Five
Hundred American Sympathisers, With Several Pieces Of Cannon, Under Cover
Of Darkness, On A Lovely Night In May, Landed At This Place.
Soon after,
they were attacked by a party of English regulars and militiamen, who
drove them into a windmill and two strong stone houses, which they
loopholed, and defended themselves with a pertinacity which one would have
called heroism, had it been in a better cause.
They finally surrendered,
and were carried prisoners to Kingston, where six of them were hanged.
Their leader, a military adventurer, a Pole of the name of Von Schoultz,
was the first to be executed. He fought with a skill and bravery worthy of
the nation from whence he sprung, and died without complaint, except of
those who had enticed him to fight for a godless cause, under the name of
liberty. Brighter days have since dawned upon Canada, and at this time the
most discontented can scarcely find the shadow of a grievance to lay hold
of.
As an instance of the way in which the utilitarian essentials of a high
state of civilisation are diffused throughout Canada, I may mention that
when we arrived at Cornwall I was able to telegraph to Kingston for my
lost watch, and received a satisfactory answer in half an hour.
After sailing down this mighty river at a rapid rate for some hours, we
ran the Galouse Rapids. Running the rapids is a favourite, and, I must
add, a charming diversion of adventurous travellers.
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