804 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 14, 1899. 
juan was its best record, while at the present time it is 
a sucked orange. 
A short distance above on the west side a small stream 
empties into the river. As far as is known this stream 
has never been prospected with modern bed rock 
methods, and it seems an interesting possibility that this 
may be the source of the cassiar gold. 
A Maine Mao from Texas, 
We reached the Hootalinqua the evening of the day 
we passed Cassiar Bar, and spent the night with a 
man named Kelly, who was wintering "in a cabm -qn an 
island. 
After a few word.s with Mr. Kelly, I said in an aside 
to Mac that I was confident our host hailed from the 
State of Maine, whereupon Mac asked the direct ques- 
tion, and was told that Mr. Kelly came from Orange, 
Mac" had the laugh on me for the time being, but I 
felt sure that my diagnosis was correct. Later Mr. 
Kelly talked of lumbering and tote roads, and snow 
and river driving, and then the conversation turned to 
game, and he talked of moose in a way that a Texan 
might have talked of deer or perhaps antelope, but 
no other cervidffi. Mac remarked that he seemed to 
know a good deal about Northern game, to which Mr. 
Kelly replied that he guessed he should know somethmg, 
seeing he was bom and brought up in Maine and had 
spent much of his time in the lumber woods. He had 
lived in Texas for eight years, but his down East habit 
cf thought and speaking had not lost its savor in any 
degree, 
Mr. Kelly found appreciative listeners, as he discoursed 
on various subjects included in the length and breadth 
of the continent, but what he had to say about Maine was 
of the most interest. The following story has to do with 
Alaska. Its primitiveness commends it: 
The Man Who Nearly Barst, 
"I was ofiE on a trip this winter with a young fellow 
who had a bad attack of indigestion," said Mr. Kelly. 
"It was as a result of eating my biscuit, I guess, though 
the grease cakes he ate for breakfast had soaked up a 
frying pan full of grease, and that may have had some- 
thing to do with it. Grease don't suit everybody, taken 
wholesale, though to tell the truth it makes my mouth 
water now to think of those cakes. 
"The biscuit, however, was another matter. My bak- 
ing powder had gotten wet and the flour had been to the 
bottom of Lake Lebarge and was lumpy, and as perhaps 
you've observed, my stove had a hole in the oven and 
wasnt' much good for baking. As a result, when my bis- 
cuit were done you could have knocked a man down with 
them. . 
"Each of us ate our share, and then we turned in tor 
the night. I felt nice and comfortable and rested well^ 
but along about sunrise when I woke up, I found this 
young fellow rolling around on the ground, saying he 
thought he was going to die. He said, he felt sure he 
was going to burst, and that he couldn't hold together 
much longer. 
"I laughed at him and told him men didn t die that 
way, but he said he knew better; that back East where he 
was born he had often heard his folks tell of one of 
their pioneer neighbors who'd had the same trouble he 
had and who'd have died if they hadn't bound him round 
with basswood bark and saved his life. 
"The young fellow said he wasn't afraid to die; he 
wouldn't mind being shot, or drowned, or anything of 
that kind; but it was the disgrace of the thing that hurt 
him; if his folks heard he'd died by bursting they'd be 
covered with everlasting disgrace. 
"I asked him if he'd taken any medicine for his trouble, 
and he said he'd taken some cholera cure mixture. I 
didn't wonder then that he felt bad, and I said to him: 
'It's those biscuit, and you've got to get rid of them.' 
He groaned when he heard biscuit mentioned, so I didn t 
say anything about grease cakes. I took a stick and 
wrapped a bit of tissue paper around it, and I told him 
to poke that down his throat and sort of tickle. He did 
as I directed, and it wasn't long before he got rid of the 
biscuits, and after that he felt better." 
A GrStty Actor. 
Through Mr. Kelly we learned of an acquaintance on 
the trail for whom we had always had a warm feeling, as 
a result of observing his pluck and good temper under 
the most adverse circumstances. This was a Mr. Ehr- 
hart, an actor from New York. When Harrington and 
I left the Grand Central station the previous August our 
train had been crowded to such an extent that we gave 
up our seats and eventually found a position on the plat- 
form of one of the cars. 
