1883 - July - 4

Late in the evening of July 16, 1883, letters were sent by Police Chief A. D. Stewart to each member of the Hamilton Police Commission : Mayor Magill, Judge Sinclair and Police Magistrate James Cahill :
          “The instructions that the messengers who had delivery of these letters got were : ‘They must be delivered tonight!’ A reporter strolling homeward casually heard of the circumstance, and he set to work to find out why these notes had been written when the surprising fact was revealed that they had been issued to call a meeting of the police commissioners at 6:30 this morning.”^1
1 “Trouble in the Force : The Policemen Declare That They Will Not Strike”
          Hamilton Spectator. July 17, 1883
          After the three police commissioners had huddled together with Chief Stewart, they all proceeded to the King William street police station where all the city’s policemen had been summoned:
          “It was a regular gathering of the clans. Such a crowd of blue-uniformed, white-helmeted men has not been seen together in Hamilton for many a day. They were all there from the genial and gigantic P.C. Watson down to the smallest man on the force, all but P.C. Fenton who is out of town on holidays.”¹
                Mayor Magill opened the meeting and said that the object of calling the men together was to speak to them about the following letter which he had received :
          “Hamilton, July 16, - To Chas. Magill, Esq.
          Mayor – Sir : There is going to be a strike in the police force for more pay. It is the intention of the men not to go on duty Wednesday, the 18^th. Avoid strike, if possible.
          Yours, etc.
          CITIZEN.”¹
                The mayor said that the other commissioners had received similar letters. The commissioners wanted to know who had sent the letters and whether there was any truth to the suggested possibility of a strike:
          “He waited a couple of minutes for a reply. None came. The men stood there, silent, grim; some faces wearing a half-laughing expression. The silence grew most oppressive. The lonely reporter wished for company in his box. None came. In the silence, he winked across the room at a detective. The detective caught it on the fly and wafted a kiss on his fingertips to the solitary rep.
          “Finally, the mayor broke the silence.
          “ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘we’ll go about it in another way. Constable Ferris, do you intend striking tomorrow?’
          “Old Peter, rugged, stern, weather-beaten, the veteran of the force, looked up, stately dignified, uncompromising, smiled grimly and answered firmly. “Oi do not, sur.’ And so it went on. When P.c. Knox was asked, he replied, ‘I don’t intend to strike, your worship.’
          “The mayor (springing up excitedly) : ‘Then this is a foul forgery, and I would like to have the man here who is the author of it,’ with which he picked up the letter and tossed it viciously on the desk.”¹
                At length the matter seemed to be settled as every man denied writing the letter and denied that they had any 8intention of striking:
          “Presently, the mayor said : ‘Well, I am glad for your own sakes that5 the matter has ended this way. All I can say of you is that I know you are a number of good, reliable men who attend well to their duty.
          “Judge Sinclair – ‘By your conduct this morning, men, you have done more to establish  your good name and credit with the commissioners and the people of Hamilton, than anything that has been done by you for a long time. It would have been particularly unfortunate had you struck, and especially on such a day as tomorrow. But we wanted to know what you were going to do so that we might know what to do too. If you had intended striking, we wanted to get men in your places as soon as possible. Now I will say this to you in the matter of increase of pay. Send a deputation to the commissioners, and we will talk the matter over again. It struck us the amount asked for was somewhat excessive, but you come to us and related your grievances and your side of the story and you will not find us hard to deal with. As far as I personally am concerned and, I am sure, as far as my brother commissioners are concerned, there is nothing but great, good feeling and the heartiest of good will towards all the members of the Hamilton police force.”¹
                After a little trivial talk, the commissioners rose, and the meeting was adjourned.

