Nearly everybody in Simcoe knows
Matthias Schilz. Those who do not are seldom on the streets themselves.
For although he turned 86 on 16 Feb 1925, he has not given up his
daily pilgrimage downtown, and his figure remains a very familiar sight in
the business district.
But the majority only know
him to say good morning. Only a few have
more than a superficial knowledge of his interesting history.
Born in Germany
He was born the youngest of five
brothers and five sisters to Prussian parents on
a small farm in the valley of the River Rhine, about 18 miles from the
city of Trier.
In 1806, before Matthias was born, Napoleon Bonaparte, at the zenith of his career,
swept down upon Prussia and conquered the rich Rhine valley and the
Provinces of Alsace-Lorraine, and drafted every
eligible man into his army.
Matthias father was
sent with an army to Spain, where Napoleon's brother Joseph was attempting
to set up a form of rule. There he remained until 1814, when the Rhine was
re-claimed by the Allies.
Matthias grew to young
manhood like any other normal boy, attending the local school and helping
his father on the farm. But Matthias had one great hate that apparently
obsessed his mind and tormented his soul from early youth: he hated militarism
and he hated the Kaiser. He knew how his father had been torn
away to waste a decade of his life in useless combat, and he had seen
scores of his friends and relatives taken away to fight the battles of
Kaiser, perhaps never to return.
Every
male in Prussia between the ages of 18 and 45 years was liable to
be called upon in time of danger. And war was apt to occur at almost any
time and upon the slightest provocation in those days. But
the worst feature, the one that chiefly rankled
Matthias, was the drafting of all boys, who had attained their 18th birthday, for three years' military training and service.
When
he had reached his 18th birthday Matthias was his father's mainstay on the
farm, and the thought of being Prussianized out of his family circle
to become a service tool of the hateful Kaiser was to him unbearable.
He
decided to run away -- to become a deserter, with all the attendant perils
of that word. At first his parents endeavored to dissuade him, but when
he pointed out to them that soon he would be no longer theirs anyway, they
reluctantly gave their consent.
With a light heart, two willing hands, and naught else but
a few crisp notes and his baptismal certificate, this youth of 18
summers stole away one dark night in the spring of 1857 and headed for the
Belgian border. There he deceived the guards and in a
greatly relieved frame of
mind, headed for Antwerp.
That
seaport in those days (68 years ago) was a fortified city, entirely surrounded by a high wall. The subject of this sketch,
however, experienced no difficulty at the portals of the thriving
metropolis, and was soon swallowed up in the bustle and turmoil of the
great city.
Was
64 Days at Sea
At least
temporarily free from the clutches of the Kaiser, he sauntered about the
streets, enjoying the beautiful show places Antwerp had to offer. The
big business houses, the fine residences and the magnificent cathedrals
greatly attracted him.
But
he had well-laid plans for the future, and they had nothing to do with
Antwerp. The lure of the west and its golden opportunities had captured
him, and he booked passage for America.
So, in
company with 299 other passengers, Matthias Schilz set sail from Antwerp
on the three-masted sailing vessel, Charlie Cooper, precisely one
fortnight after he had forsaken his native Prussia.
The
next two months and four days of his life were spent on the seething
waters of the Atlantic Ocean, and though the owner of a sturdy, well-knit
frame, he, with all his shipmates, succumbed to that dread affliction,
"mal de mer."
It was the stormiest kind of a
voyage. High
winds and giant waves tossed the weather-beaten sailing schooner about
like a cork. The grub was terrible and the sleeping
accommodation none too good. It was a happy 300 that
finally disembarked at Castle Garden, New York.
In
a Strange Land
Always
quick to make friends, he had joined forces on board ship with several
colleagues from Prussia who were bound for the State of Iowa.
Had his passage
across the pond not cost him the enormous sum of $35, Matthias would probably have become an Iowan too. But when the party reached
Elmira, N.Y., his precarious a financial position [would not allow him to
go with them].
The party went heartlessly
on, and the lone Prussian boy, who could speak not a word of English, and
knew not a soul in all that vast country, stood a forlorn, dejected figure
on the station platform at Elmira, N.Y., in the beautiful month of June
1857.
