Burt A. The Evolution of the British Empire and Commonwealth From the American Revolution
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Britain
on
Top of
the
World
and
Turning
to
Democracy
355
upon
that
generation.
It
had
done
much
to educate the
working
class
and
also
the
other
classes. To
the
former it
gave
a
training
in
coopera-
tive
action,
and
it
left
them
with a
determination
to
improve
their lot
by
methods that
were
more
practical.
To the latter
it
brought
an
equally
needed
realization
that
all
was
not
well in the
organization
of
society,
and
it
made them
think
about
how it
could be
improved.
Much
of
the
literature
then
appearing
in
England,
all written for
these
other
classes,
reflects
an
uneasy
social
conscience.
Moreover,
it was
Chartism
that
gave
Disraeli
the idea
that
grew
into his
concept
of
Tory
democracy,
a
concept
that
reconciled
his
party
to the
advent
of
democracy.
The cause of
parliamentary
reform
did not die
with
Chartism.
In
1851 Lord
John
Russell
pressed
the
question
in
the
cabinet;
and later
in the
session,
when a
private
member of
parliament
proposed
a
reform
bill,
he
opposed
it,
saying
that
the
government
would
bring
in its own
bill
on
the
subject.
In 1852
he
introduced
a
measure
that would
have
enfranchised
many
industrial
workers,
but the fall
of his
government,
turned
out
by
Palmerston,
stopped
the bill after the first
reading.
He
repeated
his efforts
in
the next
two
years, only
to
see them blocked
by
the outbreak
of
the Crimean War. After the war
John
Bright
made
valiant
attempts
to stir the
working
class to demand
a
share
of
political
power,
but
his
eloquence
then fell
on deaf
ears. Disraeli tried
his hand
with
a
bill
in
1859,
and the
Commons
threw
it
out. In
the
following
year
Russell
again
produced
a
bill,
which
he
withdrew
when
it
failed
to
rouse
the interest
of either
parliament
or
the
public.
The
American Civil War
greatly
helped
British
democracy.
The
slow but
sure
victory
of
democracy
over
aristocracy
in the United States
had a considerable
power
of
suggestion.
On
two definite counts
it
proved
the
British
ruling
class
wrong
and
working
class
right.
It dem-
onstrated
that
democracy
was
not bound
to
fail,
as the
former had
believed,
and
that laborers
might
have sounder
political judgment
than
their social
betters.
Even
the dire distress
that it
visited
upon
the
cotton
operatives
and
their families
played
its
part.
The
suffering
of
these
humble
folk
won
them
much
sympathy,
and,
what was more
important,
the
patience
with
which
they
bore
it for the sake of
others*
freedom
commanded
widespread
respect.
But if the
war
created
in
Britain
an
atmosphere
more
favorable
to
the
working
class
vote,
the
popular
demand
for
it,
which
had
sunk
out of
sight
in
1848,
was
not
yet
very
evident.
Until
this
demand
surged
up again, parliamentary
reform
could be
only
an academic
question.
With
the final
collapse
of
Chartism,
the
labor movement
turned
its
356
CHAPTER
TWENTY:
back on
politics,
where it
had
floundered
helplessly,
and
concentrated
its
attention
upon
the
immediate
task
of
improving
working
conditions.
At
the
same time
it
began
to show
new
signs
of
strength
by
developing
a
superior
type
of trade union.
The
old
type,
a small
local
organization
managed
by
workmen
in
their off
hours,
was
weak
and
shortsighted.
Now
powerful
national
organizations
arose.
The first
was the
Amal-
gamated
Society
of
Engineers
in
1851;
and
by
the middle
of the
next
decade
the
carpenters,
the
miners,
the
cotton
spinners,
the
weavers,
and
other trades
had each
achieved
consolidation on
a national
scale.
These
new
trade
unions
had
large
funds
at
their
disposal,
and
they
had
well-paid
officers
who devoted
their
whole time to their
respective
societies. The
contrast
with the old
was
like
that between little
business
and
big
business,
and
that
between untrained amateurs and
trained
professionals.
Far from
being
a
reversion
to
the
extravagant
ideas
of
1834,
the
change
was
a
great
step
forward. The new trade
union
lead-
ers were
men
of
much
longer
vision
and
more
practical
sense.
Their
goal
was
not
the
millenium,
but a
well-ordered
industrial
society
in
which
the relations between
labor and
capital
would
be
regulated
by
the
leaders of both
sitting
down
together
as
equals
and
settling
their
differences
by
negotiation
or
conciliation.
