July 17, 1797
White and Russell disembark from the Onondaga at the wharf at Niagara. “Shall we hire an ox cart to take us to the hotel?” White says to his friend.
“With pleasure, as long as you are willing to pay for it.”
They climb up onto the wagon which has been waiting at the pier and jolt off up the road into town. It’s only a mile’s distance, but White is happy to avoid the sweat and dirt which walking would entail.
There’s also the necessity to avoid the louts who linger around the wharf and may find his outfit laughable. Before leaving York in the coolness of early morning, he was happy with his attire, but now he fears he may look slightly ridiculous in the heat of high noon. He’s wearing a black superfine redingote over white vest and breeches. He has not bothered with a hat, but his head is already itchy beneath his wig.
He looks at Russell. His friend has obviously spent no time worrying about his rig. His boots need a shine-up, and White fears his wig may be crawling with lice. He moves as far from him as possible on the plank of the wagon. Perhaps Miss Russell will be able to spruce her brother up when she finally moves to York.
A bone-rattling ride ensues, but fortunately it’s a short one, and they arrive at Wilson’s Tavern to find a crowd of people crammed into the ballroom on the second floor. He has been prepared to find John Small present. As clerk of the Executive Council of Upper Canada, he has perhaps some reason to be here for the investiture. But it’s a shock to see his wife with him as well. She’s deep in conversation with a tall, fair woman whom he has not seen before.
“I did not realize that ladies would be present today,” he says to Russell.
“Nor I, but that bastard Elmsley told me he was bringing his wife, and then Small asked me if he could bring his wife along, too, and what could I say?”
“I did not see the Smalls on the ship.”
“Small told me they would be coming over yesterday to spend the day with the Elmsleys. Apparently Small and Elmsley knew each other in England through Home Secretary Henry Dundas, and Mrs. Elmsley seems to have struck up a friendship with his wife.” Russell points to the two chattering women. “Obviously she knows nothing about that rumpus started by Mrs. Jarvis.”
“Someone will tell her, surely.”
“Perhaps not. Elmsley is such a big cheese in these parts now, and Mrs. Elmsley’s father is a Loyalist whom everyone here reveres. No one wants to alienate the lady by casting aspersion on her friends.”
White looks towards the reading stand which has been set up at the front of the ballroom, a table with two chairs beside it. There are huge portraits of Governor Simcoe and King George the Third on the wall behind, flanking the British flag. “We had better get things started now.”
Russell moves to the podium, and White seats himself behind the table. The Administrator reads aloud the Act passed earlier in the summer by the Parliament of Upper Canada. It is long-winded and couched in arcane language, and the audience shuffles and sighs and the several ladies present fan themselves obtrusively.
White has time to observe the crowd in detail. He is pleased to note that Elmsley, who has placed himself at the front of the audience, presents a clownish figure in a dark-blue redingote over a jacket and breeches of red, white, and blue stripes. Is it supposed to remind us of his illustrious British connections? In contrast, his wife is modestly dressed in a dark-grey gown, her cleavage hidden by a white gauze fichu. Mrs. Small has emulated her friend’s decorum: her gown is white muslin with a long scarf covering the bosom he remembers so well.
At last Russell stops his spiel and calls him forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the first Treasurer of the Law Society of Upper Canada.”
White’s role is to provide a succinct, easy-to-understand summary of the qualifications for the legal profession. It contains sentences he has thought about and honed over many weeks. He has written them down in his best penmanship on a sheet of fine linen paper that will serve as a lasting record of the day. He begins boldly: “The Act, in brief, provides that gentlemen of education and probity shall be privileged to conduct legal procedures for fellow subjects. These gentlemen are authorized as well to secure to the Province and the—”
A cough from somewhere in the audience causes him to look down from the podium. There, near the front of the crowd, he sees the woman Small staring at him, her left eyelid closed in what is clearly a wink. He feels the heat rise into his cheeks, and for a moment, he loses his place on the sheet before him. By the time he resumes, he has lost his audience’s attention as well. They have started to whisper and cough, and it is only Russell’s whack on a gavel from the table beside the reading stand that forces silence again.
Taking a deep breath, White manages to finish his speech, knowing that its impact has totally disappeared. Then the investiture of fifteen men begins, and in another twenty minutes, this ceremony for which he has longed for so many months is over.
Russell pulls him aside and they walk together towards the door leading downstairs to the main entrance. “Bit of stage-fright, my friend? Never mind, we all understand what’s what. The legal profession is now solidly in place, and we can go to my house for a celebratory meal.” He laughs and slaps White on the back. “Eliza has made some syllabub especially for you.”