1883 - July - 3

At 4 p.m., Wednesday, July 11, 1883, a meeting of the Hamilton Police Commissioners was held with the matter of policemen’s salary being the main topic for discussion.
          Wentworth County Court Judge Sinclair, once again, led the opposition to any pay increase for Hamilton policemen.
          The following morning, an interview between a Spectator reporter and a disgruntled member of the Hamilton Police force took place :
          “ ‘Yes, Sir, we want more pay, and we’re going to have it too,’ said a policeman to a reporter this morning. ‘If we don’t get it, and right smart, there’s going to be trouble.’
          “ ‘Trouble? In what way?’
          “ ‘Well, I’ll tell you in just what way. There are many of us that will leave, just as Leslie Wright left yesterday. If we don’t leave, we’ll strike – that is, will refuse to go on duty unless the increase is granted us. Now, look at this thing in a right light. Judge Sinclair says we got paid $600 a year; get paid for Sundays, and in rain or shine it goes on all the same. One day is just the same as another to us. Our hours are long, our work terribly wearying and often very dangerous. We never know when we will have occasion to risk our lives when it necessary to do so. And when we are hurt in doing our duty in duty, what do we get for it? Not even a ‘thank you’ or a sympathetic ‘poor fellow!’ No sir, nothing but a gruff, ‘Why didn’t you look out for yourself better?’ Then there’s another thing. When we get hurt in doing our duty, so that we are unable to work, our pay is stopped. Don’t you think that a downright shame? Supposing you risked your life to save your employer’s or to do him a great service, and you got hurt badly through that you could not work. Do you suppose that he would stop you pay? Not at all. He would only be too glad of the chance to show his gratitude by assisting you all he could. Well, we are employed by the public; but what recompense do we get for risking our lives for it? Of course, I know it’s different with us; we are sworn in to do this, and it is our duty to do it, and there is no man in Hamilton that can say we don’t do it well and faithfully; but we are human; we are are men and deserve to be treated better than as if we were so many dogs. Judge Sinclair says we get as much as many mechanics. Maybe we do, but we have to work everyday in the year, and our hours are longer than the average mechanic’s. Take up that matter of getting hurt again. Say I get my skull broken. Very well, I am sent to the hospital. Very kind of the city, isn’t it? But what’s to become of my wife and children? How are they to live? They pay me starvation wages and I can’t save a cent.; more than that, I can’t live at all comfortably on my salary. And when I get hurt, I’m sent to the hospital while my wife and little ones starve. Hamilton is a fine, noble Christian city; but it’s fitness, its nobility and its Christianity never reach poor fellows like us.” ^1
1 “They Want More Pay : The Policemen and Their Many Grievances”

Hamilton Spectator July 12, 1883.

On Monday, July 16, 1883, a report in the Spectator appeared concerning the difficulties that member of the Hamilton Bicycle Club were encountering while cycling on the eastern outskirts of the city.

One of the more popular runs of the local club was the trip to Stoney Creek and back. However riders on this trip had become a frequent targets of troublemakers in the area of the village of Bartonville:

“The young men at Bartonville have placed obstacles on the road. They have even gone so far at times as to paste the flying wheelmen with consumptive eggs. Patience at last ceased to be a virtue and the wheelmen complained to the authorities.”²

² “A Bad Gang”  Hamilton Spectator. July 16, 1883

On Saturday July 14, 1883, County Constables McNair and Bell went to Bartonville to investigate the matter raising by the bicyclists. They came upon three boys in the act of erecting an 8 inch stone barricade across the road near the No. 1 Toll Gate.

One boys saw the policemen coming and managed to escape, but the other two were collared and charged:

“The boys have been put up to do this by the young men who seemingly were afraid to do it themselves. The Hamilton wheelmen  were expected to make a club run Saturday evening which is why the barricade was erected. They did go to the Creek, but went around by the Beach.

“It is time this sort of thing was put a stop to and the juvenile offenders will probably be severely dealt with. It is a pretty serious offense to obstruct a public highway maliciously, that is to say with the intention of inflicting bodily injury on anybody”²

