DISCLAIMER

The names of places in this document are those used in William Bradley’s original story of his time in the Yukon. Some of the place names may have changed, others may have been obliterated. I take no responsibility for the accuracy of place names.

Clarification

William Robert Reginald Bradley was “my grandfather”, specifically my mothers father. What you will read below are his exact words describing life in the 1890's Yukon Territory prospecting for gold. He was relatively successful. I worked in the Yukon, also prospecting for gold but as an employee of the Yukon Consolidated Gold Company. I can attest to much of what he wrote although there are parts that he may have embelished to enhance a story. Read it the way it is. You are reading about an extraordinary man who's life experience went far beyong gold prospecting. You may be fortunate enough to carry some of his gene's.

Chapter 1. The Starting Line

In the years 1897 and 1898, the discovery of rich gold mines in the Klondike stirred the adventurous spirits of men in every class of society, all over the world. There was a universal stampede to “get rich quick” in a remote and hitherto unheard-of land, where the traveller was beset with peril on every hand and had to undergo one of the greatest tests of endurance human beings have ever been called upon to experience. A large number became discouraged and dropped out; many persevered doggedly only to fall by the wayside; only the most fortunate and the very fittest won through.

In the early part of March 1898, I was travelling from Sydney, Australia to England in the company of several men heading for the Klondike. I was due to report myself in London at the end of April 1898 but obtained an extension of several months for the purpose of breaking my journey and “looking over” Canada.

At Auckland, New Zealand, many gold seekers embarked amongst them a Church of England clergyman, the Rev. Walter Lyon, whom I had encountered some months before in Christchurch, New Zealand. He was on twelve months leave of absence from his living near Gloucestershire England, to visit his brother in New Zealand. His personality merits a few words of description. He was very tall and handsome, a splendid athlete and both physically and morally courageous. He was, moreover, a most cultured gentleman, who was great charm irresistibly attracted all who came into contact with him. Altogether, although it was not my habit to eulogize, I must say that nature had endowed this man lavishly with every physical and mental asset.

Shortly after our unexpected meeting at Auckland, he told me he had resigned his living and was proceeding to the Yukon, under the auspices of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. He invited me to accompany him if my plans would permit, and after an intensive search into the government literature at Victoria BC and concerning the possibilities of a profitable venture, I consented to go with him to this wonderful El Dorado. We were now partners in a great adventure.

The following day we arrived at Vancouver B C and put up at the Vancouver hotel, where my friend, the Padre, was well known on account of several visits he had made some five years previously, when working as a young priest in the North West Territories. He had many friends among the North West Mounted Police (now known as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police) and amongst the officials of the Canadian Pacific Railway, many of whom were, at the time of our arrival, stationed at Vancouver. The press announcement of his return brought many of his old friends to welcome him, so it came about that I was very happily introduced on my first visit to British Colombia.

One of the friendships that I formed at this time was with the senior officer in charge of the NWMP detachment stationed in Vancouver, who, in addition to other manifold duties, was responsible for monitoring the movements, through Vancouver, of all “WANTED” individuals. This necessitated the keeping of a catalogue, a sort of international “Rogues Gallery”, which I found a source of interest and information. There was one notorious criminal known as “Soapy Smith”. This man controlled about one hundred and twenty bandits, some on the coastal steamers running from Seattle and Vancouver to Skagway, posing as miners from the Klondike. Others operating in the White Pass and the Chilkoot Pass through the Alaskan range of mountains into the interior. This gang was documented by a “Bureau of Information” at Skagway, where “Soapy Smith” had his headquarters. Skagway was a kind of “no man’s land”, nominally controlled by a company of coloured troops under the command of a Marshal, but in reality, they were completely dominated by “Soapy Smith” and his gang, who carried on their nefarious practices almost undisturbed. It was here, at the junction of the land and sea trails that the most vulnerable of the newcomers were directed by the pseudo-minors and separated from their dollars at the muzzle of a revolver, any resistance being both futile and or fatal.

The five weeks we were in Vancouver was fully occupied in acquiring information concerning the route we were planning to take and in preparing a two-year outfit from the Hudson Bay store. I dispatched a cable to my father requesting one hundred pounds sterling but received the reply that he would “not be a partner to my suicide”. With this encouragement I was forced to provide for myself, since I was determined to embark on the venture. During this time, we received letters from three of the Padres former flock asking to accompany us. One of them was a lawyer who, on learning that he had to take a bar exam in Victoria before he could practice law in the Yukon, advised that he would follow us as soon as possible. The other two were farmers, strapping fellows who desired to work their way handling our outfit. In due course they were sent on in advance with about two thirds of the baggage, with instructions to proceed to the shores of Lake Bennett.

We followed on 10 May 1898 with the remainder of the kit and the blessings of our friends, in the good ship the SS Argo, together with about 750 Argonauts, mingling with whom were a dozen of Soapy Smith’s so-called miners. After a passage of four days in sheltered waters we entered an arm of the sea running into the Alaska Range of mountains, and that noon on the fifth day we approached the wharf at Skagway.

Chapter 2 – Meeting the Bad Guys

It was a bright, warm day when we came alongside. Nonetheless, viewing the snowclad heights crowding all around us, I concluded it would be cold on shore, so hastened to attire myself in suitable clothing, consisting of a fur cap, moccasins and a suit lined with sheepskin. I was beginning to feel uncomfortably moist when the Padre came hurrying toward me. His face softened into a smile on perceiving me in my Arctic “get up”, but quickly became serious and he said;

Realizing the necessity of speed in obtaining accommodation, I hurried along a trail leading through tree stumps, and on the way passed a number of people to whom I seem to be the source of considerable amusement. The Brannick was the only hotel the place could boast at this stage of its development. It was a frame building of medium size, fairly well appointed and reasonably clean. Arriving there in a very heated condition, I went inside, and was fortunate in securing the only two available rooms.

Having completed arrangements, I went outside in the porch to cool down, and occupied myself in surveying my surroundings. There was a flat clearing of about a square mile, with a few would shacks dotted about at random. There was no semblance of a road to be seen, only a rough path worn by the tread of many feet. Fifty yards from the hotel was a one story building somewhat more pretentious than its companions, labelled “the Board of Trade”. Whilst I was making these observations - and mopping my streaming face; I saw a man emerge from this building, the sight of whom made my heart give an unaccustomed leap. He was dressed in a smart suit with grey trousers and frock coat and wearing a slouched American hat. His face was adorned with a neatly trimmed torpedo beard. This was none other than the notorious “Soapy Smith” himself. Seeing me regarding him from the shady side of the hotel porch, he leisurely strolled over to where I stood, and greeted me as follows;

Then without giving me time to answer him, while looking me up and down and noting my appearance of extreme discomfort he said,

So away we went to the “Board of Trade” building of the which I found to be a one room building about 100 feet long by 50 feet wide with a smooth hardwood floor. Running the whole length of the room was a mahogany counter, behind which were racks filled to meet the requirements of all liquid tastes. At the far end there was a large musical instrument of the organ type, run by waterpower, and just inside the door on the left of the entrance, was a small section partitioned off for private purposes.

Presiding over the bar was a spruce (appropriately dressed) individual answering the to the name of “Charlie” and it was to this important personage that Soapy headed with me in his wake. Turning to me, he then inquired what I would have. I had by now decided that my best course of action was to behave in as unsophisticated manner as possible. In accordance with this theory therefore, I replied in my most simple style, that I should be pleased to accept lemonade.

After regarding me with a mixture of scorn and incredulity, Soapy gave the necessary order to the barman to “make him something soft” and who then mixed me the most gorgeous and refreshing drink it has ever been my fortune to enjoy.

Then ensued a sotto voce conversation between Soapy and Charlie, presumably concerning myself, while I strolled down to the organ, which was filling the place with strains of music. I soon rejoined my host and expressed my surprise at finding such a luxury in so remote a region. He cut short my panegyric with an inquiry as to whether I had ever seen any gamblers. Upon my replying in the negative, he told me to follow him and led me into the boarded section of the room.

Here, sure enough, were four prize criminals playing Blackjack, with hefty revolvers placed close to their hands. When I hove in sight, they gave a sort of combined grunt of “what’s that?” and while Soapy was informing them (in a vernacular which was beyond my comprehension), I, not liking my situation, quietly moved toward the door at the further end of the room. It was a relief when I found myself outside once again (where Soapy found me).

Soapy asked me what I thought of gamblers. I replied that I found them very interesting, a statement which he repeated in an effort to mimic my accent. Having gone so far without harm, I resolved to try him a bit further, so I thanked him for his great kindness to me, the stranger, adding that I had found him indeed a friend in need. To my surprise, he immediately asked;

I added that in Vancouver I had been told that I should have no use for money after leaving there, which was quite true. Soapy asked me how much money I had, and putting my hand in my pocket I drew out all I had on me which amounted to $1.70.

He pointed toward the Klondike and said,

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out two notes, one a $10 bill, the other five dollars and he handed them to me with a remark;

At first I declined to accept the money, but he became impatient saying

So, from his tone I concluded that it would be wise to accept the proffered loan or gift. He then presented me with an aluminum disk with and ‘S’ on it.

With these words, he turned and walked away, leaving me staring after him, clutching some dollar bills and a metal disk, trying to convince myself that this was not a dream. This was how I came to accept the equivalent of three pounds sterling from a notorious criminal.

While Soapy had been exercising his virtues on me, the Padre had been talking to the other two members of our party at the hotel. It seems they had fallen into the hands of a couple of Soapy‘s gang, who took them to “the Board of Trade” for a drink, the result being that they fell into a deep sleep from which they awoke to find that they had been robbed of everything but their clothes. After hearing of this misfortune, I really did not feel quite so indebted to Soapy for his kindness to me. I recounted my experience in the Padre, who was inclined to be incredulous, until he saw the money Soapy had given me.

I never had the opportunity of thanking Soapy for his kindness, or of returning the loan, for not long after, he was killed in a shooting fray and the gang rounded up and sent to the United States prison at Sitka, Alaska.

Chapter 3 – Rescued and Rescuer

The Padre and I decided, after some discussion, that we would follow Soapy’s advice and take the route he had indicated over the Chilcoot Pass. It was arranged that I should go in advance to the summit of the Chilcoot and await the arrival of the baggage which he and his two unfortunate helpers would dispatch from Canyon Camp by Air Tramway.

I turned out of bed at 5 AM on 15 May 1898 and made my pack, which when completed weighed 56 pounds, not including a pair of long rubber boots, which I carried in front to distribute the weight. At 6:15 AM, having had a good meal and made final arrangements with the Padre, I struck out for Dyea on the opposite side of the bay from Skagway. The water in the bay receded completely at low tide, at which time it was possible to cross the bay on foot, a distance of about two and a half miles. I had completed about two miles of the journey when I noticed a team of horses and a lorry (a horse drawn carriage) driving at great speed towards me. Between them and me was a fast-growing channel of water, through which the horses plunged to my side, the driver yelling;

I have never moved swifter in my life than I did into that lorry, falling in with my pack on my back and boots dangling around my neck. As we recrossed the channel, the water was swirling about the horses’ knees, and then ensued an exciting race to the shoreline, the water at our heels the whole way.

It appears that the tide comes in in the manner of a tidal bore, with the speed of galloping horses and, where the bay had been perfectly dry when I set out, it was now entirely covered to the depth of several feet. When the shock of this breathtaking episode had somewhat subsided, I turned to my benefactor with outstretched hand.

and I told him how I had met Soapy Smith in Skagway and received directions to go to him for help. Williams was astonished at this information.

We duly arrived at Canyon City, unloaded at the Air Tramway terminus, and went into a canvas café for lunch. I took the opportunity of expressing my great appreciation of his unforgettable service, and it was with mutual regret that we said goodbye.

The trail I followed was along the bank of a mountain torrent for about seven miles in order to reach a fordable crossing of the river. At about 1 PM, I was contemplating a few minutes rest and a snack, when I observed a figure clinging to a boulder close to the riverbank, looking and as though in need of help. Hastily shrugging off my pack and boots and putting on my hip boots, I went to investigate. About eight feet from the bank, the water deepened to my knees and the ground dropped away suddenly indicating the river would be much deeper toward the boulder. Backing out, I moved upstream a short distance looking for quieter water, then carefully moved the few feet downstream until I reached the shore side of the boulder. At this point I was able to reach out, get an arm around the waist of the person clinging to the boulder, putting their left arm around my neck and lifted the almost helpless body to the bank.

The ice-cold mountain torrent had numbed all power of speech a movement and I received no response, either by word or action, to my efforts to resuscitate. There was a waterproof ground sheet in my pack, and I spread this out, laid the body on it, wrapping it so as to preserve any heat remaining and quickly gathered some wood and got a fire going. Fortunately, there was an abundance of good dry sticks in the immediate vicinity, the riverbank being heavily wooded on both sides, so I was able to accomplish this in a few minutes. Turning my attention for the first time to my new companion, I felt for a heartbeat. To my intense surprise and shock, I discovered what I had not before suspected, namely that this was a female. On further examination, I found she was an attractive looking girl, with dark eyes and hair which was close cropped at the back, and this, in conjunction with her slim figure and boyish attire, had led me to believe that it was a young man in need of succour. I removed her wet boots and mitts and rubbed her hands and feet until I had the circulation returning. I made her as comfortable as I could by the fire, then I opened her pack and left it within easy reach while I withdrew and started another fire for the purpose of warming some baked beans and making part coffee.

I had finished my preparation when she appeared, clothed and very much in her right mind, which was astonishing. She held out both her hands to me saying in heavily accented English what sounded like

Spontaneously, and rather matter of factly, with this act of gratitude, all I could say was,

In half an hour or so, we had finished our meal and made up our packs, and as we were going the same way, we talked as we walked. The gist of her story, as near as I could follow, is that she was a French girl, her name was Nanette, and she was 26 years old.

A little over a year earlier, she had started out for the United States, and had been working in Seattle with a friend and her friend’s husband, both French. Like many, they were attracted to the siren song of gold and the Klondike. After lots of discussion, they set out together for the Klondike, and on arrival at Skagway, crossed with their outfits by boat to Dyea. Here, they spent a few days under canvas before moving up to Canyon City, where a further few days were passed while their outfits were sent on to the summit.

At this early stage of the venture, the inconveniences and hard work involved, strained the relationship between the husband and wife, to such an extent that the latter refused to go on with the project. The husband accordingly proceeded to the summit to look after his and his wife’s outfit and, as was customary, to sell it for whatever he could get, while Nanette remained behind with the wife until he returned. Nanette, having invested in her outfit and all her savings in the venture, decided to see it through, and set out alone from Canyon City, about two hours before I had started. She tried to ford the river a mile to soon, and her subsequent misadventure resulted in our acquaintance.

Coming to the proper place, we crossed the river torrent and began the ascent to Sheep Camp, where we arrived at 4:30pm. We were both glad to have our packs off and went into a large tent labelled “Café Coffee and Pie”, where we ordered refreshments.

Just as we finished, there was a commotion outside, and in walked two unpleasant looking individuals of the gambler type. They invited me to join them in the “Shell” game, but I shook my head. Thereupon one of them swaggered up to me and drawled in a menacing voice,

I was fingering Soapy’s token, and then drew it out of my pocket and handed it to the man, asking him if he recognized that. He looked at it very carefully.

The ruffian, now looking past my shoulder, snarling and in a loud voice, shouted;

At that instant, the sound of a shot rang out behind me, and, turning sharply in the direction of the report, I beheld Nanette coolly pointing a small automatic at the other gambler, who was clutching his arm, with every appearance of acute discomfort.

Moving quickly to her side, I moved my hand down her arm, whispering to her to give me the gun, then peremptorily addressing both men, I order them to “get out - quick”. Soapy’s token, and Nanette’s pistol, had the desired effect, and they disappeared without a word. The proprietor himself had vanished, so we adjusted our packs, and, leaving a dollar on the table in payment for our meal, began the final stage of our journey.

On the way, I asked Nanette what had happened to cause her to use her gun. Her explanation, as near as I could understand, amounted to the following. The individual she had shot had accosted her previously at Dyea. In the café, while I was addressing the other ruffian, the other man put his arm around her neck and tried to kiss her, while using his other hand to pull her to him in an unwanted embrace. Breaking away, and already having the pistol in her hand after recognising the man who had accosted her previously, she shot him. It seems she had anticipated unwanted attention from some men and had acquired the pistol for defence purposes. I told her that her action was most laudable and that I admired her courage.

Sheep Camp, situated on a ledge on the mountainside, was used by those who could not afford to send their baggage by the Air Tramway and as a place for caching their outfits before their final assault on the summit. Only a few days prior to my visit, a terrible disaster had occurred. An Avalanche had buried about 25 Stampeders there and very few of the bodies were ever recovered. The final ascent from Sheep Camp was a distance of about two and a half miles, mostly up steps cut in the snow and ice, so steep was the gradient. We accomplish the climb at last and arrived at the summit of the Chilcoot Pass at 6:15 PM on 15 May 1898, after twelve of the most crowded hours of glorious life I could wish to experience.

She replied, without hesitation.

The situation at the summit certainly seemed frigid and helpless. There was not a building insight, whereas I had been informed that there was a strong police presence. The only visible sign of civilization was the Union Jack flying from the solitary flagpole, and nothing else could be seen except a wilderness of snow with a background of mountain peaks. Walking toward the flagpole, we noticed beyond it, a board stuck in the snow, on which was painted the letters "RNWMP and Excise Office". This was a lot more helpful, and as we drew near, we discovered a hole in the ground, which was evidently the entrance to the offices indicated. These where some fifteen to twenty feet below the surface and were reached by means of steps cut in the snow.

As I was standing on the threshold of these invisible quarters, I observed a man in uniform appear out of the snow thirty yards away. Catching sight of us he bent his steps in our direction, and as he did so I noticed that he was wearing Sergeants stripes. His rank was confirmed by an air of authority, mixed with the deference by which he addressed me as he offered his services.