Then came a jarring blow on
the shoulder, a word of kindly greeting in his native tongue, and a hearty
handclasp with a man who had been the Warden of the county where
Matthias grew up.
It was a truly remarkable coincidence
that a friend in need should show up the minute he stepped onto
soil, separated by thousands of miles from his native hearth. This friend,
now a hotelkeeper, kept him at his tavern over the weekend, nourished him with
delicious food and filled him with the kind of beer that suited his
palate.
The future was an
uncertain quantity. But Matthias knew he had a brother living somewhere in the
County of Norfolk, and decided to invest
his remaining resources in transportation to Hamilton.
Miracles
were falling thick upon Matthias' head, for on the station
platform at Niagara Falls, N.Y., he encountered another old friend
from Prussia. Another hotel, another bed, and another festive weekend.
Arrived
with 25 cents
And so he
came to a little town hidden away at the foot of the Hamilton Mountain,
and one shining silver quarter, the last of the pile
he had hoarded away in that far-off Prussian farmhouse.
Having reached his goal
he was now content to cast about for a job. First he
wrote a letter to his brother in Norfolk County telling him of his
arrival. A day or two later he picked up with another recently arrived
German boy, and the twain set out on a tramp to Stoney Creek.
But
the long and tiresome journey had sapped his strength and finally he fell
exhausted by the wayside. A friendly farmer took him in, and later hired
him for a period of three months at the magnificent wage of $6 per month.
He had served five days when his brother Nicholas came from Port
Ryerse and brought him back to Norfolk County.
His first job
was on a farm at Doan's Hollow. His employer was Solomon Walker, who took a fancy to the
newly-arrived immigrant at their first meeting.
In the
spring of the following year, Matthias left the employ of Mr. Walker and
went to work for a Mr. White, who owned a large farm near the Woodhouse
Methodist Church. In a short time, his employer purchased the Halfway
House from Charles Brown, and there Matthias spent the next two
years of his life, working the land and assisting in the hotel. Liquor was
plentiful and cheap in those days, and drunkenness was a common sight.
There were distilleries in Simcoe and Vittoria that did a large business.
Good whiskey retailed for 25 cents a gallon.
Matthias recalls the names of many old families living in the vicinity at
that time: the Matthews, the Gilberts, the Cullimores, the
Walkers, the Musselmans, John and Henry Kniffen, and a man named Jarvis,
who ran a blacksmith shop near the Halfway
House.
In 1861 Matthias was caught in one of those periodic movements across the border. He
dreamed that the streets of American cities were paved with gold and
strewn with dollar bills. He was disillusioned. Nevertheless he
chanced to be in St. Louis on the day Abraham Lincoln was elected President.
Later he worked in the State of Illinois for a time, before returning to
Norfolk.
Bought
Farm of His Own
Matthias
worked for the late George Culver for about two years, after which he
chose a life partner and purchased a farm of his own, on Lot 14, Concession
6, Woodhouse Township. There he lived in contentment for more than 50
years, and he left the farm in a vastly different condition than he found
it. Matthias jocularly remarks: "I went there with my wife, a baby
boy, a cow and two willing hands. My only tools were an axe, a scythe and
a flailer."
He says
that nearly all the valuable timber had been removed from the property,
but there was a dense growth of underbrush. It required an indomitable
courage and perseverance to accomplish the herculean task of clearing the
land, but like the hardy pioneers who preceded him, Matthias went
to work with a zeal and determination born of necessity.
The
first winter the family of three spent in a log cabin, into which wintry blasts
penetrated relentlessly. The following summer, with the
generous assistance of his neighbors and the help of a pair of oxen,
Matthias was able to clear a decent-sized piece of his 50-acre farm and erect a more comfortable
abode.
Gradually,
by dinted of incessant labor he converted the land into one of the
richest farms in the community, and throughout his half century of tenure
it continued to favor him with exceeding prosperity.
Seven
Years a Councilor
Matthias is excusably proud of his unsolicited election to the township
council of Woodhouse on seven different occasions. In seven years he
gained a thorough municipal experience, and he can now give many
interesting sidelights on the problems that council faced from time to
time.
