Salvation Army in Hamilton - February 1886

February 1886 was a big month in the history of the Salvation Army corps in Hamilton. Only in existence in the Ambitious City for a few years, the Salvation Army had created a sensation with its outdoor services, street processions and hugely-attended services in its barracks.

So popular had the services become at the Army’s first barracks on Ferguson Avenue North, that a larger building on Hunter street was under construction and nearing completion in February 1886.

On the 1st of February 1886, the Hamilton Spectator carried the following description of the new barracks:

“The new barracks of the Salvation Army are just about finished and are ready for occupation. The building is a substantial brick one, somewhat ornate and comfortable. It has a capacity for seating 1,200 people comfortably, and has besides a platform consisting of five or six rows of seats, arranged one above the other, with a seating capacity of about 300 people. This is intended for the members of the army.

“The interior is exceedingly tastefully though plainly furnished, the ceiling being pure white and the walls grey, in imitation of stone. The floor has inclination of four feet from front to rear, so that the platform can be seen and the speakers heard from every part of the hall. The ceiling is supported by slender wooden pillars on which the gas fixtures are arranged. The rooms for the officers are equally comfortable and convenient.

“The opening services will held on Sunday next.”¹

¹ “The S. A. B..”

Hamilton Spectator.   February 01, 1886.

On Saturday February 14, 1886, the members of the Hamilton division of the Salvation army vacated their old building. The new barracks were dedicated the following day :

“On Saturday evening, the Hamilton division of the Salvation Army took leave of its old barracks on Ferguson avenue, and yesterday there was a big time at the new Barracks on Hunter street. The corps turned out in large numbers at all three services on Hunter street, and were as enthusiastic and demonstrative as usual.

The building was ‘formally dedicated’ at the afternoon service

“There was, however, little formality about the ceremony. The members of the corps joined hands in a line around the interior of the building, and sang a hymn written for such occasions; there was some prayer and a big address from the commander, who declared the building dedicated to the glory of God in the salvation of souls.

“The principal feature of yesterday’s service was the singing and the collections.”²

² “The New Salvation Barracks : Dedicatory Services Under the Direction of Commissioner Coombs.”

Hamilton Spectator.   February 15, 1886.

The Salvation Army certainly had its followers in February 1886, but it also had its detractors. One of the criticisms of the Salvation Army, that the Spectator reporter who attended the dedicatory service noted, was the pressure made to contribute money

 “It is hard for any person attending the army meetings to get away without contributing something. You have a plate thrust before you at the door, there is a collection taken up, and War Crys and hymn books are peddled among the audience during the services. As for the singing, it is usually very hearty, and sometimes stirring and effective, the peculiar hymns being nearly all set to popular tunes.”²

The service to dedicate the Hunter street barracks was the first of a few special events that the Salvation Army in Hamilton had planned for February 1886, both at the barracks and out on the streets:

““Salvation was energetically boomed in Hamilton yesterday. All day, the hallelujah lads and lasses tramped about the streets, and the sound of their voices mingled with the steady roll of drums and the brazen bursts from blaring brass instruments. The noises were oftimes discordant, but they were made with right good will, and when people heard them dodging around street corners, playing hide and seek among the snow flakes and going where they wished on the wandering winds of heaven, they knew, without any telling, that they came from throats and hearts sincere and earnest in their work. Several bands and a large number of officers and soldiers arrived during the day and were welcomed by Hamilton corps.

“A holiness convention was held during the afternoon, followed by a banquet in the old barracks. After the banquet, the army held what it calls an ‘indescribable jubilation.’ The crush was very great, and the hall was crowded long before the procession arrived. Shortly after 8 o’clock, the auditorium was so crowded that it was next to impossible to get in. Over 300 soldiers occupied the raised seats at the end, and more were scattered through the auditorium. It is estimated that between 1,500 and 1,700 people were present. It was noticeable that nearly all the officers were young, appearances indicating that their ages ranged from 18 to 35.”