I introduced myself and told him I bore a letter to the station commander, but I should be obliged if, before I went to see him, he would kindly place the lady with me in comfortable quarters for the night. With the customary gallantry of the RNWMP (Royal Northwear Mounted Police), he promised to do his best in the circumstances and invited her to follow him. In a few minutes he returned and conducted me to Inspector Belcher, the station commander, to whom I presented my letter of introduction. He received me kindly, humorously referring to the defects of his Canadian chalet, especially with regard to limited accommodation. He turned to Sgt. Greene to inquire what steps had been taken to me in this difficulty and the Sgt. informed him that the only available bit of space had been allocated only a few minutes ago to a young lady.

I had supper with the Inspector and spent a very pleasant evening with relating all my experience since leaving Vancouver. He was particularly interested in the story of Nanette and the shooting episode and sentry instructions to the Sgt. to have the young lady appear before him the following morning. By this time, I was dog tired, and at 10:30 tumbled into the Sgt.’s bunk, which consisted of hay spread over one inch boards, the whole being covered with a groud sheet. In spite of the hard bed, I fell asleep immediately, notwithstanding also the fogginess of the atmosphere. There was insufficient ventilation for the eleven occupants of the tent and, added to this there were fumes from the oil lamps. These cause the snow on top of the canvas covered roof to thaw and that set up a constant drip into the tent, which resulted in a well of water which had to be bailed out every morning, and the soaking articles put out to dry, weather permitting.

Nevertheless, I had a splendid night’s rest, and awaken bright and early the next morning. I washed, had breakfast and was out by 8:30 on my way to watch the “Stampeders” toiling up and down the ice and snow steps from Sheep Camp to the summit. The lust for gold, here seen at its maximum, impelled these men to superhuman efforts. One tenth of the energy they expended so vainly, if applied to industry and labour in civil life, would have given them a far greater reward than their most successful Klondike ventures.

Chapter 4 – "Sweet Partings"

On my way to the Air Tramway terminus, I met Nanette, who told me that she had had a restful night, and everybody was very kind to her. She said that she had seen her friend’s husband and he wished to sell his share of the outfit and return to Seattle. I suggested that she should do the same, but she did not seem eager to fall in with the idea.

At noon we met again, and she came running to me full of joy to tell me

Apparently, I miss understood what she said. She informed me that she was going to Bennett to help the matron in the hospital. “Monsieur L’inspecteur” would be making the arrangements and with that she turned and walked to the Post.

I proceeded to the Excise Office to inquire whether any word of our outfits had been received from the Air Tramway and was told that the first packages were expected at the Summit at 4 PM. Inspector Belcher came in whilst I was there, and I said that Nanette had told me she was going to Bennett.

On the morning of 18th May, as arranged, Nanette reported to Inspector Belcher. She was then leaving for Bennett to take up her work and wished “to thank him for his much kindness to her.” I was in his office at the time and turning to me she held out her hand saying;

and, with tears in her eyes, turned and walked out to the dog sledge waiting for her for the journey to the hospital and Bennett.

Chapter 5 – Camp Lindermann

Our outfits duly arrived, and about 6 o’clock that evening the Padre and his boys reached the summit. In the morning, reunited and full of vigor, we set about packing our sledges for the first camp on our six hundred and thirty miles of unknown trail towards the Arctic Circle. The Padre and the boys were to go ahead with two sledges and the bulk of the outfits, their first objective being the south shore of Lake Bennett, 23 miles away. At the request of inspector Belcher, I was the take some correspondence and a sick dog to the officer in charge of the RNWMP Post at Lake Lindemann, four miles from Lake Bennett.

I set out accordingly at 1 o’clock. There was a nice southerly wind blowing and I had a brain wave. On my sledge I had securely tied down a Peterborough canoe weighing 94 pounds, into which I stowed about 450 pounds of outfit. I then fitted a mast with a spar and halyard and fastened a ground sheet to the spar to act as a sail. I had a hurried dissent, with the help of gravity and a light wind, down the mountainside to the flatter land beyond where the sail worked magnificently. For the last three miles of the journey, I had to take down my sail on account of the trees and accomplished the remaining distance on foot with the aid of a breast rope. Here my sick dog companion came in very useful. He insisted on doing his share by continually barking and getting between my legs until I hitched his trace to the sledge. From then on, he did the work himself and I had to do my best to keep up with him at a little run. We reached Lake Lindemann at 4:30 PM establishing, at that time, an easy record.

On arrival at the Mounties post, I was met and kindly received by the commander, a young Englishman by the name of Davidson. I handed over the letter and the Labrador sledge dog, which I should have liked very much to keep. At this lower altitude the snow was only about 18 inches deep. The buildings at the post consisted of two small log cabins and a smaller one for dogs, all well roofed with boards, moss and earth, warm and comfortably furnished. The Force was represented by a sergeant and two constables, who were responsible for the good order and conduct of about 5,000 Stampeders, 500 at Lindemann and 4,500 at Bennett.

I decided to go into the camp at Lindemann to improve my knowledge of the country and living on the land through the medium of the mounted police. Sgt. Davidson kindly offered me a shakedown in his cabin but, as I wished to get down to the conditions of my mode of life under canvas, I politely declined on these grounds. Together we selected a site, pitched my tent and set up my stove on a few handy boards from the post which served as a floor, then having spread out my bedding; a ground sheet, fur rugs and a blanket, and collected a bit of firewood, a candle and a bucket of water, we went to the post for supper.

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Chapter 6 – Bob Henderson

During supper, Sgt. Davidson suggested that I should meet an Indian man named Bob Henderson, who was on his way to the Klondike and was camped at Lindemann. He told one of the constables to look him up and ask him to come to the post, then went on to tell me that this man was one of the finest tracker, hunter and river men in Canada. He had been of great assistance to the force on several occasions. For thirty years he had been in the service of the Hudson Bay Company, most of that time as a factor, and was well worth knowing in a trackless and unknown country.

Bob Henderson duly arrived, and we were introduced. He was a very powerful man, some six feet three in height, and wonderfully flexible in his movements in spite of his massive build. He was in the prime of life, being then about 45 years old with a stern face, hawklike eyes and taciturn to the point of being indifferent to anyone’s presence. I subsequently learned that his father was a Scotsman, being in the service of the Hudson Bay Company at the time of Bobs birth. It was suggested that I should accompany this formidable individual on a prospecting trip the following day, and the idea having been approved, arrangements were made for carrying out this project.

After breakfast at the Post at 6 AM, we started our trip equipped with a pick, shovel and testing pan for the purpose of finding gold. We also had a rifle and Colt revolver that Davidson insisted on strapping on me. Most of these impedimenta, and a covered pail containing sandwiches, Bob piled onto himself by virtue of his great size and strength.

We plodded along to the side of likely gold bearing streams, which were now approaching their capacity on account of the thaw, trying here and there for gold. Bob showed me what Bedrock looks like (where the gold lies) near the surface on the edge of the streams and digging down to this he showed me how to fill the test pan with a quantity and wash the contents in the flowing water, called “sluicing for gold” or “panning for gold”. Our efforts were rewarded every time with small particles of gold (called “colours”), the only value of which was to sharpen the appetite for more.

By noon I was feeling tired and hungry, and suggested that we should rest and eat. My silent companion proceeded to cut off leafy branches from a tree and motioned me to lie down on them. He then kindled a fire, which was quickly going full blast, and with the magical touch of an experienced outdoorsman, soon had a meal calculated to satisfy the most exacting taste. As he rose from his labour, he noticed a squirrel on a tree about 25 yards away, and pointing to it, grunted;

To humour Bob, I drew the pistol, took aim, and pulled the trigger. To my intense surprise the squirrel fell to the ground, whereupon the erstwhile silent Bob let out a whoop, and dashed to pick it up. He brought it to me saying:

On examination I found that the bullet had actually passed through the head in line with the ears. Had I practised for years, I could not have killed it more cleanly than I did by this lucky accident. Bob asked if he might keep it, and I readily agreed.

This small event made a great change in my relationship with Bob. He plied me with questions as to how long I had practised, the different make of guns I had used and whether I had ever shot lions, tigers and elephants, which he evidently thought would have no escape from my deadly marksmanship. At any rate, whatever his thoughts concerning me had been, I had now undoubtably been placed on a much higher level in his opinion, as was obvious from the marked difference in his attitude to me from this point on.

On the return journey, I had my first experience with his wonderful sense of direction. Although the country was heavily timbered, so that the range of vision was very restricted, he brought me back by an entirely different route. On the outward journey, we had walked quite sixteen miles. Returning, we did it in less than ten.

We reached the post at 6 PM, when Bob proceeded to tell all and sundry of my great ability as a marksman, producing the squirrel as evidence, and I suspect, increasing the distance of the shot with each narrative. Anyway, he succeeded in advertising me throughout the camp as an absolutely deadly shot at 100 yards. Before going to our respective tents, Bob asked for permission to start a fire and heat some water for me, and I certainly approved. He said also that he would examine the lake to see whether we could use a canoe in the morning, in the use of which he was, at my request, to give me instructions. Davidson marvelled at these attentions and congratulated me on my good fortune. He told me that in all the time he had known Bob, he had never noticed such an extraordinary change in the old man. He had never before been known to offer his services to anybody; he always stood aloof with those he knew best, and with strangers he would have nothing to do with them.

Davidson would not hear of me going to my tent to prepare some food, and I must admit that I was tired and terribly hungry, a chronic condition with me just then and indeed for the whole time I was in the country, moreover, my knowledge of cooking was, at that time, extremely scanty, so not much pressure was required to dissuade me.

That evening I accompanied Davidson around the camp and saw most of the 450 people there. About 75% of them claimed to be American, but they were a very heterogeneous mixture, obviously of varied European nationality. They reached a good standard of physical fitness, although there were several cases of sickness June to the hardship of the journey up to this point, and the simple, strenuous life to which they were unaccustomed had strained the nerves of many to the breaking point. Indeed, several parties were on the verge of separating from each other.

We found, when we returned, that Spence, the Constable, had come back from duty at Bennett. He reported that he had located my partner, the Rev. Walter Lyon, as instructed, and informed him that I was at Lindemann and would rejoin him the following day. He was late in returning as a consequence of the dissolution of partnership of a party who had quarreled and insisted on auctioning their outfit, in spite of the reconciliatory efforts of the Padre and Spence.

Chapter 7 – Ice Breakup

The frozen lakes were now yielding to the increasing power of the sun, to the extent that in many places the ice had, for long stretches, vanished from the banks for a distance of several feet. A strip of water was left along the rim of the lake, sufficiently wide to be navigable for canoes and small boats, and from which the most enterprising were rewarded with good catches of trout.

In accordance with arrangements, Bob turned up at 9:30 the next morning, reporting plenty of water between the ice and shoreline to get to Bennett, four miles away. Joining Lake Lindemann and Bennett is a short, steep river a mile in length, studded with dangerous holders and shallow projecting points, down which the water poured in a turbulent rush. Turning to Bob, I asked him if he could run the rapids in my canoe. The simplicity of the task brought a smile of assurance to his face. The canoe had previously been emptied of stores and was now tied up to the bank in readiness for departure. I had a few words with Davidson re my stores and tent until my return, then stepping into the fore part of the canoe, I knelt down, equipped with a paddle. Bob took up his position in the stern, and it gave me a few instructions as to movement, position and paddling then waving our hands to our friends on short we pushed out into the river.

The water was rushing down the rapids at a rate of 6 mph, and into this part we were caught at once, nothing now could have prevented our descent. Had we desired, there was no possibility of our returning, so I nerved myself for the downward rush. With no apparent effort on our part, we shot swiftly between and safely past the deadly boulders and through the ruffled waters on to the placid surface of Lake Bennett.

We paddled along the edge of the ice until we reached the centre of the encampment, where we landed and pulled the canoe out of the water. Our arrival created quite a stir. Many people turned out of their tents to welcome the first boat of the season from Lindemann, doubly glad to see us as we stood for a signal that they’re enforced delay was coming to an end with the opening out of the lakes and rivers.

I was surprised at the large area covered by the camp, and by its orderly nature. It lay spread out before us on gently sloping ground about 2 square miles, with clumps of birch, fir and balsam trees dotted here and there. The people were of much the same type as those encamped at Lindemann. The majority of them had no means of travelling by water, hence great activity prevailed in the work of boat building under the most primitive conditions. Standing timber, of which there was an abundance at hand, was felled, and saw-pit erected, onto which large trees were hoisted, their bark and branches removed. They were then cut into the sizes required by means of long saws manipulated by two men, one on the saw-pit and one below. To judge from the instruments in use and the material for caulking and fastening, this necessity had been foreseen. During the nine days I remained at Bennett I was greatly interested in viewing the results of this industry, which I found exceptionally varied in size, quality and design. Many looked more like coffins than boats, and such indeed they were destined eventually to be.

Chapter 8 – The Reverend Walter Lyon

It was whilst I was watching operations in a saw-pit some time after our landing, that my partner, the Padre, ran across me in the course of his numerous errands of mercy. Having qualified in law and in medicine before entering the church, he was peculiarly fitted to help those sick and ailing in body, mind and soul. Moreover, being physically tireless and tough, when disputes had arisen the most lawless had learned to respect him; and so, through his never-failing goodness and ever ready help, he speedily became the most loved and trusted friend of the Stampeders, among who he was in constant request.

We had seen very little of each other since landing at Skagway, so that this meeting was a mutually pleasant one. Much had happened to each in the meantime, and as we therefore had much to relate, I gladly accepted his invitation to accompany him on a visit to a very sick man some 6 miles distant.

As we walked along, he told me that the two boys of our party were showing signs of the strain caused by the rough experience on the trail, and he would not be at all surprised if they backed out of the adventure at Bennett. He had noticed the same weary and bad tempered conduct amongst parties who had been lifelong friends, and even between brothers, which led to quarrels and dissolution under the test of this strenuous and tragic trail. The short time he had been at Bennett he had been very busy amongst the sick. The hospital, with a capacity for 50, was full of the worst cases, and more than double that number were undergoing treatment outside where they could best be dealt with. The percentage was not high, but it was difficult to obtain the assistance of voluntary workers by reason of the work to be done in readiness for the next stage of the journey. Nevertheless, the greatest sacrifice of time was being made by all the more fit, to help their unfortunate companions.

The Padre now asked for my story, and I told him of the events which had occurred since I last saw him. By now we were nearing the sick man’s tent. When we went in, he was lying on a thick layer of fir twigs, covered with a rug. The Padre asked me to light a fire whilst he opened his medicine case and proceeded with his examination. By the time he was through, the fire was going, and there was a can of hot water on the stove. He rose from the patient and told me that he had spinal meningitis and could not live. The poor fellow seemed in great pain. Going to his medicine chest the Padre found that he was short of a drug.

I had no difficulty in finding his tent when I went back to Bennett. It was near the hospital, and there also I found Bob patiently waiting for me with a string of six splendid lake trout. I explained why I had not returned earlier as we had agreed, and after quietly listening to me, Bob said “you are hungry now, me cook fish.”

I do not believe he knew the meaning of the word “tired” and soon had a fire in the stove, the fish cleaned and in a pan cooking, whilst he busied himself preparing some soda scones. Within 40 minutes I was partaking in a most enjoyable meal.

As I had to go back to the Padre in the morning, I requested Bob on his return to Lindemann that night, to inform Sgt. Davidson that there was a man dying 6 miles from Bennett, and should he desire to send anyone out I should be leaving at eight the next day with drugs and would be pleased to have company.

At the appointed hour, Constable Spence, Bob and I set out together to the hospital, where I interviewed the Matron and obtained the drugs required. As I was leaving, I encountered Nanette, and stayed at a moment to exchange a few words with her, explaining to the Matron that I was sort of “Foster Daddy” to her. The Padre was digging in a small cleared space near the tent when we arrived. The man had died at seven that morning. The Padre had made an inventory of the dead man’s belongings and was very glad to see a member of the Force. Together they went to check what particulars he had been able to discover about the deceased, whilst Bob and I went on preparing the grave. Although we had arrived at 10 o’clock, it was not completed until 2 o’clock owing to the frozen condition of the ground. We had to burn it before we could make any impression on it. Within another hour the burial service was over, the grave filled in, the tent dismantled, and all the belongings of the dead man stowed on a sled in the custody of the policeman, and we had started on our way back to Bennett where we arrived at 5 PM. The four fish left from the previous night were hanging from the ridgepole of the Padre’s tent, and with his usual silent efficiency, Bob set to work and had soon prepared an appetizing meal which was acclaimed by the three of us.

Supper over, the Constable and Bob went on to Lindemann with the sled whilst I remained behind with the Padre. Soon all the people with troubles began to call. There was the case of two brothers, leaders of a party of six, who, notwithstanding the Padre’s eloquent appeal to their manhood, insisted on dissolving their partnership and selling their outfit. I had noticed them at the saw-pit the day before, preparing timber for the construction of their vote, and had thought them an unusually happy group, capable of surmounting all difficulties and going successfully together to the end of the trail. Apparently however their tempers were not strong or calm enough to tolerate the trivial upsets which had already come their way, and this being so, undoubtably they would have been unable to stay the course. Nothing inducing them to abandon their decision, their large and well assorted outfit came under the hammer the following day.

Although loath to profit from another’s misfortune, I did well at the auction. I bought one of their Peterboro’ canoes, twice the size and less than half the price of the one I was using. I also purchased sugar, bacon, and tobacco at outside bargain prices.

After supper that evening, I walked over to Lindemann, ostensibly to see to my belongings, but partly also to see Bob. During our brief acquaintance I had grown to like this strange and silent man and wondered what had become of him since the night of the funeral. On coming to the Post, I received the usual warm welcome from Davidson, and accompanied him on his round of the camp. When we came to where Bob’s tent had been pitched, it was gone.

