
that they are happier than in the old days is a question that will stand
discussion. The Christmas gifts were not as expensive then as now, but they
were usually confined to the family circle and represented the loving heart of
the giver. Got into any one of the stores in Hamilton now and peep at the line
of articles for children alone, and the wonder is, can the merchant possibly
dispose of his stock between now and Thursday night. In the olden times, a
child that got a cheaply-constructed rocking horse was the envy of all the
children in the neighborhood; now a horse and carriage like they have in the
George W. Robinson store, worth $20 to $25 is the least thing these twentieth
century children expect. And when it comes to selecting for older children, the
father and mother are at a standstill. Nothing less than a diamond ring for the
oldest daughter, who expects, in the course of human events, to become a bride when
flowers bloom in the spring, tra-la-la, and then all the other young ladies of
the family must have something out of the common, or else their hearts will be
sad when they see what Jennie, who lives next door, has received from her
parents. A pair of skates, a sled, a pocket knife, or something of that kind
used to make an average boy happy; but, on your life, such a present is not to
be considered now. Poor old dad has to hustle around these Christmas times if
he expects to keep up with the procession.
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Probably the old stagers are but
dreamers who think there is nothing now like it was fifty and sixty years ago
when this blessed city did not have as much wealth or as many people. But times
have certainly changed for the better or worse as you like to look at it.
Hamilton was quite a musical town away back in the early fifties, and during
the holiday week, the serenaders were out every night, making the air melodious
with sweet songs and stringed instruments. The custom of waifs in the old
country had been transplanted to Canada, and the night before Christmas, the
boys and girls, led by their singing school teacher, visited their friends and
out in the frosty air would ring the carols, While Shepherds Watched Their
Flocks by Night and kindred hymns from the Anglican book of prayer. Then the
bright songs of the day, such as Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming, I Forget the
Gay World, Larboard Watch. Ah! Those are days to look back to into pleasant
memory, for we lived in the happy days of young manhood and womanhood, giving
but little thought to the morrow. Our incomes were small, for labor did not
receive as good wages then; but expenses were lighter, for in those days, the
average child was educated in the school of economy. And talk about Christmas
markets now. They are not in it with the two thousand pound steers rolling in
fats, the juicy mutton, the little pigs harnessed up with links of sausage,
looking as cute as a box of monkeys that the Wingalls, the Lawrys, old Dick
Passmore, Bob Ramsey, Bill Tillman and other old-time butchers used to prepare
for the Christmas market in the old market house that used to stand on the site
of the present city hall. Then the turkeys, geese, ducks, chickens that one
could buy so cheap that even the poorest family in the city could afford to eat
poultry at the prevailing prices. Think of a fat goose for a quarter of a
dollar, and as handsome a turkey as ever flew over a fence for forty and fifty
cents. And they were tender and juicy. The raising of tender beef seems to be a
lost art in Canada.
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This is the season for jollity and
mirth, and if we only use the blessings sent us and not abuse them, the year
will end in happiness. The unfortunates who are so convinced that they want to
patronize every one of the seventy or eighty barrooms, and join the song, We
Won’t Go Home Till Morning, wake up late on Christmas mornings with heads too
large for even half a bushel measure to cover, and with a taste in their mouths
as though they had been feeding at a garbage barrel. Cut that part of the
celebration out, and it might not be a bad idea to forget the past and turn
over a new leaf. The poet tells us, “While the lamp holds out to burn, the
vilest sinner may return.” The drinking habit is the curse of the present day
and generation, and while we may flatter ourselves that the world is growing
better and wiser on that line; statistics will not endorse the statement. Think
of this, boys, as the year draws to a close and don’t wait till tomorrow to
turn over a new leaf, give it a flirt now.
