Startled by the explosion of gunshots, the horse leapt into a run with its fearful rider ducking low against its back. Behind came several more shots, and William Lyon Mackenzie, rebel leader and one-time mayor of Toronto, felt a bullet whiz past his ear and fly off into the night.
At a dead gallop, with an unknown number of horsemen in pursuit, Mackenzie swept along Yonge Street, kicking up a cloud of snow and mud in his wake. Ahead lay Gamble’s Inn. The desperate rebel guided his mare toward the establishment. Tonight, instead of drinks, Gamble’s Inn would serve up Mackenzie’s salvation.
The year was 1837, the exact date unknown, lost in the mist of history. But the details of this dramatic event remain etched in local folklore and served to elevate Nathaniel Gamble’s inn from humble roadside tavern to a building of historic significance.
Gamble’s Inn, located on the southwest corner of Yonge Street and what would become Mulock Drive, was founded by Gamble shortly after he arrived from the United States in 1802. It was a popular stagecoach stop and held both Masonic Lodge and King Township meetings. But it was its brush with Mackenzie that wrote Gamble’s Inn into history books.
By 1837, Mackenzie had grown disillusioned with the existing socio-political structure in Upper Canada (Ontario), where elites held all the power and influence. Efforts to push change through the political process had stalled in the face of entrenched interests. He now felt change would only come at the end of a musket barrel. Mackenzie committed himself and his followers to rebellion.
Mackenzie expected to ride down Yonge Street the conquering hero, leading his army of farmers and craftsmen to victory and widespread reform. Instead, after the disastrous Battle of Montgomery’s Tavern (Dec. 7), he found himself a fugitive on the run, spending nights hidden in dark attics or shivering in barns. It was hardly the way he had envisioned events turning out.
A few weeks after the rebellion had been crushed, Mackenzie took shelter on a particularly cold night with a family in the village of Armitage (long since consumed by Newmarket). An observant neighbour had noticed the strange comings and goings and tipped off loyalist militia, who converged on the farmhouse to apprehend the fugitive. Mackenzie’s luck held, however.
Alerted just in time to the approaching soldiers, he raced from the home, vaulted atop a horse, and kicked the animal into a gallop. The soldiers opened fire, but none struck their target. They then jumped onto their own horses and gave chase, racing north along Yonge Street.
More shots echoed through the still night. Mackenzie guided his horse directly toward Gamble’s Inn. Desperate to escape his pursuers, he rode right through the front door and into the barroom, scattering startled patrons and tables. Gamble, leaning upon the bar, could only watch in stunned silence as Mackenzie rode past at full speed, through the building and out its rear door.
The desperate move had bought Mackenzie a few vital seconds, enough at least to make his escape into the nearby woods. In the coming weeks, he managed to evade his pursuers and make his way toward the United States and exile.
That’s not to say the rebellion was a complete failure. Colonial officials sent to Canada to investigate the cause of the uprising made note of inequalities and, based upon their recommendations, much-needed reforms were made.
Mackenzie was pardoned in 1849 and, upon returning to Canada, was elected to represent Haldimand County in the provincial legislature from 1851-59, where he continued his reform agenda.
As for Gamble’s Inn, it’s remembered today where so many contemporaries have been forgotten because of the role it played in a single moment of high drama.