I dismantled my tent and packed up my belongings on the sled then went to the post to sleep. The next morning Spence and I “mushed” back to Bennett, or in other words, were hauled in a sled by police dogs.

The following day the lawyer member of our party, Gwillam, turned up, only to tell us he had lost his certificate since leaving Victoria and would have to return by the next boat to get another to be able to practice in the Yukon. The shortest time in which he could hope to complete the round trip was 15 days. This being so, the Padre agreed to wait for him, but insisted that the delay must not interfere with my movements or hinder my plans in any way. At first, I demurred, chiefly because I had some misgivings as to their management of the boats, but I was assured that I need have no apprehensions on this account, as both Gwilliam and the Padre were experienced in the use of canoes and would have the assistance of the two powerful boys.

Under the strengthening influence of the sun, the ice was fast disappearing from the lakes. Another week at the outside would see the waterways open to navigation. All along the south shore of the lake, men were loading the hundreds of newly built boats in preparation for the great rush to the Klondike. It was a unique picture of industry under primitive conditions, it’s like never to be seen again. Only where “ignorance is bliss” could such a cheerful note of expectancy exist. The gloom hanging over the encampment at the time of our arrival was entirely lifted. Groups of men were now to be seen cheerily discussing the day of departure and arranging to escort each other to Dawson. At this time, I happened across a Canadian mining engineer called Garland, who was also a Captain in the Canadian militia. He was casting around for an escort, and as I had now become a full-blown Stampeder whose object was to get on to the nugget before anyone else, I agreed to go with him if I could find a suitable assistant, accustomed to a canoe.

and took me down to his canoe where his own assistant, a blacksmith who had been in his service for many years, was holding a conversation with a friend, and I was introduced to the friend, whose name was Robert, and it was quickly settled that we should start out together the following morning. I immediately sought out the Padre and told him of my arrangements. He was glad to know my plans were made, and we settled that we should meet again either in Port Selkirk or at Dawson, on or before 30 September. My new assistant and I then went to the Post at Lindemann, where I made “farewell” to my friends, then returning, slept well that night before the start of the Big Race.

Chapter 9 – Down (or is it "Up:") The Yukon

Early the next morning, the glorious 1st June, I finished loading my canoe, and found when Bob and I stepped in there was only 3 inches of freeboard, due to the fact that his outfit was more than twice as heavy as mine. The day was beautifully fine and calm and the water as smooth as glass, so we decided that unless the weather changed, we would risk our very overloaded condition. We said “goodbye” to the Padre and his boys, who came to see us off, and shoved off promptly, the engineers canoe leading. By noon we had reached an island in the lake 11 miles from our starting point. This was slower and far more tiresome progress then we should have made on land, no doubt because of the new set of muscles brought into operation by the paddles. We were very thankful for an hour’s rest and a snack before proceeding.

As we were leaving the island a gentle breeze sprang up from the south. Our direction being the North, we set the sail, very soon overtaking our escort. Arranging to meet him at the lower end of the lake, we left him as though he were at anchor. Our shapely little craft, running before a steadily increasing breeze, sped merrily across the water, passing every other boat ahead. Many boats left leg Bennett on that memorable morning, 1st June 1898. In all my experience I had never seen or heard of so large a flotilla of small craft as that which started for the Klondike Gold Stakes. It was estimated to consist of over a thousand boats, and it was a unique and most impressive sight to see the surface of the lake dotted with these craft of various size and shapes, some skimming along, some laboriously toiling but all facing the same way with the same end in view.

Lake Bennett is 26 miles long, and about 9 miles from the foot of the lake, a long arm stretches away to the southwest. This is known as Windy Arm by reason of the strong winds which came from that direction. As we bore down on this Arm, we could see the water lashed up into great white capped waves. We promptly tied a reef in our sail, and I cautioned Bob, who was steering, to be very careful and keep the wind behind his left ear, whilst I worked the sail.

For one hour we lived on the brink of eternity. I stuffed the sleeve of my jersey with handkerchiefs, and working the sheet with my feet and legs, I stretched my arms along the top of the gunwale in its lowest part amidships, to bear the brunt of the shock caused by crested waves hurling themselves against this side of the boat, and to keep out the worst of the water threatening constantly to swamp us. From speedy death and a watery grave, we were delivered only by beneficent Providence and the remarkable good steering of my assistant.

With a gasp of overwhelming relief, we entered Caribou Crossing, the river at the foot of the lake. The sail was taken down and we paddled through, turning into a sheltered neck at the head of Tagish Lake. Here we removed the outfit, hauled the canoe ashore and baled out three buckets of water we had shipped in the stormy 8-mile rush out of Bennett. The selection of a camping site was our next concern, and when we had found one to our satisfaction, there we pitched our tent. Then whilst Robert prepared the supper, I busied my self in another direction. I had 15 yards of strong duck, a good supply of heavy cotton line and a small sail maker’s bag complete amongst my belongings, and I now set to work to make a perfectly watertight and durable gunwale 7 inches higher than the original, thereby vastly improving the seaworthiness of the boat without in any way impairing its utility.

After a very satisfactory supper, made so of course by the wonderful appetite with which everybody in the country seemed blessed, we walked from our camp to Lake Bennett about 3 miles away, to see whether our escort was coming. Every morning and evening for three days we did this, but it was not until the morning of the fourth day that they appeared, as they, together with all the others who started at the same time, had been daunted by the waves at Windy Arm.

The interval was spent by Robert and me in daily sailing and fishing in Tagish Lake. It was a perfect holiday. We came to thoroughly understand the canoe, which would do everything, short of sitting up to beg, that it was called upon to perform. The fishing was excellent. Spinner or spoon bait was the most successful. The first day we took six trout in less than one hour, total weight 31 pounds, the largest weighing 7 pounds, the smallest 4 pounds. They were cream in colour when cooked and tasted delicious.

By the time the escort arrived we had struck camp and proceeded together as far as the junction of Lake Marsh and the Thompson River, where, in spite of the huge, fierce and hungry mosquitoes, we made our camp for the night.

Chapter 10 – The Whitehorse Rapids

We had left the mountainous region now and entered rolling wooded country through which the river wound its sinuous way. The going for the next 120 miles was gratefully easy. These long and pleasant days were spent journeying leisurely on, the current helping us to the extent of some 3 miles an hour. We were extremely glad to slacken our efforts, while still averaging a daily 40 miles.

Yet all this time, and indeed, during the whole time I was following the inward trail, the question kept recurring to my mind; “What of the return?” What would happen when it meant a battle of muscle against the inexorable forces of nature? However, there were so many real dangers to be faced every day of our journey, that it was no good anticipating imaginary troubles. I thrust these unwelcome thoughts as far from me as possible, and meanwhile made the most of our brief respite from the strenuous toil to which we were now all well accustomed.

Early morning on the 8th June found us at the famous and much dreaded Myles Canyon. Many official documents were issued warning people of the great danger of running it and the formidable Whitehorse Rapids beyond. Indeed, it looked most forbidding. The river, pressed on by the weight of 800 miles of water behind it, poured into the narrow canyon between perpendicular walls of basalt rock about 30 feet apart. The immense height of these walls - 200 feet at least - shut out most of the sun’s rays and added to the terrors of the passage. The awful gloom and the roar of the water as it boiled and hissed on its tumultuous way made the place seemed like the sinister entrance to some underground abode. By no mean burning with eagerness to attempt the journey, we made our way to the left bank where a tramway terminus had been built by some enterprising brothers named McCauliff. They made a great deal of money sending trucks loaded with baggage downhill by their own weight to Whitehorse 8 miles below the canyon, whence they were hauled back by pack mules. This was how we, in common with the majority of Stampeders, intending to circumnavigate the most dangerous part of the journey. Garlands canoe was in front and Robert, following his lead, jumped ashore with the painter of my canoe, keeping my bow in and towing at the same time. Suddenly the loose stone and gravel of the bank slid under his feet, carrying him towards the river. Before I knew what had happened, the current had got inside the bow of the boat, swirling her into midstream and pulling Robert in her wake. I yelled to Robert

But he would not until he was up to his waist in water, and it was in this plight I left him as the boat when spinning toward the canyon.

I had know reconciled myself to the worst, but realizing the canoe was being swept broadside on into what seemed to my excited fancy, a gaping mouth waiting to swallow me alive, I snatched the panel and just succeeded in straightening her out. The next second, we were shot into the enveloping darkness of the canyon.

I expected the end momentarily. In my ears was the hiss of the spray; and the thundering boom of the waves sounded like a thousand unseen drummers playing interminably, with an ever swelling crescendo, that magnificent preliminary roll to the (English) national anthem. The white horses beat in a fury against the sides of the canyon, then darted back in vicious, crusted waves, smashing head on into each other as they met in the middle, and threatening at each instant to swamp my gallant little craft.

I think this was the first time in my life I ever experienced and over whelming and all absorbing fear. I was conscious of it in every trembling inch of me. I was in a world alone; no man could help me now. I committed my soul to God!

I was perfectly sensitive to my surroundings. I could see the dark walls of the canyon rushing by, their irregularities appearing as paralleled lines in the swiftness of my passing; the spray was about me like a mist, drenching me to the skin.

In the midst of this seething inferno, something whispered to me: “more speed”. At this I threw my weight behind my paddle, and after 12 more minutes of nightmare existence, I emerged once again, with a prayer of thanks for my extended lease on life, into the unobstructed light of day.

Not until I had pulled in the painter, lighted my pipe, and gradually began to be conscious that my body was actually a solid one, did I really wake up to the fact that I had safely run the canyon indeed, but was fast approaching the renowned Whitehorse Rapids. By this time, I was rushing through the troubled waters of the Squaw Rapids.

Such is the resilience nature of man that having come so far with out mishap I almost felt that these rapids were in the nature of an anti-climax. Certain now that I was not intended to die on this part of the trip at any rate, I felt an implicit faith in the powers of my splendid little canoe, bending my back to the task, I plied the paddle with all my might, putting every ounce of strength into the effort to get enough speed for the jump to the lower level.

As I approached, I became aware of a crowd of people standing on the rocks by the rapid. Like a flash I was pass them, and then the world fell away from under me. For one sickening, dizzying instant I seemed to hang suspended between the earth and sky, the boat quivering like a stricken deer, then the sound of great applause I took the river below landing on an almost even keel.

Somewhat shaken by this breath-taking episode, I paddled into the left bank in a daze. To my astonishment I felt myself raised and lifted clean out of the canoe, as easily as I might lift up a kitten, and turned to see my powerful Indian friend, Old Bob!

I should never have believed him incapable of rising to such heights of enthusiasm. Still holding me up he exclaimed: “You! All same as good Indian! You shoot! You run canyon and rapid! You now stay with me, and we make plenty money running Cheechakoes (strangers) boats through canyon.” He pointed to the steering oar he used, which was like a telegraph pole with a massive blade attached.

The crowd now began to come up to question me about my adventure, so Bob went off to prepare a meal. I had very little to say, treating the affair as though running canyons were an everyday occurrence with me. Apparently, when I made my spectacular appearance, they had been engaged with heaving lines trying to recover the boats from a disaster which had taken place just before. Soon Bob and I sat down in his tent to a substantial meal, over which I asked him why he had disappeared so suddenly and quietly from Lindemann.

Yes, old boy I thought, but you don’t know that I didn’t do it from choice any more than I could claim that the shooting of the squirrel was deliberate. Bob now again asked me to join him, as most boats were too big to be sent on the wooden tramway and people with any money would never attempt to run their own canoe through. It would therefore be a very paying game to see to it for them. I told him I was sorry, but I had promised to go with some men to Dawson. I was expecting them now or at any time, so suggested we should go and meet them at the terminus. Bob seemed reluctant, but he came silently along.

Three more surprised men it would be difficult to imagine than old Garland and our assistants as they caught sight of me. They stopped and stared at me, then looked at one another and seemed on the point of bolting. I soon reassured them.

They rushed at me, and when they had sufficiently slapped and pummelled me, each told his own story, how the tramway men had rescued Bob 2 with a line and so on, until I again jokingly assumed the role of active hustler, reminding them we were on a stampede and to get on with it, or I would shove off alone. Bob had been looking on all this while, and now whispered to me:

Whilst my companions were making ready, I took the opportunity of examining my canoe for any damage she might have sustained in her perilous journey. She was not hurt in the slightest, and thanks to the raised gunwale, I had shipped one bucket of water. I was pleased to hear Bob pronounce my handiwork as “very good”.

Just before I left, Bob said he would do what I suggested, and would I mind his money for him until he joined me? It was a responsibility I would not have sought, and I must say I was a bit staaggered when he thrust a roll of bills on me amounting to more than $500, but I promised to keep them safe for him. With that we embarked, and 10 minutes later I was waving adieu to my loyal friend as he stood watching us out of sight.

The most dangerous part of our journey was now behind us, and 400 miles only lay between us and our goal. We paddled and drifted on down the river and slept soundly that night in a calm backwater out of the current. Under a cloudless sky we went leisurely on next day, until we entered Lake LaBerge, looking like some gigantic mirror set in a frame of mountains. The hot sun beat mercilessly down on us. There was not a breath of wind stirring, not even sufficient to make a wrinkle on the gleaming, polished surface of the water. Paddling in a kneeling position was arduous work, and after a while painful, and progress was slow. We whistled in vain for a southerly breeze to use our sail, and at length, as it was not forthcoming, by way of diversion we streamed a fishing line with a spinner attached. It was not until we were nearing the middle of the lake at 3 PM that we were able to chronicle any success. An obliging and unsophisticated trout weighing nearly 7 pounds attached itself to the line and was promptly welcomed in our midst.

We landed in a shady spot and cooked it, but the place was infested with the largest and most vicious type of mosquito I had ever encountered. In spite of the dense smoke screen set up, they gave us such a poisonous time that we had to retreat 4 miles from the shore before we could eat with any degree of comfort. And now a gentle breeze sprang up from the south and setting our sail we paddled along with the larger canoe in tow, reaching the foot of the lake at 10:30 that evening. By 11 we were snugly secured at the head of the “Forty Mile” river and fast asleep, although it was still broad daylight.

"Forty Mile" is the name given to this part of the main river to distinguish it from the rest on account of its steepness and consequent swiftness. Many half submerged rocks add to the danger of this stretch of water, ready to ruin the unwary.

Our two canoes did the journey abreast, and we were talking to each other while the current hurried us along, when suddenly rounding a bend a slightly projecting rock loomed ahead of me. Too late now to attempt to avoid it, so steering straight for it I scraped over the top with an awful grinding noise. I thought the bottom must be pretty nearly ripped right out of the boat, so took the earliest opportunity of beaching her and examining her thoroughly both inside and out. Greatly to my astonishment and relief, she was undamaged.

I had just congratulated myself on this stroke of good fortune and was on the point of departing when six men approached us through the trees. They were shipwrecked Stampeders whose boat had found a submerged rock the previous day and had torn the bottom of herself, three of their companions being drowned and all their outfit lost. We assisted them with supplies, and as we could not carry them in our canoes, promise to report their condition to the police at Hectalinqua, Lower down we helped two other parties similarly situated. The last lap of the race was pleasant but uneventful. After then here Hectalinqua we traversed the Lewis River and passed Fort Selkirk where it is joined by the Pelly River, the union of the two forming the mighty Yukon River, on the right bank of which, about 200 miles distant, stood Dawson. At Five Finger Rapids I was asked to sell a 50-pound sack of flour for $25, food supplies being very short.

And now, on 15th June 1898, we could see the end of our quest, at last insight, and at 6 o’clock we arrived at Dawson, the city of the Klondike gold fields.

Chapter 11 – Dawson City - 1898

Dawson City at this time was a city of tents built on a triangular marshy flat, bounded on the south by the Klondike River and on the west by the Yukon River. The apex of the triangle came under the dome at the north of the town. It covered an estimated area of about a thousand acres. On the opposite side of the Klondike River was a similar flat piece of ground, inhabited by a small community of Siwash Indians. It rejoiced in the name of “Louse Town” and was reputed to justify its application.

So rapid was the progress made in the construction of a modern city that, in the space of three short months, canvas was superseded by wood, and all the facilities of a well conducted town were in operation, even to electricity. By July 1898, the Canadian Bank of Commerce and British North America Bank were well started. Sawmills were running ceaselessly, day and night. Streets were laid out and houses sprang up as if by magic.

The orderly character of the town was most exemplary. No doubt this was to a large extent owing to the North West Mounted Police (NWMP), who had the business well in hand. Another reason was that the getting there, in these early days, involved considerable expense and called for great powers of endurance, making the class of people necessarily somewhat exclusive. These, I think, were the two main factors of the good tone prevailing in Dawson and the surrounding country.

The greatest hardship, at the time of my coming to the city, was the shortage of food supplies. The large companies, such as the North America Trading and Transportation Company and The Alaska Commercial Company, forgetful of the Boy Scout motto, were not ready to meet the wants of the sudden influx of people, and their stern wheel riverboats were not expected from Nome, Alaska until the end of August, as they had to travel some 1,700 miles. I was constantly put in mind of my meeting with Soapy Smith, and his warning about “salvation and damnation”. It was this shortage that earned the title of ‘Sourdough’ for the early settlers in the land, from the kind of yeast they used when baking. As the banks were scarcely started, the means of exchange was gold dust, the trade value for which was £20 per troy ounce weight, carried around in leather “pokes”, or as I had seen in cabins on the creeks, in one pound baking powder tins, filled to the brim. In short, they had hundreds of pounds sterling in gold dust, and nothing to eat!