They
strongly discouraged
all
pressure
from below to
meddle in
politics
or to
indulge
in
constant
strikes,
both of
which
activities
they
regarded
as
wasteful
and
injurious
to the
cause
they
were
directing.
In
becoming
better
organized
and
disciplined,
trade
unionism
was
preparing
labor to bear
the
responsibility
of
sharing
in the
control
of
the state.
So
also
was the
cooperative
movement,
another new
and
remarkable
development
of the
period.
The
opening
in 1844
of
a
little
retail
shop
by
some two
dozen
workingmen,
so
that
they
could
make
their
own
domestic
purchases
without
having
to
pay
toll to
middle-
men,
was the
small
beginning
of
great
things.
These Rochdale
Pioneers
were
soon so successful that
others
followed their
example,
and
cooper-
ative stores
sprang
up
all
over
England, particularly
in the
industrial
north. From
1850
many
"self-governing
workshops"
were
also
set
up;
but
the
cooperative
movement made
little inroad
into the field
of
pro-
duction,
whereas
it throve
mightily
in
distribution. At
the
same time
there was
a
rapid
expansion
of
an
older form
of
cooperation
among
workingmen,
by
which
they
were
providing
themselves
with
what we
now
call social insurance. Their
Friendly
Societies,
which
gave
finan-
cial
protection
in
the event
of sickness
or
death,
had
a
long
and obscure
history.
For
generations
they
had been
poor
and
weak,
their
members
Britain
on
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World
and
Turning
to
Democracy
357
commonly
meeting
in
"pubs"
where
they
dissipated
much
of their
slender
resources.
From
the
thirties,
however,
these mutual
benefit
societies
gathered
strength
under
government
inspection,
which
taught
them
how
to
manage
their
funds
wisely;
and
now
they
were
on their
feet.
The advent
of
political
democracy
in
Britain
came
swiftly
and
easily
in
1867.
After
fighting
shy
of
politics
for
half
a
generation,
labor
returned
to the
assault
as a
measure
of
self-defense. Most
employers
had
always
regarded
trade
unions
with
suspicion,
and
the
rapid
rise
of
the
new
great
unions
filled them
with
alarm.
Thereupon
they
started
a
vigorous agitation
against
organized
labor
in
general
and these
national
unions
in
particular.
When
overspeculation
caused
a
temporary
finan-
cial
crisis
in
1857,
employers
cut
wages, precipitating
a rash of strikes
that
lasted for
several
years
and
played
into the hands of
the enemies
of
labor.
On
the
whole,
the
strikes were the work of
the older
local
unions,
which still
harbored
the
notion
that
the
primary
purpose
of
a
union
was to
strike,
and
they
were
not successful.
Facing
defeat,
some
of
the strikers
resorted to
violence. The
worst
was
in
Sheffield,
the
home
of
steel,
where
tools were
destroyed,
some workers
were even
murdered,
and there was
almost
a
reign
of
terror for
a
while.
The
leaders
of the national
unions,
who stood
firmly
for industrial
peace,
publicly
denounced the
ugly
business;
but
they
could
not stem the
rising
tide
of hostile
public opinion
in
the classes
that
controlled
parliament.
Another
ominous
sign
was
the
attitude
of the law courts.
Though
the
repeal
of the combination laws
in 1825 removed
the
statutory
ban on
trade
unions,
it
did not
give
them
legal
recognition;
and the
common
law,
as
interpreted by
the
judges,
forbade
their members
to
combine in
a
strike,
on the
ground
that
it was
in
restraint
of trade
and, therefore,
an
illegal
conspiracy.
Moreover,
there
was
then no
way
for
trade
unions,
as
such,
to
get
legal
incorporation,
without
which
they
could
have
no
legally
enforceable
rights
to
any
funds
they possessed
or
any
property
they
owned.
To
protect
these
interests,
they
registered
as
Friendly
Societies,
which
were
incorporated
under
parliamentary
legis-
lation,
but
a
court
decision
might
at
any
time
strip
off this
cloak and
leave
them naked. In
1867
such
a
decision
was
finally
handed
down,
and
in the
same
year
the
public
agitation against
trade
unionism
bore
fruit
in
the
appointment
of
a
royal
commission
to
investigate
its
doings.
But
already
organized
labor,
realizing
the
necessity
of
getting
some
control
over the law
through
its
makers,
had abandoned
its
aloofness
358
CHAPTER
TWENTY:
from
politics
and
had
launched
such
a
powerful
drive
for
electoral
reform that there
was no
stopping
it.
