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For students in Canada, the nation's history often revolves around monotonous accounts of explorers hauling canoes through bug-ridden waterways while debating survival strategies. Beyond occasional clashes between French and English forces, the establishment of fur trade routes and the excavation of canals stand out as slightly more engaging highlights. Our geographic location doesn’t help either: when stories of frostbitten pioneers lamenting their fate are compared to events like the Civil War, even the most loyal Canadians might feel a twinge of envy.
Although Canadian history may never be the source of a Hollywood mega-hit, we’ve compiled eight overlooked stories from our nation’s past that could at least serve as worthy material for publicly-funded films.
1. INDEPENDENT REPUBLIC OF MANITOBAH
The Dominion of Canada was established on July 1, 1867, but modern-day Manitoba was not yet included. At the time, it was referred to as Rupert’s Land, controlled by the Hudson's Bay Company, North America’s oldest commercial corporation. Originally a fur-trading enterprise, the company now operates similarly to Target, though with less allure.
Thomas Spence, a Scottish immigrant, founded a settlement in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, located about 100 miles from the current North Dakota border. This area existed outside any formal jurisdiction, making it essentially lawless. Spence, with his political savvy, persuaded settlers that creating an official council would ensure safety, and he naturally positioned himself as its leader. Thus, the Independent Republic of Manitobah was established, with Spence as its president.
Spence attempted to impose taxes on locals and bewildered fur traders passing through to finance the building of a council house and jail. However, a shoemaker resisted, accusing Spence and his council of being drunkards who squandered tax money on alcohol. Outraged by such defiance, Spence dispatched his deputies to arrest the shoemaker for treason, holding a trial in one of his constables' homes. The situation escalated into a violent clash when the shoemaker’s allies intervened, with Spence hiding under a table as guns were drawn.
The Republic’s downfall came when Spence received a letter from the Colonial Minister in London, stating that neither he nor his republic held any legal standing and demanding an immediate end to the charade.
2. OH, BROTHER XII, WHERE ART THOU?
One of Canada’s most infamous cult tales followed a trajectory akin to a tumultuous marriage—beginning with dreams of love and pledges of collective improvement, only to dissolve into bitter disputes over money and intimacy. Edward Arthur Wilson, a British mystic and former sea captain, began experiencing visions in 1924, leading him to believe he was being guided by an Egyptian spiritual master.
Adopting the name Brother XII, Wilson concluded that he needed a colony, which he termed the "Ark of Refuge," to prepare humanity for the impending Age of Aquarius. However, funding was required, and he found it through impressionable Californians who were captivated by his lectures during a speaking tour. These individuals financed both his Ark of Refuge in Cedar, British Columbia, and the Aquarian Foundation that supported it.
By 1927, the Foundation was generating substantial revenue. However, conflicts arose when it became clear that Brother XII’s activities in the "House of Mystery," a space intended for spiritual reflection, were anything but mysterious to those familiar with the noises of passionate encounters.
Further scandals involving intimacy emerged, but the primary grievances centered on Brother XII’s authoritarian control over the Foundation’s finances. Although he won legal battles against his accusers, negative media coverage labeling his group as a cult focused on free love and swindling investors (which appeared largely accurate) led to the Foundation’s dissolution in November 1929. Despite this, Brother XII’s wealth remained intact, as he had converted much of the donations into gold coins, stashing them in hidden jars.
His alliance with a sadistic woman known as "Madame Z," who wielded a bullwhip, transformed the colony’s atmosphere from eerie and uncomfortable to grueling and intolerable. The colonists eventually revolted, drafting what might be the most pitiful "declaration of independence" ever written. In 1932, Brother XII and Madame Z vanished with their gold, their final whereabouts never confirmed.
3. TOUGH LACROSSE TO BEAR
Lacrosse holds the unfortunate title of Canada’s "national summer sport," and much like its winter counterpart, it involves fast-moving projectiles and the occasional loss of teeth. Originating from the Native American game of "baggataway," which had no formal rules and was so fierce that tribal leaders used it to simulate the horrors of war for their warriors.
The most brutal match in lacrosse history took place on June 4, 1763. Two Ojibwe chiefs extended an invitation to George Etherington, the British commander of Fort Michilimackinac, to witness a game between the Ojibwe and Sauk tribes. They claimed it would be a special event to honor King George’s birthday. Etherington dismissed concerns about accepting the invitation, unaware of the ongoing siege at Fort Detroit. He and several soldiers left the safety of the fort, unarmed, to watch and wager on the game.
As the match unfolded, no one noticed that the native women present were dressed more for winter than summer. The reason for their heavy clothing became clear when the ball was thrown into the fort’s compound. The women opened their blankets, revealing hidden tomahawks and knives, which they handed to the men. What followed was a massacre, with at least 27 soldiers killed both inside and outside the fort. Etherington, whose naive trust contributed to the bloodshed, survived after being ransomed.
4. Toronto's Disastrous First Hanging
Canada’s final execution took place in Toronto in 1962, where two men were hanged for committing murders at an exceptionally unfortunate time. Toronto’s inaugural hanging, however, occurred over 150 years earlier, in 1798. A tailor named John Sullivan was sharing whiskey with his friend, Michael Flannery, a troublemaker known for his Latin outbursts. When their money ran out, Flannery forged a banknote worth about three shillings. After the forgery was uncovered, Flannery fled to the U.S., leaving Sullivan to face the harsh justice of the frontier.