Just when we came, the salmon began to run. Garland had a gill net, which his assistant and I prepared for use, and we undertook the fishing whilst Garland and Robert saw to the selling and domestic duties and guarded the tent and outfit. The fishing was much more thrilling than we expected. As often as we clubbed the fish on the head and thought they were dead, they would suddenly come to life and leap and thrash about, until we had to beat a hasty retreat for the shore before boat capsized. Our first catch consisted of 10 fish, the heaviest weighing 63 pounds, a total weight of 520 pounds.

The net lasted 10 days only, in spite of my tireless effort to keep it in repair, so to our regret our very remunerative monopoly had perforce to come to an abrupt end. Our total catch brought us a little over 4,000 pounds weight, which was readily sold at $1 gold dust per pound weight. Garland’s share and mine came to $1,200 each whilst the men had $800 apiece.

Chapter 12 – The Loss of a Good Friend

The next job I undertook was to build a cabin for a lawyer friend by the name of Tabor. For this I received £1 an hour and the right to live in it for 12 months free of charge.

It was whilst I was busy with its construction that I sustained the first real, personal shock that came my way since the beginning of the enterprise. It brought home to me, as nothing else had done, the actuality of the dangers that surrounded us on all sides and the great risks that we were incurring at every instant.

About the middle of July, I received a visit from one of the NWMP to tell me that the Commanding Officer would like to see me immediately, as he had important news to communicate. I went at once and heard that information had just come through that the Padre, and an Italian in his service, had been drowned in Lake LaBerge and the bodies had not been recovered. One member of the party, a lawyer, had survived (typical) and was being sent to Dawson as soon as possible. The Commanding Officer kindly told me that he would let me know when he arrived, that I might be present at the inquiry.

I was stunned. I could not realize that I was never to see him again, never to shake his hand or hear his cheery laugh. The whole future I had so blithely planned for us - what pleasure did it hold now? It was a long time before my numbed mind could take in the fact that my whole life, and what a dreary waste of days it seemed that stretched before me, must now be spent without him, even the plans made that concern myself alone and in which he took no part. The adventure lost its glamour, and instead of rose hued dreams, I saw the business for what it was, a grim and unrelenting struggle to wrest a hard-won living from nature, with fate, our fellow humans and the odds all heavily against us. I had embarked on the enterprise in a spirit of adventure only, but now the stern, cruel and sordid side came vividly before me.

After a week of vain regrets and miserable self reproaches, I received a note requiring my attention at the barracks the next morning at 11 o’clock. I was met by Gwilliam, still painfully suffering from the shock of the disaster.

The poor fellow had evidently not ceased to worry himself over the thought that it might have been possible to save them. It turned out that before Gwilliam rejoined the Padre on 20 June, the two young farm boys who had joined us in Vancouver “got fed up” and left. Facing the situation with his usual optimism, the Padre set to work and purchased a local made boat large enough to carry most of the outfit, the canoe serving for the lighter packages. An Italian cook, who offered his services in return for his passage, joined the party. Finally, all was in readiness, and they made a start at the end of the month. Bob, my Indian friend and sometime companion, saw them safely through the Canyon and the Whitehorse Rapids. They then went on to Lake LaBerge, congratulating themselves on their successful journey, believing all danger was now passed.

The weather at the lake was very unsettled, with a strong wind blowing and the waves running high. As they came near the foot of the lake, the canoe swamped and the contents floated out. The shore was close at hand, and they quickly landed, the swamped canoe still in tow. It was hauled ashore, emptied of what packages remained, bailed out and launched again to pick up some of the floating parcels. The Padre and the Italian cook, both clad in long rubber boots, went out on this fatal errand. As they were leaning over to rescue a package, the canoe capsized, within 20 yards of the shore, and their heavy boots, rapidly filling with water, quickly finished the business. Finding himself sinking the Padre called out “I am going! Goodbye! Best wishes, and the same to Bradley.”

These were his last words before he disappeared. The Italian never came to the surface. The boat was soon pounded into a total wreck, most of the outfit was salvaged, though in more or less damaged condition. The Padre’s death was a great sorrow to all who knew him. He was deeply mourned by many people in the Yukon. Indeed, it is a loss that even now I cannot bear to dwell on.

The Rev. Walter Lyon died as he had lived, lionhearted as he was, courageous and cheerful, and reverend indeed. He left us in the prime of life, but I truly believe it was a death such as he would have chosen, swift and brave, and one which swept him away with the fullness of his powers still up on him. He had nothing to fear.

Chapter 13 – A Prospecting Venture

In six weeks of very hard work, I finished the construction of Tabor’s cabin. Shortly afterwards I had the opportunity of buying a three-room cabin and a doghouse in a good position facing the Klondike River, for the ridiculously small sum of $400. Two sourdoughs had just received an urgent call from some friends to join them in Circle City, Alaska, where it was reported that a gold discovery, richer than the Klondike had been made. Amongst the extras included in my purchase were two good stoves, two wire mattresses with folding legs and a table and chairs. A fortnight later I refused an offer of $2,500 for my “snap”. The day after I bought it, I let it for $40 a month to an official of the Gold Commissioner’s Office, who was expecting his wife by the first lower river boat from Nome, Alaska. So at least I was sure of one steady source of income.

Since my arrival in Dawson, I had been so busy and contented with the various jobs that came my way, that it didn’t occur to me that I was not doing what I had specifically come for. As it happened, though, I was not wasting my time, for I came into contact with a great many people who had been out on the creeks and learned from them more than I could have acquired by personal experience in so short a time. The information I gleaned at this time was more than useful to me afterwards.

It was in August, on what was considered to be very reliable and inside information, that I got mixed up, for the first and last time, in one of those mad affairs which are all too common with the more excitable constituent. Up to this time I had never been farther than 8 miles from Dawson, as far as Discovery Claim on Bonanza Creek. In these days all travelling had to be done on foot, mostly over marshy ground covered with large tufts of very coarse grass, so that walking was a really tiring business.

This particular stampede, on which I had started out, led to a place 70 miles from Dawson on a tributary of the Indian river. Garland was my companion on this wildcat hunt. At very short notice, we stealthily moved to a rendezvous well out of the town, where we were to meet our friends who had “let us into the know”, and who were bringing some of the discoverers to act as guide.

None of us were properly equipped for the journey. Our boots were ridiculously unsuited to the task before them, and the food supply was negligible. At 10 o’clock that night saw us 45 miles from Dawson, near the Dome, the central and highest point of this vast gold bearing area, from which the well-known producing creeks radiated like the spokes in a wheel.

Two of our friends and about 30 other people were on the scene, and whilst we squatted apart from the crowd, more came into sight in the direction from which we had come, keeping as well as they could, under cover. Our great concern was to shake these followers. I was now very tired and sleepy, so I stretch myself on a mossy patch.

So saying, I fell asleep, but my slumbers were destined to be disturbed. At 2 o’clock we were awakened by a downpour of rain. I got to my feet,

Garland “fell in” and away we went downhill, until at 8 AM we reached the spot which the discoverer had certified on our map. We cast about and found two holes, which had not been long open. These Garland quickly and carefully examined and condemned. We searched the district for two hours but found no gold mine nor any indication that we should be justified in exercising our right to stake a claim in the neighbourhood. We were in un-interrupted possession of the place, so came to the conclusion that the rain which had spurred us on had thrust the others back. Feeling famished, we ate our biscuits and drank all the water.

Refreshed, but footsore, we started up the hill on our return journey. By 4 PM we regained the ridge, our throats parched and tongues swollen. Driven to finding water somehow, we moved some rocks on the side of the ridge and dug holes with our tomahawks, and by this means we eventually got some slight, albeit muddy relief.

When we had gone another mile, some wisps of smoke ahead attracted our attention and so stimulated our efforts that we went on much faster until we came upon a party of four, just finishing a meal. It was a very happy and fortunate encounter for Garland and myself. We recognized each other immediately. They were four young men from New Zealand who had travelled with me from Auckland to Vancouver. No nicer persons exist than the kind New Zealander, and these boys certainly upheld the tradition of their country as they ministered to our distress. Tea made with spring water and served with canned cream, fried ham and flapjacks, the nectar and ambrosia of the Gods, could not have tasted more delicious or more quickly put new life into us. At 6 o’clock we went our respective ways, Garland and I bound for Dawson and the four boys to work ‘a lay’ (an agreement on a percentage basis) on a Dominion Creek claim.

A deserted cabin made a kindly shelter for our weary bodies that night. We had just enough strength to bath our burning feet in a stream that ran close by, then with our last spurt of energy we stumbled into the shack and falling prostrate, immediately lost consciousness in a deep, healing sleep.

We awoke early, worried by the mosquitoes and other apparently carnivorous insects. Once more refreshing our swollen feet and our faces in the soothing coolness of the stream, we walked for our breakfast until we came to a roadhouse at the junction of the Bonanza and El Dorado creeks, at a point called “the Forks”. Here we were given some lumpy porridge, tough moose steak, bread and coffee, for which generous repast we were charged £1 sterling.

Having washed and brushed up as well as we could we started on our last lap and arrived back in Dawson that afternoon at 3 o’clock, miserably tired and with blistered feet, entirely cured of the worst form of insanity; Stampeding!

Chapter 14 – Nanette

It took four weeks before my feet were sufficiently in shape to carry me. I was just venturing on a trial trip to Tabor’s office, when to my astonishment and pleasure, I encountered Nanette. She was escorting a sick man, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ben Franklin. As Tabors cabin was close at hand, I took them in and, settling Mr. Franklin in a comfortable chair, Nanette and I exchanged gossip and histories.

Although she knew nothing about nursing, Nanette did as she was told and soon grew to love the work. Everybody was very kind to her. After the rush from Lake Bennett, her agreement with Inspector Belcher being completed, her services were no longer required. She, and a certified nurse, were sent on to Dawson in the care of three members of the Mounted Police. She heard that women with nursing experience were wanted at the Roman Catholic hospital, which was nearing completion, so made application to the founder, Father Perreault, an aged and well-beloved priest. He gave her an appointment as a nurse on the staff. An epidemic of typhoid fever broke out and claimed Mr. Franklin as a victim. He was an elderly man and looked very frail. I turned to console with him.

To check a further flow of praise, Nanette told him the story of how I found her and got her the job as a nurse, carefully leaving out the shooting affair at Sheep Camp, and made the old man’s head Bob and nod with pleasure.

I promised to do as he wished and consented also to be a witness. Nanette then brought in the tea, and attended to her patient, without disturbing him in any way. I could not help contrasting this quiet, calm and attractive nurse with the defiant, flashing-eyed spitfire, avenging an insult at Sheep Camp. Just as they were leaving, after a visit lasting three hours, Tabor came in and was introduced, and was casually asked if he could make a business appointment for the following day, after which I escorted Nanette and Ben Franklin back to the hospital.

When I returned, I found the Tabor evidently somewhat smitten with Nanette, and he was immensely interested in the whole affair. In the course of his professional duties, he had heard of the merits of Franklin’s gold claim and of his ability as a miner.

The following afternoon, myself and Father Perreault being named as trustees, Franklin left practically all he possessed too Nanette, who was waiting in the adjoining room with me discussing the prospect of opening a ladies hat shop in Dawson!?

Chapter 15 – Prospecting with Bob Henderson

On my return to the cabin that evening a mighty form reared up to greet me, and to my great pleasure I found it was my Indian friend Bob, patiently waiting for me. He gave me a kind, funny smile which made his steadfast, rugged face, quite unusual to such exercise, very likable in its soft fierceness. I also received a hand crushing welcome which elicited a forceful caution not to maim me. He evidently felt I was annoyed, for as we entered the cabin he said

In a very short time with our facilities at Bob’s magic touch, a meal fit for the highest was prepared. Tabor was delighted with Bob, and we made arrangements for him to stay with us, although I cannot say he displayed any sign of joy at being taken away from his lifelong habits of solitude. With all his good points, he was not a mixer. I quite understood this and explained that it was only a temporary arrangement and when winter came, we should live in our own cabins. In the meantime, he could look out for a suitable place, and this he eventually found, just behind mine.

He nodded his head in approval.

This obviously pleased him. He jumped up and fetched his canvas bag and proceeded to spread out six bundles of dollar bills of various value amounting to $4,892, and IOU’s to the tune of $675. He asked me to look after them as usual. I gave the IOU’s to Tabor who was subsequently successful in collecting the money. Bob mentioned that he had run several boats through for nothing. I asked him if he could remember running the Padres boat, which he did. The next morning we went together to the bank of British North America and opened an account in his name.

In the course of the ensuing conversation, I told him of my disastrous expedition to the goldfields, and how it had wholly cured me of wanting to go on any more of these stealthy excursions. Then I told him of a desire which had been taking hold of me, to go to the head waters of the Klondike River on a hunting and prospecting trip. As this meant uphill work against the current and was a two-man job, it had not been possible until now, but Bob eagerly fell in with my idea and said he would begin to get ready right away.

Three days later, on 20 August 1898, we set forth in my small canoe with 10 days of supplies. Progress upriver in the canoe is best accomplished by “Poling”. I had had no experience in this direction, but as I have probably the best exponent in the whole wide world of this particular kind of propulsion, I was not long in becoming a little useful. Our advanced did not exceed 16 miles a day. After the first 20 miles the river began to ascend by steps or rapids, in varying stretches, increasing in number and steepness as we went.

On the second day out, Bob pointed out to me the indications of the presence of beaver and other game, and promised me some beaver tail stew for supper. A little further along we cited a bear and running the canoe onto the bank we hauled her up and went with our rifles in pursuit. When we reached a rocky point, the bear disappeared. Bob gave me instructions to wait while he walked further along the riverbank, and when he whistled, I was to walk straight in from the river and blow my whistle if I required help. I received his signal and followed his instructions by walking for about 15 minutes through densely wooded country and over many large fallen trees, the victims of an ancient forest fire, until I came to an open space of about 7 acres, as far as I could judge, edged with scrub 4 to 6 feet high with heavy timber beyond. This clearing was filled with alfalfa and other nourishing grasses.

I was gazing over this beautiful meadow, and for signs of movement, when I observed something looking like a ball of fur springing about a foot above the grass and falling back again out of sight. After watching it for two or three minutes, I decided it was a young animal and made up my mind to catch it for a pet. Placing my rifle against a tree I crept into the long grass and crawled forward until I was near enough to make a rush, then taking off my coat, I dashed successfully onto my objective. I picked it up and uncovered it, and found it was a lusty bear cub, which, as soon as I removed my coat from its head, began squealing and clawing at me in real earnest and with some purpose. While trying to get the coat around him again, to protect myself from his claws, I heard behind me a breaking of sticks and savage grunts, and to my horror, saw mother bear emerging from the scrub and heading for me with unmistakable intentions of doing damage to me. There I was, un-armed and with no notion as to which tree I had left my rifle under. The situation was pretty desperate. I dropped my prize and coat and dashed for the river, and I venture to say, my alarm was such that had the time being taken, it would have been an easy record for any obstacle race of its kind. Not withstanding my speed, when I got o the river, mother bear was not 6 feet behind me. I rushed waist deep into the water, which carried me slowly downstream, Bruin keeping pace on the shore. When I had recovered sufficient wind to whistle, I let out shrill blasts until Bob appeared on the scene, as he very quickly did. He took in the situation at a glance and removed all danger with one an unerring shot.

The next half hour was spent by me in drying my sopping clothes at a roaring fire, whilst Bob skinned the bear and gave its carcass to two Siwash Indians he had come across, who were on a hunting trip and had been attracted by his gunfire. He also handed them the skin, telling them to clean it and dry it and he would return to their camp in seven or eight days to collect it.

By this time, I was once again comfortably attired in my dry clothes, so Bob suggested our going to catch the cub and get my coat. We soon found them together where I dropped them, the claws of the cub so entangled with the lining of my coat that he could not move his legs. We carried them back to the canoe where we decided to camp for the night. The cub was carefully separated from the coat and Bob trimmed its claws make him easier to handle.

Off he went, and I took a can and gathered some berries, which grew in abundance. They were very large and of many different varieties such as wortle berries, salmon berries and red and black currants. I quickly picked well over a quart and sprinkled some with sugar. I gave them to “Siwash”, as we had decided to call the cub. The remainder I placed in a pan and stewed them by which time Bob reappeared with a splendid beaver and an Arctic hare. He at once set about making the beaver tail soup with slices of bacon, herbs and seasoning. An hour later I was packing myself with the most delicious food I remember ever tasting, with stewed fresh berries served with canned cream. “Siwash” loved these and stood on his head and clapped his hind feet for more.

It had been a glorious and thrilling day, and at 9 o’clock I put Siwash to bed in the canoe, probably secured, whilst Bob prepared our springy Klondike beds in front of the fire, under the lee of a well designed and constructed weather screen; then, rolling ourselves up in our fur robes, we were very quickly fast asleep.

Chapter 16 – The Great Empty North I

I was awakened at 5am the next morning to find Bob standing over me with a cup of steaming coffee. I jumped into my boots and ran the river and had an Arctic Needles bath. The ice-cold water made me tingle and glow, and dance with delight and the fulness of life. Hastily throwing on some clothes, I visited Siwash and had him stand on his head and clap his feet for some of the fruits and cream which had been left over from the last nights banquet.

When we had finished our coffee, Bob and I set forth with pick, shovel and gold pan to prospect a creek known as Flats Creek, a tributary of the river Klondike. It flowed through a very wide, flat and richly wooded valley. This day and the following were spent entirely in prospecting. Wherever we tried along the edge of the creek we got 3 to 6 cents to the pan, and in places where we went deep enough to reach rim rock, never less than 10 and as high as 17 cents to the pan, i.e., two good shovels of gravel or about a cubic foot.

The conclusion we came to, after two days careful work, was that while the rewards of individual labour with pick and shovel was insufficient to justify the time and toil, yet if the overburden of from 4 to 6 feet of moss and decayed vegetable matter were scientifically and economically removed - by no means an incredibly difficult job, there was, and still is, an immense amount of gold to be recovered from the auriferous gravels of this vast area, which would repay mining done on a large scale. The result of 24 tests amounting to $1.80, or nearly 2 dollars worth of gold per cubic yard.