The
parliament
that in
1867
enfranchised
the
workers
of
the
towns
had
just
demonstrated
beyond
all
shadow
of
doubt
that
it
was
opposed
to
any
such
measure. On
the
death
of
Palmerston,
Russell,
now
an
earl
and
in the House
of
Lords,
became
prime
minister,
with
Gladstone
as
leader
of
the Commons
and
the
strongest
force
in
the
ministry.
Natu-
rally, following
their
past
commitments,
they
prepared
a
reform
bill,
which was
introduced
in 1866.
It
was
very
mild,
compared
with
the
one that
was
passed
in
the
following
year,
but
it
was
much
too
extreme
for the
majority
in
the Commons.
Robert
Lowe,
2
a
brilliant
myopic
lawyer
who
had
returned
from
Australia
where
he
was
a vitriolic
champion
of
responsible
government,
headed
a secession
of
Liberal
members
who
voted
with
the Conservatives
against
the
bill
even
though
they
thereby
drove
their
own
party
from
power.
The
Conservatives,
led
by
Lord
Derby
in the
upper
chamber
and
Disraeli
in
the
lower,
then
tried
to form
a
coalition
government
with
the
Liberal
seceders
in
order
to
get
a
majority
in the Commons.
As
Lowe
and
his
fellows refused
the
offer,
Derby
formed
a
straight
Conservative
government,
which
avoided
immediate
defeat
by
performing
the
most
surprising
political
somersault
in British
records.
The
defeat
of
the 1866
bill,
which
had
seemed
to arouse
not much
more
popular
interest
than
the
similar bills
of
preceding
years,
let loose
a
terrific
clamor
from
the masses.
They
held
huge
public
meetings
and
marched
in
great
processions
to demand
electoral
reform
immediately.
A
monster
demonstration
to be
held
in
Hyde
Park
was announced.
The
government
forbade
it and shut
the
gates.
But
the
milling
crowd burst
through
fifty
yards
of the
heavy
fence
and
poured
into the
park.
This
tumultuous
preliminary
added
unexpected
weight
to the
impressive-
ness of
die demonstration.
All
over
the
country
the
stirring
of
the
masses
was
reminiscent
of Chartist
days
and
of the
popular
pressure
that
forced
parliament
to reform
itself
in 1832.
Now there
was little
talk of
revolution,
but little doubt
that there would
be
something
very
like it
unless
parliament
yielded.
Disraeli
promptly
mounted
the
storm,
dragging
many
of his
party
after
him. "If
the
people
would
have
reform,"
he
said,
"we
might
as
well
give
it to them and
stay
in
power."
Defying
the recalcitrant
wing
of
his own
party
and the antirefonn
block
of
the
other
party,
he
calcu-
2
Later
Lord
Sherbrooke.
Britain
on
Top
of
the
World
and
Turning
to
Democracy
359
lated
that
he
could
draw
sufficient
parliamentary
support
from
the
liberal
Liberals
to
carry
reform.
In this he
was
right.
But he soon
found
that the
combination
of
votes
from
opposite
sides
of the House
was
more than
a
little
unmanageable.
One
amendment
after another
was
added,
and no
one
could
tell
what
would next
be
urged.
At one
stage
John
Stuart
Mill
occasioned
mingled anger
and
amusement
by
proposing
votes
for
women
half a
century
before
they got
it. As the
measure
progressed,
it
bore
less
and less
resemblance
to the
original
bill,
and
every
change
made
it
more
radical.
The act
that
emerged
conferred the
franchise in
the urban constitu-
encies
upon every
adult
male
who
occupied
a
dwelling
on
which
he
paid
local
rates,
a
common
condition for
tenants,
or
occupied lodgings
worth
10 a
year.
This
practically
doubled the electorate
and
definitely
shifted
the
basis
of
political
power
to the
industrial
working
class,
who
now
possessed
a
majority
of the
votes.
Derby
called
it
"a
leap
in the
dark,"
and
Carlyle
"shooting
Niagara."
Lowe
said,
"Now we must
educate
our
masters." But these new
masters were
actually educating
their old
ones,
and
the
process
was
bound to
continue,
for
thenceforth
Liberal
and Conservative
politicians
had
to
compete
for the
support
of the
working
class vote.
In
the
general
election
of
1868,
Disraeli,
who had
just
succeeded
Derby
as
prime
minister,
went down to
defeat,
but
he was not
paying
the
penalty
that
Wellington
paid
in
1830
for
jamming
an
unpopular
reform
through parliament.