1883 - July - 2

At an early hour, Tuesday, July 2, 1883, a large number of people assembled in the vicinity of the Hamilton’s Central Fire Station. The attraction was the introduction of the fire department’s recently purchased engine to the general public.
          About 10:30, the engine was wheeled out and taken to the vicinity of King and John streets, where it would undergo some testing :
          “At 10:43, the light was applied to the furnace. In 3 minutes, the steam rose to 10 lbs., 4 ½ minutes 30 lbs., 5 minutes, 40 lbs., 5 ½ minutes, 50 lbs. At this time, the water was turned on, and the engine set in motion, and at 6 minutes, a stream was sent through 150 feet of hose and a 1 ½ inch nozzle over Sanford, Vail and Co.’s building. The stream rose gradually and went over the college flag staff in 9 minutes.”^1
1 “The New Fire Engine : Shows the Citizens What It can Do in Throwing Water.”   Hamilton Spectator. July 3, 1883
          Various other tests and comparisons with water pressure were undertaken, and the engine performed to most everyone’s satisfaction. However, a strong wind was blowing during the engine’s trial, taking away somewhat the force of the water.
          Alderman McKay kept a close record of the engine’s performance and indicated that he was perfectly satisfied. Another alderman, who did not wish to be identified, felt that the engine should be returned to the company that made it.
          D. B. Collier, a representative of the manufacturer of the engine felt that it had not been given a fair test because of the wind and because the nozzles on the hoses were so old that they were bent and out of order. Mr. Collier declared that further tests were required.
          On Wednesday afternoon, July 4, 1883, citizens in the Hamilton area were enjoying beautiful summer weather. A reporter for the Hamilton Spectator decided to travel west along the Hamilton and Dundas Street Railway and pay a visit to the Valley City.
          Conductor George Ball, in charge of the train, was particularly congenial towards a crowd of young folks who had a car all to themselves as they travelled to Ainslie’s Woods for a picnic.
          There was some inconvenience on the journey as the recent heavy rains had washed out part of the line. The ladies, especially, were not too pleased to have to change cars and walk over railway ties which had been laid over a washed-out embankment.
          The journey was nearly completed with the train entering the Dundas town limits when Conductor Bell quickly jammed on the brakes, and the engineer blew the whistle :
          “The reporter, who was taking his ease on a bench, jumped like lightning to his feet prepared for a smashup and a first-class item, but George got the train stopped just in time to escape running into a cow which walked lazily across the track as if it didn’t matter whether the car struck her or not.
          “But, as George said, ‘If the car had struck her, it would have been bad for the coo.’ And possibly it might had been bad for the train too. Chief Fitzgerald might read the bylaw concerning the prevention of cattle running at large.”¹
                One of the reporter’s purposes in going to Dundas was to inspect the progress of the construction of the town’s waterworks reservoir.
          Excavated into a hillside near the Grand Trunk railway station, the reservoir was to be spring fed and have a capacity of 1,000,000 gallons:
          “The toiling scribe had just reached the top of the hill, near the reservoir, when a terrific thunderstorm came on, and lifting his eyes, he beheld a dozen workmen making lively time getting out of the excavation and running to the friendly shelter of a bridge and shed nearby.
          “The reporter joined them and enjoyed their conversation for about half an hour. It did not seem to be very hard to convince them that they could do no more work that afternoon, so the scribe was inclined to think, but after he had walked over to the reservoir in the rain, and lifted about three pounds of clay on his boots, he made up his mind that he, for one, wouldn’t care to wheel a barrow around that reservoir to any extent at that time.”¹
                Heading back down the hill, the Spectator representative passed the paper mill of John Fisher and Sons, which he noted seemed to be doing a fine business utilizing both steam and water power.
          Back on King street in the business district of Dunas, the reporter to note of the town’s use of asphalt pavement:
          “Hamiltonians are interested in pavements, and walks, for the wooden sidewalks there are bad enough in all conscience. They may be pleased to know that the people of Dundas are delighted with asphalt sidewalks, and intend to replace the rotten wooden sidewalks they now have, as fast as they decay, with asphalt.¹

