Unlocking Sweeney’s Diary

There’s maybe a handful of books in my collection that I regularly hearken back to. Mostly, they are timeless reads, classics that continue to resonate whenever I scan the pages in search of fresh or forgotten insights. Perhaps a pearl of wisdom, some flowery prose or a pithy quote for inspiration. But there is also one book which offers none of these things. The text is sparse and bare. It is dry and unremarkable at best. Yet it still holds my interest. 

The book’s name is “The Sweeney Diary”. 

It is mainly composed of journal entries from Peter Sweeney, Irish lock master of the Jones Falls Station from January 1839 to December 1850. The first thing that stands out is its completeness. Not a single entry is missing over the entire twelve-year period. That adds up to 4,380 when you do the math. I should also mention that Sweeney’s original cursive writing has been converted to type (though some of the original pages are included for voracity, as well as to give the reader an appreciation of the author’s elegant penmanship).

Jones Falls is one of 24 lock stations on the Rideau Waterway. Along with its brethren, it has been in continuous operation since 1832. It is one of the larger stations, with four sets of locks and a wide turning basin. The height difference from top to bottom is an impressive eighteen meters, making views from the upper locks among the most picturesque of anywhere on the waterway. Recreational boaters still take time to admire it as they leisurely make their way through during the May to October canal season.

Things were much different back in Sweeney’s day. The diary describes life at a time when the canal held significant commercial and strategic importance, when the waterway was the principal conduit for freight to and from Ottawa. Barges carrying all manner of needed goods moved constantly, and the canal waterway remained open for as long as possible. What’s more, the lockmaster and their family occupied the station year round, performing maintenance and the like throughout the winter until the ice was sufficiently thawed for the locks to reopen.

In addition to the diary, the book also contains an extensive history of the Sweeney family and the world they lived in. It is an excellent compliment to Peter Sweeney’s text. For example, Sweeney and his wife Catherine had two children, a son named Thomas, and a daughter, Kitty, and the supporting text delves into many of the challenges they faced (including family dramas) which the diary only alludes to.

I recall how intrigued I was when I first Iearned about the diary. What long-forgotten stories would it hold? Would it provide excellent fodder for a short story? A movie or television series, perhaps? My mind filled with images of constantly passing ships and barges carrying an infinite supply of passengers and crew. All interesting and colourful in their own way.

This was not the case, however. In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Sweeney, you see, was a man of very few words.

Reading through his entries, what initially stands out are the long stretches of tedious, monotonous work. In some sense, it puts me in mind of the old Seinfeld sitcom, a self-described show “about nothing”. This is best epitomized by Sweeney’s regular use of the phrase “Do … do … do” in describing his daily lock master duties. Sometimes he references the weather, dropping in a few words like “Warm day, wet day, cold day.” (Yada Yada Yada). In fairness, there are also some slightly more verbose entries — particularly in the latter years when he mentions (albeit briefly) his encounters with visitors and neighbours.

But all of it is interesting in its own way, and I like to check in on him from time to time just to see what he was up to a hundred and eighty odd years ago to the day. And maybe the next year, and the year after that. I have to say that I’ve come to appreciate his directness. Sweeney is never one for beating around the bush. Even drunken altercations are described in the same sparse prose.

1844 Dec 24: We came home with A. Short upset twice. He was high - and so was I.

1844 Dec 25: At home. Short went home.

In the same way, his entries from September 1847 are almost cold and unfeeling as he writes about the funeral of a friend or colleague:

1847 September 1. Went to Beverly - Mr. McDonnell died last night 

1847 September 2. Buried the corpse before breakfast

But then again, there are also entries which come across as a little more stoic and near poetic: 

Feb 11, 1847 Misting snow never stops

In a way, Sweeney’s style serves to give the words more weight. I sense his honesty and directness when he describes the rough days of May 1845 when he was “up all night passing boats”. Or in the middle of winter when he writes “Froze hard last night”.

But this absence of detail also comes at a cost, and I am occasionally left hanging, confused by an odd, cryptic entry such as ¨Connor very drunk - gave up his place¨. Was Sweeney offering a sympathetic ear to a drunk friend who had just lost his home? Had Connor given up his position at work? Alas, we may never know.

Then we have the odd, completely random stuff which seems to come out of nowhere:

June 23, 1850, Napoleon Bonaparte born 15 August 1769 (huh?)

But I think my favourite entries of all describe a lasting feud and intense altercation between Sweeney and a man named Quigly. Here’s how it’s described:

April 12, 1850 I got very high, quarrelled with Quigly - went to get a warrant for me

April 16, 1850 went to Isthmus to stand a suit with Quigly before Colonel Kilburn and gained the suit.

April 28, 1850 fish running here - heard Quigly would report me to Bytown - wrote to Hugh McManus to the states - caught fish in locks.

I’ve also noted, over time, how much is missing.

I’m not referring to the entries themselves — as pointed out earlier, there are no gaps. But those passing through the lock, for example, are rarely mentioned. When they are, it is only their names which appear. So much for colourful depictions of interesting personalities.

Also absent are the topics which I thought would have warranted at least an entry or two. Not once in twelve years is there a single complaint (or even reference) aimed at black flies or mosquitoes. I can’t help but think the man must have been impervious to such annoyances, knowing how miserable these little creatures can be — especially in the early spring.

Equally odd, and a little sad, is the lack of reference to special occasions. Barring one entry on April 2nd, birthdays are never recorded. From what I can find, there is only one mention of Christmas. Thanks to the supporting text, we know theirs was not a particularly happy marriage. The Sweeneys fought often, and both struggled with depression. They commonly turned to drink, so much so that Sweeney had his own acronym for those times when the two drank and fought: C.D.H.A.Q (Catherine drunk, had a quarrel).

The more I read, the more sympathy I feel for these people, and the long stretches of tedium and monotony they faced year in and year out. In many ways, Sweeney’s style of writing serves to convey this better than anything more elaborate ever could. All in all, the diary offers a very real, unfiltered glimpse into hard lives lived, the few words acting like simple sketches of life at its essence, as raw as they are revealing.