Early the next morning, having provided for Siwash for the interval we expected to be away, we set out on a hunting trip to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, about 10 or 12 miles distant, on the other side of the valley. The idea was partly to see if there were other creeks flowing into the Klondike River and partly for my personal initiation into the ways of moving about a trackless country without blazing a trail.

We had only gone a little way when Bob drew my attention to a baldheaded (white-headed) Eagle perched on the top of a very tall tree and ask me to shoot him. I crept steadily ahead to get within range, and eventually fired with sights set at 350 yards. The bird gave a sharp screech as it dived into the air and dropped a few feathers before disappearing over the trees near by. Bob picked up two of the feathers and proudly stuck them in his Stetson, exclaiming with satisfaction.

Then turning to me he remarked,

All the same, it was a bit disquieting!

Our way now led us through most marvellous country, with wonderful shrubs of all kinds and magnificent trees of gigantic size. Indeed, the luxuriance of the vegetation, here on the fringe of the Arctic Circle, was equal to everything I have seen in temperate zones. Everything seems on a larger and more prodigal scale. Potatoes, sound and sweet throughout, are normally the size of large turnips. Lettuce, onions and all such plants can almost be seen growing. I have myself had radishes on the table within 12 days of planting the seeds. Berries, of which there are 28 edible varieties, are the boat most luscious in the world. Bob drew my attention as we went along, to the inclination of the tree trunks, and to the grass and flowers, as a check on the blaze. He pointed out animal spoors of beaver, fox, mink, ermine, squirrel, bear, caribou, moose and hare. About 4 miles from the hills, the trees began to thin and large areas of grassland with clumps of nourishing shrubs took their place. The current bushes were heavily laden with clusters of red and black berries, the size of small grapes.

Suddenly we came unexpectedly upon a herd of about 300 caribou. They were beautiful creatures and fascinating to watch. They made a magnificent picture in their setting of greenery, with the rugged mountains in the background, thrusting the jagged peaks into the cloudless blue sky overhead. We stood within 25 yards of them, and even old Bob, used to such sights, looked on in silent admiration.

He fired a shot over them, but all they did was to run around in a circle. We could have shot every one of them. Passing close to this revolving herd, we pushed on until after another mile, we discovered a fair-sized stream flowing toward the Klondike River. We followed its course upstream, and found that it ran parallel to the foothills. The valleys in between acted as feeders of the melt from the permanent snow and ice on the mountain summits. We had nothing with us for testing the gravel but estimated the position of its entry into the Klondike, with a view to visiting it on our return to camp. The afternoon, being now well advanced, we crossed the stream and struck into the mountains to prepare for the night. 300 feet above the valley there was a most convenient place, nicely sheltered and thickly floored with fresh stag-horn moss. It was already in the possession of a large company of ptarmigan, who were not in the least disposed to evacuate it for our benefit. Indeed, they behave like farmyard fowls at feeding time, notwithstanding the fact that we went amongst them and selected six for “the pot”, tapping them on the head with a stick. We dined that night on fried ptarmigan, ham, and stewed berries.

We spent the next morning trying to catch a chamois. As we only had four hours at our disposal, Bob did not expect any success, so we were not disappointed when our quest was a failure. The Chamois and the Ibex were the only shy and timid animals we met with at all in that part of the world. Although we saw them, we could never get within a mile of them. They kept in the upper reaches of the mountains and knew all about advantageous points of observation.

At noon we strapped on our packs and started on our return to the canoe, with a view to proceeding up the Klondike River the next day and investigating the stream we had discovered the day before. When we reached the edge of the forest land, Bob turned to me and said,

and he disappeared! I did not return by the way we had come, but somewhere parallel to it. I set my course and pushed on, eventually making Flat Creek half a mile above the canoe. It must be owned (up to that) I was not sure of which side of me the canoe was, but while I was trying to decide, Bob emerged from some shrubs close at hand.

I concluded he was not far away at any time. On the way, I gathered another can full of berries and my first act of reaching the canoe was to feed Siwash, who was quite all right but had eaten all his supplies.

Chapter 17 – A Close Call

Proceeding up the Klondike River the next day, we came to a steep rapid where we had to portage the canoe about 700 yards. Taking to the river again, Bob took the bow position, being about 75 pounds heavier than myself. This arrangement facilitated launching. On these occasions movements have to be “nippy”, so that shoving off, jumping in and getting the pole in action is to be done as nearly in one motion as possible.

I had not had sufficient experience to tell the character of the bottoms of rivers by the feel of the pole. In this particular place the rock was uncommonly smooth, and when I put my weight on the pole it slipped, with the inevitable result. Instantly Bob seized a paddle and had the canoe alongside of me, but our doom was sealed. The current had us in its grip and was hurling us into the rapids.

He put the painter under my arms and released his hold on me. Just as the rapids were reached, he snatched the paddle again and steered for all he was worth with me in tow, bumping on the bottom and banging against boulders in our mad rush down this semi waterfall.

I remember nothing after entering the rapids until I saw, as through a mist, the flickering light of a fire, and gradually became aware of a sensation of warmth, and more acutely - pain. My body was aching all over, and I was in a dazed condition. I was lying before a big fire, rolled in a blanket and fur robe, with Bob anxiously bending over me. My troubled state decided him to take me to the hospital at Dawson, 45 miles away, so padding the canoe with grass and leaves, he carefully placed me in it, and had me at the hospital at 7 o’clock that night.

Although I was still in a semi conscious condition, the pain in my head, body and legs was almost unbearable. I was dimly aware of Nanette leaning over me and knew vaguely that I was surrounded with every care and kindness. The only people I can remember seeing on the following day were Nanette, Bob, and the doctor. On examination it was found that I was bruised and grazed from head to foot, but fortunately nothing was broken, and with good nursing I should be alright in a fortnight.

The third day in hospital Bob brought me Siwash, whom I had quite forgotten, and said he was going to fetch the bearskin that day. This was the only occasion on which he left me for more than an hour from the time of the accident until I was discharged, and I must say that just to see his fierce but anxious face near me all the time was as good as a tonic. He had over 60 miles to go and come, and was only 14 hours away, an average rate of about 4½ miles (7¼ kilometers) per hour in a pathless country, such were his power and speed. I thought the skin looked very well, but Bob was furious about it, for the Indians had cut off the head and claws, for which there was a special market.

I suppose he meant as far as he was concerned. Apparently, as he considered they had ruined the skin, he thrashed them and took away their spoils. The skin was a fine piece of fur, and at present adorns my hearth at home.

Siwash himself, in the mean time, was being taken care of by the people erecting the fire station, and subsequently became a useful member of that force, coupled with a black retriever dog, the two forming the motive power of a real horse. They did much distinguished service and were exceedingly popular, unfortunately for Siwash, whose premature demise was the direct result of overfeeding.

At the end of a fortnight, I left the hospital, fully recovered. Bob and Tabor, who had been a daily visitor, escorted me to the cabin, from which we had set out only three weeks before on our adventurous and instructive trip up the river. During our absence, Tabor had invited a mutual friend, a medical practitioner from Sheffield by the name of McArthur, to share his cabin for company, so the four of us now settled down to dig in together.

Chapter 18 – A Profitable Opportunity

In the congenial atmosphere of the cabin, with the faithful Bob looking after our creature comforts and McArthur keeping a professional I on me, I was soon restored to a state of suspended physical fitness.

Going into town with Tabor one morning, I met in his office the owner of a Bench Claim on the corner of El Dorado and Bonanza creeks. He offered me a 60% “lay” on the property for the remainder of the season. Knowing that the locality was rich in gold, I snapped up the offer. A few days earlier I had met a young Englishman, called Cape, who was a mining engineer and had recently arrived from England to size up the country on behalf of a powerful English mining company. To him I bent my footsteps and found him just preparing for an expedition of investigation. The proposition I put before him was exactly what he had been wanting, and there and then we agreed to work the claim on a 50/50 basis, and to start the following day.

The four young men from New Zealand, who had been so good to me and Garland when returning from my one and only stampede, had lately come back to Dawson from their claim on Dominion Creek, having proved that the values obtained did not repay their exertions. I sought them out and offered them $15 a day to work for us. They accepted with alacrity and started out that day for “the Forks”. My partner and myself, packed as heavily as mules, arrived at noon and set the sluice boxes, getting about six hours run that day and continuing for 35 days of 10 hours each, until the frost stopped us. I never worked so hard in my life or suffered from so many aches as the unaccustomed use of a pick and shovel caused me. Bob visited us on four occasions, each time remarking;

After paying the owner his 40% and deducting all expenses - men’s wages, firewood for thawing the frozen ground, hire of horses and man to haul same and the use of the sluice boxes - the engineer and I netted £153 each.

Shortly after our return, Cape came to settle down with us and join the Tabor party in the cabin, which was pretty crowded by now. We made a jolly quartet. Many evenings after supper were given up to the display of animal spirits, and a chance visitor was as likely as not to surprise us in the throes of a battle. It became a habit of McArthur to attack me at any moment, and we would wrestle and punch and roll over each other and stagger about, for all the world like young puppies or irresponsible children, just through sheer flow of the spirits, was the other two egged us on in huge enjoyment.

Whilst I was away on the claim, the manager of the bank of British North America called at the cabin to say he had a communication for me from England. I found it to be a letter of credit from my father, who, it will be remembered, had declined to do anything to help me get into the country. Finding I had gone none the less, he hastened to send some help in case I was in any difficulty. As it happened, I did not need it, but was very glad to hear from him.

From now onward as opportunities occurred, I paid visits to the Discovery claims on Bonanza, Hunker and other creeks and a number of hillside operations, but at this time developments had hardly begun. From my observations I gathered that gold in more or less abundance was spread over a very large area, most of which at this time was not profitable to operate, but which later, with improved facilities and work on a large-scale, would result in the recovery of enormous quantities of gold from these deposits. My foundation for this statement, apart from my own considerable private experience, is my official knowledge as Receiver of Gold from operating mines, the subject of litigation, in widely separate parts of the Yukon. Associated with the gold, is a vast quantity of tinstone, extremely rich in tin.

Chapter 19 – Dawson Burning!!

We were now in the grip of early winter, with the river rapidly closing with ice and the daylight hours shortening and dwindling to a meagre six. The country was clad in its winter garb of snow, and made an unforgettable picture of Arctic splendor unsurpassed by anything in more temperate climates. Above was a sky of dazzling blue; below was the dazzling white of the snow; and between the two a wonderful blending of autumn and tints, gold and brown and bright scarlet, mingled with the ever lasting green of the fir and balsam trees. At night, the brilliance of the Aurora Borealis illuminated the still and cloudless heavens, shooting out tremulous shafts of delicately coloured lights, their trembling rhythm suggestive to an imaginative mind of an accompaniment of soundless music.

About the end of October, Nanette called at the cabin at Mr. Franklin’s request to ask Tabor to go and see him professionally at the hospital, as he was now confined to his bed. Only a fortnight before he had appeared fairly well, but Nanette was concerned about him, saying that during the last week a marked change for the worse had taken place and the doctors thought he was approaching the end. On calling, Tabor found that his client wished to add a codicil to his will leaving $25,000 to the hospital, and the whole of the remainder of his estate to Nanette.

On 11th November 1898, he passed quietly away, and Nanette discovered the secret of her wealth. When the first shock of surprise had died away, she was overcome with emotion. Woman-like, she sobbed quietly for a long time, her chief trouble being that she could never thank him.

Her remaining at the hospital was now a matter of choice, but she stayed as long as they needed her and until she could conveniently be relieved. In the meantime, at her wish, we made arrangements for her to stay as a paying guest with a New Zealander and his wife; Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge, who lived in a roomy cabin near ours. They were on friendly terms with a French family - the only one in the Klondike at the time - the gentleman being the representative of a French investment capital company in the Yukon, so Nanette was able to meet some of her compatriots. She quickly settled down in her new quarters as our neighbour and frequent visitor.

She consulted us on all her affairs of business, and we discussed what should be done with her claim. In those early days, (digging with) the pick and shovel was the only process of mining. This meant that every bit of ground had to be thawed by wood fire for an average depth of 22 feet, and a shaft sunk to bedrock. Tunnels were then drifted from the bottom of the shaft to a height of about 6 feet above bedrock, in what was termed ‘pay dirt’. The ‘pay dirt’ was hauled to the surface and dumped, the hoisting gear consisting of a hand-made winch and wooden buckets. This operation went on throughout the winter months until the water began to run in late spring, when the sluice boxes were laid from the dam on the creek through the dump. The whole of the dump was then washed for its gold contents, after it had once again been thawed to remove the frost acquired during its long wait on the frozen ground.

To the best of my knowledge, the Klondike is the only large Goldfield in the world where this thawing process has to be carried out before gold can be recovered. The only other way of getting gold was from the riverbeds and the sea, where an extensive business was done, by sifting.

It can be imagined that the whole proceeding was very arduous, expensive and wasteful. Half the gold in the gravel was never recovered in sluicing and washing under such conditions, and in consequence only the very richest ground showed a profit. Claims subsequently yielding $300,000 up to $500,000 could not be worked profitably by such means.

It was Nanette’s wish that a small portion of her claim be let on a lay to meet the needs of employment which might arise that winter - “subject to the trustee’s approval”, as she put it.

It was at about this time that I was awakened at four in the morning by the unusual barking of our two dogs. Hastily throwing on some clothes, I went outside to learn the cause of the disturbance, and from our high position on the hillside, I saw that the town was merrily and fiercely burning.

The city, at this time, practically consisted of a single Main street, running north and south for 1½ miles along the riverside. All the most important buildings were there. Beginning with the Police quarters and barracks and jail in the south, then government buildings such as the Law Court, Gold Commissioners’ quarters, banks, general business houses, dance halls, music halls and hotels, finishing at the north end with large transportation stores and warehouses. There were a number of scattered cabins in the rear of the streets and along the hillside, sheltering altogether about 4,000 people, of whom by far the greatest number were resident in this street.

I stood a moment aghast, watching the terrible tongues of flame leaping about the housetops. It was an awe-inspiring sight, indescribably and paradoxically fascinating and repulsive at the same time. The flames really seemed alive, suggesting to my mind some sinister monster licking his spoil with gloating relish before actually devouring it.

Only a second I stood there, then diving into the cabin again I roused Tabour, McArthur and Cape who were all up and dressed in no time, and together we ran to the barracks offering our services. We were quickly told off (assigned) to squads of police who were busy organizing volunteers into working parties and commandeering from the stores all the necessary requirements for fire fighting. Our facilities were primitive in the extreme. Men were strung out in pairs from the particular property they were trying to save, to the frozen river, where holes had to be cut in the ice before water could be had. Commandeered buckets were then passed from man to man, but by the time they reach their objective, little water was left in them and what little there was, was mostly solid.

The fire had begun in a house on the riverside by the upsetting of an oil lamp. Luckily, it was on the less important side of the street, where there were not many buildings, chiefly law offices and a few small bars. However, it housed a good many people and I could imagine the serious consequences which would follow the rendering homeless of such a large number at this season of the year. Only those who have witnessed a great fire by night can have any idea of the appalling nature of it, especially when fed on such inflammable material as the dry wood of the Dawson buildings, and when spread over such a large area. The air is filled with a continual and deafening roar so that it is difficult for anything else to be heard. The fierce red glow of the flames, as they leap literally yards through the air on their destroying path, the velvet blackness of the sky shot with lurid colours, the unbearable heat and the dreadful fumes, the awful light which is thrown on everything around, the vapours which fill the air, making houses and people appear to shimmer and vibrate, the bustle and confusion of the hurrying, shouting crowds - all these strike terror to the heart of the onlooker, a horror which is reflected in the intent faces watching the gallant efforts to save their homes from destruction.

My own attention was concentrated on a building next to Northern Hotel, the largest and most popular hotel in the town. The furniture was removed, and gangs of men spread out from the river to the roof. The squad of police to which I was attached was instructed to hew down the adjacent building, and we set to work with a will. In a very short time, with axes and other tools, we successfully accomplished the task.

Unfortunately, the gentle south wind which had been refreshing us, now began to strengthen. The flames roard more and more fiercely and swept along faster and faster, until when they reached the gap there was no stopping them, and they jumped straight across. The lower part of the hotel was soon well alight and the men on the roof had to make haste to come down to safety.

The northern Hotel was the last big building to go, as there was a long vacant strip of land next to it before the Roman Catholic hospital was reached. At length the fire was got under (control) and eventually extinguished. The homes of about 450 people were destroyed, but they were taken in by others and well looked after, and thanks to the vigilance and efforts of the volunteers under the police guidance, the most important part of the town was saved.

Chapter 20 – Time to Leave!!

By now my leave of absence (from the P&O: Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Comnpany) was almost at an end and the time was drawing near for me to return to England. When I raised the question however it elicited a storm of protest, from Bob in particular who, after all the others had declared it suicidal madness, almost forbade it when we were alone.

Bob gravely shook his head.

So matters stood for a time while Nanette’s affairs were being set in order. Meantime, I looked about for suitable company on my journey home, and in pursuit of this I went to the police barracks to make inquiries about possible expeditions to the coast. At first, I was rather disturbed to learn that the earliest start anyone was thinking of making was in another six weeks time. Eventually however, I heard a bit of confidential information that led to my becoming one of a very select party of three who were the first to break the winter trail of 1898 from Dawson to the coast.

Our preparations were soon completed, and on the 25th November 1898, all was ready for an early start on the following day. Bob had at length being reconciled to it when he saw that I was determined to go, although up to the last he declared his intention of coming with me. Tabor and McArthur said they would not hear of his leaving them, so at last he said no more. Nanette and Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge came in for my last evening, and we had a jolly time. I pledged myself that I would return to them on the first boat down the river in the spring of 1899.

