September 16, 1862
Montreal, Grand Trunk Railway station
The train platform was disorienting and loud. People bustled all around, footmen and carts of luggage jockeying for a path through the masses, womens' skirts confusing his view of the ground as much as the billowing clouds of steam. A train whistle shouted too close for comfort, drowning out whatever Mr. Martins was trying to say to him.
"-ure this is all you need, sir?" Martins fussed, bushy eyebrows drawn in a grandfatherly air of concern.
"Quite sure, Theo, thank you," Matthew smiled. Matthew had known the dutiful butler since he was born. Martins' father and grandfather had served in the same role before him. Martins had gone bald in his 20s and grey in his 30s, and the whole time Matthew had been a constant presence in his life. Now old and grey, Mr. Theodore Martins did not seem appeased by the colony's assurances, and looked disheartedly down at the single small suitcase Matthew was taking with him. "Trust me," Matthew insisted, smiling in the quiet, winning way that kept him in the good graces of everyone he knew. "I'll be fine, Theo. If somehow I'm not, you'll be the first to know, I promise." This seemed to calm Martins' nerves, and he smiled.
"Of course, sir. Will you be requiring anything else before you go?" Theo was always hesitant to leave his side. Matthew chuckled.
"I think I'll manage. Now get back home to your lovely wife—you're a lucky man to have her and her marvelous cooking waiting for you." Steam hissed louder than a roaring storm as a new train pulled into the station. Matthew had to shout above the noise to say: "And tell her I said bonjour! Next you have your daughters 'round, you must tell me and I'll have everyone over for tea."
"Anette would like that, sir," Theo smiled despite himself, deep laughter lines creasing his face. He tipped his hat. "Safe travels, sir. Telegram me as soon as you're back."
"Of course, Theo. Farewell!"
And then, he was off. Locomotive travel was no longer a novelty, but the wonder had yet to wear off for Matthew, who'd spent his most formative years trudging through lakes and snow on foot, freezing and often alone in the wilderness. The mighty steel of the Grand Trunk had tamed much of the wilderness of his childhood home, and the treacherous lakes and hills he'd mapped over the trials of his infancy now passed by as harmlessly as a summer's day. He found a lonesome carriage car and settled in by the window to watch the colorful autumn forests pass by in a blur. It was going to be a taxing journey, and he was determined to enjoy whatever peace he could find while he could.
"Excuse me," said someone, and Matthew turned. Three men were standing in the doorway of the car, peaking in with polite restraint. Two looked to be poor men, perhaps dock workers or tradesmen, but the one speaking looked like a middle class boy left on his own for the first time. "Is anyone sitting in here?" he asked timidly.
"No," Matthew said, scooting closer to the window to make room. "Please, come in."
The three gratefully settled in and took off their hats, the two poorer men stretching out to fill the space of the cabin.
"Train is packed full today," said one with a huff, doffing his cap to rub at his short hair, which looked sweaty.
"I hear they've all been so," said the middle-class boy. "Quite amazing, when you consider. I thought everyone would be too scared!"
"Well it's not as though we're going to Virginia," quipped the sweaty man, pulling his cap back on. "Yet," he added, and the other two men chuckled nervously. The third man, who'd been quiet up until then, turned to Matthew.
"John Grenier," he extended his hand. "Thanks again for giving us a seat; the ladies next door weren't to keen on our company,"
"Yoursmell, at least," said the capped man.
"Matthew Williams," the colony replied, giving John's hand a firm shake and smiling at the joke. The capped man introduced himself simply as "Archie", while the middle-class boy was called Abel Bouchard. Matthew glanced between the three men, who seemed to know each other but looked out of place at the others' sides. "Are you planning on going to Virginia?" he asked.
"Or somewhere thereabouts," replied the middle-class boy. "Wherever we're sent, I suppose." It took Matthew a few moments to put it together.
"You're enlisting?" He realized aloud, sounding surprised. "In the States?"
"Union army," smiled Abel. "My sister's husband is American. They have a huge farm down in New York. He and their eldest joined up, and I… well. I don't have anyone but her. Reggie's going to inherit the business, and I couldn't sit around and do nothing while my sister waits around all miserable. If the rebels won't go home and leave us some peace, I'll thought I'd send them home myself."
"And here I was just doing it for money," quipped John. Archie cackled, and Abel blushed.
"That's very noble of you," Matthew ventured. He glanced at Archie. "And what of you, sir?"
"He's sweet on a Yankee girl," John jibed. "Already bought her a handsome acreage and set to marry her first chance he gets, isn't that right?" Behind a few days' worth of stubble, Archie blushed.
"Ah, well," he scratched the back of his neck bashfully. "We were supposed to get married last year, but… things happened, and… anyway, I can't rightly move there for her when we don't know how long 'there' will be there, eh? So…" he smiled despite himself. "Yeah, I'm doin' it for her."
"I'm sure she's very proud of you," Matthew offered. Archie looked down at this lap, and spoke quietly enough that Matthew wasn't sure he was meant to hear:
"She doesn't actually know."
Matthew wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.