Mr. Ehrhart was out there smoking a cigar, and it did 
not take us long to make his acquaintance and to learn 
that he was also on his way to the Klondike. 
He wore very narrow, light-soled russet shoes, and he 
had the appearance of being a man who had never 
known what it was to rough it, and though a big, manly 
looking fellow, his hands were white and soft, and didn t 
look as though they would make a success handling an 
oar in the rapids or later on a pick or shovel in the mines. 
Again at Victoria we fell in with Ehrhart and found 
that he was booked for the same steamer as ourselves. 
On the way up to Skagway he associated himself with 
a party whose leading spirit was a Dane who had packed 
on the trail to the Cryolite mines in Greenland, and whq 
was as tough and seasoned as hard work could make him. 
Ehrhart had expected a friend from the East, but for 
some reason the friend did not materialize. 
In company with his new associates he started in pack- 
ing on his back. He had a heavy outfit and the party 
had made the mistake of tackling White Pass. 
On the Hog Back and at other points on that ternblp 
trail we ran across Ehrhart and his partners, and always 
found him doing his share of the work. It was a revela- 
tion to see how he could work, and it made me think of 
some big-framed pale-looking bookworms at college who 
had taken up football and played like fiends, winning on 
their nerve over mere muscle and "beef." 
The last time I saw Ehrhart was one black winter day 
when I crossed the summit of White Pass through nearly 
a foot of new-fallen snow. I took a short cut through the 
caiion to the head of Summit Lake, and traveled most of 
the distance without meeting a soul. When nearly at 
the lake I turned a corner of the rock and came sud- 
denly upon Ehrhart resting, the familjar pack on his 
back braced against a shelf in the ledge. 
His smile was as bright as ever, but he did not look 
well. Most men on the trail had already selected their 
winter quarters and given up all idea of going down 
river till spring, but Ehrhart was not built that way, and 
preferred ta keep at his work of bucking the line till the 
game was called. 
Now at the Hootalinqua we heard that ill health had 
compelled him to make a temporary halt, but that he ex- 
pected soon to keep on over the ice for Dawson. His 
party had broken up and he -was alone. Mac and I sym- 
pathized with his hard luck, and would have tried to 
see him if it had been possible, but he was some distance 
up the Hootalinq.ua at a little settlement of miners who 
were off the main, route of travel, and we could not afford 
the time. 
A Mistake in the Trail. 
The following morning Mac and I took the trail of the 
Henning party, who had camped just ahead of us the 
night before. To the south was a beautifully shaped 
moun'ain with a long graceful ridge rising from the 
east, only to fall away in a steep precipice to the west. 
The outUne was not unlike that of Noon Mark, at the 
south end of Keene Valley, in the Adirondacks. 
The wind and snow had obliterated all previous trails, 
and cnly the newly made sledge tracks of the party just 
ahead were to be seen. They had crossed from the west 
bank of the river to the east, which was the natural 
couise, owing to the fact that the river was still open 
in places on the west side. 
Early in the forenoon Mac and 1 got into a discussion 
over the trail. We had camped somewhere in the neigh- 
borhood the previous autumn and were unable to locate 
the old camp site. Then, too, things had an unfamiliar 
appearance and the ice was smoother than it should have 
been over the sfwift current of the Thirty-Mile River, as 
the stretch between Hootalinqua and Lake Labarge is 
called. 
While we were still arguing the matter we came upon 
the Henning party at lunch on the river's bank. They 
were also in doubt as to the trail, and as the result of a 
conference between us we came to the conclusion that in 
some way or other we had gotten switched off onto the 
Hootalinqua. 
After the lunch w^as over we took the back trail several 
miles and then cut across a low point of land to the west 
and found ourselves on the main river. Dawson says 
that at their juncture the Hootalinqua is 57Sft. in width, 
while the Lewes is only 420ft. "The valley of the Hoota- 
linqua is evidently the main orographic depression which 
continues that occupied by the Lewes below the conflu- 
ence. The Lewes flows in through a narrow gap, closely 
bordered by high hills and nearly at right angles to the 
lower course of the river." 
Though a narrower and shallower stream than the 
Hootalinqua, it carires a much greater volume of water, 
owing to the fact that its current at this point is nearly 
six miles an hour, while that of the Hootalinqua is less 
than three. 
