Thomas Boldrick: "Chechako" in the Klondike Gold Rush:

His Letters and Diary of 1898

As told by Jack Boldrick

[Published in The Wrangler, quarterly publication of San Diego Corral of The Westerners, vol. 21 (1988), no. 3, Writings by Tom Boldrick in boldface print. Comments by Tom's grandson, Jack Boldrick, in brackets or regular type.]

Portland, Oregon
March 11th, 1898

My dear boy Jack,

I am here now in Portland and will sail tomorrow night 7:30 o'clock on the steamer City of Topeka for Dyea, Alaska. I am feeling better than I have for years ... can hardly satisfy my appetite. I don't get tired here like I did in Texas. There are six of us together, including two young fellers from Henrietta [Texas]. I am in good hopes, health, and spirits ... We have 36 goats to draw our outfit—with 9 sleds; 2 tents; and about 9,000 pounds of truck to have a very comfortable outfit....

If you will write to me as soon as you get this letter and direct it to Dyea, Alaska, I will get it as I think we will be there anyway two weeks ... I am glad you cheered your mother up, as she felt bad at my going, but I felt it was for the best....

Your affect[ionate] Father,

Tom Boldrick

Reading between the lines of this letter written by my grandfather to his oldest son (my father), one gets the feeling that the lure of adventure was almost as compelling as any prospect of striking gold. Strong, though, were his reasons for going. The effects of the Silver Panic of 1893 still weighed heavily across the West. Also, his personal fortune, twice built on speculating in grain futures, had been wiped out in sudden slumps of the market, even as he traveled by train to Chicago to work his investments. Tom Boldrick saw the Klondike as an opportunity to recoup his losses. Even so, this new venture would require his considerable investment. He had already passed his 52nd year when, to the dismay of his wife and three sons in Denison, Texas, he set off in early 1898 to join the stampede of gold seekers in Canada's Yukon Territory.

Only a handful of Klondikers expended their energies at day's end by keeping diaries or a journal; my grandfather was one of those who did. His daybook, while not marked with entries of finding golden nuggets or more-than-promising gold dust, is nonetheless a revelation in day-to-day hardships, perseverance, and disappointments endured in pursuit of unfound wealth. Factually, his narrative could speak for the greater lot of gold seekers who came and went in the Yukon without fulfilling their dreams of carrying back a golden treasure.

The adventure of new horizons was not entirely unprecedented for Thomas Boldrick. As a young man, in the years following the Civil War, he had owned a hardware business in the wild town of Dodge City, Kansas, performing also the duties of postmaster. Mail was occasionally held there for the notorious outlaw gangs of Jesse James and Cole Younger. The young postmaster endured a certain amount of bullying whenever these desperadoes entered his store to replenish supplies or collect mail. For amusement they would tell Boldrick to "walk the crack in the floor" under threat with a gun that they would "blow his foot off."

One day the Youngers tied their horses at the hitching rack out front, keeping a watchful eye on things as they traded with Boldrick inside. A young boy caught fooling around their horses was locked in a woodshed behind the store, to be dealt with later. After the outlaws had gone, Boldrick let the boy out to spare him from whatever trial might be planned for him.

Little did my grandfather realize the turn of events soon to take place as a result of that action. That same evening, Frank James, who personally liked Boldrick through doing business at the store, came to his house. Frank warned that the Youngers intended to vent some of their meanness on Boldrick for his interference in setting the boy free. Late that night, ahead of the threatened retaliation, Thomas Boldrick hastily loaded up his wagon and departed to Kansas City, Missouri.

Eventually he arrived in Texas, where in 1872 he married Mary Eliza Borden. To them were born three sons: John E. "Jack" Boldrick, George F. Boldrick, and William Thomas Boldrick. These four were the family left behind to operate the established shoe store/millinery enterprise in Denison, Texas, while Boldrick himself set off on a gold-seeking venture in the Yukon.

