AFTER MY arrival in Dawson City my first duty was to investigate the affairs of the Trading & Exploring Company, acting under my power of attorney. I called on the general manager, James Beasley, and arranged to discuss business matters with him next day. I found him settled over the warehouse with his living quarters there, a Chinese cook and a very comfortable apartment. I went out and enquired in the city about business in Dawson generally, with particular reference to that of the company, as I had heard strange rumours.
That evening I dined with Beasley and we had a talk about the company’s affairs, covering the mining and commercial business, over all of which he appeared to have had control. The following day we got down to serious work, and it wasn’t long before I ascertained that it was impossible to make much headway, as the books, vouchers, etc., had all been destroyed by fire, said to have been of an accidental nature. He had a new set of books showing only transactions since the date of the fire. I remarked that there was no sign of fire in the office itself and wondered how the books could have been burned, but he could throw no light on it. After further investigation I came to the conclusion that Beasley himself had made away with the books, etc., in order to cover up evidence of his guilt as the one who had destroyed the company’s property and robbed it of its assets; and, although it was a most unpleasant situation in which to find myself after having been his dinner guest the previous evening, I was obliged next day to have a warrant issued for his arrest on a charge of embezzlement. He was arrested, committed for trial, admitted to bail, and at the first opportunity jumped his bail and left for the United States.
Beasley was an Australian; tall, handsome, and of an all-round “hail fellow, well met” type. In the dance halls he was called The Prince on account of his generosity to the girls, and was usually found of an evening in a private box, surrounded by them, drinking champagne. His tastes in this and other ways were of the most expensive kind, the poor old company always putting up the money.
I also visited their mining property and discovered that when the Pat Galvin mining claims were sold to it, they were practically worked out. I communicated the report of my findings to headquarters, and as a result one of the directors arrived in Dawson and took over the management. This is just another instance of good English money invested in Canada being frittered away because some of the managers sent out were hopelessly incompetent or dishonest.
How Gold Was Discovered
I think it would be of interest here to deal with the early history of placer mining in the Klondike, particularly with reference to the discovery of gold in Bonanza and Eldorado Creeks, which are acknowledged to be the richest gold-bearing creeks ever discovered. From researches made in official records, I am able to give reliable data concerning the discovery.
It appears that, as early as 1885, prospectors were out hunting for gold, and about 100 of them were obtaining it by the use of rockers on the bars of the Stewart River, an effluent of the Yukon River, over 2,000 miles from its mouth at the Bering Sea. These men were making about $100 per day. Gold had later on been found on the Forty Mile River, below Dawson City, but not in paying quantities. However, in the early winter of 1887, gold in paying quantities was found on a bar on Moose Creek, a tributary of Forty Mile. News of this find got abroad, and at once prospectors all over that district gravitated to the new discovery. In 1894, Robert Henderson, hailing from Nova Scotia, and a small party, arrived in the territory; and, after working the bars on several creeks, eventually made a discovery at Gold Bottom Creek, where they found a two-cent-to-the-pan prospect.
Henderson then proceeded down the Yukon to its confluence with Tron Deg, now known to the world as the Klondike, where he found George Carmack, a “squaw man,” who was married to a sister of two Siwash Indians named Tagish (Skookum) Jim and Tagish Charlie. These three were fishing for salmon. In accordance with the usual custom, Henderson announced his discovery of Gold Bottom and invited Carmack to stake there, which he did, alongside Henderson’s discovery claim. Henderson states that he advised Carmack and the Indians to cross the divide, and prospect in the gravels of what is now known as Bonanza Creek. The three then left for this new ground, after promising Henderson to send back word by an Indian if good prospects were discovered.
Carmack and the Indians found rich prospects on Bonanza. It is stated, and I believe it to be the case, that it was Kate, Carmack’s Indian wife, who made the discovery of gold on Bonanza. She had accompanied her husband and two brothers when they left Gold Bottom for Bonanza, where they camped. She discovered flakes of gold, called “flour gold,” in a pan which she had dipped in the creek for water; yet Kate never gained the limelight, while her husband was always in the picture.
