the failure of the rebellions, both of the leaders had evaded capture in spite of the enormous rewards offered and had fled to the United States. Papineau seemed to have melted into nowhere, but the mad little Scot, Mackenzie, had set himself up on Navy Island, just above Niagara Falls, proclaiming himself the head of “a new republic.” American agitators had been quick to supply him with food, arms, and men.
“I shouted hurrah when our soldiers seized The Caroline and sent her plunging over the falls,” Mrs. Varney said. “That’ll starve the rebel out.”
The Caroline was the ship loaded with provisions that had been plying its way from the American shore to Navy Island. In a daring raid, British troops had fired her and then set her adrift, to howls of outrage from the Americans, who claimed that since the seizure had taken place in their territory, their sovereignty had been impinged, and that reprisals were called for. Simms had with him a copy of the newspaper from Cobourg detailing the latest events, and he was happy to share it. Someone had written a poem to commemorate the destruction of The Caroline and the paper had printed it. Mr. Varney insisted on reading parts of it aloud:
“And that the very gallant act Of Captain Andrew Drew, Whose name must be immortalized — Likewise his daring crew.”
“Whatever would we do without brave young men like Captain Drew?” Mrs. Varney exclaimed, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. “My goodness me, we’d be at the mercy of the rebels!”
These fine sentiments were lost on Lewis, as the name Drew meant nothing to him. Still, he supposed it was a victory of sorts for British troops and should therefore be lauded.
“Listen to this, Mother.” Varney chuckled as he went on:
“The captain and his gallant crew, Whose names I wot not all, From Schlosser cut the steamboat out, And sent her o’er the Fall. Oh then the Yankees stormed outright, And spoke of reparation. A mighty flame then rose through this Tobacco-chewing nation.”
“Hee, hee, hee,” Varney wheezed. “Tobacco-chewing nation, that’s a good one, isn’t it now?”
“Well, that will put paid to all Mackenzie’s nonsense,” Mrs. Varney said. “Fancy the Americans helping such a rogue.”
Lewis declined to comment on the affair and discounted the Varneys’ statements. Now that the rebellion had failed, everyone claimed to be an ardent supporter of the status quo, and there was nary a person around who would own up to being a Reformer.
“Britain is sending a new man out to investigate what’s going on. They say he’ll hang everybody,” Simms reported.
“Serves them right,” Mrs. Varney said.
Lewis waited patiently during a protracted discussion of just what the new governor might or might not do, and whether or not the Americans really meant to invade Canada again, until it appeared that Simms’s news was exhausted. When it seemed that nothing further could be added to the rumour mill, he gently turned the conversation back to matters of the church.
The Varneys, their tongues loosened by temporal gossip, happily filled him in regarding the spiritual state of the neighbourhood, detailing who could be counted on to support him and ease him into a new place. Mrs. Varney was quick to regale him with the personal details of everyone they discussed. He was beginning to realize that she was that most reprehensible of creatures, the village gossip, but decided that for the moment the failing could be useful. The people she described seemed to be solid, respectable citizens, and she spoke of an encouraging group of young people who regularly attended meetings.
He wanted to ask her about the girl with the chestnut hair —to inquire as to who she was, and whether or not she was a Methodist. But then he realized how unseemly his questions would sound. A man of forty asking after a young girl like that might be taken the wrong way.
“We are fortunate to have two artists in our ranks,” Mrs. Varney informed him. “The Caddick brothers. One of them paints miniatures and will do a portrait for you in a minute. The other is more interested in scenery. Both of them can write the entire Lord’s Prayer on the head of a pin. It’s most amazing.”
Lewis’s mind had been drifting and he had only been half-listening to the prattle, but with mention of the pins, he started, nearly spilling his tea. He had seen just such a pin once before — nestled in the folds of his dead daughter’s bodice! At the time he had wondered at the novelty of it, but with so much else to contend with, he never expected to discover where it had come from.
“The Caddicks really are gaining a reputation, thanks in part to Mr. Simms here,” Mrs. Varney continued.
Simms nodded. “Aye, it’s astounding how well those little pins sell. Occasionally the Caddicks sell one of their paintings in town, but it’s those pins the people in the backcountry like.”
Lewis was told that the older Caddick brother, Benjamin, peddled these artistic wares along the front, in the settled areas. But in an attempt to broaden the market, the brothers had apparently commissioned Simms to take some of their stock as well. The younger boy, Willett, went out occasionally, but according to Varney he hadn’t the personality of his brother and more often stayed at home to work in their father’s tannery.
“Old man Caddick is quite put out at all their nonsense,” Mrs. Varney said. “He’d much prefer it if they just stayed at home and helped him with the business. But you know young men. If there’s an excuse to go gallivanting, they’ll seize it and off they’ll go. I must say, they’re quite nice young men and seem quite steady in spite of all the painting. I expect you’ll see them at meetings. They come quite often. You’ll find that around here the young people seem to like the Methodist meetings best.”
As soon as his wife paused for a breath, Mr. Varney jumped in. “Aye, there are good Methodist families here you can rely on. There are a lot of newcomers in the area, as well. Of course, one can never be sure how they lean, but I would expect a few of them to swing our way. They may still call the place Sodom, but we’re doing our best to change that.”
At that moment, the shop door opened, and two older women came in, shortly followed by a younger woman with a small boy in tow. Separate class meetings were held for women and men, with the women’s most often held during the day, and the men’s in the evenings, after their day’s labour was done. Simms rose and nodded to Lewis. “Good to see you, sir. I’ll get out of your way now.”
“Will you be coming to the men’s meeting tonight?” Lewis asked.
Simms smiled. “Sorry, Preacher. I’m heading north from here.”
Mrs. Varney disappeared into what Lewis assumed was the kitchen to get extra chairs as more women arrived. They all settled down with expectant looks.
“We’re so pleased to have a minister from the Methodist Episcopals again,” one of them said. “The Wesleyans never made us feel welcome.”
The women all seemed quite sincere in their beliefs and joined in the spirit of the gathering enthusiastically. Lewis made an effort to speak to each of them individually, although he was certain that it would take him some time to remember all their names.
Afterward, he took his supper with the Varneys, and the welcome he received at the afternoon meeting was repeated at the evening one. In spite of the strange beginning to his visit, he was well satisfied with his reception in the village of Demorestville, and looked forward to returning.
The
