By the fall of 1837 tensions had risen among the patriots as it became clear that the pathway to reform could not be won with pen and paper. A meeting between ten Radical Reformers occurred at Hoggs Hollow, October 7.

The air in the room was thick despite the crisp night. “It has to happen tonight!” Spittle flew from William’s mouth, his eyes glowed with a strange passion, hair wild in the evening candlelight. “I am so sick of talking. It’s high time for action. You gentlemen know well what I’ve been up to. I’ve been throughout the countryside, and I tell you, the people are with us. The people feel it. They are just as sick of all the bureaucracy and red tape as we are, probably more. You should see the size of crowds at these rallies. Of course, the newspapers haven’t been honest. They claim dozens when really there were hundreds, even thousands. Take my word for it. We use Dutcher’s foundry-men and Armstrong’s axe makers and storm the government, seize it tonight, and they’ll answer the call for support. I’ve no doubt. They just need an opportunity.”

The men around the table shifted in their seats, unsure of how to respond, uncomfortable with the weight of William’s words.  

“Tonight?!” David Gibson, politician and public servant, squeaked, a look of panic on his face as he loosened his bowtie as though more air might help make sense of the passionate plan.

“Well, why not!? It would be the revolution we’ve all been dreaming of!” William strained to impress his enthusiasm into the skeptical faces staring back at him. “We need to make a show of how much support we really have. If we could just impress upon these aristocrats our solidarity, the strength or our common desire for true democracy, we stand a fighting chance.” William ran his hand through his thinning hair in frustration.

A silence followed, none willing to be the first to respond.

Finally, John Rolph, physician, lawyer, politician and undeclared leader of the group, cleared his throat. “Look, William, no one here is denying your passion, or the many hours you have devoted to the Cause. Why, I don’t know anyone who has given so much of their time these past months as you have in traveling the country, speaking, and writing. You have given so much to the Cause, and we,” John Rolph gestured to the men around the table, “could not be more grateful.” He stroked his long white beard methodically. “However, what you ask for tonight, well, it’s too much, too sudden.” He looked around the room for support, and several men nodded their heads in agreement. “More caution is needed, I feel. Perhaps more time to consider the fallout of such an uprising.”

“I’m not calling for violence! This is a war of ideas… us against the well-oiled British machine of bureaucracy.” William interrupted as he sensed the general consent with Rolph’s words. “It’d be a peaceful seizure. The time is perfect. They’ve sent all the soldiers to Lower Canada. They are worried the rebellion there will get out of hand. We could slip in with little or no resistance.” His gestures grew desperate. “Ugh! Think of your children men! Look around, we all have children, you have children, Rolph, I have fourteen, Jesse you have what,10? Samuel you have seven…we need to think of what this country will look like for them if we don’t seize the opportunity we have now!”

“All the same,” Rolph rested his folded hands on his ample stomach, “I think we would all benefit from some time to reflect.” William slumped into his chair in defeat. “I didn’t say we should do nothing,” Rolph responded to William’s disgust. “I just urge caution. And perhaps more time planning.”

“Iss time for action.” Jesse Lloyd pushed his long thin grey hair from his face, his words distorted from a lack of teeth. “At the least we can boycott the imports they make money on. An ideal way to show we can operate on our own.” Murmurs of agreement were heard around the table.

“Support local, excellent idea. There is no denying this recession has done a number on the farming community.” Samuel Lount, blacksmith and farmer from Holland Landing, chimed in. “These men are at their wits’ end, what with the crop failures of the past two years, and now they face lawsuits as their debts are being called up. We are talking abject poverty.” Samuel allowed his words to sink in. “These are my people; I know their pain. The members of the Family Compact are so entitled they have not a clue where their food comes from, or the hard-working people who make this country run. We all know these oligarchs are behind this oppression. They are more than happy to take our money; they would just rather not have to hear or see us.” He shook his head in frustration. “These working folk are salt of the earth people. They need a voice. It is our job to give them that without allowing our own passions to blind our actions.” He studied the faces of the men around the table.

John Rolph nervously glanced about the room, sensing a shift of a mood. “Let’s agree to give it more thought. Perhaps if we could get some concrete numbers, to give a better feel of just how successful we can hope to be.” He chuckled nervously. “This could cost us all a great deal. We need to be sure it will succeed.”