Carmack staked Discovery Claim, and the adjoining claim, to which a discoverer is entitled. Tagish Jim staked number one above, and Tagish Charlie, number two below, Discovery. Each claim measured 500 feet up and down the creek and from rim to rim of its banks. They then proceeded to Forty Mile and filed their applications with the mining recorder—who, by the way, was Inspector Constantine of the North West Mounted Police. He had been in charge of the Moosomin detachment, where I had been practising law, and had taken in with him Sergeant Brown who had done such excellent detective work on the Italian murder case I had prosecuted some years before.
Carmack, however, didn’t make good his promise to notify Henderson of his rich discovery but spilled the news among the prospectors at Forty Mile, and in consequence a big stampede followed and Bonanza Creek was staked from top to bottom and poor Henderson didn’t get in on it at all. These stakers paced off their claims, and to make sure they each got 500 feet, all staked more than they were entitled to.
William Ogilvie, D.L.S., was instructed to survey the claims. One of his chainmen was a Forty Mile prospector named Dick Low, who was left behind on the stampede and had asked Ogilvie his advice regarding what was best for him to do. He was advised to stake a claim on Eldorado. Dick replied that “Eldorado was only a moose pasture” and refused to stake there. Ogilvie then said that perhaps some of the Bonanza stakers had taken more than 500 feet, in which case there would be fractions between some of the claims and he would get one of them. Low at first refused. However, as there was a fraction of eighty-seven feet between claims number three and number four below Discovery, he decided to stake it, as he saw small prospect of getting anything bigger on Bonanza. Dick put a hole down to bedrock, and when he had got into the gravel about twenty-five feet down, he told me “it looked for all the world like a jewellery store.” This claim was known all over the country as the celebrated “Dick Low Fraction,” from which he extracted about $700,000.
Some Lucky Finds
Those Forty Milers who were late in staking Bonanza decided to try their luck on Eldorado, the reputed “moose pasture,” and accordingly staked it for about five miles. Little did they know what was in store for them, for Eldorado turned out to be far and away richer than Bonanza. It is estimated that out of these two creeks the production amounted to in the neighborhood of $200,000,000.
It was not unusual for claims which a few days work would have shown to be rich to change hands for trifling sums of money, often under amusing circumstances. Thus, a well-known Swede, Charlie Anderson, having made his winter’s grubstake mining on the Forty Mile bars, in the summer of 1896, came down to Forty Mile Post to buy his winter’s outfit. While there he met a miner named Oleo, just returned from the new camp, who had a claim on Eldorado. Oleo, not thinking his claim of any real value, got Anderson drunk and sold him his claim for $800—all Anderson had. The next day Anderson tried to get his money returned, but without success. He then got a small amount of grub on credit and went up to look at his new claim. The first hole he sunk to bedrock proved to be exceedingly rich. News of it got to Oleo, who at once tried to get the claim back on the ground that they were both drunk when the deal was made. The Swede replied, “Yes, but you made me drunk,” and held his claim, which eventually produced well over one million dollars.
In July, 1897, a miner working on a claim on No. 2 Eldorado Creek, thought he would climb the hill and have a look around. When he got up about 150 feet he noticed a ledge of white gravel a few feet in depth and continuous for a considerable distance. Being curious, he took a panful and washed it in the creek, and to his amazement it turned out to be incredibly rich in coarse gold dust and small nuggets. He said nothing about it until after he had staked a bench claim of 250 feet square as discovery, 'and another claim the same size adjoining; then, after filing with the mining recorder, he told his friends of his good luck. This was the first claim located, and the first gold mined from the famous White Channel gravels. “Gold Hill,” and after that the adjoining hill, were staked as Bench and Hillside claims, causing another stampede. From these claims very many millions of dollars were produced. This led to hills on Bonanza and other creeks being staked.
These White Channel gravels no doubt formed part of an ancient channel, the gold being deposited by the action of glaciers grinding it off quartz veins millions of years ago.
The Klondike Rush
AS SOON as the news of the rich gold strike reached the outside world, thousands of prospectors immediately started for the Klondike. Probably never before in the history of gold mining camps had there been such a mad rush of people of all stations in life and from almost every country in the world, as was seen in that stampede throughout the years 1897 and 1898.
After descending from the summit of Chilkoot Pass the trail led along the bottom of a steep mountain, and a long line of gold seekers were toiling along this stretch of the journey when suddenly an avalanche came down without any warning, burying between fifty and sixty men, few of whom were rescued. Many other dangers confronted these pioneers, who were unaware of the hardships to be encountered and obstacles to be overcome on the trip to the new diggings. Against the advice of the few old-timers in the community, the hills and benches on these rich creeks were staked by the newcomers and proved to be of great richness.