Gladstone
won because
he offered a more
promising
policy
for
dealing
with
Ireland,
and
his first
attention
as
prime
minister
was absorbed
by
that
perennial
problem
of British
poli-
tics.
Then
he
turned to domestic
affairs
and his
government
carried
a
number
of reforms
that
were
a
logical
sequel
to
the recent
extension of
the franchise
and
that
echoed
the
reconstructive
legislation
following
the
great
reform of 1832.
The
first of these
new
reforms
revolutionized
elementary
education
and laid
the
foundations
of
the
system
that
has since
been
erected.
The
policy
adopted
a
generation
before,
of
subsidizing
voluntary
schools,
most of
which
were controlled
by
some
religious
society,
had
proved
to
be
quite
inadequate.
Half
the
children
of school
age
were
attending
no
school,
only
a
quarter
were
in schools
efficiently
run
and
inspected,
and
the three
quarters
who
were
thus
neglected
were
the children
of work-
ing
class families.
The
warning
uttered
by
Lowe
could
not
go
un-
heeded,
but
any
attempt
to
meet
the
urgent
need was
sure to
provoke
heated
controversy
because
it
involved
religion.
The
great
majority
of
360
CHAPTER
TWENTY:
the
existing
schools
were
Church
of
England
and
taught
the
doctrines
of
that
church,
to which
the
great
majority
of
the
nation
belonged;
and
as these doctrines
were abhorrent
to
Dissenters,
the
latter
had started
nonsectarian
schools.
A
battle
royal
followed
between
churchmen,
to
whom
a
godless
education
was
equally
abhorrent,
and
those
who
would
divorce
education
from
religion
because
one
was
a
public
matter
and
the
other a
private
one.
A
national
compulsory
school
system
after the
Prussian
or the
American
model
was
politically
impossible
in
England,
with
its established
church;
but
the
time
had
come
when
the
govern-
ment
of the nation
had
to
see
that,
in one
way
or
another,
the
children
of
the whole
nation
got
efficient
schooling.
The Education
Act of
1870
met the
need
by
filling
in
the
large gap.
It established
local
school
boards
elected
by
the
rate
payers
to
maintain
the
necessary
elementary
schools
under
government
supervision.
For
this
purpose,
it
gave
the boards
power
to
levy
rates
and
to collect
fees,
which
they
could
waive for
poor
parents.
It also
provided
government
grants,
and at the
same
time
it increased
the
public
grants
to
the volun-
tary
schools.
It
compromised
on
the
question
of
religious
instruction
in
the
new schools.
The boards
could
require
it if
they
so
desired,
but it
had
to be
nonsectarian
and
put
in the
first
or
last
period
of
the
day
so
that
children
of
objecting
parents
could be
excused
from
exposure
to
it.
In
the
following
year
another act
abolished
the
religious
tests that had
made
the
universities
close
Church
of
England
corporations.
Other
reforms
of this
ministry
included the
adoption,
in
1870,
of
competitive
examinations
for
appointments
to vacancies
in
the civil
service.
For
years
there had
been
a
movement
in
this
direction
for the
sake
of
greater
administrative
efficiency,
and
now
it
succeeded when
the advent
of
democracy
made it
more
urgent
as
a
means
of
preventing
deterioration
under
the influence of
that
disease of
democracy
known
as the
spoils
system.
Then too the
army
was made much more efficient
and
popular
by
a
thorough reorganization,
one feature of which was
the
abolition
of
the
purchase
of officers'
commissions,
an
ancient relic
of
aristocratic
privilege.
Parliament
balked at this
particular
reform,
and
to
effect
it the
government
had to fall
back
upon
a
royal
warrant,
which,
though
quite legal,
drew vehement
denunciations
from the
class
that
had
long
monopolized
the
officering
of
the
army.
In
1872
the
Ballot
Act
gave protection
to the
democratic
electorate
by
putting
an
end
to
open
voting.
In the
following
year
another act
vastly improved
the
administration
of
justice
by
revising legal procedure
and
recon-
structing
the
principal
courts.
It
was
an
energetic
and
intelligent
Britain
on
Top of
the
World and
Turning
to
Democracy
361
housecleaning
that
swept
out
the
debris
of
ages,
some of
which
is
reputed
to have
survived
even in
American
courts.
Already
the
dubious
legal position
of
trade unions
had come
under
review,
and
the
royal
commission's
investigation
into
their
practices
had
vindicated
organized
labor
as a whole
against
the common
charge
that
it
was
responsible
for
such
ugly
incidents
as had occurred
in
Sheffield.