I was up and dressed by six the next morning and, going into the kitchen, I was not surprised to see Bob waiting for me with breakfast ready. We sat down together and partook of our last meal together quite cheerily. When we had finished, I heard movements in the living room and pushing open the door, I saw Tabor and McArthur dressing, although we had said ‘goodbye’ the night before.

Bob and I went ahead to load the sledge and promptly at 8 o’clock, we hit the trail for the coast.

With a whistle and the command; “Ho! Patsy, Tim - mush! Hup, hup”, the sledge leapt forward like an arrow released from a bow.

My companions for the journey: Auley and Mac, were close behind me with the second sledge drawn by a team of three dogs. Down the street we sped, accompanied by a few encouraging friends who had assembled to give us a happy send-off on our pioneer journey. On we dashed until we came to the bank of the river, then rushed at top speed onto the trackless ice, the first adventurers of the season.

It was not yet daylight, but the lusty cheer of our friends’ made amends for the cold and dusk of an early dawn. And above and beyond all else, the pulling influence of the coast filled us with the dominating ‘homeward-bound’ feeling, which has to be experienced to be appreciated.

It was so magnetic and tangible a sensation that I could have thought a rope was tied around my waist, actually drawing me. As a herd of Lapland reindeer, smitten by a simultaneous urge to drink of the sharp polar sea, will stampede 100 miles until they come to the coast; so we, even the dogs, “Cheechakoes” all (strangers to the land), filled with exhilaration, sped over the frozen water like a clipper ship with a following wind through a summer sea.

Not a regret for the friends I had left! Not a regret for the happy days I had spent, now forever past! Never a backward glance! At times, a fire would surge over me, catching me by the throat and choking me, so that I could not have spoken. “Home, home, homeward bound!”

Never shall I forget the incomparable magnificence of the autumnal colouring of this sub-Arctic land. In no part of the world, which I have traversed many times, have I seen anything more beautiful. The banks of the river were a mile apart and underfoot was an untrodden carpet of white. The sky was like a tremendous, bright blue curtain with a deep multicoloured border, varying from the brown and scarlet of the maple trees to the green of the snow-tipped firs and balsam, on a ground of blazing orange and yellow of the birch foliage.

That first day we blaze the trail for a distance of 22 miles over the unbroken snow-covered ice. We reached a level of lumerman’s camp at 3:30 pm, so decided to spend the night there. We looked after the dogs first thing and then saw to our own creature comforts. The chief of these was to alleviate the pain at the back of our legs, caused by the muscles being stretched as a result of changing from felt-heeled boots into moccasins for the journey. Oily embrocation gave us relief, and in a couple of days it was no longer required, the muscles adjusting themselves to the altered conditions.

The mean temperature for the day was 25° below zero. In such a degree of cold it is necessary not to stop moving at any time and to keep warm to avoid being frozen, so that we start and finish with a good hearty meal and use pemican on the way, smoking being out of the question.

The following day we started off at 8 o’clock after two hours preparation: temperature 30° below zero, weather fine and bright, dogs feet wrapped in moccasins, coloured glasses in use against snow blindness, conditions similar to those of the previous day. At 11 o’clock we came to an ice jam, a formidable barrier from bank to bank of the river. It is caused by a thaw after the river had been frozen over, so swelling the river as to lift the covering of ice and break it at the weakest part and for some miles in length into large slabs of various sizes, generally about 50 x 80 feet square and 3 feet thick. The current then carries the broken ice to where the ice is holding. There it jams and the floating slabs are piled, one on top of the other, at all kinds of angles, to a height of 15 or 30 feet above the river level.

We searched for the shortest and smoothest passage across this imposing and slippery obstruction. The likeliest place seemed to be near the right bank, where the jam was only two and a half miles across instead of the usual four or more elsewhere. Here we went into camp on the ice. We fixed up the tent and stove, thickly covered the floor of the tent with fir branches and spread ground sheets. We then set to work with axes to hack a path across the barrier. By 4 PM we had cut and levelled a passage, with inclines leading to and from it at each end.

Twilight was now advancing so we had to make the best of our situation for the night. Two of us went for dry wood whilst the other was making up a supper of what was on hand. We started a fire ashore and put on a large pail of pork and beans whilst the rice and dried salmon were preparing for the dogs. Mac, being an artist at making soda scones and flapjacks joined up with Auley, who was frying bacon on the stove to get fat for the flapjacks, whilst I gave the dogs their supper, finished cooking the pork and beans and replenished the fire. Then we all joined together for our first home-made meal, served with ‘hunger sauce’, and very appetizing it was.

The last thing, the dogs were brought into the tent for their feet to be examined and as we could not risk their sleeping outside they were allowed to remain with us. Our 8 x 8 tent was crowded as a consequence, but both men and dogs were too tired to notice a little thing of that sort and slept, snug and sound, and awoke refreshed.

6 o’clock found us awake and each at his post, Auley and Mac getting our breakfast and me looking after the dogs. After this the tent was struck and sledges packed to start promptly at 8 am. This routine was observed daily as nearly as circumstance would permit, with a view to doing a day’s work of at least 20 miles during the hours of daylight. The ice jam had already set us 10 miles in arrears, which we had to overtake somehow.

Being ready at 7:45 this day, 28 November 1898, we started on the trail we had hewn over the barrier. It was very rough going, but as we were all fresh, we did the two and a half miles in one and a half hours. After that we struck a long stretch of easy going almost free from snow. At 4 PM we had travelled 27 miles and went into camp on the ice, near the bank of the river.

The next day, off we went at 7:45, with the going still good and the temperature rising to 20° below zero. About 10 miles from our last camp the river took a long bend and I struck out from the side to cut off the corner. Halfway across I felt the ice giving under our weight. Patty, the lead dog, gave a warning bark and put on a spurt. Immediately there was a loud report astern and a swaying and cracking of the ice. Turning my head, I saw that the ice had broken close behind me, the river was open and the gap quickly widening. It was an eerie sensation, to feel the ice bending and swaying all under and around us and to know the consequences of a complete break and a plunge into the freezing depths of the river! The dogs needed no urging. They were more alive to the peril than myself, and soon we were out of the danger zone.

Auley and Mac were far enough behind to see my escape and altered the course to hug the bank they were on the point of leaving. The weakness of the ice at this point, although 35 miles from the ice jam, we considered was probably in some way related to it. Anyway, we took it as a warning not to cross the river again within 50 miles of a jam. I eased my team until the others overtook me and 2 o’clock. At 4 o’clock, having done 25 miles, we once more went into camp on the ice, all fit and settling down to our job.

The next three days we made steady progress but slow. The snow was now about 9 inches thick and very sticky, making the going heavy and dropping our speed to 16 miles a day. The temperature ranged between 12° and 20° below zero and the weather was fine and clear throughout.

On 2 December 1898, we found ourselves about 132 miles from Dawson city. We started our day’s journey at 8 o’clock in a temperature of 28° below zero. The river hereabouts had widened to roughly 2 miles and was studded with little wooded islands half a mile from each bank. The fall in temperature had improved conditions for sledging and, dogs and men being in good fettle, we proceeded to put in a hard days work. The ice for long stretches was free from snow and the colouring had lost none of its charm, so that as we slipped along that delightful ‘homeward bound’ feeling again took possession of us. Reveling in the exuberance of health and pleasant thoughts, I had not noticed that Patty and Tim, who were evidently under the same influence as myself, had run away from the other teams and we were alone.

We stopped and I blew three long blasts on my whistle at intervals of about a minute but could hear no answering call. I unhitched the dogs and, knowing by now something of Patty’s wonderful intelligence, I told him to find the others. He wagged his tail and looked at me as though he quite understood what was wrong - as no doubt he did - and started back with Tim and me trotting in his tracks. A mile back we found them in a slough between the islets they had turned into before realizing their mistake. The sledge had gone through false ice to the depth of the runners, fortunately without doing any damage to the outfit or the dogs, all of which had to be removed before the sledge could be got clear. Some water came through the ice, surrounding the sled for a few feet with snow slush, but we put on our watertight knee boots, big enough to take our moccasin covered feet, so that no one got wet in the process of hauling the sledge to sound ice and repacking her. We were delayed one and a half hours. I mention this little incident just as another instance of the extraordinary sagacity of Patsy, my lovely St. Bernard, who took us straight, without hesitation, to the very spot among the islets where the others were.

This experience taught us to keep close order while travelling amongst the islands, and it turned out to be as well that we did so. To make up for our delay, as the going was good, we were none of us tired and the moon was shining brightly, we decided, instead of going into camp at 4 o’clock as per the routine, to feed the dogs and take our evening meal alfresco and try to reach the recently established. sub-police post 10 or 12 miles on. When seeing to the dogs I noticed they were very restless, particularly Patsy and Tim, who were sniffing the air and growling. Tim had a dangerous, fighting look about him, his fur bristling from neck to tail. At first, I thought there was some domestic trouble. I asked Patsy what the matter was. He wagged his tail, then faced the thickly wooded island on the opposite side of the river in a hostile matter, giving vent to a deep growl. I gave them their food, which they greedily gobbled up, and then they got together. This was so unusual that I was convinced there must be some enemy about, which I concluded must be a bear. Joining the other two at our big campfire, while we all set to with a will, I told them of the strange behaviour of the dogs. They agreed with me that it was probably a bear.

At 5 o’clock we lit our hurricane lamps and proceeded. The apprehensiveness of the dogs was so marked that we sent the three-dog team - the less powerful - to the front, my two beauties bringing up the rear. It was the first time any willingness to lead had been displayed by the three-dog team, but they were ready enough tonight. I looked for my revolver and saw it ready for action. The dogs needed no urging but seemed to be trying to jump through their collars in their eagerness to get away. We shot forward at a tremendous speed, but that pace was too good to last.

At 6 o’clock the first sound of the enemy was heard in a long, whining howl coming from the direction of the wood, 3 miles astern – wolves, not a bear! Our dogs were out to their full capacity. The ominous howling was increasing in strength and volume and as the pack of wolves neared us we could hear the separate quick, short yaps.

We were still fully 5 miles from safety when they were upon us. In imagination I was beginning to feel the sensation of being gnawed as the snapping teeth get almost within the range of my flying heels. I jumped on the sledge and turned about to face our pursuers, drawing my revolver.

The picture that greeted me was like some half-forgotten nightmare suddenly leapt to full and startling life. The lantern shone on the gleaming, baleful eyes. Beyond the flickering circle of light cast by the wan flame was an impenetrable darkness filled with unseen menace. The snarling, drawn back lips revealed the wicked, pointed fangs ready to tear our flesh. Many of the wolves were living skeletons, with hollow flanks, protruding bones and cadaverous faces. Except for an occasional whimper they were running silently now.

I fired at point blank range into the thick of them. My first three shots had deadly effect. With the last three shots three more of the pack were seriously wounded. It was enough. In the instant, the other wolves flung themselves upon the wounded ones, rendering them, still living, limb from limb.

Making the most of the respite the dogs strain every nerve in a last desperate effort. At 7:40 PM they pulled up abreast of the police post in a state of physical collapse. Every kindness was extended to us at the close of this thrilling and productive day - 38 miles. The temperature at this point, Salmon River, was 33° below zero. The dogs were still showing signs of their exertion the next morning, so on the advice of our hosts we decided to rest them in this comfortable haven for another 24 hours.

The following day, 4th of December, we went on our way all in a high state of fitness; temperature 35° below zero and the going was good. At 5 o’clock we arrived at the old established Hudson Bay Trading Post at Fort Selkirk. Here we found good quarters for ourselves and the dogs at reasonable rates. We had done nearly a third of our journey with an average daily progress of 22 miles. Fort Selkirk is situated at the junction of the Pelly and the Yukon River. The succeeding nine days were spent following the course of the Yukon River south, past what is now Carmack, to Hootalinqua, about 200 miles direct line distance south from Fort Selkirk, where a police post was established. Each night, with one exception we went into camp on the ice, the temperature ranging between 40° and 45° below zero. One day however, it was 48° below zero and an icy wind was blowing into the bargain. When the usual camping time came conditions were so unfavourable that we kept on, looking for a more sheltered place.

Presently we spied an unexpected cabin and Auley, went up to see if it could accommodate five dogs and three men. We were glad to accept floorspace for five dollars in view of the extreme cold and the long, heavy days work behind us. The owner of the cabin was a surly, dirty, bearded ruffian of the outcast type, and I was afraid we treated him as such. The atmosphere in the cabin was not so refreshing as the tent, but we were so tired that we all very quickly fell asleep, spread out over the floor in our fur robes.

In the middle of the night, I was disturbed by Patsy’s deep growl, and I got up and struck a light to find the cause. Everything seemed normal except that the two dogs were lying with their noses pointing in the direction of the owner, who was to all appearances asleep in his bunk in the corner. I patted them and told them it was too early to call us and rolling myself up in my robe, lay down once more; not to sleep however, for I stayed awake until 5:45 when I got up and woke the others.

At 7:45 AM, all being ready and lashed up, we proceeded down the bank to the river, and had gone some little way when looking back I noticed Mac was alone with the other team. Slipping Patsy and Tim from the sledge, I ran back and asked where Auley was. Mac had not noticed he was not following. Calling to the dogs I dashed back to the cabin and threw my weight against the door. It flew open and disclosed Auley at the far end with a chunk of wood in his hand, whilst the ’bearded ruffian’ crouched near the door, grasping a dagger.

Not having my revolver, I withdrew my pipe case, covered him and ordered him to “Drop it!” which in his craven surprise, he obligingly did forthwith whereupon I quickly and painlessly floored him with a punch to the jaw. We left him to recover at his leisure, Auley pinching the dagger as a souvenir on his adventure.

When we got back to Mac, in charge of the sledges, Auley recounted what had happened.

Four days after this event we arrived at Hootalinqua without any further thrills and reported the matter to the police. To Mounties were at once dispatched with a dog team to deal with this ruffian of the trail. He was overtaken and banished as undesirable. In that country, Mother Nature and the RNWMP made it impossible for the criminal to escape.

During the recent cold spell Patsy and Tim for some reason resented having their feet covered with moccasins. The day we arrived at Hootalinqua, Patsy went lame when I looked at his paws I found a cake of ice had formed under the toes in front of the pad. I was forced to take off my gloves to remove it and in the process my hands, nose and cheeks were frozen, the temperature being 50° below zero. I felt no pain, only numbness, preceded by a sharp, pricking sensation. On arriving at the police post three hours later, I went through two hours of the most acute agony. My face and nose were not so bad, as my friends insisted on rubbing them with snow at the beginning, but my hands and wrists were immersed in cold water for over two hours and gently massaged until circulation was completely restored.

We rested at Hootalinqua for a day before starting on our last lap of 200 miles or so to the head of Lake Bennet. We were told that on this stretch it was probable that we could make a roadhouse nightly, so we decided to risk it and travelled as light as possible. The tent and stove were accordingly disposed of and such heavy stores as we had not consumed. In their stead we took prepared food, sufficient to last us from place to place, keeping a tin of pemmican in reserve for contingencies. Our route was now to follow the Yukon River, through Lake LaBerge, past Whitehorse, through Lake’s Marsh and Tagish, past Carcross and down to the head (south end) of Lake Bennet.

At 5 PM on 15 December 1899, after a day’s journey of 35 miles in a temperature of 35° below zero, we fell in with two parties with dog teams, travelling in the opposite direction, north. They were just preparing to camp when we asked permission to join them and were cordially welcomed. A large fire was crackling with a pile of wood stacked handy to feed it throughout the night. Pails of ice were thawing, and tea was soon brewing. It was a merry party that finally circled around the cheery fire. At 9 o’clock, after the fun had waxed loud and boisterous, watches were set to keep the fire stoked, an hour for each person. As we cleared up (before settling for the night), I was surprised to see the boxes of food being hauled up into the trees, well clear of the ground. This was done to keep them out of the dog’s reach.

When the camp aroused to life the next morning it was found that the precautions were justified but unsuccessful. The cords suspending the boxes had been gnawed through. The boxes themselves were on the ground with the tops torn off. That the dogs were the culprits was evident for the teeth marks were plentiful and conclusive, but the greatest mystery, which remains to this day is; how did the dogs get to the ropes?

Of course, everybody vowed he had kept his watch, notwithstanding the fatal evidence to the contrary. Embers only remained of the fire. While some were fanning them into flame, others counted up the losses. Ours was almost total. Of two boxes of assorted food, about 10 pounds in all, we had left one tin of sardines and a bottle of pickles.

Such an event could hardly have been foreseen, but so it was, and we were down to our pemmican early in the first round. Fortunately, the dog food was still intact. Bidding our fellow campers goodbye, we pushed on the 5 miles to lake LaBerge, a chunk of pemmican each in our pockets.

When we arrived there, we were stopped by a young Englishman whom I had met, together with his father, a man of 63 years of age, and two other young men, in Vancouver the previous May, getting their outfit in the Hudson Bay store for their venture into the Klondike.

This youth told us he was in great trouble and, pointing to a log cabin 100 yards away, he said his father was there with his legs frozen to the knees, unable to move. It was a long and tragic story he told us, how they left the passenger steamer at Wrangell and followed the Telegraph Creek route, of the overpowering difficulties of the journey, the sickness and death of one of the young men of the party, the discovery by his indomitable father of what he considered a gold mine on a tributary of the Teslin River, which he would persist in developing, and prospecting further in the vicinity until he overwrought himself and was unable to return to the camp one evening; how their search for him was unavailing until midnight, when they found him in this sad condition; how they got him to the camp and did what they could for him but saw the matter was too serious for them to handle so decided to strike out for assistance. They did not make the obvious course down the Teslin River to Hoottalinqua, or they would have got help at the police post there. They were completely lost as to direction and in their anxiety toiled with him through strange trackless country for six days until they reached the old, abandoned cabin where we found them, two days before we appeared on the scene.