The methods used in placer mining are known as sinking and drifting, ground sluicing, hydraulicking and dredging.
The bulk of the gold-bearing gravels in the Klondike are frozen and have to be thawed out before they can be mined. This thawing is done by wood fires, which thaw out, say, three feet each day, setting the fire at night and raising the muck in daytime. Gradually a shaft is sunk to the gravels above bedrock, the shaft being timbered on the way down to prevent a cave-in. When bedrock is reached, the pay gravel is hoisted and placed in a dump, ready to be sluiced in the spring, as soon as the first water is available. A couple of feet of bedrock is taken up, as it also contains gold. Then drifting, in all directions; from the shaft, takes place after the gravel is thawed, and in time a huge dump is formed.
When the winter raising of pay dirt is completed, the water is conducted from a mile or so away in sluice boxes or a long trough with sufficient grade to carry off the stones and other débris, called the tailings, which are shovelled into the sluice boxes from the dump. The gold, being heavier than the rest of the material, is caught in the bottom of the boxes by small pieces of wood nailed crossways to the bottom, called “rifiles.” After a reasonable time, calculated by the richness of the gravel being mined, the water is shut off, and the riffles taken up, and what is left consists of gold dust, nuggets and black sand. This is all removed in pans, and the riffles are replaced for further use. Then the black sand is eliminated from the gold by the use of powerful magnets. This is a very rough description of the methods of placer mining by the sinking and drifting process, which is continued until all of the winter dump has been shovelled into the sluice boxes.
This process is repeated each autumn and winter until the whole claim has been worked out. The placers of California, discovered in 1849, and of the Cariboo in British Columbia discovered in the ’sixties, are not to be compared in richness with those of the Klondike.
After all these creeks had been worked out by the process above described, way was made for dredging the creek bottoms and hydraulicking the hills, depositing tailings in the valley. This, I understand, has been accomplished by the Yukon Gold Company, with wonderful results.
There were no successful lode mines discovered in the Klondike, though it seems incredible that this should be the case. Everyone in the early days thought that surely a mother lode must exist as the source of so much gold, but prospecting for any rich quartz veins of sufficient width to make it a paying proposition is simply prohibitive, owing to the country being all deeply covered with a moss deposit which keeps the sun from thawing out the frozen ground underneath. One English company, for which I acted as solicitor, did stake some ground with narrow veins showing, but after exploring, it was decided to abandon it.
All classes of the community were engaged in mining or trafficking in mining claims, including even ministers of the gospel, lawyers, doctors, Government officials, etc.
I did not escape the fever and acquired five claims at the foot of Bonanza, where it is widest, merging into the Klondike valley. These claims were several hundred feet wide and were jokingly referred to as “White’s Farm.” My friends poked fun at me about it, but I could stand a whole lot of that when I looked upon the cheque for $40,000 which I received for them. This ground was later on dredged, and I am informed by a high official of the dredging company that over $1,000.000 was produced from this same “White’s Farm.”
The chief features of the social life of Dawson City were the dance halls and gambling saloons, sharing equal patronage.
The leading dance hall was originally built for a theatre, with two rows of private boxes arranged in tiers. In each box the furniture consisted of a small table and two or three chairs. An electric button in the wall communicated with the bar on the ground floor, which was otherwise given up to dancing. There was an orchestra, and the bar manned by half a dozen bartenders in spotless white jackets. Arranged around the floor was a raised platform containing a couple of rows of chairs for the hoi polloi to watch the dancing.
Each dance lasted less than two minutes, then the lady marched her partner up to the bar, where he paid for the dance and drinks, the bartender handing out to the girl a check representing twenty-five per cent of the amount paid. These checks were paid for by the proprietor when the dance hall closed, usually at four in the morning.
This is said to be the origin of the expression “pass in your checks.” If one of the girls considered she had got an easy mark with a good-sized “poke”—a small chamois sack of gold dust—she said she was tired and suggested going up to one of the private boxes. As soon as they got there she pushed the button and up came a bartender. She ordered a pint of champagne costing $15 at least. Then they returned to the dance floor and had another dance followed by a second visit to the box, when again she ordered champagne. This continued until her partner was intoxicated. He was then assisted out of the building, and when he awoke in the morning he found that his poke had disappeared. This is just an example of what happened to hundreds of miners who came down from the creeks for a good time. The process is described as being “rolled for his poke.”