The group dissolved into the dark night.

“I’m with you, William,” Jesse Lloyd, successful businessman, farmer and founder of Lloydtown, confided as he adjusted his homespun Quaker style jacket over his tall, stooped frame. “I’m happy to do what I can to help.”

William glanced at John Rolph as he shook hands with Jesse Lloyd. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Lloyd. I have a plan I can’t speak of here. In the meantime, I will do what I can to sway more to our cause.”

William turned to Samuel Lount. “Join me for a nightcap?” Their walk to William’s home was brisk in the cool air.

Entering the parlour, they were greeted by William’s mother, Elizabeth. “Well then, William.” Elizabeth rose from her chair by the fire. “I hope your night had better success than ours. We’ve had news from Montreal. They say the riots are getting worse. They try to intimidate, I’m afraid, William.”  

William helped his mother to the door. “Mother, the hour is late. Be of good courage. There are good men who are not afraid of doing what they must.”

Elizabeth pulled her shawl tight around her frail neck, her white hair forming a halo about her head. “We’ve come very far from the fields of Scotland, and these pigheaded tyrants remind me of the stubborn goats I used to herd. If only your father, rest his soul, was here to help. He died well before his time, in the prime of his life. You are his legacy, and I thank God you did not get his weak constitution. Regardless, he did not have the opportunities you’ve been given, William. We’ve worked very hard making this land our own. Too hard to give up easily. We need you, William. Be bold, my son. I have good faith that with God’s help you will restore what is right.” She gave the men a piercing stare, “we are counting on you William. Do not disappoint.” The men watched her ascend the stairs for a moment, her words echoing in their minds.

Alone in the room, William offered his guest a chair. “It wasn’t what I was hoping for, I’ll be honest, but I’d still say it was a success.” William poured two glasses of whiskey, offering one to Samuel. “What was your take on the evening?”

Samuel took the proffered glass and sipped tentatively. “I didn’t know what to expect, to be quite honest with you.” The two men recapped the evening events amid drinks and cigar smoke.

“C’mon man! You must agree what we have been doing has not been working. There’s so much corruption and hypocrisy. These Tories march to the beat of their own drums. When King William died in June, they should have dissolved the House. Pure and simple. That was the standard, but these oligarchs just go ahead and pass themselves another bill. How do we fight against that kind of blatant abuse of power? And the lies, I am by no means a religious man, but the lies are enough to make one sick.” William stood to top up his glass, offering more to Samuel who shook his head. “I have friends all over who tell me of the support we have. I was speaking with Samuel Chandler last week, you know him? He’s a wagoneer by the border, he tells me their group of vigilantes have begun military training sessions. I don’t condone violence but there is a practicality to knowing how to use a weapon that we have to acknowledge.”

“You forget I also lost my seat in the last election due to their questionable election practices. I’m just as invested as you are, William.” Samuel took a drag on his cigar. “If you can but promise me there will be no bloodshed, you would have my full support. I cannot support violence, and if you plan anything of the sort, I have no choice but to withdraw my support. It is my obligation to my country that convinces me I must stand with you, as my conscience allows. Do you think we have a chance?”

William considered Samuel’s words. “It’s Rolph I’m not sure of.” He sipped his drink. “The man is hard to get a good gauge of. He speaks out of both sides of his mouth I fear, but I have a plan to persuade him. If we get him, we get them all.” He stroked his chin. “John Rolph needs evidence… that’s exactly what I will get. Jesse Lloyd has offered his help; I’m planning to ask him to get a letter a from the leaders in Lower Canada where the rebellion is well underway.”

Samuel rose. “I best be off.” He paused at the doorway. “How can you be sure this letter will say what we need it to say?”

William smiled. “Oh, it will, and if it’s not clear enough, we will add clarity of our own. Read a little between the lines, if you will. I think we can trust Jesse.” He followed his guest to the door. “The Lord helps those who help themselves. Pretty sure that’s somewhere in my mother’s Bible.”

Stars twinkled in the night sky, given an impression of peace and tranquility. William rocked on his toes as he studied them. Yes, sometimes a little help was needed.

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