The Henning party camped in the first timber after 
reaching the Lewes, but Mac and I kept on several miles 
further. We had heard that Mr. Rafael, a White Pass 
friend of ours, from Philadelphia, was occupying a cabin 
just above, and we were anxious to pass the night there 
and to have a friendly chat with him. The river was 
open from shore to shore, owing to the current, which 
in places ran at a speed of ten miles an hour, and we 
had to climb out of the bed of the river over hills three 
or four hundred feet in height, breaking trail at the same 
time. 
After two miles or more of this kind of work the 
blazed line again descended to the river, but the moment 
the trail went onto the ice it was lost and no trace of it 
could be seen in the drifting snow. Darkness overtook 
us while we were picking our way over a treacherous ice 
floe that rocked with the surges of the rapid, and we had 
to go into camp in the nearby timber without seeing our 
friend. 
The Thirty-Mile. 
A half hour's pull the next morning brought us in 
sight of the cabin, and though we had just finished our 
own breakfast, nothing would do but that we must sit 
right down and begin over again. We were equal to the 
occasion, and did justice to the delicious biscuit and sal- 
mon (prepared with fat salt pork) and other dainties set 
before us. "Pa" Rafael and his partner, who was also 
a Philadelphia man, were excellent cooks and had made 
a study to secure the best results from a limited com- 
missary department. The Thirty-Mile was one of the 
most dreaded parts of the river. Long detours overland 
were necessary, and in places where the trail went ov^r 
the ice there was always danger of breaking througb. 
T. D. Patullo, Gov. Walsh's secretary, nearly lost his 
life in this way, and several pitiful stories were told of 
Dawson refugees who had gone through the treacherous 
ice and perished. 
In places there was a narrow rim of shore ice from 2 to 
6ft. wide at the base of the bluff bordering the river. 
This ice at the time we passed slanted toward th*- water 
at angles which sometimes were as great as 4S degrees. 
It was next to impossible to draw a sled over the slant 
unless supported at both ends, and men could only get 
footing with difficulty. A single misstep was likely to 
throw the man who made it into the rushing water, and 
the chances were good for drawing in his partners, too. 
Old man McNeally, the leader of the vanguard, work- 
ing down over the ice, managed alone to get his sled by 
most of the dangerous places, but he traveled very slowly 
and was a week in going the same distance Mac and I 
could in a day. Once as he was crossing a narrow place, 
edging the sled along a few inches at a time from below, 
the ice his feet were resting on gave way and the sled 
pushed him down into the water. At the last_ moment 
he got a new foothold under water, but he was in such a 
perilous position that he thinks he would have drowned 
had not two police constables come along and rescued 
..him. _ia^-.*r 
From Bolowayo to ttie Klondike, 
We spent a night with McNeally in his tent. The old 
man, who must have been about seventy, was hospitable 
and ready to have us share his tent, but he was very reti- 
cent at first and had little to say. By and by, however, 
he joined in our talk and began taking a friendly interest 
in our movements. He asked our names, and on heai 
ing mine wanted to know if I was any relation to Charlie 
Burnham. the South African scout, who was then on his 
way to the Klondike. He told us several anecdotes of 
Burnham, and then warmed up enough to give some of. 
his own experiences. It was a stirring recital. He had 
been to every mining excitement of any prominence in^ 
the last fifty years in the United States, Australia, New^ 
Zealand and Africa. He had struck it rich three times, 
but each time he had lost everything "trying to get 
more," as he laconically phrased it. Once it was at; 
Florence, Idaho, once at the Cassiar diggings, in British! 
Columbia. As a boy of 18 he had had 150 men working; 
for him in the eastern Rockies. 
He told of river-bed mining, where a season's work in- 
building coffer dams was swept away by the ^arly floods 
in a few hours' time, with never an ounce of gold secured; 
and he talked of lucky finds in deserts, oh. high plateaus 
and in geological formations where experts said gold 
coxild not exist. Once, after a season of unproductive 
prospecting, he threw a stone up in the air, phophesying 
that where it fell he would find gold. His partners- 
laughed when they saw the stone fall on a mossy hillside 
among a lot of boulders, but McNeally went to work 
with something of the same spirit that a bull paws dirt 
over his back or a stag fights the brush, and cleared; 
away the rocks and moss and muck, and "right under the 
grass roots," as they say, he got some surprirsing color : 
Other claims were taken up alongside the one he record 
ed, but all of them were barren. McNeally sold his for 
a few thousands, however, enough to provide him with 
several seasons' grub stakes. 
