Recollections of Bytown and Its Old Inhabitants

In Short

This book is a collection of rhymed reminiscences that serve as a nostalgic directory of early Bytown, the precursor to modern Ottawa. Through rhythmic, often informal verse, the author catalogs the tradespeople, laborers, eccentrics, and pioneers who shaped the settlement in the 1820s and 1830s. It is an act of historical preservation, intended to rescue the names of the dead from oblivion. The work has lasted because it captures the visceral, unpolished character of a frontier town before it evolved into a formal city of commerce and industry.

The Story

The narrative begins as a personal act of remembrance. The author, writing in 1873, looks back from the vantage point of a city with thirty thousand inhabitants to the primitive, forested reality of Bytown. He invites his muse to walk with him through the "days of yore," setting out to identify the men who built the locks, hammered the iron, and kept the small, rough-and-tumble community functioning. He moves methodically through the geography of the town, shifting from the swampy, cedar-filled Lower Town to the heights of Upper Town, meticulously naming the blacksmiths, watchmakers, tavern keepers, and doctors who once occupied these spaces.

The arc of the book is not a traditional plot but a steady, cumulative unveiling of a community’s soul. The author describes the "Deep Cut" of the canal, where hard-working laborers lived in cabins and thrived on "mountain dew." He details the social landscape of the 1829 Fair, where fiddlers played, horse races were run on Wellington Street, and a bloody nose or a broken head was merely a byproduct of a spirited afternoon. He paints the river as it was before the arrival of massive sawmills and industrial booms, lamenting the loss of the pristine, "limpid wave" of the Ottawa.

As the verses progress, the author moves from the bustling, often violent street life to more specific portraits of local legends. He describes the "Shiners"—a group of Irish raftsmen who sought to control the lumber trade—and the tavern culture where characters like Mother McGinty kept order with a powerful arm. He balances these tales of rowdy, frontier masculinity with softer, more reflective portraits of men like John Cobb or the "scientific" physician Tom Hickey, who performed surgery with a grace that earned him genuine affection.

The narrative reaches its emotional center when the author confronts the inevitability of change. He contrasts the "good old days," when brotherhood was high and money was scarce, with the modern era of brokers and paper collars. The ending is elegiac. He does not shy away from the tragedy of the cholera epidemic of 1832, which claimed many of his subjects, nor does he ignore the personal losses he has sustained over the decades. He closes by acknowledging that he cannot name every inhabitant, but he emphasizes that he has not passed over them with his heart. He leaves the reader with a final, lingering image of the vanished cedar swamps and the ghosts of the pioneers who, in their own rough way, built the foundation of the capital.

How It Unfolds

The invocation of memory The author sets the stage by summoning his muse to wander the forgotten paths of Bytown. He pledges to treat the names of the departed with reverence, seeking to preserve their memory against the "rude blast" of time.

The census of Lower Town He begins his catalog with the tradesmen of the early days, naming the blacksmiths, watchmakers, and the postmaster who signaled the arrival of mail with an old tin horn. He describes the "creek" and the humble dwellings that once defined the area.

The river's transformation The author pauses to look at the Ottawa River, contrasting its former majesty and the bark canoes of the past with the modern era of sawmills and booms. He pays tribute to early pioneers like Philemon Wright, who steered the initial development of the region.

The era of the "Shiners" The narrative turns to the more volatile aspects of frontier life, detailing the Irish raftsmen who dominated the lumber trade. He describes the fierce faction fights and the rough-and-ready justice that prevailed in the absence of formal policing.

The transition to Upper Town He shifts his focus to the higher ground, detailing the lives of those who held official or professional roles. He highlights the contrast between the rough labor of the canal and the emergence of a more settled, structured social life.

The final farewell The book concludes with the author’s reflections on his own mortality and the passing of his generation. He offers a heartfelt good-bye to the individuals he has chronicled, acknowledging that the Bytown of his youth is gone forever.

The People

The book is populated by a sprawling cast of real-world figures who represent the diverse strata of a frontier town. John Wade, a jack-of-all-trades who drew teeth and performed minor surgery, represents the necessity of grit in early settlement life. Matthew Connell, the first postmaster, stands out as a man of temper but immense utility before his life was cut short by cholera. Peter Aylen, the leader of the Shiners, emerges as a figure of controversy and strength, embodying the fierce, often lawless spirit of the timber-camps. Mother McGinty acts as a matriarch of the tavern culture, a woman whose ability to maintain order in the rowdy Corkstown district earns her a place of honor. Alexander Workman and Henry J. Friel are depicted as men of intellectual and political stature who helped steer the village toward its eventual status as a city. Finally, the author himself functions as the primary character, acting as the lens through which we see these lives; he is a man who clearly feels the weight of the passing years, struggling to hold on to the "broken links in the chain" of history.

In Its Own Voice

"My object has been, simply, to gather together as many of the names and incidents connected with Bytown's early history as memory alone could recal."

The author states his purpose in the introduction, framing the book as a personal labor of love.

"No man got in a passion faster than did old Bytown's first postmaster; Yet was he a most upright man, and well the old machinery 'ran'."

The author uses this brief sketch of Matthew Connell to illustrate the combination of temper and integrity common to the pioneers.

"The 'Barrack Hill,' a wilderness all o'er, and Lower Town to Rideau's ancient shore, a gloomy cedar swamp, the haunt of deer."

This description captures the physical state of the landscape before the construction of the canal and the rapid urbanization that followed.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the fragility of collective memory. The author is preoccupied with the idea that progress—represented by sawmills, railways, and the transition from a village to a city—inevitably erases the markers of the past. He argues that history is not found solely in the grand achievements of states, but in the names of the local blacksmiths, the specific locations of vanished cottages, and the communal experiences of early fairs and tavern gatherings. It poses the question of how a community maintains its identity when its physical foundations are paved over or defaced. It is an argument for the importance of the individual's contribution to the larger, often impersonal, narrative of national growth.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in Canadian history or the roots of Ottawa will find this book deeply rewarding. It provides a rare, bottom-up perspective on the capital's origins, moving away from the halls of power to focus on the mud and grit of the early settlement. The reading experience is like listening to an elderly, articulate neighbor recount stories of his youth; the tone is warm, conversational, and unapologetically nostalgic.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the challenges inherent in 19th-century verse. The rhythm can occasionally feel repetitive, and the author’s tendency to list names can be demanding for those expecting a standard narrative. Furthermore, the attitudes expressed reflect the period’s specific prejudices and, at times, its casual disregard for the displacement of Indigenous communities, which are acknowledged only in passing as part of a romanticized, "departed" past. Despite these limitations, the book remains a vibrant, tactile document. The images of "battered buttons" passing for currency and the "old tin horn" announcing the mail stay with the reader long after the final page, serving as a poignant reminder of how fragile—and how precious—our connection to the past truly is.