We were much moved by this sorrowful tale. Going to the cabin we found the old man seriously frozen and apparently not long for this world. It was a melancholy business, not lessened by the admirable courage of all concerned and the devotion of the two boys, who were showing signs of breaking down under the unequal struggle.

Without further delay the leading sledge was emptied and made comfortable with robes, and the old gentleman carefully and warmly laid in it. The two young men quickly made their own sledge ready and joined up with our second sledge, now bearing a double load. We made, with all possible speed, for the upper end of lake LaBerge and reached the police post there, 36 miles, by 5 PM. A fresh, fast dog team took over the sick frozen man and rushed him to the hospital at Whitehorse, another 20 miles on, where he was comfortably installed by 8:30 PM that evening.

We stayed the night at the police post and went on in the morning to Whitehorse, to inquire after the patient. We learned that the examination revealed that gangrene had set in and both his legs would have to be amputated at the knees, but it was very doubtful whether his lowered physical condition would stand it.

After making good our lost food supply, we bade farewell to the two grateful young men, and pushed on to a spot 3 miles above Myles Canyon, where we built our campfire. Arctic hares were plentiful here about, so we turned the dogs loose amongst them and inside half an hour we had sufficient fresh food for men and dogs to last three days. The dogs had to be tethered for the night to make sure their being with us in the morning. There was no doubt about their preference for hunting to mushing! The temperature now was only 23° below zero so we went to sleep around the campfire and were not troubled by the lack of a tent. For 4 days we followed the river, doing our 22 miles per day, meeting no roadhouses en route other than at Whitehorse. Fortunately, the weather kept fine and the temperature high, and each day men and dogs alike grew fitter. On the morning of the fifth day after leaving the Lake LaBerege we came to Lake Marsh, and at 5 o’clock that night we reached the police post at Lake Tagish, a day travelling of 24 miles in a temperature of only 16° below zero.

Leaving Tagish post early the following morning, 23 December, we were at Caribou Crossing at 9 AM. Here we found that the lower end (the north end) of Lake Bennet was open for some miles and a large boat, like a ship’s lifeboat with crew, was available for hire, which we engaged to carry us to the firm ice. Dogs, sledges and men piled in. It was cold in that boat with the ice green water slipping past our bow. Every man, under the encouraging direction of Auley, did his utmost but it was not until darkness had set in that we reached ice sufficiently firm to bear us.

It was 10:30 before we arrived at Bennet, having travelled 40 miles that day. We were all nearly dropping with fatigue. We were just in time to get good accommodation for the dogs and the luxury of a bed for ourselves in a large log building called the Lake Bennett Hotel.

After 28 strenuous days in the trackless wild, during which time no suspicion of a ripple had appeared to disturb the serenity of our comradeship, we three pioneers, with the indulgence of our landlord, did quietly celebrate the occasion before retiring to bed.

We did not appear for breakfast until nine the following day. I had been out for a refresher with the dogs for an hour, looking about me. Great changes had taken place in the seven months since I had left Bennet by canoe with the big rush of Stampeders. The advance party of the White Pass and Yukon Railway were responsible. The cutting had reached the summit of the pass and steel rails were laid as far as Dead Horse Gulch - what memories the name conjures up of the terrible hardships and suffering of the early venturers!

At breakfast we heard of the killing of the notorious “Soapy Smith” - his nickname, by the way, was earned from his habit of selling packets of soap in the streets from a barrow. A certain number of packets contained dollar notes (dollar bills), but of course they always reached his confederates in the crowd. It seems that after all the Stampeders had passed, “Soapy” and his gang, prevented from fallowing by the police at the summit posts, had no scope for the carrying on of their evil practices. When the railway contractors began to arrive “Soapy” promptly turned his gang into the municipal authority, with himself as Mayor. As the town of Skagway grew, he actually began levying taxes. Indignation meetings were held, and newcomers requested not to pay any taxes. At one open air meeting, called by the chief engineer of the railway company, “Soapy” attended, armed with a rifle. The engineer, anticipating trouble, took the precaution to do likewise and laid his rifle on an upturned barrel used as a table. Whilst speaking, he saw “Soapy” drawing a bead and snatched up his rifle in self defence. Each pressed the trigger at the same moment, “Soapy” falling dead on the spot. The engineer died from his wound two days later, after which the gang was rounded up and sent to the American Penal settlement at Sitka, Alaska.

Having now no further use for our second dog team, we sold it with harness and sledge complete. We had no trouble in finding a buyer as dogs were in great request for the steady stream of travellers between Bennet and the summit. Directly after breakfast we set out for the summit of the Pass with eight other dog teams and 16 men. The sky was dull and overcast, the temperature 23° below zero. At noon it began to snow in earnest and soon the teams had to take it in turn to “break the trail”. By 2 o’clock it was blowing a blizzard. The trail was absolutely obliterated, so that the dogs were forced to come to a halt. Things were looking ugly. We three, near the end of the line, held a hurried consultation. Relying on our fitness and the marvellous intuition of the dogs, we decided to make an attempt to reach the summit.

I scrambled ahead in the snow calling to Patsy and Tim to follow. With a willing bark Patsy broke out a line, with Tim in support and Auley and Mac clinging to the handles of the sledge. As it came abreast, I made a grab for it, but my right leg was so deep in the snow that, to my great disgust, I could not withdraw it in time to prevent it being severely twisted. This was most unfortunate, not only because I was temporary out of action, but because we were delayed quarter of an hour getting me out and, on the sledge, which Patsy refused to work until he heard my voice again. Then, plunging forward, he found the invisible trail, and kept it, until we came at 6:30 to the camp at the summit, the blizzard still raging.

We hastened to report the plight of the other 16 men, and two horse teams with sledges were got ready by willing hands to go to their aid. Patsy seemed to know there was something the matter with me and kept rubbing his nose into my hand and pawing me. Soon the drivers came in to say the trail was completely snowed under and in the pitch darkness and fierceness of the storm, they were helpless. I suggested that taking Patsy as guide and they agreed somewhat dubiously to try him.

I hobbled out with him and hitched him with long traces to the pole of the sledge, then pointing in the right direction and giving him a friendly pat, I gave the order “Mush Patsy” and with his usual yap, he and the horse sledges disappeared into the darkness and the swirling flakes.

At 10:30, after what seemed an interminable wait, we heard cheering outside and the barking of dogs. In a few minutes, in surged the drivers, bringing Patsy and the rescue freighters, all scrambling to hug and kiss the half frightened and half angry dog. I went to his help and told them he didn’t like that part of being a hero. For half an hour those 16 hefty, semi-demented dog worshipers tormented the patient animal with their well-meant attention. Finally, I had to ask them to go as we were all very tired and promised them, they could come and kiss him goodbye in the morning.

Everybody at this construction camp, from the highest to lowest, was so kind and thoughtful to us that it was with feelings of mingled regret and gratitude we bade them all adieu, in real Christmas surroundings, at 9 o’clock the next morning - Christmas Day. Patsy was all dressed up by his admirers with ribbons and sledge bells, which Tim did the best to remove them. They seem to enter as much as anyone into the joyous holiday spirit prevailing in the calm after the preceding days storm, lustily baying in answer to the deafening cheers as we sped down the mountainside in a cloud of snow dust. My leg was now quite manageable after its rest and attention.

At Dead Horse Gulch Station, a locomotive was standing, with covered trucks (rail cars) behind, the doors invitingly open. Patsy, spying it, made for it at top speed and leaped in leaving Tim half suspended and the sledge outside. We followed more leisurely and bundled them in, then sort permission to travel. At 2 o’clock Skagway loomed up on the horizon, and we found ourselves safely at the end of the trail from Dawson city. We put up at the Bramick Hotel, and after registering and seeing the dogs in comfortable quarters with plenty of clean straw, reveled in the luxury of a bath. As the first people out from the Yukon after the great rush inward of that spring and summer, we were much in request, so that it was midnight once more before we staggered to bed.

In the morning, after breakfast, I went for Patsy and Tim, our two beautiful, full-blooded St. Bernard’s. Our meeting was indeed very doggy. With a deep, musical howl, they rushed at me, putting their powerful paws over my shoulders, forcing me to fling my arms around their bodies to avoid being carried over backwards. They then diverted themselves by knocking my hat off and frantically licking my face and head, all before I had breath to calm them. After the recent blizzard the snow was deep, and they expanded some of their boundless energy in tumbling each other playfully and it.

Several children, who were attracted by their frolics, followed us to the hotel, making friends with the dogs on the way. Seeing there was a mutual desire to play, I took two of the smallest kiddies and placed them on the dogs backs with their arms clasped around their (the dogs) necks and a caution to hold tight. Then, telling the dogs to mush, away they went in high glee until at a short distance, off came the riders into the snow, when the dogs carefully took hold of them by the cloths and carried them back to me in their mouths. This soon developed into a joyful exciting game, eventually joined by the children’s parents, who finally bought the dogs as playmates and protectors for them. Although we had much higher prices offered us by freighters, we considered Patsy and Tim had done their share and were entitled to a good home, so, as we could take them no further with us, we left them with the children.

The next day, 27th of December 1898 we sailed for Vancouver arriving there on New Years Day, January 1, 1899. We had done nearly a third of our journey with an average daily progress of 22 miles. Fort Selkirk is situated on a plateau at the junction of the Pelly and Thompson Rivers, which united to form the head waters of the mighty Yukon River.

The succeeding nine days were spent following the course of the Thompson River to where the Hootalinqua River enters at the foot of Forty Mile River, 200 miles from Fort Selkirk. At this point of the junction for Telegraph Creek and Whitehorse Rapids, an important police post was established.

The previouse paragraph was modified. I believe that there is a mistake, either in the transfer from handwritten notes to typed text or Grandfather mixed up names of places he may have visited on a subsequent visit to the Yukon. The location he refers to as Fort Selkirk is at the junction of the Pelly and Yukon rivers. The Thompson river is much further south in British Columbia. In the second paragraph, he refers to the Hootalinqua River. There is no river by that name which connects to the Yukon River. Forty Mile River is a tributary to the Yukon River but lies north of Dawson City in Alaska. Telegraph Creek lies approximately 350 Kms south of Whitehorse, his intermediate destination.

Chapter 21 – Return to Dawson 1900

True to my promise, spring saw me back again in Dawson. It was a jolly reunion we had at a newly built restaurant, with Nanette and the Rutledge is, MacArthur, Kapor, Bashir and Mme. and Mlle. Labelle and Mr. Doig, the manager of the Bank of British North America. After dinner we went to the recently opened music Hall, the “Orpheus”, where we had a thoroughly good time.

When the musical turns were over, the hall was cleared for dancing, and this was more entertaining to watch than the stage show had been. The fair sex was conspicuous by their absence, so we were treated to the uncommon sight of male couples, in all kinds of footwear, from heavy knee boots to moccasins, stepping it out to the accompaniment of groans and wails of the saxophone, fiddle and an old banjo. The tailor and fashion-plates had not yet shown their noses, being essentially products of civilization, so everybody came in their work-a-day clothes because, as a matter of fact, they had no others. The pleasures of this early type of stampeder was very simple. As often as not he had a child’s heart in a man’s body. It was only when the means of ingress were made safe enough to tempt the parasites and wolves to come into the country, that vice began to rear its ugly head.

I had been looking forward to again meeting Bob and heard that within two days of my departure in ’89, he had mysteriously disappeared, no one knew whither. His presence was the only thing wanting to complete my happiness at my return.

The next morning, I dined by invitation with the Rutledge’s and Nanette. Afterwards, Nanette and I went to her claim on Bonanza, where preparations were under way for the cleaning up of the winter’s work. We had so many things to tell each other, of all that had happened since last we met, that the journey seemed to take no time.

Nanette told how, when Tabor received my letter to say I was safely at the coast, they all spent an evening together to celebrate, and enjoyed themselves so much that these gatherings became a weekly event. She had for some time been wanting to show her gratitude for everybody’s kindness, and we now discussed ways and means of doing this with out her name being mentioned.

At length I proposed that she and Mrs. Rutledge should call a meeting of our little community of friends and suggest our being formed into a club, to be known as the “Tarantula Club”. Nanette was then to tell them that she wished to give a (celebratory) Ball, the invitations to be issued in the name of the club, but all expenses were to be met by herself. I may as well say here that this suggestion was adopted, and we all had a very happy evening. One hundred and seventy-five guests were present (at the Ball), 65 of them married women, most of whom had not been in the country for a month. It was the first event of its kind in Dawson, and as far as real pleasure goes, probably also the best. To return to our walk, we now hove in sight of the claim and were recognized by the New Zealanders, who dropped their tools and ran to give us a hearty welcome. They were going to begin sluicing in the morning, so begged Nanette to stay the night and start the operation herself. As there was plenty of accommodation in the cabin, she allowed herself to be persuaded. It was a good thing that the thought of work in the morning made us close down at 10:30 PM, or with the fun provided by a great violinist, two singers and a humorist, I think we should have gone on all night.

At 9 o’clock the next morning, 1st June 1900 - how different from the last - Nanette opened the sluice-gate and the “clean up” began. It was completed by about the middle of July, resulting in the recovery of $40,000 worth of gold, out of which $5,000 was paid to each man, clear of all expenses, which almost amounted to about $5,000.

It was time for me now to settle down and the whole of my time, for the next two years, was occupied by steady, hum-drum work. It was a busy, happy and profitable period of my life, but could have no interest in the telling. Strange, that adventures, like troubles, keep crowding on each other’s heels then suddenly depart for years at a stretch! Certain it is, anyway, that my life now developed into a normal one of hard work and simple enjoyment, far remote from excitements of the kind that had before visited me, and I threw all my energies into the work that lay at hand.

Chapter 22 – Farewell to Bob, a Man among Men.

In December 1900, I once more set my face toward old England, this time with two horses and a sledge. Some days after my departure the Indian, Bob, suddenly presented himself at Tabor’s office and asked for me. Tabor welcomed him cordially and told him I had just left for the coast.

and with no more ado and telling the lawyer goodbye, he started out over the trail in pursuit. Bob had apparently already walked some 500 miles drawing a loaded sledge over a trackless country; and such were the power of the man and his knowledge of shortening trails that he covered 50 miles per day to my 25, with horses, over the trail I followed, and overtook me at the foot of Lake LaBerge, having travelled a little over 400 miles in 8 days to my 16. I knew that it is a little hard to swallow, but it is true nevertheless!

Our meeting was not without its dramatic side. The government had just completed the telegraph line into Dawson, and when I arrived at 6 o’clock at the roadhouse at the foot of Lake LaBerge, I received a message from the police at Hootalinqua, that:

I was greatly pleased at the news and after supper I went back over the trail to meet him. 2 miles back, and I heard him coming. I had with me a powerful electric torch. They were very rare at the time, and this region practically unknown. Without pausing to think of the effect on Bob’s nervous organization, I pressed the switch and flashed the torch beam along the trail. It was a startled and half terrified man who stopped dead in the track and gazed fearful like some timid animal at the source of the light. I must say that the sudden apparition must have seemed pretty appalling, coming as it did without warning in the silence of the night, the strong ray from the torch making a white glare on the snow, throwing into relief the black trunks of the trees that lined the trail, whilst beyond was a total and impenetrable darkness.

My ‘whoop’ convinced him, half turned (as he was) to flee, that I was at least human and therefore not to be feared, and the next moment he recognized me. Then for the second time of our acquaintance, this usually all unexcitable and inscrutable gentlemen of the wilds, gave vent to his feelings, probably in the reaction from the emotion of the last minute, heisting me up in the air and down in his enthusiasm and uttering exclamations all the while.

When we had calmed down somewhat, we went on our way talking nineteen-to-the-dozen, myself obliging him with a demonstration of the action of a torch, with which he was immensely intrigued.

After an immense supper of fish and caribou we settled down to talk. I asked him why he left Dawson and where he went, and was astonished to learn that he had followed me all the way to Selkirk, thinking I might get into difficulties. He left his sledge at Selkirk and followed with his pack to the cabin where we had slept that very cold night in the winter of 1898. He watched us leave the cabin and then saw me run back alone. He drew near just as I reappeared with Auley and went on after Mac. Going up to the cabin Bob watched the “big stiff” getting up from the ground and followed him for three days. At the end of the third day, he saw the police with the dog team who had gone out in search of the man (following my report at Fort Selkirk), and told them where he was, knowing what sort of man he was.

The police told Bob that I had arrived safely at Hootalinqua and should be alright now, so he decided it was no good his going any further. Accordingly, he returned to Selkirk for his sledge and supplies, and went 200 miles north of Dawson to Circle City in Alaska, where there were fine furs to be had. There he spent his time hauling and trapping and prospecting for gold. He soon found it in abundance and worked it all by himself, seeing no other man the whole time he was there. When he came away with his furs and gold, he went to the Gold Commissioners Office in Circle City to record his claims. They asked him to point out the locality on the map. Knowing something of their ways - to quote his own story - Bob cannily pointed to a place he knew was barren of are both claims and gold.

When he returned, he was told that the claims he marked on the map had been staked over six months earlier.

And this hard judgement was Bob’s summing up of his life’s experience. During the two years he had been in the Arctic Circle, Bob had secured 1,600 ounces of gold which he had divided equally into 16 leather pokes. Each poke was separately stowed inside the felt of a beaver and the whole distributed throughout three medium-sized bales. He had 150 ermine skins, 100 sable, 150 marten and mink, 15 black fox, 25 beaver and 3 black bear, the latter and some of the beaver being outside the barrels and loose on the sledge. All the skins were of the finest quality and altogether the cargo was a very valuable one. “Everything easy for me in the wilds,” said Bob, concluding this narrative of endeavour and achievement, “but among people and in cities, me lost and useless. Me know you help me get home without losing all me work for.” For the remainder of our journey, we travelled together with the contents of Bob’s sledge transferred to mine, until we came to Vancouver where two busy and pleasant days were spent converting his gold into currency and ensuring the safe delivery of his furs. I saw him off at the station on his way to his home and family near Winnipeg, handing him my electric torch as a memento of our friendship.

