" The morning of the 7th rose upon a sight which
might well haunt the dreams of all who beheld it. In the breach where
the ninety-fifth perished almost to a man was a ghastly array, largely
consisted of the mangled corpses of young English officers whose dauntless
intrepidity had impelled them to such deeds of valour as have made their
names a sacred inheritance to their respective families. Many of them were
mere boys
"With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens"
upon whose cheeks the down of early manhood had scarce begun to appear.
Among the many remnants of mortality taken from that terrible breach was
the pallid corpse of young Frank Simcoe.
And what of the little sister, whose first appearance on life's stage was
chronicled a few paragraphs back? Poor little Kate was a tender plant,
not destined to flourish amid the rigours of a Canadian climate. She died
within a year after the building of Castle Frank. Her remains were interred
in the old military burying-ground, near the present site of the church of
St. John the Evangelist, on the corner of Stewart and Portland streets.
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