A
statute of
1871
overrode
the common
law
ruling
that
trade
unions
were
conspiracies
in
restraint of
trade,
and
it
gave
them
legal
recognition.
As a
result
of recent
experience,
however,
the
labor
victory
was
qualified
by
a
legislative
attempt
to
draw a line between
lawful
and
unlawful
actions in
conducting
strikes,
and
the definition
of
picketing
was
such that
it was
almost
impossible
to use
the strike
weapon
without
running
foul
of the criminal
law.
Though
labor
felt
cheated,
it
was not
exasperated.
The rise in real
wages
was still
operat-
ing
to reduce the
temptation
to
draw the
sword,
and
the
shaping
of the
law
was
no
longer
in
the
hands
of
men
who
could
defy
the will of the
masses.
At
the next
general
election,
in
1874,
two
workingmen
won
seats
in the
House
of
Commons,
the
property qualification
for
members
having
been
abolished
quietly
in
1858.
Though
the
public purse
pro-
vided members
with
no
salaries,
this was
no
bar,
for these two
new
members
were
paid by
their
fellow
miners.
Political
democracy
was
beginning
to
function in
Britain.
CHAPTER
XXI
The
Birth
of
the
First
Dominion
AN OUTSTANDING feature
of
the
development
of
the
British
Empire
into the
British Commonwealth
of
Nations has been
the consolidation
of
adjacent
colonies
to form
new
British
nations;
and like
the
other
essential
feature
in this
development
the
British
North American
Revolution
which
spread
to other
parts
of the
empire
it was
first
applied
in British
North
America
under the
compelling
influence
of
the
United
States.
The American
Revolution
planted
the
seed
that the American
Civil
War
brought
to
fruition in
the establishment
of the Dominion
of
Canada.
It will be recalled that on
the morrow of
the
Revolution the
British
government
sent
out
Lord Dorchester
to
pull
together
the
North
American
fragments
that had survived
the
imperial
wreck.
Though
the
only
means of communication
were
then
so
poor
that he
could
not do
it,
the idea
never
quite
died. From
time
to
time
some
prominent
in-
dividual
in one
or other
of these colonies
kept
it
alive
by
proposing
a
scheme
to realize
it.
When Durham went to Canada
he
became a
con-
vert,
and
in his famous
report
he
preached
the
gospel
of
salvation
by
unity.
As the United States had
unconsciously
planted
the
seed,
so also
did
the
great
Republic keep
it watered.
This
was
by
the
power
of
example
and
suggestion.
One remarkable achievement
of the Ameri-
can
people
that has
since been
mostly
forgotten,
even
by
themselves,
is
that
they
rehabilitated an ancient
but
long
discredited form of
govern-
ment and
thereby
inaugurated
the rather
striking
growth
of
federalism
in
the
modern
world. In other
words,
they
demonstrated the
practi-
cability
of
the
formula
by
which
British
North
America,
though
divided
by geography
and
by
race,
might
be
united.
Then,
too,
the
fact that
the United States was
striding
like
a
young giant
across
the
continent
stirred
the
imagination
of
British North Americans.
If the
lost colonies
The
Birth
of
the First
Dominion
363
could
thus become
a
great
nation,
why
could
not the
remaining
ones
unite
and build
another?
And if
they
did not seek
strength
in
union,
what
would
be
their
fate?
Sooner
or later the
young
giant
might
swallow
them
up,
one
by
one.
Such
hopes
and fears
inspired
most
of
the
advocates of
federation
for
these
colonies.
But the
agitation
for
it
did
not
begin
to
win
wide
support
until the middle of
the
nineteenth
century.
The
coming
of the
railway
age
lifted the
union of
British
North
America
out
of the
land of
dreams. In
1850 there
were
scarcely
fifty
miles
of
railway
in
the
whole
of British North
America. Ten
years
later
United
Canada
had two
thousand of
them.
These included
a trunk line
that
ran
from
Sarnia,
at
the foot of
Lake
Huron,
to
Riviere du
Loup,
on
the
south
shore of
the St.
Lawrence
a
hundred and
twenty
miles
below
Quebec;
and
this
Grand
Trunk
Railway
had an outlet to
the
ocean
through
the
United States at
Portland,
Maine.
The Maritime
Provinces
had
three little
railways
that
had
no
connection
with
one
another;
if
they
could be linked
up
and
joined
with Riviere du
Loup,
British
North
America
would
at last be drawn
together
physically
and
therefore
might
be united
politically.
