(Finally got my Bio on John A. back from my friend so I could look a few things up. Anyhow, this will just be a short introduction to the story.)
July, 1st, 1867
July, 1st, 1867
Thomas D'arcy McGee bounced around in the back of the coach making its slow way towards Rideau Hall. The sun shown down on the new nation as if for the first time. Thomas felt as though his eyes were first truly beholding the green trees that lined the paths, first tasting the lovely air that filled his lungs, that as the land he was born again, with the warm caress of the sun and of new life warming every part of his being. Manoeuvring suddenly in an attempt to keep his hat resting where it should upon his head McGee stole his gaze away from the nation which he had helped to bring into the world, returning to his papers before him jotting down some small verse that had been teaming in his head.
Let Fortune frown and foes increase,
And Life’s long battle know no peace;
Give me to wear upon my breast
The object of my early quest—
Undimm’d, unbroken, and unchang’d,
The talisman I sought and gain’d—
The jewel, Independence!
It feeds with fire my flagging heart
To act by all a fearless part;
It irrigates like summer rain
The thirsty furrows of my brain;
Through years and cares my sun and star,
A present help—a hope afar—
The jewel, Independence!
Rob me of all the joys of sense,
Curse me with all but impotence;
Fling me upon an ocean oar,
Cast me upon a savage shore;
Slay me! but own above my bier:
“The man now gone, still held while here,
The jewel, Independence!
And Life’s long battle know no peace;
Give me to wear upon my breast
The object of my early quest—
Undimm’d, unbroken, and unchang’d,
The talisman I sought and gain’d—
The jewel, Independence!
It feeds with fire my flagging heart
To act by all a fearless part;
It irrigates like summer rain
The thirsty furrows of my brain;
Through years and cares my sun and star,
A present help—a hope afar—
The jewel, Independence!
Rob me of all the joys of sense,
Curse me with all but impotence;
Fling me upon an ocean oar,
Cast me upon a savage shore;
Slay me! but own above my bier:
“The man now gone, still held while here,
The jewel, Independence!
"We have nearly arrived my love." Mary Teresa McGee said from across the coach. Thomas looked up to see his wife in very much the same position as himself. She clung with on clenched had to the railing near the door and with the other she held her gaudy feathered hat in place. The two locked eyes for a moment before laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
In his youth the young Irishman had been a member of the movement "Young Ireland" branded a traitor the crown, a price placed on his head and the end of his life set for the gallows. He had taken his young wife and fled to the United States. The home of hope and liberty for all the dispossessed men and women of the world. The land where the lowliest popper could find his new way in life. A promise written in the very air and soil of the nation.
But Thomas had found only lies, heart ache and disappointment. In America there was no more sympathy for Ireland than for Japan. The American people hated the Irishman for his creed, despised him for his poverty and under rated him for his want of learning. Until he was freed from his own entrapment invited to Montreal to assist in starting a news paper. His heart again felt hope in reading the words of an old friend "Montreal looks upon us not as foreigners, but as children of their own house hold." Taking this one final promise McGee again took his wife and surviving children north, to Canada. With in a year, the Irish of Montreal had helped to elect him to Parliament.
And now, after all that time. The crescendo of his life's work was to be presented before him, his wife, his friends and colleagues, but most proudly, before his nation. The coach pulled up before Rideau Hall looking to be the last to arrive. As McGee held his hand out to assist his wife to the ground a familiar voice picked up from behind him. Sr. John A. Macdonald came up patting McGee on the back.
"Mr. and Mrs. McGee, I quite glad ya' could make it." He said in this Scottish-Canadian accent. The Scottish Canadian was one of the closest friends McGee had ever had. They had both, many a night stumbled around Toronto, or Montreal, or Kingston... or Ottawa blinded by drink. Once Mary was standing on the solid earth McGee turned and took his friend's hand.
"Prime Minster." He said smiling widely.
"Not just yet McGee not just yet." Macdonald said patting Thomas again. He looked to Mary then back to Thomas. "May I?" He asked. And with a nod from Thomas Macdonald took Mary's arm in his guiding the couple towards the ceremony awaiting them. Upon entering John kissed Mary's hand before bowing off to finish what ever final duties he had left. Thomas then took his wife's arm in his and they walked together to the front of large open room. Taking seats directly behind Agnes Mcdonald and George-Étienne Cartier who were both to engrossed in their conversation to notice the new arrivals, Mdm. Cartier however did take notice giving the two a welcoming nod.
Finally, after John had returned, the chief Anglican Anglican bishop stood next to a small but ornate wooden chair it's cushions interwoven reds and whites. In the audience, in the front across from Macdonald sat representatives of the Christian faiths, most predominate was the Catholic bishop adorned in crimson. Just as it the events of the day were threatening to over whelm McGee with joy, the first notes of "God Save the King" were struck out of site. The audience stood as one looking down the hall, the rows bowing in turn as up the carpet walked the young, Prince Arthur third son of Queen Victoria. The English prince took his seat in the small wooden chair facing the gathered crowd.
"Do you Prince Arthur of Great Britain and Ireland here by swear to up hold the laws and practices of the Kingdom of Canada..."
The ceremony as in good measure biased on the Coronation of English Kings and Queens, though the boy was also dressed in white royal garments as a symbol for his French subjects. The sphere and scepter placed in his hands look near identical to the ones resting now in London. But then, at the end, a thin and beautiful crown in the likes of a medieval monarch was placed on the boy's head. It made nearly all of gold, with the fleur de lis and the maple leaf alternating and protruding from its top.
A choir sung out "God save the king! Vive le Roi!" As King Arthur I of Canada sat before them.
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