Eliza Boldrick, while opposed to her husband's whim for taxing himself in middle age with the rigors of the Klondike, was herself descended from dependably rugged family stock. She was the fourth daughter of William and Mary Borden, who left Lawrence, Kansas, in 1873 to settle in Denison, Texas. Her mother, "Granny" Borden, had been a high-spirited loyalist to the Confederacy. More than once that tiny woman delivered supplies and ammunition hidden under hay in her wagon through Union lines to Southern soldiers. Her only passport was a defiant tongue and a whip used on an astonished pair of Union soldiers intent upon searching her wagon. Certainly, then, Eliza Boldrick would prove capable of managing the family business, along with clerking help from their three sons.

Dyea, Alaska, was chosen by the Boldrick party as the jumping-off place in their journey to the Yukon goldfields. Sheep Camp lay thirteen man-testing miles inland; four more torturous miles stretched to the foot of Chilcoot Pass. At the summit, Canadian customs officials inspected for the half-ton (a year's supply) of food required of each entrant against the rigors to be endured. In addition, mining and carpentry tools, tents, stoves, and sleds made up the balance of each party's loads of provisions. Of the estimated 100,000 stampeders lured by the Gold Rush of 1897-98, about a third were issued permits to proceed beyond the Chilcoot Pass from Dyea (or over White Pass from Skagway) and on to Lake Linderman and Lake Bennett, 27 miles away. There each party built various kinds of boats, scows, and rafts for descending the Yukon River. Except for those who died or were killed in accidents along the way, the eventual destination was Dawson City, located 300 miles down river at the junction of the Klondike River.

Now to the first diary entry.

March 12, 1898, Saturday: Left Portland on the City of Topeka ... John Knaur & Tom Boldrick beat Cummins and Ricker in two games dominoes ... Think we got all our trappings on board all right. Goats loaded easy.

The time lapse until Boldrick's next diary entry was filled by the second letter, mailed from Dyea. It was written on stationery brought along by partner John Knaur, another businessman from Denison. The letter observes the backbreaking task for Klondikers in just moving their supplies and equipment over the Chilcoot Pass.

My Dear friends at home,

I often think of you & would like to step in and see you all, but that can't be yet. So I will make the most of it. Firewood is a scarce article here ... found a few fellers moving and got the wood they left. I watch for such opportunities; saves rustling it on mountainsides where snow is deep and soft ... Have to pay 25 cents for every letter we send out or get in, so you see we are in quite an out-of-the-way place. I would not advise anyone to bring goats, as they are a great trouble and expense and not much good [presumably for pulling sleds] ... From Sheep Camp to the foot of Chilcoot Pass is a hard problem to solve. [Undoubtedly the section where Boldrick's party was discouraged at working goats to the sleds.] I never saw men work so hard in my life. It is terrible. Lots of women make the trip ... dresses to their knees, then heavy thick stockings and coats like men's ... they pull sleds and drive dogs, just like the men do....

[Chilcoot Pass] is about 3/4 of a mile nearly straight up ... a rope from top to bottom. You put one hand on the rope, then [climb] in steps cut in the hard snow [1,200 icy steps in all]. Continual string of men clear to the top. When one steps out, you step in & so on to the top ... We are no match for such a place ... just hired our stuff taken. [Possibilities were Indian porters, pack horses, or dog sleds—and at considerable expense. Parties without funds made many backbreaking round trips relaying their tons of supplies.]

So you see we had it moderately easy in comparison to others we passed. Poor fellers with the look of fatigue and despair on their countenances, too tired to drag their own selves let alone their loads ... I tell you, they will earn all they get ... So my dear friends, you need fear nothing for me. I look out for number one and am well able to take care of myself & not going to hurt myself in any way ... Write to me at Lake Bennett ... So goodbye all.

Yours as ever,

Tom Boldrick

Oh, for Thomas Boldrick's stated intentions of "not hurting myself" by hard work. But through every grueling bone-weary day of the next three months he held to the added discipline of his diary, resolute at leaving for his family and his companions a record of their exploits together in the Yukon.

April 11, 1898: Moved our camp from Lake Linderman to 6 miles below Bennett [Camp] on Lake Bennett. Brought 1800 pounds. Saw mosquitoes on snow.