But who
would
pay
for
filling
in
the
gaps?
Private
capital
would
not
foot
the
bill,
the
railway
mania
had
already
strained
the
public
finances of
United Canada
to
the
breaking
point,
and
the
much
poorer governments
of
the Maritime
Provinces
could
not
find
the
money.
In
the
end,
after
several
years,
the
imperial
government
came to
the rescue
in order
to
make federation
possible,
and
that
was
only
when
political
considerations
seemed
to
make
federa-
tion
imperative.
There
is
an
old Canadian
saying
that
federation
was born of
political
deadlock.
The reference
is
to
an
exasperating
development
in the old
United
Canada,
where
responsible
government
soon
came to an
im-
passe.
The
trouble
arose
from
the
coexistence
of two
peoples
so
deeply
divided
by
race,
religion,
language,
legal
systems,
and
culture
each
inhabiting
a
separate
part
of
the
country
that neither would submit
to
rule
by
the other.
No
cabinet
could
survive
that did
not
have two
heads
and two
distinct
halves,
one
from Canada
East
(Quebec)
and
the
other
from
Canada
West
(Ontario),
and also
the simultaneous
support
of
a double
majority
in
the
assembly.
A
majority
of
members
from Canada
West
could
not
make
up
for
a
minority
from Canada
East,
or
vice
versa.
Such
conditions
were
impossible.
Ten ministries
fell
in
the
ten
years
beginning
with
1854. If
self-government
was to
survive,
the
Union
Act of
1840
had
to
go.
The
two
parts
of
the
country
364
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE:
had
to
have
separate
administrations
and
legislatures,
and
yet they
could
not
be
completely
severed.
That
would
revive
the
financial
diffi-
culties
of
Upper
Canada,
and
it
would
damage
both
sections
of the
country
in more
important
ways.
United
Canada
had
undertaken
responsibilities
that could
not
well
be divided.
While
each
section
had
to
have its
own
government
to
manage
its
own
affairs,
they
also had to
have
a
government
to
look
after
customs,
railways,
canals,
and
other
interests
that
they
had
in common.
In
short,
they
could
not
go
back to
mere
division;
they
had
to
go
on to
establish
a federal
system.
But
this
did
not
mean
that
it
must
include
any
other
colony.
What
stretched
the solution
to
give
it
a much
wider
application?
The
American
Civil
War
is
the answer
to
this
question,
but
before
we examine
it
we
should
observe
some
other
developments
that
were
conditioning
the minds
of
men in
British
North
America
for
the
larger
solution.
Around
the
middle
of
the
century
the
rapid
expansion
of
settlement
in
Canada
West
ran
up against
the wilderness
of
rocks
and
lakes
and
Christmas
trees
that is
known
as the
Pre-Cambrian
Shield,
whose
southern
edge
is not
a
hundred
miles
north
of Toronto.
Blocked
in
this
direction,
the
surplus
population
began
to
pour
across the
in-
ternational
boundary
into the northern
Middle
Western
States. The
frontier
movement
that had once
surged
into
Upper
Canada
had now
passed
beyond,
into the
newer
and
larger
West
of
the United States.
Immigrants
were still
crowding
into
Canada,
but
she could not
keep
them.
Her
growth
was
being
cramped,
and
her
public
men
were
com-
ing
to
feel
that she
must have
a
West of
her own for
expansion.
There-
fore
they
looked to
the
part
of the
Northwest
that
was still under the
Union
Jack;
there
they
saw unlimited
possibilities
and also an
ominous
shadow
approaching
them.
The
Hudson's
Bay
Company
was
losing
its
hold over
the
huge empire
of
the
west. Who
would
get
possession
of
it?
The
advancing
tide of
American
settlement
strongly suggested
that it
might
be
the
United
States.
Memories
of what had
recently
happened
on
the Pacific
coast
were
very
fresh
in
Canada,
and rather raw.
The
British
government,
reading
the lesson
of
the
Oregon
crisis,
had
given
all the
land on Van-
couver
Island
to
the
Hudson's
Bay
Company
in
1849 for
the
purpose
of
building
a
colony
that
would
solidify
British
possession
of
that
ex-
posed
corner
of
the
empire.
But
that
was such a far
corner
of the
earth
that
it
attracted
scarcely
any
British
settlers.
Therefore the
colony
of
Vancouver
Island,
though
endowed
by
London with
a
governor,
a
council,
and
an
assembly,
remained what
it had
been
since the
recent