Regarding collections – “The religious fervor was strong upon some women present whose pocketbooks were not particularly extensive. One of them took a pair of gold earrings from her ears and handed them in; another gave a ring; a third, a chain.”³

³ “Saved Soldiers : the Salvation Army’s Big Jubilee in the New Barracks Barracks.”

Hamilton Spectator.   February 16, 1886.

On Tuesday, February 18, 1886, for the third day in a row a special service was held in the new barracks:

“Their Monday’s all night of prayer did not appear to have exhausted the spiritual or physical energies of the local or visiting soldiers, as their council was continued yesterday and the hurricane of war was yesterday publicly demonstrated in the new temple last night.”

“Visitors included Captain Freer and wife “the officers who first planted the flag here.”⁴

⁴ “Waging Wild War : Salvationists Sit on Satan, Who Suffers Severe Scorching.”

Hamilton Spectator.   February 17, 1886.

A new music piece introduced at that service, titled “Oh, I Am So Happy.”

“It is a piece of swelling music, alternatively fast and slow – and the handclapping accompaniment has a peculiar effect. During the singing of the piece, the officers were greatly moved, many jumping and gesticulating in a manner rivalling that of the most excitable of modern revivalists. At the height of this excitement, the English officers leaped from the platform and marched around the building shouting the song as hundreds on the platform roard forth the chorus. It was an extraordinary scene of wild excitement, and no one knew what to expect next or what inconceivable turn the meeting might take, except that there would be lots of hallelujah noise and excitement and innumerable volleys.” ⁴

At the close of the month, Hamilton’s anonymous columnist, The Kicker, turned his critical eye on the Salvation Army in Hamilton. His article on the subject appeared on February 25, 1886:

 “The Salvation Army in Hamilton has got a big temple on its hands, and I am awaiting with some curiosity to see what new sensation it will spring on the public to draw people into it. The barracks itself is not a sufficient attraction, neither did the noisy and sensational demonstration with which the building was inaugurated prove to be a permanent boom, for I looked into the place a night or two ago, and found a mere handful of people huddled together in the big building. One great principle of the army is to keep itself conspicuously before the public, and it is considered justifiable to go to very extreme lengths in order to accommodate this end. I would humbly suggest a hallelujah ballet. A profane ballet never fails to crowd the opera house with the class which the Salvation Army wishes to reach. Why not fight the devil with his own weapons?

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“By the way, I was talking the other day with one who used to be a strong friend of the Salvation army, but has come to take a rather despondent view of its permanent influence for good.

“ ‘The army,’ said he, ‘relies too much on emotion, and not enough on reason and common sense. Many, very many, of the so-called ‘conversions’ which take place at army meetings are nothing more than an exalted emotional condition which susceptible persons are worked up to by the contagious religious excitement which prevails among the soldiers at these meetings. Only a small percentage of these ‘conversions’ prove to be permanent. Between two and three hundred persons professed conversion under Happy Bill’s instrumentality; I looked in vain for a single one of these among the soldiers who gathered on the platform during the dedicatory services a few days ago.

“Well, the army has done some good. There are many men and women in Hamilton who are living better lives today than they were living before the army came here. They have passed from the ranks of salvationists into the churches, but the churches would never have gained them if it had not been for the salvationists. The army acts the part of a recruiting sergeant for the churches.”⁵

⁵  “The Kicker.”

Hamilton Spectator.   February 20, 1886.

1886 - Coasting Accident Aftermath.

It was a common sight in the winter months of Hamilton. Particularly after a heavy snowfall, the streets which went up and down steep hills would be crowded with young people coasting, sharing the public thoroughfare with all other traffic..

          On January 25, 1886, a coasting accident on James street south nearly coast a young Hamilton boy his life.

          At the time, those who liked tobogganing were generally young adults and members of one of Hamilton’s toboggan clubs. They used the clubs’ own slides, constructed to keep the toboggan on the course, no matter how quickly it was going.