By the way, drinks as well as everything else in the mining camps were paid for in those days by gold dust at so much per ounce, depending on the creek from which the gold was taken. Values varied. Everyone had gold scales; this included lawyers, doctors, merchants, etc. Take the Exchange Saloon for example. A huge gold scale stood on the bar just as you entered. A person might be treating his friends at the far end of the bar away from the scales, about thirty feet distant. The drinks had been served, and for pay you handed to the bartender your poke. He went off to the far end to weight out, say, $3 in gold dust. It was considered a breach of etiquette to watch him weighing it out for fear some of it might find its way into his pocket. Our law office was over this saloon and was furnished with an electric button connected with the bar, and when a colored bartender had filled an order for cocktails at one dollar per, the person standing drinks would hand his poke to the bartender, who went downstairs to weigh out the price. Later he returned the poke, and when you got it back, you felt from the shrinkage of its contents that he hadn’t forgotten to weigh out.
Dance-hall girls came from many countries, principally from the United States, Brussels and Paris, and taken all together they were a good-looking lot, some of them fascinatingly so. Among these I may mention Diamond Tooth Gertie, so called on account of having a diamond inserted in one of her front teeth; Babe Wallace, a beautiful girl, very intriguing; “Mona,” who broke many men. “Cad” Wilson was the most successful box rustler of them all; she was reported to have taken outside the first winter she was there, the sum of $50,OCX), earned in the dance hall. She also had a belt made of large matched gold nuggets valued at $3,000, with a large diamond in the buckle. I saw it in a shop window in Market Street, San Francisco, where it was on display. All these women, and very many more, were beautifully gowned. It was part of their stock-in-trade. Many of them married miners and lived with them until they managed to secure all their money, then a trip would be taken to the outside, which meant good-by Mr. Miner. Dick Lowe, mentioned above, was one of those stripped of his all.
The Purchased Bride
An amusing romance was enacted in the leading dance hall, the parties to it being a Swede named Chris Johannsen and Cecile Marion. No one by any stretch of the imagination would call Chris an Adonis. He was quite a little man, very plain, always badly dressed, and to look at his hair you would think a brush had never been used on it. Cecile Marion was just the opposite— very pretty, with fair skin and black, snappy eyes, always well dressed, popular, and hailing from Lower California.
Chris fell madly in love with her and made up his mind to have Cecile for his wife. He frequently came to Dawson from Hunker Creek, where he owned some very valuable mines, and always brought plenty of gold dust to aid him in his wooing. On every trip he singled out Cecile for his partner in the dance, and monopolized her both on the floor and in the private boxes, where he turned loose the champagne at $15 a pint. When his money gave out he would go back to the mine, turn the water into the sluice boxes and wash out three or four thousand dollars, and again visit the dance hall. On every trip there he renewed his offer of marriage to Cecile, but was always turned down. In time Chris became desperate, and one day he offered her one of his rich mining claims if she would marry him. She again refused. Finally came his great offer—that, if she would marry him, he would give her her weight in gold!
This was too much for the intriguing Cecile, so she went to the middle of the dance hall with Chris, and called all the dancers to witness, and said: "Chris Johannsen has asked me to marry him and has promised me my weight in gold if I will consent, and I want you all to witness that I accept his offer.”
A great cheer went up, and the crowd on the floor insisted on action. They wanted to see the drama played out there and then. Willing hands rolled in the scales and Cecile and Chris agreed to the weighing-in, while bets were made on Cecile’s weight. She got on the scales amid great excitement, and they registered just under 140 pounds. A calculation was at once made. Hunker gold being valued at $16 per ounce, and the purchase price for the beautiful Cecile Marion was $37,500. The wedding took place the following day, and Chris and she left for the mine to spend their honeymoon. The sluice boxes were again kept busy, and when the agreed amount was washed out it was paid over to Cecile. She then left for Dawson with her weight in gold, and said good-by to Chris, who then took to drinking hard and lost all his money, leaving the camp a poor man.