Dear old Bob! I see him now standing bareheaded and speechless as the train pulled out, slowly at first and then gatherings speed as it bore him away and finally separated us.

Chapter 22 – A bit of History.

I do not know whether the following tale has been written before, but in view of the present vogue in crime stories, and also of the small personal part I played in it, I think it might be of interest to some of my readers.

I was dining in Dawson at the home of my friend, Commissioner Perry, on Boxing-day night, 1901 prior to my leaving for England the next day. I had engaged a passage with a man travelling to the coast with a horse and sledge. The commissioner and I were just talking over the trip when chief Detective Inspector Seeley was announced “on urgent private business.” He was shown into the study, where the commissioner at once joined him. About 20 minutes later he returned, looking very anxious.

The telegraph was completed between Dawson and Fort Selkirk, but the service was subject to continual interruptions from fallen trees and other causes, which necessitated the stationing of linesmen at distances of about 25 miles to keep it in some sort of operation. Police posts were also established at about the same intervals.

It seems that two young men, John Ralph and Frank Clayson, who were in business in Dawson, both men well known and popular there, had arranged to make the trip out to the coast over the ice on bicycles as a form of advertisement - the first attempt of the kind. They left about December 20th, hoping to reach their homes near Seattle early in the new year. They never reached their destination.

In the beginning of December 1901, a George O’Brien finished exercising himself on a woodpile, where he had been doing forced labour for many months as a punishment for stealing. His term had been lengthened because of a murderous attack with an axe on a fellow prisoner. Before he could be stopped, he succeeded in chopping off an ear. All prisoners on the woodpile were chained by the leg to an iron weight and guarded by armed police.

O’Brien was a thoroughly vicious character with a long criminal record. He was reported to have escaped from Pentonville Penitentiary, USA, first removing two warders from his path.

At any rate, it is a fact that on his release, while still under police supervision in and about Dawson, he wrote to a convict known as the “Yellow Kid” who was serving a life sentence also in Pentonville, telling him to escape and come to Dawson, where he would have plenty of scope for holding up. Not long after, O’Brien disappeared from Dawson. He was immediately missed and located shortly after at Fort Selkirk, with a companion and a large black dog. They hung about in the vicinity for a few days, taking their meals at a roadhouse kept by a woman.

The unusual early closing in of the river in 1901, caught some scows laden with food supplies for Dawson. The owner, intending to take them on to Dawson by sled, remove them from the scows and cached them on the riverbank. He was interrupted in his work by O’Brien and his associate, who held him up at the point of a rifle and appropriated the goods. The robbery was duly reported to the police but not before the ruffians had had time to remove themselves to regions unknown.

The day following my farewell dinner with the commissioner, I left Dawson as arranged. My friends seeing me away were full of misgivings as to my safety, having regard to the recent disappearance of Ralph and Clayson, and the suspicion of murder. Sheriff Eilbeck was so concerned for me that he insisted, in spite of my protests, on thrusting a powerful colt revolver and 50 rounds of ammunition into my case.

The journey to Fort Selkirk was accomplished without event. The sled was very comfortable, being packed with a good mattress of straw and soft fur robes. On arrival we heard the first authentic news of the murder of Ralph and Clayson and a telegraph lineman. No bodies had been recovered, but the detectives who had come from Dawson with fast dog teams had discovered the scene of the crime, near an abandoned tent, which had been occupied by two persons. A big black dog was chained up to the tent and was readily identified by several people, particularly the woman who kept the roadhouse, as the one owned by O’Brien and his accomplice during their short stay in Fort Selkirk. In the ashes from the camp stove they found the government buttons from the uniform of the missing linesmen.

About 15 yards from the tent were the signs of a fierce struggle. The marks had been considerably obliterated by a heavy fall of snow and would have been entirely covered but for the trees and shrubs which grew there, from 5 to 8 feet high, affording some sort of shelter. This area was carefully searched, the recent (snow) fall being laboriously removed until the blood soaked, and trampled snow was uncovered. A bullet was found lodged in the trunk of a tree nearby and embedded within it was a portion of an upper jaw, with two teeth and part of a lip. All these exhibits were carefully packed up, including the dog and tent, and the detectives quickly and quietly returned to Dawson.

This was all the information to be had, and the fact that the murderers were still abroad and their whereabouts unknown gave me cause to think. The driver wanted to lay over at Selkirk for a day or two, but as the lines were continually ceasing to function, I argued that we might be there indefinitely without hearing any news, and that it was my opinion that the murderers were going in the same direction as ourselves, but no doubt faster, to get out of British territory and under the sheltering folds of the Stars and Stripes. Moreover, I pointed out that we had a gun and 50 rounds of ammunition, and if by chance we came upon the fugitives and managed to capture them, alive or dead, we should undoubtably be offered a good reward. I think it was the last argument, more than any other, that carried weight with the driver, and as I was anxious to get on, we left Selkirk after a two-hour rest.

The second day out we reached an overland cut off, made when putting in the telegraph and saving a journey of about 6 miles by river. It was 6 o’clock and therefore dark when we were at this point, but as there was a good local roadhouse at the other end of the cut off, we decided to push on, although the horses were showing signs of fatigue. The path we followed was fairly even and about 6 feet wide leading through a gloomy forest of tall trees with a gentle gradient to the summit, and then as gently down again on the other side. The night was fine and clear and the moon, when it shone between the banked-up clouds, shed a kindly light into the silver corridor winding through the black tree trunks.

When we had gone about half a mile in, the driver turned his head to me.

With an extraordinarily funny feeling inside at the thought that I might be about to kill a fellow man, I reluctantly opened my suitcase and drew out the revolver, making sure it was loaded into every chamber. I turned over in the sled, resting my arms on the driving seat and covering the suspect, whilst the driver urged the horses into a trot. When we were nearly upon the object it stood motionless until I was near enough to touch it, when to our intense astonishment, a tired female voice squeaked out in a supplicating tone.

I jumped out of the sled and went up to her but, seeing she was clad in man’s entire, I kept her covered until quite satisfied that she was in truth a woman. We took her on the sledge to the roadhouse, where she told us her story. She had come into the country with her husband in 1899, and there they dwelt happily together; but sorrow had come to her three months before, when he fell ill and died. After 20 years of mutual love and sympathy she could bear to remain there no longer without him, so resolved to make her way out alone.

I pointed out to her the great danger she was courting, going out dressed in man’s clothing, and told her how very nearly I had shot her in consequence of her suspicious appearance, knowing there were robbers and assassins at large somewhere on the trail. On my advice she waited where she was until the mail came by, trusting to luck to get a lift, as is sometimes possible.

At the roadhouse we were told of the departure of Ralph and Clayson, accompanied by a telegraph linesmen who was going to conduct them across a new cut of which had been recently opened, saving 9 miles by river. This cut-off left the river about 10 miles along and passed over a strip of land about one and a half miles across, through close growing trees and shrubs, very similar to the one we had just negotiated.

On 21st December, O’Brien and his friend Graves - a macabre and prophetic name - together with the black dog, stopped at this very roadhouse, where they fell into conversation with two of my friends; R.P. McLennan and D. Ritchie, who mentioned in a casual way that it was rumoured that large stores in Dawson with sending out $250,000 the following week. McLennan himself subsequently told me about it and said that he and Richie hit the trail next morning with a sum of $50,000 between them but got safely through with it. The news thus gleaned was of great interest to O’Brien and Graves, who left shortly after hearing it, evidently to make their nefarious preparations for verifying or disproving it. They went on to the cut-off and set their tent on rising ground 50 or 60 yards from the trail, in such a manner that although it was hidden from observation by the surrounding vegetation, it commanded an uninterrupted view of the stretch of the river to the north.

Having arranged that part of the business to their satisfaction, the two criminals then proceeded with diabolical ingenuity to complete their preparation for the reception of the unsuspecting and innocent young men. From the tent, they hacked three large and diverging trails to the cut-off, as though the tent were a hub and the trails three spokes of a wheel. All they had to do then was to lie in wait for their victims.

Note: The reader may be misled in this part of the story. It appears that the outlaws are preparing to ambush Ralph and Clayson (the cyclists) rather than a courier carrying a quarter million dollars of gold. I believe that my grandfather, or whoever transcribed his handwritten recount, left something out. O’Brian and Graves (the outlaws) were preparing to ambush the courier. As the events evolved, the cyclists and the linesman, by a quirk of fate happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As the crime was reconstructed afterwards and I think beyond any shadow of doubt, when Ralph and Clayson and the linesmen were seen approaching along the visible 3 miles of river, O’Brien and Graves hastened to secrete themselves, one in each of the outside (phony) trails. As soon the three travellers had passed the first opening the two men stepped simultaneously forth onto the cut-off and drove them up the centre trail toward the tent at the muzzle of rifles. Here the robbery and slaughter took place: not without a fierce fight, as the marks on the ground gave evidence. Probably one man was killed without warning, shot from behind, but the others, hearing the shot, turned and fought desperately before yielding up their lives. The bodies and bicycles were dragged to the river and pushed through a hole in the ice, where nature, with the aid of frost and snow, covered all traces.

As Graves (O’Brian’s partner) was never seen or heard of again after the murder, it is popularly assumed that he also met his fate at the hands of his former comrade.

Having heard what little they knew and all they conjectured at the roadhouse, the driver and I went on after breakfast the following day and in two hours were at the scene of the crime, which we found exactly as described. The next day after that, which was 5th January, we met a police sledge drawn by five Labrador dogs, to all appearances driven by a man in civilian clothes. He was followed at a short distance however by two policemen armed with rifles. My curiosity, always healthily active, was greatly stimulated at this site and I hopped out of the sledge and went over to the police. Matters were simplified when we found where we were already known to one another, and I asked them who their prisoner was.

He came into their hands on New Year’s day at late twilight. He attempted to cross the river from an Indian village about a mile below the rapids in order to avoid the police post at Lake Tagish. Unluckily for him, the ice was very thin, and his horse stuck one leg through. The police went to his assistance, cleared him, and returned with him to the Indian village where, helpful as ever, they set up his tent and took him to the barracks to feed with them. After supper O’Brien excused himself on the plea that he wanted to make an early start, to get his goods into the interior as soon as possible, so his hosts walked him back to the tent. Then they said good night to this apparently simple and honest freighter and retraced their footsteps toward the barracks. On the way they encountered a sergeant and file of police, who made inquiries after their recent guest.

Together the five Mounties returned to the tent. O’Brian heard them rattle the canvas and blew out his candle, but they all entered quickly before he had time to prepare any mischief, and the sergeant read out a warrant for his arrest in the name of George O’Brien, for breaking into and taking goods from caches, at the same time threatening the owner with death if he attempted to interfere. The prisoner protested, but vainly, that his name was not O’Brien.

So saying, they took their leave and we each continued in our respective directions. In due course we came to Whitehorse, where although the mounted police were silently alert, the ordinary man-in-the-street seemed to have heard nothing of the recent happenings on the trail. The remainder of the journey to England was uneventful and I reached it safely on January 24th.

My return to Dawson took place in the middle of the following June. O’Brien, I found, had been sentenced to 12 months hard labour on the charge for which he was arrested and was to be seen daily as his old job on the woodpile. In the meantime the police were not idle, and many inquiries set on foot as to O’Brien’s movements from the time of his leaving Dawson until he was arrested. However, no definitive evidence was forthcoming to implicate him and time passed on until he began to look as if the charge of murder would never be brought against him.

Finally, when all expectations had almost died down, in the month of August the most astonishing coincidence I have ever heard of altered the whole complexion of the case.

One hundred and eighty yards from the cell in which O’Brien was incarcerated, a body was thrown up by the river onto a gravel bank. On examination, the name Frank Clayson was found on the underclothing; but the most damning evidence of murder and of O’Brien’s complicity was revealed when it was seen that the exhibit of the part of the jaw, with two teeth, exactly fit the damaged done to the head by the bullet in its passage from the back.

Here was the hand of fate indeed! Surely Nemesis was never so relentless as in hunting down this offender! The body of the murdered man had travelled 270 miles, passing numberless gravel banks and their obstructions on its way, and had come to rest only 180 yards from the spot where its murderer lay. The blood of the innocent was crying out to be revenged.

With this evidence George O’Brien was now brought before the court of justice and this time charged with murder.

The trial that followed was, at the time, considered the most expensive in the history of Canada. Many witnesses were brought from great distances, notably the “Yellow Kid” from Pentonville, lent by the U S A, who told what I have already recounted of the letter he received from O’Brien. The proceedings lasted eight days, and the circumstantial evidence against O’Brien was overwhelming. Apart from anything else, he was foolish enough to deny stoutly, that he had ever owned a black dog. At the close of the evidence the dog was brought into the body of the court amongst the public. It displayed not the slightest interest in anybody until it was taken near the box where the prisoner was standing. Then all at once it began to sniff uneasily. O’Brien was ordered to stand down, and the moment the dog caught sight of him its demonstration of delight left no doubt as to the falseness of its master’s assertions. O’Brien not only retained his composure throughout, but he bore himself in the most insolent manner. Mr. Justice Dugat had the case and in his summing up he said “where do we next see the prisoner? We see him leaving Dawson wit’ grubs on his sledge”.

O’Brien made no attempt to conceal his ill-timed merriment at the slight accent of the French-Canadian. A little later, also, he yelled out with a cool effrontery “I protest! I protest! You are handing the jury the rope!” After an absence of 15 minutes, the jury found him guilty of murder and the death sentence was passed.

I was at this time acting as Deputy Sheriff of Dawson, and in this capacity, I was in daily touch with the prisoner and his doings. The day following his conviction he was asked if he would like to see a spiritual advisor. “What for?” He asked in an indignant way and on being told he agreed indifferently, “if I am anything, I am a Roman Catholic”.

They suggested that Father Perreau, whom I have had occasion to mention before in this chronicle, should visit him in his cell and again he casually assented, saying that he would be company if nothing else.

Accordingly in due course the loving and venerable priest went to the cell to administer comfort to the condemned man. For some reason the sentry in the passage went and looked through the grill in the door to see how the party was getting along. What was his horror when he found O’Brien had him down and was strangling him! He burst in and went to the rescue, but the dear old Padre had to be removed to the hospital, and three weeks later he was taken outside (to Vancouver?) and shortly after died.

So greater was the indignation aroused at this outrage, and public feeling ran so high, that the mining community in Dawson determined to lynch O’Brien. They all left their work on the outlying creeks and marched in a formidable body into the town and to the barracks where they demanded his person.

The Commissioner was very tactful. He went out to them with the police and some Canadian militia and pointed out that O’Brien was a condemned man and that in four days he would surely pay the penalty for his crimes. Whilst fully sympathizing with them in every way, he could not allow the law to be subverted. He advised them to have patience until the day fixed for the execution and then, if at eight in the morning the black flag was not at the masthead, they could renew their request.

They all turned up to a man and encamped outside the barracks wall, prepared to turn the day into one of festivity and rejoicing.

At the request of the Sheriff, I assume responsibility for the efficiency of the execution. I fully tested the scaffold the day before and made sure that no mishap was likely to occur. In the morning early, I arrived at the barracks and sought out a time-expired Constable, who would be glad to turn a fee of $75 and initiated him into the working of the levers that controlled the trap door. When I was satisfied that he would do the job without bungling, I went down the steps and looked outside at the dense mass of grim, silent men waiting to see that justice took its course. I then joined the Sheriff and a group of government officials, about 12 in number.

It was now 7:30AM. We moved to the scaffold. I remember that every second seemed an age, and the minutes, slowly taking a man’s life away, where fraught with a heavy foreboding. I remained at the bottom of the ladder and warned some press man to keep away from under the track, whilst the others arrange themselves on the platform.

After a painful wait, we all heard the steps of the condemned and his escort ringing clearly on the hard corridor. I stood clear of this staircase when O’Brian appeared, and as he passed, he made a slight inclination of the head, as one bound for a pleasant function casually greeting some acquaintance. On the first step of the stairs, he stopped and addressed the press in a firm and caring voice

He then ran up the remaining stairs, his escort and myself in close attendance. As the door opened, he went through and walked straight on to the trap testing it with his foot before standing on it. The door opened again and shut this time admitting a well-dressed man, who quietly took his stand.

At this point the Sheriff sharply interrupted him.

There was a long and strained silence during which nobody moved or spoke. My heart was thumping unpleasantly, and I was aware of he tension in the attitudes of the others. Then O’Brien turned his face towards the Sheriff.

The black cap and the rope were adjusted, a short prayer was offered, and I laid my hand over the constables on the lever.

>As the clocks were chiming out the eight strokes and another day might fairly be said to have begun, the black flag was run up to the top of the pole and hung there, bravely flying and flapping in the breeze.

I often think of those days and the friends I knew and the times we had together. I see again in imagination the faces of those that I once loved, the dear old Padre, Nanette the vivacious, Bob my giant Indian friend and hosts of others. They rise up out of the mists of time and laugh and gesture for a little while as they used to do, but they cannot hear me when I speak to them. Heroes and villains strut across the picture, but they all have one characteristic in common, they share this virtue: Courage. And sometimes, especially in the spring, when the sap is rising in the trees, I feel the wanderlust stirring in my blood again and hear the call of the wild, and know the well nigh irresistible longing to be off once more across the mighty ocean, with the wind in my sails, to the stern and forbidding country far away, her treasures still hidden in the earth, waiting for the brave who dare to wrest them from her.