At the time, Toronto was just five years old, and some systems, like executing someone by hanging, were still being refined. While the townsfolk were excited for the weekend spectacle of a hanging, no one volunteered to be the executioner. Unfortunately for Sullivan, his cellmate, McKnight, agreed to take on the role in exchange for a pardon and $100—a sum roughly 100 times the amount involved in the original crime. Inexperienced, McKnight reportedly failed twice to tie the noose correctly, prompting Sullivan to voice his frustration before he was silenced permanently.
5. OUR VERY OWN ASSASSINATION
While the U.S. has a long history of political assassinations, Canada has experienced only one: the murder of Thomas D’Arcy McGee, an Irish-born journalist turned politician.
In the spring of 1868, after a late-night parliamentary session, McGee was struggling to unlock the door to his Ottawa boarding house. Before he could finish his cigar and enter, a .32 caliber bullet struck him in the neck and jaw, ending his life.
The assassination was tied to the Fenian Irish Independence Movement in New York, a group willing to use violence to overthrow the Canadian government—a threat McGee had publicly denounced. Following the murder, numerous Irish immigrants were arrested, and Patrick James Whelan was eventually charged. His trial was far from fair, with Prime Minister John A. Macdonald, a friend of McGee, sitting beside the judge, and a juror openly expressing a desire to see Whelan hanged before the trial even began.
Whelan was swiftly sent to the gallows after a trial lasting just eight days. His execution was another example of poor hanging practices, as he dangled in front of a crowd for four excruciating minutes.
6. SITTING BULL AND THE MOUNTIE
The American West wasn’t the only place with daring figures. On May 8, 1877, nearly a year after Sioux warriors defeated General Custer, Canadian Mountie James Walsh and a small group of his men rode into a camp of around 5000 of Sitting Bull’s followers in present-day Saskatchewan. Despite the risk of being killed, Walsh aimed to ensure the tribe respected Queen Victoria’s laws, promising fair treatment in return.
Sitting Bull agreed, marking the start of an unlikely friendship in Canadian frontier history. Walsh defended the chief, whom he believed was unfairly portrayed as ruthless after Little Big Horn. In turn, Sitting Bull respected Walsh for not plotting his expulsion or assassination.
Tensions occasionally rose between the two. On one occasion, Sitting Bull confronted Walsh, accusing Queen Victoria of being overly frugal with supplies. The argument escalated, and Sitting Bull reached for his revolver, but Walsh quickly disarmed him and threw him out of the cabin. When Sitting Bull attempted to rise, Walsh delivered a kick to his side. Despite being vastly outnumbered, Walsh’s boldness paid off, as Sitting Bull eventually backed down after a tense standoff.
The two men moved past the incident, and their friendship endured until Prime Minister John A. Macdonald reassigned Walsh, accusing him of being too sympathetic to Sitting Bull. Upon hearing the news, Sitting Bull was reportedly heartbroken, realizing his time in Canada was coming to an end.
7. JUMBO-SIZED LEGACY
Jumbo, arguably the most famous elephant in history, was a major attraction in London before P.T. Barnum bought him from Queen Victoria, despite protests from children who sent thousands of letters pleading for him to stay. Jumbo was shipped to North America to join Barnum’s traveling circus, eventually becoming part of Canadian history.
This connection to Canada was cemented when Jumbo died in 1885 in St. Thomas, Ontario, reportedly struck by an oncoming train. The town would capitalize on Jumbo’s death, both culturally and economically, for decades to come.
The Ottawa Citizen published a letter recounting a woman’s great-grandfather’s memories of the day after Jumbo’s death. Local butchers carved up the elephant’s body so its hide could be preserved by taxidermists and its skeleton displayed in a museum. With no instructions for the meat, it was placed on a massive funeral pyre to prevent rotting. The aroma of roasted elephant filled the air, and many, including the woman’s great-grandfather, arrived with forks to partake in the unusual feast.
A century later, in 1985, St. Thomas celebrated its unique connection to Jumbo’s tragic end by unveiling a life-sized statue of the elephant during a lively "Jumbo Days" festival. The town’s Railway City Brewing continues this legacy, oddly declaring, “When you raise your glass of Dead Elephant Ale, you’ll celebrate everything Jumbo was and became.” An exploited animal and Canada’s strangest culinary moment? Hard pass.
8. THE CIRCUS RIOT
In the summer of 1855, Toronto was already notorious for its vices without the mayor’s help. The city was a rapidly growing frontier town filled with brothels. Family-friendly entertainment was scarce, so when the American SB Howes' Star Troupe Menagerie & Circus arrived, it was a hit.
After one show, the circus clowns decided to visit a brothel, but their choice of location was poor. The establishment was a favorite haunt of the Hook & Ladder Firefighting Company, who had recently clashed with a rival firefighting crew over a blaze (an event dubbed "The Firemen Riot"). Though the exact trigger is unclear, the clowns soon found themselves brawling with the firemen, securing their dominance in the brothel for the night.
The firemen, aligned with the dominant Orange Protestant power structure in Toronto at the time, sought revenge the next day by storming the fairgrounds where the clowns were camped. A mob joined the attack, and the carnies endured such a severe beating that some leaped into Lake Ontario to flee. Police sympathetic to the Protestants did nothing to intervene, sparking an official inquiry and a complete restructuring of the police force.
Noel Boivin and Christopher Lombardo are the authors of The Man Who Scared A Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery (Penguin, 2007) and more recently Tastes Like Human: The Shark Guys' Book of Bitingly Funny Lists. Check them out at TheSharkGuys.com.