In 1892 he was on the gold coast in Africa and there 
contracted a fever which had bothered him more or less 
ever since. He was getting along nicely in Buluwayo, 
but the news of a new gold country was too much for 
him, and there was nothing else to do but to pull u\j 
stakes and travel half way around the world to it. 
Food Economics. 
McNeally was one of the old-timers who have learn^■ 
the secret of living without eating. He had passed a ye ^ 
in the bleak interior of British Columbia with only 8olbs 
of flour and a little salt and a few balls of grease ano. 
meat. Of course he got some game. The meat balhj 
were made, as I recollect the conversation, from offal ol^ 
one of the Hudson Bay stock yards boiled and the fa'^ 
skimmed and saved. A few shavings from the peripherj; 
of one of these balls were put in the frying pan and wateiJ 
added, and the whole thickened with a spoonful of flomi 
This was a meal at times when there was no game in thf 
larder. . i 
It is said of other old-tiinei-s that in periods of scarcity; 
they went to bed and initiated the bear's method of kill, 
ing time. In this way they could pass a whole winte 
on the food that would only last an ordinary man i 
month. ^, 
A Mythical Outfit. 
McNeally, as near as we could estimate, had with hin 
not much more than a couple of hundred pounds of food 
which was certainly a meager grub stake. He could nol 
have taken more, however, very well, for he had all hi 
could do to drag what he had. At the time the ruling ha| 
gone into effect requiring every man who went into th 
country to have at least 6oolbs. of food. Later the re 
quirement was raised to i,ooolbs. How McNeally go: 
by the police posts was an enigma to us, but later, a 
Lake Bennett, we were told by Mr. Casey,, the townsit 
promoter, the following story: , 
He said McNeally, who was a friend of his, came U\ 
him one day in a great stew, remarking that the blood' 
police had just passed a laAV which would foi'ever shu 
him out of the Klondike. "They want me to carr 
6oolbs. in there," said McNeally, "when any one with 
pair of eyes can see that no man born of a woman cat 
draw such a load over their blooming rough ice. Now 
what would you advise me to do?" 
Casey pondered a minute and then an idea struck hiTr| 
"I have it," he said, taking McNeally impressively b:| 
both shoulders; "you can get your papers if you do just 
I tell you. Cache your sled somewheres in the woods be 
fore 3^ou get to Tagish Post and go to Inspector Strick 
land and engage him in conversation. You are an Irish 
man and should have a limber tongue. Tell him you ar 
just from South Africa, or any other blooming thing yo 
can think of, and when you get him good and intereste 
tell him you want to pay the customs duties on 6oolbs. c 
grub. See how that works." 
McNeally took the advice, and when he had the Iti 
spector interested in his story he remarked incidentally 
as if he had just thought 01 it, that he would like to pa; 
the duty on 6oolbs. of food. The Inspector turned t' 
one of the customs men standing near, directed him tj 
make out the papers, and then he resumed his interestin 
conversation with the old miner, who he could see wa 
a man of parts. It never occurred to him to ask wher 
the 6oo1bs. of food were, as he certainly would have aske 
if he had not had his mind absorbed in the conversatio? 
With ins custonis papers for 6oolbs. of food in his harl 
McNeally could snap his fingers at any subsequent O' 
ficial who asked where the food was. The official v/i 
left to suppose that it was following on the trail or to fa 
mulate any other hypothesis that would give him an'esi 
cuse to get rid of a troublesome matter if he ■^{ls ev« 
in future called to task by his superiors. _ 
The story may or may not be true, but it is a fact tl^ 
McNeally in some way or other got the start o£ 30,C 
men, many of whom would have jumped at the oppcti^ 
tunity of going through light to Dawson. 
J. B. BuRNHAM; 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each week on Tues^ 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach us at 
latest by Monday and as much earlier as practicable. 