Diary entries for April 12 through April 15 recorded several round trips transferring the four tons of supplies to Lake Bennett; intermittent stormy weather; and the cutting down and peeling of some 65 logs to be used in building boats: a large skiff for transportation and supplies, and a scow for the goats. Omitting the formality of full names, the diary identifies the six men in the party: George, Dave [Cummings], Merl or Murrell, Mr. [Eugene C.] Royce, John Knaur, and Tom—the author's way of referring to himself.

April 16, 1898: John, Dave & Merl commenced to saw lumber for our boat, rather uphill work, only cut 45 feet ... Mr. Royce & Tom peeled 19 logs ... George is cook ... need no coat to work.

April 17, Sunday ... Stayed in tent all day ... nice day, snowed a little ... One goat died last night. Murrell skinned it [possibly for the fresh meat. Specific using of their goats is never made clear].

Entries for the following week mostly concerned sawing lumber, averaging 80 board feet each day.

April 25: Rather nice morning. Dave started to Dyea [to post letters and check for mail]. Still sawing lumber. Mr. Royce is sick.

April 26: Did not freeze last night; some rain & water came up on the ice. Windiest afternoon we've had, snow going very fast & trail getting very sloppy. Still cutting lumber. Had company for dinner: Mrs. Bryan. Mr. Royce entertained her, made him feel very much better. Mr. Dubar's outfit moved next door, all took dinner with us.

April 28: Dave got back but only brought Mr. R. a letter—very disappointed. Lake getting very sloppy, some man fell in today. Dave brought 2 men with him to supper; someone stole Dave's sled on top of summit. Sawing lumber yet.

May 1, 1898. This being Sunday, did not work. Tom & Dave went to prospect, found nothing. Tom took goats to the mountains, found plenty of grass, think they will do well. Thermometer 62 degrees.

Entries for next eleven days concerning "working & corking [caulking] boat," until on May 10: "Finished scow and put her in water. Boat building all around going on with a vengeance."

May 13: Launched the skiff, did not leak scarcely any. Now building a scow to take our goats down the lake. Goats doing fine, have 26 left.

Their goats evidently grazed untended in the mountains. However, no entry explains the drop of nine head more in the goat count.

May 15, Sunday: Stayed pretty well in tent. Man & dog broke through ice a little below tent, got the man out first, then 3 boys went for dog & sled & plunder on the sled. Took a boat and broke ice in front of boat, got them out all right.

May 16: Thermometer 52 and ice melted very fast. Travel on the lake is now abandoned, will soon be open ... Working on goat boat today ... Snow pretty well off mountains ... Did not freeze last night.

Entries for the next five days concerned warming weather and fast-melting ice.

May 22, Sunday: ice got a great move on today & wind is driving it down the lake at a fearful rate. Will soon be gone now.

May 23: Loaded the scow today ... fine weather. Went to Bennett, got a letter. First received since coming to this country.

May 26: Left camp & started down the lake, came about 10 miles, everything worked smooth. Camped on rocky point ... first mosquitoes we have had & they are daisies.

May 27: Went down lake about 5 miles, rather rough on lake. Dave so scared we were compelled to pull over and camp. Boys made all sorts of fun of him ... Lost lots of time by keeping to shore.

May 28: Broke camp & went down to Tagish Lake ... Ice broke up in evening, had to unload our stuff to be sure of saving it, no damage done. Saw first lonely grave where some poor fellow dropped behind. Seems his friends have done all they could for him, put up a rough picket fence around his grave.

May 29, Sunday: Could do nothing today as it is Sunday ... slept part of day, not feeling well ... Ice still in jam.

May 30: Loaded our cache back in boat ... Had to stop 2 miles, ice jammed up ahead of us. A Norwegian shot one of our goats, thinking it a wild one ... very proud of his success as a hunter until I told him it was one of our tame ones. His jaw dropped. I settled with him for $10 as he had very little money, everything went smooth. Murrell & Dick left for Dawson in a small boat. [This would seem a splitting of the party, for neither man is ever mentioned in the diary again. They may have had enough already; gone only about 30 miles and Dawson was still more than 500 miles down the Yukon.]