          “Coasting”  was far less structured, and usually was a sport pursued by young boys and girls, using sleighs for individuals or slightly larger ones which could transport tow or three ‘coasters.”

          Norman Counsell was the twelve year old son of prominent city lawyer, C. M. Counsell. Along with his brother and some friends, he was coasting down the steep portion of James street south near the mountain :

“As they came down the last trip, Norman, who was steering, turned off the center of the road to pass a wood rack which was going slowly down the hill in front of them. As the bob sleigh got opposite the rack, from four to six feet away from it, one of the horses suddenly jumped clear out of the traces, and made a kick at it. Little Norman Counsell received the full weight of the kick. The other two boys were thrown off, but picked themselves up unhurt. Norman remained still and unconscious. The accident occurred very near the lad’s home and just as Mr. Counsell was coming from his door …. The apparently lifeless form was taken into the house.”¹

¹ “Terrible Coasting Accident : A Little Son of C. M. Counsell Has His Skull Fractured.”

Hamilton Spectator.   January 25, 1886.

Norman was later taken to the nearby St. Joseph’s hospital where an emergency operation removed about 2 ½ inches of his skull which had been pressed against his brain by the kick.

Police Chief A. D. Stewart, once again, made a call for a city bylaw to be passed to prohibit coasting on Hamilton’s public streets. Uncharacteristically, the city council moved quickly, and such a bylaw was within a day.

The anonymous Spectator columnist, known only as The Kicker, had the following to say regarding his own memories coasting and regarding the new bylaw:

“I sympathize with the boys who have been just deprived, by bylaw, of one of the greatest delights of boyish existence, to wit, coasting on the public thoroughfares. Well do I remember the ecstatic pleasure of riding down hil, either singly or on my own steel ‘belly whacker,’  or in company with three or four congenial spirits, rushing along on the delectable bobs. The glory and freshness of that intoxicating sport on the hilly streets live only in remembrance, but, even yet, I never see urchins rushing past on their sleighs without feeling a strong impulse to ‘pile on’ and complete the journey with them. I don’t sympathize with the tobogganers. They have their artificial slides, and are able to maintain them; but if you banish the boys from the streets, where are they to go?  You can’t expect them to go to half-broken, unfrequented country roads., where they have not the delicious danger of running close to the legs of horses, nor the supreme delight of scaring unwary pedestrians, nor the occasional luxury of upsetting some stately dame or reverend senior. I don’t kick against the action of city council in legislating against the boys; I merely wish to express some sympathy with the young folks.  They are being taught a lesson in social science – that the interests of individuals must often be sacrificed to the interests of society in general. It was right for the city council to pass the bylaw, and it is a pity that those guardians of public interests did not think of they were suddenly reminded of it by the recent painful accident on James street.”²

² “The Kicker”

Hamilton Spectator. January 25, 1886

1886 - A Newly Released Prisoner Gets Advice

The man had just been released from the Barton Street jail on January 22, 1886. Having no money, no employment and feeling very low about his situation, he encountered a man on the street hoping for some sympathy, the encounter, as published in the Hamilton Spectator on January 23, 1886, did not end well:

“He had just been released from the Barton street home for delinquents and met a well-dressed man on Mary street. He poured out his wrongs and misfortunes to the citizen and wished advice as to what he had best to do. He thought that probably Toronto would be the best place for him to strike for. But he wished he was dead.

“The citizen heaved a sigh from away down beneath his vest and asked him if his muffler was of good texture.

“ ‘Yes,’ said the unfortunate, ‘it is the best article I own.’

“ ‘Then,’ said the citizen, ‘you are all right. There is a nice little cell in the police station down in Toronto where a prisoner asphyxiates himself about once a week. They have bars properly placed, so that a person can, with the aid of a good muffler, hang himself comfortably in about ten minutes.

“The recent languisher in captivity fired about a dozen new styles of oaths at the citizen and started for the market.”