Among the dance-hall girls who made fortunes was one who went by the name of Mary C. Evidently a lady in every sense of the word, she certainly was a great mystery and remained so for the whole of the year she spent in the Klondike. She was most of the time in the dance halls, never refusing to dance with anyone who asked her, but beyond dancing and having the odd bottle of champagne in one of the boxes, she never permitted any liberties. She kept strictly to herself after the dance halls closed for the night, never was accompanied to her apartment by anyone. She was quite pretty, well educated and a good talker. Of course she was the subject of much discussion as to why she came to Dawson, the consensus of opinion being that she was owing money on the outside and came in to recoup. Without a doubt she succeeded, judging from the patronage she received in the dance halls.
In 1902, after the dance halls had been running several years, complaints were made that thefts were becoming too frequent, and letters were addressed to the Yukon Council requesting action in the matter. The edict went forth in consequence that no liquor was in future to be sold in dance halls. Within a very short time these places of amusement had to close down, as their chief source of profit was the liquor sold.
The summer of 1903 was a particularly dry one. The spring thaw had come on with a rush, producing freshets in the creeks and carrying the water away too suddenly, resulting in the supply of water for sluicing purposes being seriously depleted much earlier than usual. The creeks all through the district began to dry up, causing many mining operations to be suspended before the season’s work was more than well under way. Disaster stared the miners in the face.
Just then reports came in that a man in California had been successful in “making rain.” At once the Klondike miners were buoyed up with new hope. Meetings were held, resulting in a request to the Government to bring this man in. The Yukon Council hesitated to go to the expense as the scheme seemed to them to be absurd and impossible of fulfillment, and the plan was therefore turned down.
However, the miners became more insistent. Contact was then made with the man by wire and his terms were formally submitted to the Council. They were: His expenses to be guaranteed up to $2,500, and, if by his efforts, a certain number of inches of rain were produced within a specified time, he was to receive the sum of $10,000.
This offer was accepted and “Hatfield, the Rainmaker,” as he was called, duly arrived in Dawson. The first thing he did was to make a general survey of the land, then he decided to start operations on the Dome, the height of land behind Dawson with an elevation of about 3,000 feet. Here he erected a mast about fifty feet high, and on its top he placed a box containing chemicals. This he covered with a black cloth. Much mystery surrounded his enterprise. He had guards stationed around to prevent the crowds of curious persons from approaching too near. The whole country was excited. Hatfield pitched his tent at the foot of the mast and never left the Dome while his plans were being carried out.
Every detail having been completed, all he had to do was to watch and wait. Time went on for some days and nothing happened; not a sign of rain. Many were the doubting Thomases, until one day, after about a week or so of waiting, clouds were seen coming up and, sure enough, a heavy downpour of rain followed. Everyone was happy and hopeful. Instead of looking upon Hatfield as just another faker visiting the mining field, he had made good and, in the parlance of the country, he was “delivering the goods.”
Bitter disappointment, however, was soon to follow. The rain turned out to be only a shower, which might have come if Hatfield hadn’t been there; the sun came out strong and very soon no evidence of the rain was in sight. The “rainmaker,” however, nothing daunted, stuck to his post. He waited some time until he came to the conclusion it was useless to stick it any longer, then “folded his tent like the Arab and silently stole away,” after first collecting his expense money.
I knew of this man, Hatfield, in Medicine Hat, Alberta, many years before, and, strangely enough, his success there was pronounced. His modus operandi had, however, been quite different. He had caused explosions with dynamite or some other such substance to be let off from the top of the pole, which were supposed to have the effect of enticing the rain clouds to produce rain. However, the conclusion that the people at the Hat came to was that the rain that came down was really the result of a wet season, and they were forced to admit that they had been taken in by a faker.
The question was often asked in Dawson: Why was William Gates, the miner, called “Swiftwater Bill?” It came about in this way:
When Gates and three companions were on their way to Dawson in 1897, they had just crossed Lake Bennett with their boat containing their personal outfits, when they came across very swift rapids in Miles Canyon, four miles in length and considered much too dangerous to shoot. Gates, who appears to have been an expert waterman, decided, rather than make the four-mile portage, to take the boat through. The others would not risk it and walked around, to find on their arrival Gates, sitting on the river bank smoking his pipe and waiting for his friends. Hence he got the name which clung to him ever after, “Swiftwater Bill.”
“Swiftwater Bill” was very successful in his mining operations, having made and spent two or three fortunes. He was what is called a very “natty” dresser, and consequently was a great favourite with the dance hall girls. Just at this time there were three pretty sisters named Lemoine, who had arrived in the camp with their mother, who was also good-looking, so youthful in fact that she might almost have passed as an elder sister.