One that has left a
very indelible impression on his mind was the proposal to build an
electric railway down the Simcoe-Port Dover highway. Matthias waged a
vigorous and for a time single-handed opposition, and finally won over
to his side enough supporters to sound the death-knell of the project.
Besides
his interest in public affairs, Mr. Schilz was always a strenuous advocate
of the co-operative movement as the best means of solving the farmer's
difficulties.
He was one of
the organizers of the Norfolk branch of the Grange Society, called No. 147
Norfolk Grange. The initial meeting was held in Dan Palmerton's house.
Then it met at Wiggins' Schoolhouse, and finally the membership
became so great a Grange assembly hall was built near the
schoolhouse.
At one time the
Society had over 100 members in Norfolk and enthusiasm waxed high. But
gradually the movement spent its force, the members lost interest, and if
it had not been for Matthias' intervention, the assembly hall
would have been sold.
He can
name every one of the charter members of Norfolk Grange: Wm.
Dixon, Wm. Shand, Gideon Chrysler, Henry Misner, Isaac Austin, John T.
Smith, James Andrews and Charles Kent.
At the apex of its success,
Matthias was master of Norfolk Grange and one of the few charter members. In recognition of his valuable services to
the community, he was presented by the members with a handsome gold-headed
cane and an address [on 17 Apr 1920] just prior to his departure to take up his residence
in Simcoe.
Years
ago, in partnership with Charles Burch, Matthias started a
co-operative store for farmers at Renton,
but internal dissension finally caused its abandonment.
At
present, Matthias is a shareholder and booster of the Norfolk
Co-operative Company. He celebrated his 86th birthday attending the
annual meeting of that organization two weeks ago.
A
Successful Farmer
Matthias left the farm about five years ago, because he had passed the
fourscore mark and was not the robust young man that took possession of
the land some 50 years before. He gave up farm life reluctantly, for it
had always been his chief source of joy. His splendidly-kept property
testified to the energy he devoted to it.
He was a great apple specialist. He imported numerous Prussian
varieties and grafted them into his own orchards and those of his friends.
Into whatever phase of agricultural activity he delved, it seemed that
success smiled on him. But Matthias will tell you that was hard work, not Lady Luck.
Mr.
and Mrs. Schilz raised a family of three sons and one daughter on their
Woodhouse farm. One son, William, is dead, but James is a hardware
merchant at Port Dover, and Charles is living in Detroit. The daughter is
Mrs. Geo. Griffin of Simcoe, with whom Mr. Schilz resides. Last December his granddaughter, Mrs. George
Pursel of Simcoe, gave birth to a son.
His
brother Nicholas who lived at Port Ryerse for many years died three years
ago. He was married to a sister of Matthias' wife, and to them were born
several sons. Only one, also named Matthias, has
remained in Canada. He is at present a Woodhouse farmer.
Matthias is deeply
appreciative of the many kindnesses shown him by the people of Woodhouse.
Coming to Norfolk County, a Prussian lad with only a
smattering of English, he was not welcomed with any undue enthusiasm. But gradually the hospitality of his neighbors toward him
increased as he learned the new tongue, the new customs and
the new associations. It was not long before he felt quite at home.
From the day he set foot on Belgian soil, Matthias
never had any intention of returning to see his father and mother. He knew
what would happen if militarism got its clutches on him. That fate befell a friend of his, and he was determined to take no
chances.
For a short time he
communicated with friends and relatives in Germany, but finally the
correspondence ceased, and in over 60 years he has not heard from
mother, father, brothers or sisters. But he has heard that all have gone
to their reward. He alone is left of that little family of five boys and
five girls that a Prussian father and mother reared on a little farm in
the valley of the River Rhine nearly 90 years ago.
[Compiler's
Comment: On 15 Mar 2008 we received email from Ray
Canon, who pointed out: "If he was born
near Trier, it would have been in the Moselle River valley, quite a
distance from the Rhine. Trier is near the Belgian border -- and is well
worth a visit."]