1886 - A Tramp's Story Confronted

Tramps were very common in the Hamilton of 1886, particularly during the winter months.
On January 23, 1886, the Hamilton Spectator published the following encounter between a tramp and a savvy citizen :
“In the olden days, when rattlesnakes were pretty thick along the side of Hamilton mountain, there was an Indian who, when he wanted to go on a periodical spree and get comfortably full, would hunt around for a full-blown rattlesnake that felt a little fresh, and get upon unpleasantness with the snake until he was satisfactorily bitten. He would then go down to John street, show where he was bitten by the snake and get any amount of donation whiskey as a cure. He had repeated the game so often that the Good Samaritans went back on him; and the Indian was compelled to die from want of medicine.

“The Indian story is pretty stale now, but the reminiscence was revived yesterday by the scheme of a tramp. He was coming up James street and had a large bread poultice glued to his arm. A tear was in one eye, and a streak of red meandered down the side of his nose. He had been evidently reading the papers, and told a man he had been bitten by a mad dog and was trying to raise enough money enough to reach Paris to get cured. The citizen addressed read him down one column and up another, and then cross-fired him with his eagle eye from starboard to port.

“ ‘Are you sure you were bitten by a mad dog?’ said the citizen.

“ ‘Certain,’ responded the tramp as he pointed to the poultice.

“ ‘Then, I’m awfully sorry for the dog,’ said the Hamilton man. ‘Any hydrophobic canine that would bite you would be taken off with acute alcoholism before he could reach the nearest drug store. I’m powerfully sorry for the dog!’

“Then the citizen stepped off with the left foot, and the tramp’s new invention got a considerable setback”

  

1886 - Molly, a sad figure in Hamilton

She was a familiar figure on the streets of Hamilton in 1886.  Not many people knew why she had become so poor as to be begging from any and every passerby, not many even knew her name.

But a Spectator reporter did find out what her name was, and the story of her life. His column, with the headline, Molly, appeared in the Spectator of January 18, 1886:

“People about town see frequently on the streets a tottering, feeble and bent Irish woman, who in rain and snow, in cloud or sunshine, trudges along with a basket on one  arm, a tattered shawl drawn about her head, a quilted black petticoat doing duty for a skirt, and her stockingless feet thrust into gaping boots. Where does she come from, where does she live? Few know. More know how she lives, for the seamed, wrinkled, careworn face, and faltering tongue that asks for charity, move many hearts to pity, and oftimes, something better than the odd scraps from yesterday’s dinner finds a way into her basket. For years, she has walked around the streets apparently in the same clothes and looking the same then as she does today. Time lately seems to have touched her with a gentle hand. Someday she will disappear from the streets, and back doors will see her no more. A few will miss her. They will wonder vaguely what has become of Molly, but the Potter’s field will hold its secret, and they will soon forget her.

“A quarter of a century ago, she gave where she now begs. In early life, she married a prosperous Irish mechanic, and when a couple of years had passed and one child had come to them, they came to Hamilton and settled in the more or less aristocratic precincts of Corktown. He husband was skilled in his business and got on well, and, if not rich, they were in prosperous circumstances and able to put something by for a rainy day. The child grew to be twelve years of age, and died of diphtheria. Her death almost broke her parents’ hearts. The husband grew more morose and unsteady. He forsook his work for the sake of liquor. It did not take him long to squander the little money they had saved, nor did it take him long to break up his constitution. Violent and steady drinking brought on delirium tremens. He was taken to the police cells, and from there to the city hospital. And there he died.

“Thrown on her own resources, she did washing and scrubbing, and being a faithful worker, managed to keep herself well. Failing health, however, made it necessary for her at last to restrict her operations. Age was creeping on, and she was getting feeble. She struggled on as long as she could, but the strain was too much. Typhoid fever called on her and stayed with her for weeks.

