The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
Edgcombe had a nice cabin on deck, the only 
decent one on the ship, which he was good 
enough to ask me to share with him; my doing 
so was the cause of the purser’s wrath. He 
became so obnoxious and dangerous that not 
only did I speak to the skipper, an extremely 
nice Swede, but we slept with our revolvers on 
the table by our bunk’s side, so as to be ready 
for emergencies. This purser made himself so 
disliked on board that a “‘ round robin” was 
signed by the passengers and sent to the owners 
of the ship, describing the affair. Whether or 
not he obtained his discharge I do not know, 
but I shrewdly suspect that he was told his 
services were no longer required, for Americans 
won’t have any tomfoolery of that description. 
Edgcombe left us at Copper River, where his 
horses were slung overboard, the steamer being 
beached for that purpose. This place was only 
a small bay, backed by high cliffs, and on one 
side by a huge glacier, over which Edgecombe 
had to transport his horses and packs—not a 
very enviable undertaking! We found a large 
number of men, who had been spending some 
months prospecting for minerals in the sur- 
rounding country, camped on the beach awaiting 
our steamer. There must have been three 
hundred of them, most of whom were only too 
keen to get back to Seattle, tired of the hard- 
ships and exposure to which they had been 
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