The train trundled along until the tracks beneath them set a steady and hypnotizing rhythm, rocking like a baby's crib until all four men were lulled half asleep. The sun set, and a trolley came 'round to offer light dinner fare. After some uncharted time, the door at the front of the carriage opened and an attendant stepped in with a booming voice.
"New York City," He crowed, loud enough to make the entire rail car jump. "Next stop, New York city." He repeated this cry several times as he marched down the hallway, until he at last departed for the next sleepy car. The open door gave the carriage an amplified listen to the tracks before it slammed shut and quiet prevailed.
"Well chaps," said Abel, rubbing palms over his trousers in a nervous way, "that'll be us, then."
"Good luck to you all," Matthew said. "New York is quite nice this time of year, I hate to be missing it." This seemed to give the others pause.
"What," said John, sounding surprised, "you're not stopping there, too?"
"No," Matthew smiled. "Going a bit further south, actually."
The others exchanged glances. There was very little south of Manhattan Island that would interest any Canadian, certainly those travelling alone, certainly those who were young and able-bodied as like Matthew, unless—
"You're not joining up with the rebs, are you?" John asked darkly.
"No," Matthew snapped, mortified. "God, no. My-" the words caught in his throat. "My brother is an American. In the Union. I'm going to join him."
"Oh?" Abel leaned toward Matthew, all wide eyes and innocence, drawn to the prospect of a like-minded soul. "Where?" He asked. Matthew swallowed.
"Washington D.C.," he said.
John let out a low whistle.
"You've got guts, Mr. Williams," the man said, appraising Matthew with newfound regard and, also, a great deal of pity. "I'll give you that. Best of luck to you—and to your brother."
"Thank you."
"Maybe we'll see you again," Abel spoke up with a shaky smile. "In Virginia, perhaps, giving those rebels a what-for."
"Yes," Matthew said noncommittally. He could not possibly travel to Virginia. Arthur was going to kill him if he ever learned about this trip at all, but if he heard he'd made it to Virginia, he'd be put into house arrest for two decades, at least. The train had begun to slow down to a stop, whistle blaring and brakes creaking.
"You boys take care of yourselves," Matthew said, and meant it. He'd known that his people were joining up in the Union Army, the Navy as well, but he'd never met them whilst they did it. His heart ached knowing they were, in likelihood, never going to return. "And God keep you."
"You as well, sir," spoke up Archie, who was standing now. "And give our best to that brother of yours. Long live the Union," he hoisted a fist like a rallying cry.
"Long live the union!" The others echoed with chuckles of their own. Matthew forced a smile. They did not know how literal they were being, nor how much misery they were bound for.
"Long live the Union," Matthew echoed, sick with worry and hope.
Hours earlier...
"Mr. Martins," Tabitha, a maid, approached the butler as soon as he was in the door. He was still taking off his hat and coat. "The post arrived while you were out, and Mr. Williams has several letters from England," she said.
"Oh?" Martins tried to indulge the girl. She was very young and new to the house, and was still learning to navigate the strange and secretive politics of Mr. Williams' personal life.
"Yes, sir. And I know you said to put all his mail on his desk for when he gets back, but it's just… one of the letters is from… well, from England, sir," she enunciated carefully. Martins set his coat onto the rack with extreme care and looked pensive into the middle distance before looking back at Tabitha.
"From Lord Kirkland?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Well," Martins said patiently, "we ought to leave it with the rest of his mail, I should think."
"It's just…" Tabitha fidgeted. "Matt- that is, Mister Williams told me once that Lord Kirkland only writes him about things that are very important, and I thought… should we not wire him about it?"
Theodore Martins considered this for a moment, weighing what he knew about Matthew Williams against what little he understood about Arthur Kirkland. After a long while, he shook his head.
"No," he decided. "No, I daresay Mr. Williams has a great deal more to worry about right now. Best let him deal with one crisis at a time. Leave it on his desk; put it on top."
"Yes sir," Tabitha hurried away to do as she was told. Martins felt another hair—of whatever dark hair was left—turn grey.
Historical notes:
It's a fairly light chapter history-wise, but there is one big point to discuss here:
A lot of Canadians fought in the Civil War! Almost all of them fought for the Union, You can imagine why: politically, ideologically, and geographically, Canada had way more in common with the Union than the Confederacy. Additionally, at this point in history slavery had been outlawed in Canada for some time, and Canada was the terminal stop on the Underground Railway. By 1860, about 30,000 people of color were living in Canada. This may not seem like a lot, but considering Canada's population was only about 3.3 million at the time, that's 1% of the population, which, again, may not seem like a lot, but at the time was considerable.
In all, about 40,000 Canadians fought in the American Civil War. Most joined voluntarily, though some (like John) did so for money. In reality, those being paid to fight would not appear until after 1863, but I wanted John here for representations' sake. American Men who were compelled into service sometimes paid Canadians to take their place. Still others were shanghaied into service—that is, drugged or plied with so much alcohol that they blacked out and then woke up in American Army barracks or aboard a U.S. Navy ship.
Today, there is a monument to the Canadians who served in the war in Ontario.
As this story will discuss in a little, though not comprehensive detail, the American Civil War, while obviously a U.S. problem, had a profound and instrumental impact on Canada, and was a primary instagatory event in Canada achieving independence from Great Britain.