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.

1883 - June - 3

        A visitor to Hamilton in June 1883, identified only as Mr. Trevellick, visited Hamilton and was given a tour of the city. He later spoke with a Spectator reporter and a portion of the conversation follows :
          “ ‘I drove today with one of your aldermen,’ said Mr. Trevellick last night, ‘to the top of the mountain, and though I have visited many cities in both the old and new worlds, I never saw such a beautiful and grand panorama of lovely nature as was unfolded to my eyes today from your mountain top. But I can’t see why your people have such glorious surroundings should allow their streets to be in the abominably dirty and disgraceful condition that they are in today. Although the surroundings are beautiful, you cannot be happy with them, for our happiness depends not only on the use of things, but where to use them and how to use them, and you do not use your surroundings right or you would have your streets harmonize with them.”¹

¹ “Hamilton and Its Streets : What Mr. Trevellick Thinks After a Tramp Around Town and a Visit to the Mountain Top.”

Hamilton Spectator.  June 27, 1883

On Wednesday June 27, 1883, the Spectator published an extensive history of the strip of land known as the Beach Strip.

The article focused on the period from 1823 to 1883 :

“The beach in 1823 was the same narrow strip of land that now divides Lake Ontario from Burlington Bay; but, it was then covered by low scrubby oak and undergrowth, the only path through which was an Indian trail leading to the camps of the Six Nations Indians, which were pitched at different points along the beach. The vicinity of the bay was then swarming with game of all kinds, and it was no trouble for a man to go out before breakfast and procure enough game to last for several weeks. At that time, there was no white inhabitant at the beach, and in Hamilton itself, there were only three brick houses built.”²

² “Burlington Beach : A Few Interesting Facts in Its History”

Hamilton Spectator.  June 27, 1883.

Around 1823, a number of fishermen, emigrating from Nova Scotia, took up settlement on the beach strip, including the Dynes, Shabaneaugh, Corey and Fish families. In the early 1820s, it was necessary for area residents to go to York (Toronto) to get their corn ground:

“As this was a great inconvenience, John Dynes procured a grant of land from the Government on the promise that he would establish a mill to grind corn for the neighbors, which he continued to do for many years.”²

Also, early in the 1820s, there was no connection between the lake and the bay, except for a small outlet which dried up in the summer. All freight destined to Hamilton on lake freighters had to be landed at the Beach, carried across the strip of land, and then taken across the bay in scows.

In 1829, a five year project to construct a canal across the Beach strip was begun:

“That canal was 22 feet wide, 500 yards long and 8 feet deep, and it was provided with a wooden swing bridge for the accommodation of foot passengers and vehicles, but as this bridge was only a few feet above the water line, it was carried away one night on the decks of a small schooner and deposited in the bay. After this accident, a ferry was provided, and a man procured to run it across the canal for the convenience of the fishermen.”²

The ferry was first operated by Captain Thompson who ran it for 18 years at a salary of $600 a year, paid by the Marine and Fisheries and Inland Revenue departments. As the ferry did not average more than one trip per month, it was quite easy for one man to carry all the responsibilities of both ferryman and lighthouse keeper.

In 1844, the canal was enlarged and the piers were rebuilt, making the canal 170 feet wide at the lake entrance and 126 feet wide at the bayside, with a total length of 100 yards. The depth of the canal varied between 18 and 25 feet, except for an obstruction, a sandbar running across the channel which was only 12 feet 9 inches below the surface.

By 1852, the traffic across the canal was up to an average of five vehicles a day, necessitating the hiring of a ferryman who was paid out of the lighthouse keeper’s salary.

In 1877, the Dominion government leased the beach property to the city of Hamilton for a summer resort. The Beach road was then clayed and graveled. Then the Hamilton and Northwestern railway was laid across the strip of land, making it convenient for city residents to reach the area.

Summer residences began to be constructed :

“Within the last three years, 1880-1883, 78 beautiful summer residences have been built within a quarter mile from the canal, the ferry has been run from daylight to dark, the two lighthouses have been attended to with the strictest regularity, and the whole of the Government property is being well looked after and is in good condition.”²

“ ‘If this rain don’t stop right smart,’ said a reporter going home about 12:30 last night to a policeman, who was keeping out of the rain from a veranda on John street, ‘there’s going to be some fun before morning.’ The scribe’s prophecy was right. There was some fun before morning.”³

³ “Rain on the Rampage : Wednesday Night’s Storm and the Disasters It Caused”   Hamilton Spectator. June 28, 1883

The heavy rainfall of Wednesday, June 27, 1883 began about 7 p.m. and kept increasing in severity as the night progressed.

The main problem caused by the vast amount rainfall occurred in the southwestern portion of the city where the water running down from the mountain caused considerable flooding. Damage was extensive to many properties in the area.

Around 1877 or 1878, a pipe drain had been built on the mountain top by the city authorities. It’s purpose was to accommodate any heavy overflow in severe rain events, overflows which had regularly flooded the cellars of many homes near the escarpment.

Early in 1883, part of the earthwork under the drain had given away, and the matter had not been repaired by the city.

Water which should have been running through the drain was simply spreading over the fields :

“Wednesday night’s heavy rain filled the drain almost to overflowing, but the water soon found an outlet in this hole, and came rushing across the fields in a small stream at first, but gradually increasing in volume until a perfect torrent wound its way along. The course of this stream was in a zig-zagy direction, but it finally reached the barn of the Mountain View hotel, poured over the stone edge by it, came around in front of the barn and into a large pond that has been dug out in Jocelyn’s quarry.”³

As the water filled the pond, it bypassed a drain which formerly used to handle the overflow. The water rushed down the road in that vicinity in a great torrent towards the toll gate and the John street steps ending up near an embankment where it went over the edge with a roar:

“As an eye-witness said to a reporter this morning, it looked like a miniature Niagara Fall. For fully 60 feet along the side, it poured over in a perfect torrent. In a few minutes, the steps looked as if they had been struck by lightning. Some of them went sailing down John street.”³

Below the mountain brow, the rampaging torrent of water caused great damage, particularly to a house owned by Mr. E. Brown, where two immense gullies were carved out:

“These gullies are about fifty feet apart, and both are fully 30 feet deep. The water rushed down through the yard and around the house creating great destruction as it went. Stone fences were thrown down, the yards flooded and the gravel paths swept of their gravel. The cellar is flooded with water. Near the coach house a small shanty stood that was swept away. All around the premises, the ravages are fearful to look at. Huge stones were carried along and deposited in heaps around. Immediately at the back of the premises, a deep gully was cut, through which the water poured down with frightful velocity.”³

After damaging the grounds of Arkledun, the stream split in two, part of it headed towards James street through the property of Mrs. McLaren’s home, Oakbank, causing great damage. The other part of the stream headed straight down John street :

“Great pieces of stone were whirled around here and flung along the roadside. All the flotsam and jetsam of a sea shore are strewn along here. Planks from sidewalks, fences and wood from the John street steps are scattered along.”³

Farther down John street, the torrent of water caused much havoc:

“Probably the first place flooded on John street was the little frame house occupied by Jimmy Hiscox, the chimney sweep. Jimmy’s sign still hangs out there. But the house is empty. It is a wretched little place. Here the water fairly poured in. All down the street, houses were flooded and cellars filled. Drains choked up and the water kept flowing down, utilizing every available outlet. A woman living above the wood market had a hen sitting on some eggs in her cellar. This morning she found both hen and eggs floating around in several feet of water.”³

Where the great stream of water went after it reached Main street, nobody could find out:

“Probably with its bulk reduced through frequent splitting, and by failing into the drains, it gradually died away.”³