“A poor, but tender-hearted physician, and kind neighbors, brought her around again all right. Her bodily health came back, but her mental health went on a long vacation. Trouble and sickness turned her brain. For a time she lived with the people who had known her in her days of prosperity. They could not keep her forever. It came about at last that she either had to beg for a living or starve. The instinct of self-preservation told her to beg. Some good-natured soul gave her the use of a tumble-down shanty, and put such odds and ends of furniture in it as her humble requirements necessitated. There she lives. There is nothing particularly strange in the story of this woman, yet perhaps the recital of what has been and what is may make some people kinder when this gray-haired human wreck comes begging for scraps.

 

1886 - A Spectator columnist, The Kicker, kicks

The Hamilton Spectator, in 1885 and early 1886, had an anonymous, occasional columnist, known only as The Kicker.

After an absence of several weeks, The Kicker and his current kick in the Spectator issue of January 16, 1886:

“I beg to assure my multitudinous admirers that I am still alive – and kicking. The reason that I have not kicked in print for several weeks is not that I am out of subjects , or that I have lost my inborn inclination, but because  there has not been kicking room for me in these columns lately. I have been roughly elbowed out by election matters, and long lists of secret society officers and similarly exciting reading, until I begin to despair of ever having the opportunity to pour my complaints into the bosom of a sympathizing public which has been yearning to commune with one.

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Did it ever occur to you that there is actually no place of public resort in Hamilton, outside of saloons, hotels and billiard rooms, where young men can go and spend a pleasant hour or two in the evening. I will not even except the free reading room of the Young Men’s Christian association, for, excellent as the work which is being done by that organization, it does not offer sufficient attractions to draw any but spiritually-minded young men into its fold. I visited the Y. M. C. A. reading room a short time ago, and examined the magazines and pamphlets scattered over the table. They were, with one exception, either of a religious or a technical character. I asked the person in charge if no secular periodicals were kept for perusal, and was informed that they were in the parlor and were intended for the use of members. Now, religious and technical literature will not prove efficacious in drawing the youth of our city off the streets or out of questionable resorts at night. But the Y.M.C.A. reading room is the only institution in Hamilton which as all resembles a public resort for men of all classes, where the can improve their minds and rest their bodies after a day’s work. There are hundreds of young clerks and mechanics here who are comparative strangers in the city and live in boarding houses. After working hard all day, they go to their temporary homes. What are they to do? Their surroundings are often uncongenial and they do not feel “at home.” Usually there is too much noise and interruption for them to read comfortably. Where can they go? The only places where they can go in out of the cold and sit down are the hotels and saloons and billiard rooms – and into them a large proportion of the young men wander. There are two kinds of active Christian propagandism – the exhortative and the practical.  Every Sunday, the preachers use the former method, they warn young men against the snares which beset their path and exhort them to make good use of their time. This is very good as far as it goes. But practical Christianity should go father, it seems to me. It should not only warn and exhort; it should also help. Assuming that there is such a personality as the devil, and that saloons and billiard rooms and questionable resorts in general, are his temples and resting places, is it not a reflection on the practical Christianity of our citizens that there is no effort made in this city of 40,000 inhabitants to establish a public resort which will prove a rival of those under the control of his majesty of sheol ? The free library, if it had not been voted down in such a pig-headed manner, would have met many of the requirements of such a place. But the agitation should not have been allowed to collapse like a pricked bubble as soon as the bylaw was quashed. There are not a few public-spirited and big-hearted men of wealth among us who would gladly subscribe towards the establishment of a free library and reading room and gymnasium if the scheme were properly laid before them. If some energetic persons would push it, I believe that even yet private philanthropy would give what public stupidity and stinginess refused.

