171 years ago on December 7, 1837, William Lyon MacKenzie led a group of farmers and other malcontents down Yonge Street with the intention of overthrowing the rule of the governor.
As the snow outside my window falls, covering the ground with the lightest dusting of snow, I can almost picture them, braving the December cold and stamping their feet against the chill. Many of them had been sleeping outside since the 4th of December, there having been some confusion regarding the date. Those who gathered at Montgomery’s Tavern that day were not hardened soldiers, or even really malcontents. They were regular folk who had legitimate complaints about the way that they were governed. Of course, many of them would never have considered a rebellion without a powerful voice to convince them, and that voice was William Lyon MacKenzie’s. Through his newspaper, he had been agitating for change, and now his rhetoric had grown to a fever pitch. And then finally a date was set, and preparations began.
The would-be rebels would meet at Montgomery’s Tavern, a popular stop on the way to the Toronto Market, and from there march to the city gate and storm the armoury. The plan was: to take control of the armoury, confront the governor and force him to make changes towards democracy, or to remove him and take steps towards sovereignty.
Things started going awry, however, when the rebels began arriving at Montgomery’s tavern to find that Montgomery (who had agreed to provide food for the rebels) had sold the place to a man who was less than sympathetic to the rebels, and who had made no such agreement. Eventually, as more and more rebels arrived, the new owner of the tavern agreed to provide some food.
But there were other problems. One of the organizers, and the only person with military experience at the tavern, was shot through an act of duplicity from a Tory supporter who had been captured, and died a slow, loud and painful death at the tavern (with all the rebels listening outside). With the death of the only experienced soldier in attendance, many farmers began to leave. MacKenzie, it can be imagined applied his considerable gift for speech to an impassioned plea that kept some of the men in their places.
It seems though that the pressure was mounting on MacKenzie, and that began losing his grip on his sanity. Its said that he spent hours ranting, shouting and pacing around the tavern. Few men slept that night, due to his ravings. Was it the death of his friend that caused him to crack under the pressure? Or was it that the madness that drove him to publish his rants and editorials with such a frenzied passion demanded an outlet? Whatever the cause, when morning came, it was time to march.
And they marched down Yonge street. They marched from present day Yonge and Eglinton past the Bloor toll gate, and down to what is now Yonge and College. And this is where the rebellion ended.
It was not the rebels alone who had experienced a comedy of errors along the way to this moment. Rumours flew around the small city of Toronto about the possibility of a rebellion. The governor, Francis Bond Head refused to entertain the idea of such a thing. He had sent scouts North to check the rumoured gathering place of the rebels, but had not heard back. Sheriff Jarvis, however, was certain the rumours were true, and he pleaded with the governor to let him take action. Sir Francis was afraid of a panic, and so forbid Jarvis from doing anything.
Jarvis could not obey this order. He gathered some young men, deputized them on the spot and took them quietly towards the rebels. They hid in a cabbage patch at what is now Yonge and College.
As the rebels approached that fateful intersection, Jarvis and his deputies popped out of the cabbages and fired a volley. The rebel’s riflemen, trained by the late Captain Anderson fired back. Anderson had trained them well, their form was a perfect as non-soldiers could be: they had marched in two lines. The first line, when faced with that initial volley, returned fire and then knelt to reload. Alas, no one had bothered to inform the other rebels of how this would work. And when the first line knelt to reload, many of the farmers thought they had all been shot, and so they threw down their weapons and fled.
MacKenzie fled, and made his way on foot towards Niagara, where he and a few allies, set about attempting to organize a coup. It was over, even though William wouldn’t admit it. A short while later, the small group on Goat Island was forcibly disbanded and MacKenzie was exiled to the United States, lest he face death by hanging at home.
And with that, the rebellion was over.