June 1: First of month and are only at Tagish Station. Mosquitoes are awful. Stood in line about 5 hours to get clearance papers & had to pay $8 to get our boats inspected so we could leave quick. The Canadian government makes every man register his boat & they number it ... have seen some 14220. Don't know whether that many or not, but think not. Yet, it is astonishing the amount of boats: thick as [those great flocks of wild passenger] pigeons in the old days ... average 4 men to the boat. Our party all well. What a relief, our next boat not so important, comes through all right & we are safe ... I watched many boats make the perilous trip, a few had women aboard. I admired their courage. Fortunately all boats with women went safely through. Not so fortunate for many others.

By Canadian Mounted Police count, 7,124 boats in all started down the Yukon River. A great number were wrecked or sunk.

June 3: ... Camped at the head of White Horse Canyon ... All walked down to see the rapids and watch the boats go through ... 2 men lost their scow & outfit & also their lives in the rapids this morning. Losing one's outfit is about equal to losing one's life in this country. It is terrible country to get into & it may be a terrible country to get out of ... In 75 cases out of a hundred, [men] look for a pilot to take their boat through ... Our fate much depends on the happenings and luck of tomorrow.

June 4: The eventful day has come at last ... Drove goats over the hills to below the White Horse Rapids, where we wait for our boats to come through ... John & Mr. Royce hired 2 pilots for $50. I sit on the banks waiting for about 5 hours [filling several pages of his diary with the excitement of that day]. Our first & largest boat shoots around the corner and in no time plunges through the most dreaded place of them all. Oh, what a moment of suspense, but she emerges safe & sound and ships no water.

Just look! is the cry. All eyes turn to a dreaded rock nearly in the middle. One boat strikes it & seems to bound in the air, swings around & the jar knocks the men down. They lose their oars. The boat turns around, plunges through the dreaded place, fills with water, turns over & one man goes under the boat. All think him lost, but a swirl takes him out, tosses him toward shore & anxious men plunge in & rescue him more dead than alive ... Other 2 men scramble on top of upturned boat, it swings toward shore. Ropes are tossed to them & they are drawn to the bank, their boat rushing on, scattering their outfit as it goes sweeping from sight, but the men are saved.

Saved? In the middle of the Yukon with no supplies. What tales they must have told if ever they reached civilization.

There! Another party rushes through the dreaded places. They stop to cheer, but the fatal stop costs them their outfit & nearly their lives. Their boat strikes a projecting rock, swings around, fills with water & part of it floats off and the rest is ruined with water. Kindly hands toss them a rope and they are pulled to shore ... But, as our boats are through, I must go to them. They are landed about 3/4 mile below, but not in such a safe place as I could wish.

June 5, Sunday: As we are tied up in so dangerous a place, we break the Sabbath for the first time since leaving home & pull away for the promised land of gold & wealth ... River seems literally lined with boats ... We leave in the morning to cross Lake LeBarge, so goodbye to another day.

June 6: Left the mouth of the river at 5:20, got about 3/4 mile when we hung up on a sand bar. After a little work got off & sailed nicely down the lake ... About 10 o'clock the wind died & we rowed about 3 miles to an island where we had dinner ... Wind came up and we set sail & went about 12 miles, when we camped. We seem to have lost sight of all the acquaintances we made on the road, especially those we came to this country with on the steamer City of Topeka.

June 8: ... pull & pull hard, a rock, but we can't pull away from it, the current is too much for us. We dash fearfully on & over the rock hump. The boat quivered and shook as we scraped it, but I think it was worked so smooth we just slide over. I tell you, we are all paralyzed with our narrow escape. We dashed on past an Indian village of about a dozen dirty tents. They saluted us by waving their hands ... seemed to be fishing with what we thought were traps made of wood.

Came to Hootalinaka River ... had to stop as the Canadian government has a post there ... Had to again show our papers as we had to at the mouth of the Hoolalimko River.

