The Alaska citizen., 1912-01-29


Of the Northern. from Jim Wyllie.
formerly of this camp and later of
the Iditarod gives some interesting
history OF the lower camps and of
the Optimist's adventures since
leaving here 1t is composed in
Wiley's well-known prosepoem
style. and follows.
Friend Jack For months I've
wondered and sorely been perplex'd
think that you had Numbered
when YOU said that | was next in
line to get letter. that time you
wrote 70 Joe But then you may
have just forgot or been trifle
slow So hoping thus TO jog your
mind and hasten things bit I'm
sending you this sacred screed o
rhyme and hope you'll answer it
hope you're we'll and as of yore
over CaseY's Bar. speeding soothing
drinks of peace. or strong, red
draughtS & war | hope the quartz
mines which you thought would
make you rich some day, have
enough of gold to keep hot-air from
floating them away. ! hope you
still can chew corned beef without
being ground TO hash. and raise
enough of garden truck for Hibern-
ian goulash And may the sea
sons as they pass still treat you
well old boy, and leave care and
sorrow till day after tomorrow,
and today bring naught but JOY
Now. for myself and what befell
I'll write you out a list. While do
ing we'll some spiteful elf gave my
affairs twist. But can't kick
I'm never sick. but always in good
health. And rich in everything
need, except perhaps, in wealth
When navigation open'd things were
fearful dull at Flat. and | could see
my finish Jack. with Casey al the
bat. liked the job had so
we'll, that Bert MCores used TO
laugh. and say | was 1a Irish and
% photograph But the Ruby STAN
pede cleaned the camp. and when
the roughnecks fled, "Cheechacos
come" the grafters cried-the Gug-
gies came instead. Twas then their
hopes went glimmering. for if the
Guggies bought. no look in then had
hot-air-men. it surely got their
goat" The Guggies came, the Gug
gies went Come back" the fax
ers cry At first We were afraid
you Would, now that you will not,
buy. But anyway, when Casey
came. he took me off my stool.
They couldn't fool our Uncle Bill
or hand him any bull. The money
wasn't coming in. that was enough
for Bill He handed me some nice
smooth talk then reached into the till
and paid me Off Tho loath TO go,
yet none ill-pleased was |, for win
/ or vas gone. the bright sun shona.
and | had some cash laid by. When
tho near the end of June, that |
bought a skiff and sailed from Flat
one rainy afternoon. bound for the
new-found placer strike, which back
from Ruby lies. but found TOO late
I'd hit the trail. for stakers thick
as flies in honey had been there
before and plastered all the ground
with their location notices for scores
of miles around. For days beneath
a scorching sun. the Yukon for my
goal. mosquitoes buzzed and drove
me mad. and took their bloody toll.
When, cramped, from that frail,
leaky boat | stepped ashore at last,
swore. till mining laws are chang
joined an n. c. steamboat, Seattle
Number 3. which piled tween Yu-
kOn river points and ports of Ber-
ing sea She was an old wood burn.
ing craft OF the days of '9S. And
tho not flash for passengers she
packed a pile of freight, the packet
crews would scott at her, she wasn't
much on style. but had a healthy
appetite when We hit a big wood
pile. Quite soon | tired of that
rough work. which brought but little
pay. and | quit that floating loggin
camp when we reached ST. Michael's
bay. | came to Frisco early, then
went up to B. c. | thought home
stead in the bush the proper thing
for me, but winter time came
swiftly on. the snow began to fall.
stopped and locked. and listen'd,
and | heard the Southland call. The
call was loud, insistent. Come
leave that land of snow and dwell
where orange blossoms bloom, in
Californyoh. So I'm back in dear
old Frisco. where the sun is shin
ing bright, and the white lights of
the Barbary Coast makes day envy
the night. At plays and picnics here
We lead a gay Bohemian life, and
raise hi in Sanquinetti's with some
other fellows wife. With portly
Steve and merry guests nights all
too soon are sped, and peddlers'