Swiftwater wasn't long in the camp before he began to make love to the eldest, named Bertie, and married her. All three were “regulars” in the dance halls. Bill, however, proved to be fickle. On seeing more of the second sister, he came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake in taking Bertie, and “shook” her and took on the second one, who was really much prettier, being a brunette and very lively. They got along very well together for a time, then Bill began to see quite a lot of the youngest sister, Bella, who was really the most popular of the three.
Bella didn’t reciprocate Bill’s attentions. Bill, however, was bound to win out, and resorted to strategy. He discovered that Bella had a tremendous liking for fresh eggs, which were a great luxury just then in Dawson, costing a dollar each. Bill visited all the shops in town and bought up all the fresh eggs until he had obtained about 2,500, and when he laid them at the feet of his inamorata she fell for him and he won out. Swiftwater thus had taken on all three sisters, the rejected ones seeking solace with other suitors, and all lived happily until the day came when Bill decided to quit Dawson. The climax was reached when he deserted all three sisters and took on the mother who went outside with him, saying good-by to the Klondike, and then the corner on eggs was lifted. Ask any old-timer in Dawson and he will verify this romance.
Prominent Yukon Men
Walking down the street in Dawson one day in 1901, whom should I run into but my old friend, in fact one of my two oldest friends in the West, W. L. Walsh, popularly known as Billy Walsh. Our friendship began in 1878, when we were law students in Toronto and boarding together in a Wood Street house, for the sum of $3 a week, everything found. I recollect that one of our experiences in that horse was chasing cockroaches out of the basement dining room. Some important men in after life were boarding there at this time: Bob Pringle, later on a K.C. and M.P. for Cornwall; also Jim Mabee, who in later life became a K.C., then one of His Majesty’s Justices of the Ontario High Court of Justice, ending up as Chairman of the Railway Commission, the best one Canada ever had.
Another law student living with us at this time was J. H. Scott, who became a K.C. and finally County Judge of the County of Lanark, which position he still holds. He is also a retired Lieutenant-Colonel of his local Militia Battalion. Scott didn’t have to travel far to do his courting, as a pretty girl next door made him happy ever alter.
But of all these old-timers, the one who has made most of his life is my old friend Billy Walsh, for he has risen to the greatest heights, that of being Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Alberta, after being one of the Justices of the Supreme Court of that province for nineteen years, gathering en passant, such honorable titles as LL.D. from the University ot Alberta and Honorary Colonel of the University of Alberta contingent of the Canadian Officers Training Corps. You are equally safe in addressing him now as Governor, Colonel, or Doctor—take your choice. With all his “honors thick upon him,” he is one of the most approachable men I know, and his innate modesty is delightful to behold. On the golf links also he has made his mark, having won a trophy at one of the annual tournaments of the Senior Golf Association, of which he is a charter member, and having been for years Honorary President of the Alberta Golf Association.
A few years ago we made a motor trip through Western Ontario together, playing golf wherever we found a course; and at Windsor the judge—he was only a judge then—made a 340-yard hole in two, a feat never performed by anyone before or since on those links.
Life in the Klondike and the varied experiences there of certain fortunate individuals, have been stepping stones to exalted positions in the four Western provinces.
By way of some odd coincidences I will name four of them.
James D. McGregor is Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba. For some years dating from 1898 he lived in Dawson, engaged in collecting, on behalf of the Dominion Government, royalty on gold mines in the Klondike.
Hon. IL W. Newlands, K.C., late Lieutenant-Governor of Saskatchewan. He practised law in Dawson for some years, later on was one of the Justices of the Supreme Court of Saskatchewan.
Hon. W. L. Walsh, K.C., now Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Alberta. He practised law for years in Dawson and later became one of the Justices of the Supreme Court of Alberta.
Mrs. Fordham-Johnson, the popular chatelaine of Government House, Victoria, B.C., was the widow of the late Harry E. Ridley, who practised law in Dawson for many years. As his widow, she married Hon. Fordham-Johnson, the present Lieutenant-Governor of British Columbia.
All the above ex-Klondikers, with the exception of Hon. H. W. Newlands, K.C., are the present occupants of these important positions.
Editor’s Note: This is the third and concluding article of a series by Mr. White.