June 10: Got up and fixed a long sweep on the stern of our boat, put things in shape for the dreaded Five Finger Rapids which we expect to reach about 10 a.m. Loaded our goats & found one gone, probably eaten by a bear ... Current is perhaps 6 miles an hour ... surprising how swift that is. About 11 a.m. came around bend & saw lots of boats tied up to shore. We then knew we were close to Five Finger Rapids, but could not land our boats as they are large & current is rapid. So there is nothing to do but go ahead, every man at his post; our guidebook telling us to keep right of all the fingers, which we did and plunged through. Some water dashed over end of the boat, but we are safe.

On we dashed toward Rink Rapids, about 5 miles ... roar seemed terrifying, but we kept to the right & passed through ... Noon and we take turns eating as we rush on 6 mph ... Got, I suppose, a little careless and let our boat run fast on a gravel bar. Nothing now to do but put on our high-top rubber boots & go over the side & push her off ... about 1/2 hour hard work. [Some 325 miles below Lake Bennett.]

June 11: Started down Lewis River & made Fort Silkerk ... A P.O. & one policeman ... not to exceed 6 log houses & one government flag pole, no flag flying ... Trader told me 147 [men] passed down river on the ice the past winter for Dawson. Quite a number of Indian graves ... cover them over with the dead Indian's blankets & any other things he may have. They put rude fence around them & dab paint with some kind of figures on them & tie what look like rags around the palings.

June 12, Sunday: Broke camp, as the mosquitoes were awful bad, and made for the mouth of the White River, which we reached about 5 o'clock. Went up about a mile ... camped and made ourselves as comfortable as possible.

For the next thirty days, the tenor of Boldrick's diary will change—much rowing and dragging "up river," with little respite in floating freely down. Jason and Argonauts had an easy time at possessing the Golden Fleece compared to what lay ahead for this Texas "Chechako" (Alaskan slang for a tenderfoot).

June 13: Dave & myself made a trip up river about 8 miles to see how things looked ... Very large river which for speed beat anything we found yet. Bed is wide and full of little islands and sand bars. It is going to be a hard job to get up ... Walked back through brush and swamp, mosquitoes were awful. We got back to camp about 9 p.m., tired to death. Went to bed and slept sound.

June 14: Left camp about 9 a.m. with 3 other fellows and about 2 months provisions. Up the White River for LaDu Creek, which is about 20 miles up ... only got about 6 miles up. Had to pole it and drag it with ropes, wading in water along the bank & pulling the boat with ropes ... Hardest days work we have done yet. We expect to go up the LaDu & prospect that creek—if we can get there. Camped 6 or 7 miles from where we started. Much too tired to write more.

June 15: Got off in our boat about 6 o'clock. Slept outdoors last night without any tent—the first we've done. Hard job going up this river, current is so swift & quicksand is so bad I am afraid of the quicksand, sometimes sink in 6 inches & have to help pull one another out ... have to take short steps & very quick.

We have not made over 10 miles in the two days pulling & dragging the boat with ropes & we have worked very hard. I don't think there are over one or two outfits gone up ahead of us, as very few care to tackle so hard a job. [This is the same Tom Boldrick who two months earlier had written home: "Not going to hurt myself in any way."] We saw a party of five this forenoon creeping & wading along shore & climbing the mountains with backpacks, one woman in the outfit.

This must be a terrible river when full. Now literally filled with driftwood & torn up trees by the thousands ... Terrifying to see the tremendous force it has taken to do this ... Sometimes mountains come right up to the river, at other times the banks are nothing but marshes covered with thick brush & moss. It is very hard to travel on shore & mosquitoes are very bad in there. I fell in the river this morning dragging the rope, crawled out & worked with shirt & drawers in the boat until I dried out.

June 16: Map shows LaDu Creek about 15 miles from mouth of White River. We have toiled hard & have not got it in sight yet. What I dream most is the quicksand. Mr. Royce got into it today & could not have gotten out by himself. Spruce & poplar or quaking ash grow to water's edge, makes pulling our boat a great deal harder. Sometimes we have to stop & cut some of them out of our way. We pitch our camp on another island which we name "Goose Island" from the numerous geese ... can't get near enough to shoot them.