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          There is plenty of work in Hamilton for an energetic society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. One day last week, I saw a poor old horse, which should have been superannuated years ago, drag a heavily-laden cart up James street where the steep ascent begins. His eyeballs stood out, his lean old sides reeked, and he fairly groaned with his efforts; but the load was too heavy and the cart stuck. Then the big, brutal driver, who had been whacking the animal over the bones with the butt end of his whip, dismounted, and deliberately kicked the poor creature in the belly. I was delighted to see that the old horse had spirit enough in him to try to kick his master, and so resented his wanton cruelty that he would not budge an inch until the load was lightened

1882-05-31oo Oscar Wilde

“There was a very fair-sized audience at the Grand Opera House last night, composed principally of ladies, among whom were the students of Ladies college”

Hamilton Spectator.   May 31, 1882.

It was a lecture on Art Decoration that took place at the Grand Opera House on May 30, 1882, but it was really the lecturer, not the lecture, that drew so many.

The lecturer was the internationally, even sensationally, famous leader of the aesthetic movement, Oscar Wilde.

In an attempt to make the stage aesthetically acceptable to the lecturer, it was decorated to his specific requests:

“The stage was set with three tables, one in the center and one on each side, each covered with a dark colored cloth of Japanese pattern and dark border.

“Upon the side tables, and also on the stage floor, were beautiful flowers in pots, but one looked in vain for the lily or the sunflower.”¹

¹ “Odd Oscar : How the Apostle of Aestheticism Lectured”

Hamilton Spectator.   May 31, 1882.

Oscar Wilde had been a long tour throughout the United States, and as his time in North America was coming to an end he headed north to Canada for appearances in Montreal and Toronto.

It was a coup for the manager of the Grand Opera House  to attract Wilde to Hamilton during his trip from Toronto back to the U.S.A.

Wilde’s specialty as a lecturer was as much his appearance as how he presented his subject:

“Oscar Wilde did not make his appearance till half past eight, when he glided on to the stage and advanced to the center table upon which he placed his manuscript and rested the fingers of his right hand, and assumed a ‘stained glass attitude,’ placing his left hand on his hip, the elbow sticking out from his body.

“He was dressed in a dark velvet coat, of the cutaway pattern, with a waistcoat of the same color and material, as were his knee breeches. He wore black hose and pumps. Around his throat was a wide lace scarf, and  his wrists were encircled by white lace cuffs, and he sported a handkerchief to match”¹

Oscar Wilde’s exotic appearance was not confined to the outfit he wore:

“The somber appearance of his clothing gave an increased pallor to his face, which, though not finely moulded, is certainly of an intelligent cast, his dark brown hair being down to his shoulders in long waves, just shading the sides of his high forehead, and enclosing his face in a sort of sixteenth century frame.”¹

After the audience was given a brief time to take in his appearance, Wilde launched into his lecture:

“He delivered it in choice language, with a musical, yet sometimes monotonous accent.

“He uses gestures very little, and only with his right hand which, when not thus used, is generally toying with his seal.

“He spoke in scathing terms of the tragic ugliness of American wooden houses, whose ill-appearance was made doubly distressing by the terrible colors in which they were painted.

“Mr. Wilde asked for the establishment of practical schools of design in each city, and thought that children could best be educated in kindness by teaching them the love of true art.

“He referred to customs and institutions on this side of the Atlantic which were susceptible of improvement – such as the American stove, the practice of choking the river and creeks with sawdust and slabs, the thick teacups at the hotels and the unsightly and inconveniently arranged houses often met with.

“He denounced very strenuously the practice of painting advertisements on fences, trees and rocks. His remarks on art education, and the folly of cramming children with mere book learning, while they were brought up in ignorance of the beauties of nature were especially forceful and in accordance with common sense.”¹

Oscar Wilde did make reference to an example of architecture in Hamilton which he approved, calling the recently constructed Canada Life building at the head of Gore park as “one of the most beautiful buildings he had seen in this country.”¹

Wilde’s lecture was about an hour long and was listened to with close attention.

After the applause died down, Dr. Burns, head of the Wesleyan Ladies’ College, invited Wilde to visit the college the following morning, before he was scheduled to catch a train to Boston.