1883 - July - 1

“ ‘What kind of weather are we going to have tomorrow?,’ almost everybody queried Sunday night. ‘It looks bad and I’m very much afraid there won’t be much enjoyment for us on Dominion day.’ So everybody said and even reporters, those quiet but indispensable members of Bohemian and indeed of every other society, who usually permit themselves to speculate but little in weather possibilities and the like, on this occasion indulged in a few querying remarks on the probabilities for the next day.”^1
1 “Our National Holiday : How It was Observed in Hamilton and Vicinity”  
          Hamilton Spectator July 2, 1883.
          Despite worries about the weather prospects on the eve of Dominion day, 1883, there seemed to be less concern as the day began:
          “Dominion day dawned brightly. Away down on the eastern horizon, the sun came smiling up, kissing the hills and tree tops, shining brightly on the church steeples and throwing a veil of glinting, glimmering gold over the waters of lake and bay. A light breeze was blowing and though the sun shone gaily, the weather looked somewhat unsettled and the many speculations of the previous night were repeated. The crowd commenced to throng the streets at an early hour, and on all sides anxious questionings, guessing as to the probable state of the wind and rain went on.”¹
                At 10 a.m., the four corners of the King and James street intersection were crowded, as many gathered to await the arrival of the 13^th Battalion band which was scheduled to leave from the downtown core and march west to Dundurn park:
          “Small boys were there by the scores. They ran around amongst the crowd and sprawled over the grass in the Gore, an example which was followed by a number of young men. Gay girls and pleased-looking swains walked around arm in arm. The prospects seemed good for an enjoyable day, though ominous storm clouds flecked the sky.”¹
                Shortly after 10 o’clock, the band started for Dundurn, leading a procession of holidaymakers, including “Indian lacrosse players, making, in their picturesque costumes, a marked contrast to the civilized white man and his modern dress.”¹
                At Dundurn, there was an exhibition baseball match between the Baysides of Hamilton and the Burlingtons, with the former winning 7 to 6. In another section of the beautiful grounds, a lacrosse match was played between two junior clubs, the Actives, of Hamilton, and the Beavers of Brantford. The much-dreaded rains came during the game, and after 1 hour and 10 minutes of play, the game was called with the score tied.
          In the meantime, the 13^th Battalion band had gone back downtown to meet the soldiers of the battalion and then marched back to Dundurn arriving en masse about 11:30 a.m.:
          “After a short drill, they drew up in a double line, facing the bay, and at noon fired the feu de joie, which, as a feu de joie, was not a success (the men probably being nervous), but sounded much more like a volley. After this showing of how not to fire a few de joie, the men were dismissed for  lunch, which was spread in a tent in the stable yard.

“Now was the time for the crowd to scatter. A rain storm had come up, and right and left, the spectators went scurrying across the grounds seeking shelter under adjacent trees. But the storm soon blew over, and the rain served only to lay the dust.”¹

After lunch, the 13^th band was again sent back downtown so that it could lead a crowd to Dundurn :

“By this time, the park was getting well-filled, and before the afternoon wore away, an immense crowd had gathered. Gay dresses and bonnets swarmed around the park, forming vivid contrasts with the green sward and foiiage.”¹

On the east side of the grounds, the militiamen of the 13^th Battalion gathered for a tug-of-war between the members of companies No. 2 and No. 3. After this, Mayor Magill spoke briefly to the men and the crowd which had gathered to watch the contest. The mayor took the opportunity to introduce Mr. Hazelton, the newly-arrived United States consul recently appointed to the Hamilton office.

Mr. Hazelton addressed the crowd, saying that he was gratified by his reception to Hamilton, and that he hoped he would always continue to be on friendly terms with those who lived in Hamilton. The band capped off the ceremony with a stirring rendition of Yankee Doodle.

A 100 yard race open to all members of the battalion followed, and later a marching drill was executed:

          “The grounds at this time presented a very picturesque appearance. The soldiers in their bright helmets on which the sunbeams fell marched around, making a glittering scene.”¹
                In the evening, the grounds at Dundurn were once again packed to capacity with humanity. The crowd was attracted by a varied programme which had been arranged:
          “On the stage, the Indians gave a concert and performed some of their native dances, which nothing more uncouth can well be imagined. There is no poetry of motion in Indian dancing. It resembles more than anything the pith figures put on piano tops that jump around when a key is struck. A vast sea of upturned faces looked from the seats in front on this part of the show. On the dancing platform nearby, our more familiar waltzes, quadrilles, etc., were being turned out one after the other in good style. One young woman, who was in a street car when a reporter rode down, said, ‘Oh, Jennie, my feet is near wore off me; I was up in every dance’ – a little speech which illustrates the remarkable hold that the art of tripping the light fantastic has upon the young people.
          “In another part of the ground, the 13^th band was playing as only it can play and “Oh, what beautiful music!’ ‘Say, ain’t it lovely, eh?’ and kindred expressions were heard on all sides.
          “The fireworks were good, and the irrepressible small boy who was present in bulk, testified his approval of the colored lights that ‘bloomed awhile in gaudy glory, then drooped to fade and die away,’ by loud ‘hi yi’s’ and other forcible expressions of that ilk.”¹
                Dominion day 1883, in Hamilton was a memorable holiday. The Irish Benevolent Society which organized the day’s events at Dundurn as a fund-raiser was rumored to have cleared between $1,000 and $1,500.