June 17: ... started with our ropes up river. 2 men stay in boat to pole it away from the bank. I lead out with the end of rope & the rest follow with it over their backs, pulling in many places for dear life ... I carry a long stick to feel my way ahead to keep out of deep hole & quicksand. About 10 o'clock we came to a stream about 75 feet wide. Thought that was LaDu Creek & made for it. But after going up it for over a mile we find it to be nothing but a small stream cutting around from White River. So the LaDu must still be further up. Nothing to do but back down stream & start over again. Started up White river ... made about 2 miles when we camped on a sandbar. Too cold for mosquitoes to do much business.

June 18: Slept fairly well last night, it was cold & our bed clothes was quite frosty ... Took up our weary march up stream ... We row the boat sometimes from one side of the river to the other & then we lose lots of time, the current so swift it takes us down stream so far before we can land. We had to cross the main river today 4 times, besides 6 to 8 times from one sandbar to another ... Frequently stop to cut overhanging trees out of the way of our rope, which consumes lots of time. Now our 5th day poling up river & I don't think we can be up over 16 or 18 miles on a straight line, & we have worked hard. If other rivers are as hard to ascend as this one, many a tenderfoot will scoot for home. I don't think one could go up this river on the banks.... I much prefer the boat racket with all its hardships and dangers. We will go into camp this Saturday night & no LaDu Creek yet in sight.

Something in the hard work seemed to compel Thomas Boldrick at recording in his diary. The terse entries in the beginning now gave way to several laborious pages each day, as if he were driven to set down the entire prospect. Strangely missing was any real note of discontent or discouragement.

June 19 Sunday: This being Sunday, we did not move camp but stayed & rested—the enjoyment not being much. One party from Iowa camped near us had a paper of May 27, which we eagerly read as late news to us. It is rumored here that England & France have gone to war. We would give most anything for a Sunday-morning Dallas News.

The San [?] party came up on the opposite side of the river with 2 boats. They seem to have a woman with them, but the river is quite wide here and we can't find out anything about them. I think from the hard work we do, this one can get all he wants in 6 days. We are all pretty well tired out. Think we will certainly get to LaDu Creek tomorrow: the promised land.

June 20: Started for LaDu Creek this morning mosquitoes very bad. One of our party washed out a flour sack & put it over his head to keep them off; but he soon discarded it, as it set so close to his face they reached their bills through.

We were visited last night by 4 Indians: two men, one boy & one girl. They were a dirty set. However, we bought a piece of moose meat from them ... could not understand English, talked by signs. They had a boat built of sticks & stretched over with animal skins, very crude concern. However, they seemed to make it answer the purpose very well.

Got to LaDu Creek about 4 o'clock. I don't like the appearance of it as a gold creek. It is perhaps 100 to 150 feet wide & in a valley about one mile wide. Indications are poor, however, we will have to give it a try. Camped about 2-1/2 miles up.

June 21: Overtook the party who has been traveling our way & camped with us. They had killed a moose & were living high, divided it with us. A great treat to have fresh meat after living nearly 4 months on salt meat. We left our boat & loaded our stuff in theirs, as one boat is easier to pull than 2. We now have 10 men pulling the boat by rope & one in front of boat with a pole to keep it off snags. Current is swift in places, then shallow where we have to drag and lift the boat over the rocks. There is now eleven in our party & when they all get strung out on a rope they are a sight to see.

June 22: Nothing of importance happened today, only pull & push & wade in water. No signs of gold. If the creek does not change, looks rather doubtful.

June 23: Still going up creek, went about 7 miles. No change. Decided to return which is pretty tough after wading 10 days in ice-cold water. But such is life in the gold diggings. Will strike White River I think tomorrow about 45 o'clock, as it is much easier & faster going down than puling up. Camped.

June 24: Going down LaDu Creek. Nothing to encourage us up the creek. Others parties returning. We were farther up LaDu than we thought, run all day & not down yet. Camped on the spot where we camped going up.