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From far away out in Colorado came an
ancient copy of a New York illustrated paper, and among the cuts was a picture
that brought back to this old Muser a scene of more than fifty years ago. It
was a picture of old Cataract fire company No. 2, taken on a holiday occasion
shortly after the company came into possession of their new engine, in the year
1857, and surrounding the engine is a group of over one hundred members. At
that time, Alexander J. Campbell was captain of the company, Richard Butler,
first lieutenant, and Joseph Kneeshaw, second lieutenant. Charles Smith, the
city messenger, had charge of the apparatus of the entire department, having
been appointed to that position when Samuel Sawyer was chief engineer. The boys
of No. 2 were proud of their new engine. It was made in Montreal by the Perry
Brothers, and cost about $1,000. The Grand Trunk and the Great Western railway
companies made a large reduction in the freight charges, as the engine was
mainly bought by the individual subscriptions of the members, the insurance
companies giving a little help. Hamilton was poor in those days, 1857 being the
year of the panic, and the city treasury was very low in funds. Talk about
overdrafts! In amount, the overdrafts of the present day are modest when
compared with then. The city was then arranging to begin the construction of
the waterworks and the city fathers did not want to invest money in fire
engines when they expected that the pressure of the waterworks would throw a
stream over the highest building in the city, which at that time was not over
three stories in height. It was a great day when they brought the new engine up
from the depot. The company engaged the artillery band, and invited the chief
engineer and the officers of the department to join them in the parade. The
engine was given its first test down at the Great Western docks, which was
rather a failure on account of some defect in the plungers, but one of the
Perrys came with the engine, and in a day or two, he repaired the plunger. They
were a proud lot, as the company came marching up James street to the Gore,
with the band and the department officers in the lead. Joseph Hoodless, who was
captain of No. 1 company, was as proud of the new Cataract as if it belonged to
his own company, and in his hearty and homely way, he complimented Captain
Campbell and the officers of No. 2 for their enterprise in bringing such a
handsome engine to the city, and especially because it was made in Canada. The
city had bought for No. 3 company a new engine from Rochester, N. Y., and even
in those days there was a feeling among manufacturers of Hamilton that Canadians
should have the preference, all things being equal. That was in the old days of
free trade, when Canada bought everything in the United States and the old
country, and Canadian workmen chewed the bitter cud of idleness. Even in those
long ago days, Joseph Hoodless was learning the lesson of protection for
Canadian manufacturers, but it took twenty years before the protection plank
was nailed on the political platform.
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Of the more than one hundred members
of the company who were on parade that day, only twelve are now living in
Hamilton, and it is reasonable to presume that a large majority of the others
have answered the last roll call. The survivors are : Joseph Kneeshaw, Richard
Butler, Charles Smith, W. J. McAllister, George LeRiche, William Dicker, Thomas
Mead, Wm. Gilmour, Robert Christie, Wm. McClelland, Wm. Syme and Colonel
Stoneman who was the company’s torch
boy. No. 2 company was organized about
the year 1851 by members of the Sons of Temperance, and no one was admitted to
membership unless he was a total abstainer from alcoholic liquors, and in its
ranks were many of the leading businessmen of the city. Indeed, it was
considered to be somewhat of an honor to be enrolled as a member. For the first
three or four years, no one could be elected as an officer who was not a member
of the church and, as a general thing, they had to be Methodists. Thomas C.
Watkins, Alexander Hamilton, Robert Kneeshaw and William a. Shephard were among
the leaders and when the company began to admit boys who were not of the church
– but they had to be total abstainers – the four gentlemen named were placed on
the roll of honorary members. Of the old boys, many drifted out of Hamilton
during the next two or three years after the panic in 1857 and when the civil
war opened in the United States, there enlisted in the ranks of the Union army,
a number of members of the old Cataract No. 2 Captain Alexander J. Campbell was
in business in the city of St. Louis in ’61 and served through till the close
of the war. He died a few years ago in the city of Boston. His wife is now
living with a daughter in Indianapolis, and is drawing a pension of $12 a
month. The others enlisted in different states, and so far as the Muser knows,
have long since mustered out.
Tom Grey, better known as “The Dodger,”
was then manager of the Times newspaper and a member of the city council. Tom’s
great ambition was to be re-elected chief of the fire department, a position he
had held some years before, but the members of the department would not have
him. Hugh Boyd was their choice for he had been chief the year before, having
succeeded Sam Sawyer. As a member of the
fire and water committee of the council, Tom Grey succeeded in getting a bylaw
passed giving council the power to elect a chief for the fire department and
thus Tom gained the coveted prize. The next day, after the council had elected
the chief, the department held a meeting in the Mechanics’ hall, and the
speakers gave the council all that was coming to it for its interference. It
was then decided by a unanimous vote to disband, and each company went to its
own engine house, drew the apparatus up to the market square and backed it up
against the curb at the side of the old city hall. With three cheers and a
tiger, the boys disbanded forever. Very few, if any of them, joined the new
department under Tom Grey. At the time of the reunion of the old boys in
Hamilton in 1903, an effort was made to organize the old volunteer firemen to
take part in the parade. About half a dozen of the members of No. 2, and one
here and there from the other companies in the sixties, making it about fifteen
who responded. They all made quite a creditable turnout, and with the old-time
hand fire engine made one of the features of the parade. An ancient fire engine
of Moses and Robert Raw was bought by Chief Aitchison and Assessment Commissioner
John Hall, and this has been preserved as a souvenir of the department that was
organized in the forties. One afternoon, during the carnival, Chief Aitchison
invited a few of the men who belonged before 1855 to have their pictures taken
with the old engine, and the following responded : Joshua Phillips, Reese
Evans, Moses and Robert Raw, Charles r. Hunt, Charles Hardy, Joseph Kneeshaw
and Richard Butler. Two of that small number have passed away since that noted
carnival day. When an old dreamer gets started telling the story of ancient
days in Hamilton, he is apt to forget that it may not be as interesting to the
present generation of readers as it is to him and those who lived in this dear
old city away back fifty and sixty years ago. But we will bring this story to a
close by wishing all readers of these Musings a merry Christmas.
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