June 25: Run down and camped on White River on an island. Met several parties going up. Some of them returned when they heard our report. Prospected a small creek near the mouth: nothing. Heavy shower, first rain we've seen in NWT [North West Territory]. We all got cold & wet & felt very disagreeable. Moose meat about all gone.

June 26, Sunday: We run down to mouth of the White River where our scows & goats are. Found everything all right. Got a good night's sleep & much needed rest. [

Very casual about leaving goats untended again.

June 27: Laid around camp all day waiting for a fellow who went up the White river (Dick). On the whole, weather is as fine as one could wish. Nothing new today.

June 28: This is a memorable day for us, as I sold the goats for $25 per head. Boys awful glad to be rid of them, as they have been great trouble to us. There is 22 left out of the 36. The man paid us part in gold dust. John is going down to Dawson with him tomorrow & will get the balance of the money.

The balance of us have loaded up & gone to the mouth of the Stewart River, 10 miles below. Dodge, Lelarke & Co. were waiting for us. They had news of a big strike 50 miles up the Stewart in Porcupine Creek. Got things ready to start tomorrow: one long weary trip up river as we will have pull it by rope. Good night.

June 29: Left Mr. Royce with our things at the mouth of the Stewart & the rest of us started up the river. The Stewart don't seem so bad as the White, not so large, nor so much quicksand ... Made 13 miles and camped. We can get gold on any of the bars. Pretty tired, good night.

June 30: Some Dodge, Lelarke & Co. men came in last night from Porcupine Creek and report it all right. They came down in 5-1/2 hours in a boat, and it will take us 3 days to go up, which shows how swift the river is. Made about 12 miles today and camped. Good night.

July 1, 1898: ... pretty tough work. Made about 12 miles, nothing to do but wade & pull the rope. Meet some coming back: no good reports from above. Camped near mouth of creek, about 50 feet wide, where quite a number are camped. Hear they have struck it here. 4 men put packs on their backs and start up the creek although it is 10 at night.

Saturday July 2, 1898: The balance of us resume our weary journey up the river. The place we are going is about 5 miles from here. I steer the boat while the rest pull; find it much easier than wading and pulling the rope. Just before we got to Porcupine Creek we came to rocks straight up and down with now & then one jutting out, and as the current was very rapid we had to pull along close and hang on with our hands. We were over 2 hours making a few hundred feet. The creek we located on is called Porcupine Creek, a very small creek.

One of our party came up ahead & located 6 claims. When we got here we found 4 Englishmen had jumped them. I see nothing to do but let them go, as [our claims] were not located in strict accordance of the law: as the trees marked on were to cut off 4 feet about the ground. We located other [claims], but don't know as they are any good yet. 4 men are putting down a shaft. Down perhaps 10 feet, but ground is frozen and slow work. They build fires in [the hole] to thaw it out. Not yet gravel, just accumulated muck & decayed vegetation. We will help them Monday; and if they find nothing, we will move on.

July 3, Sunday: Second rain since I came to this country and it made a dreary Sunday. Mr. Fail & Mr. Dodge arrived from Black Hills Creek & reported great excitement. They had staked claims for all & advised us to go over & write our names on stakes ourselves. They would stay on Porcupine Creek & look after things here. We loaded a boat & started down river to the mouth of Black Creek, about 6 miles below. We arrived there, put up a tent to put our things in.

Each put a pack of grub & clothes on our backs weighing about 50 pounds and started up the creek ... Terrible night, rain & wet under foot ... Traveled until 4 o'clock in the morning. When we arrived where our claims were staked, we were so anxious to have our claims right we hunted up the stakes and wrote our names to make it legal ... Never got dark the whole night ... could see to read the names on the stakes along the trail quite plain. Built a fire and dried and warmed as best we could ... slept cold and wet. We put in a dreadful night. I don't ever want to put in another like it.

We rested all day, put us up a shelter and fixed for the night. We saw men this night loaded with packs scooting through the brush like wild animals in their mad rush for a claim. One feller was halted by a large cinnamon bear who made him give the road, which he done gracefully.

July 4, 1898, Monday: At midnight last night our party, being American citizens, saluted by firing their pistols. Being so many, it seemed like a battle between the Spaniards and the Americans. Sounded grand in the stillness of this vast solitude, and awakened memories of home & the grand times folks in old Denison would have on the morrow.

Well, as I have broken the Sabbath in the grand rush, I start with the rest to sink a hold: to see if we have anything that glitters like gold ... Dig about 18 inches when we strike frozen ground. We gather wood, build a fire in the hole & keep it burning a few hours ... clean out the hole of glittering stuff, but alas, it is mica. We repeat the same thing for a whole day with the same results. We can get some gold color in the creek bed, showing there is gold here some place. Got to our blankets to sleep, but the mosquitoes, O Lord! & so we celebrate the 4th of July.

July 5: Got up tired, sore, and stiff ... Clean out the hole & start a new fire to thaw out. No gold in sight. Yet, lots of people rushing up and down the creek with backpacks large enough for a horse to pack, looking eagerly for a plce that has not already been staked. The whole creek for 40 miles is stakes. We are up the creek, I judge, 10 to 12 miles.

We have to quit the hole and try some other place. After all our work we can't proceed on account of large boulders being in the bottom. Have no way to get them out, as our tools are 52 miles from here at the mouth of the Stewart River. I have caught a cold from getting wet Sunday night ... If only we find something. This is a hard way to live.

July 6: Started a new hole up the creek a few claims, struck frozen ground about 2 feet down. Go to thawing again by the burning process, get down about 3 feet. One of the boys caught about a dozen fish, like trout, which eat fine. But was only a taste for a lot of hungry men. Mosquitoes terrible.

July 7: Went through the same process as yesterday. Part of our party works nights ... Now about 5 feet down. Struck the first encouraging colors but they are very small. I feel poorly, not about to work much. The trip Sunday night is now telling on me. Have the prospect hole about 7 feet down, some colors found. Don't know what to think. Seems to be a dispute about the discovery of our claim, which may give us trouble, as we may be thrown on the Queen's ground.

July 8: A tree fell across one of our tents last night, but fortunately no one was hurt. One man knew nothing of it until next morning. When a man falls asleep here, he sleeps, as the mosquitoes keep him awake until exhausted and nature can stand it no longer. Got through the day without any incident worth mentioning.

July 9: Burned wood in the prospect hole as before. The last pan showing better colors. 2 of the boys went down the creek for grub; got back with about 100 pounds on their backs. Have got a terrible cold, makes one feel like going home. This makes another day over in this country.

July 10: Walked 10 to 12 miles to foot of the creek, found tent & boat all right. Started down stream at 3 p.m. Current carried us to the mouth of Stewart River at 10 o'clock. The sun not set yet. Mr. Royce and John Knaur were glad to see me. John returned form Dawson 2 days before. He is sick & looks very bad, has fallen off until I hardly knew him. [For all John Knaur's ordeal in that round trip to Dawson, it is not recorded whether he collected the balance on the sale of the goats.] John is not able to make the trip [to the claims], but Mr. Royce and another man will start tomorrow.

Got supper & slept on the boat ... tired, wet & not feeling good no way.

July 11: Mr. Royce & the other man started with packs on their backs for Black Hills Creek. Put in the day sleeping & resting ... Weather is fine ... New pest in the way of a small back fly. Rained some.

July 12: Got up feeling much better. Went to bed at half past 11, not dark. Can see to read as well as any time, Seems strange to go to bed in daylight. Heard it raining on the tent cover over the boat. Can feel the weather getting cooler. This is the most homesick & discouraged lot of people I ever saw; lots of them not having enough to take them out. They hail every boat passing by for news, both from the Yukon & up Stewart River. No good reports from all.

July 13: Nothing new transpiring. Some boats coming in, up from the Yukon. Poor fellers don't know the great disappointments yet in store for them. This Stewart River seemed the hopes of all that came in here. Now at least three thousand people up the river looking for gold, all who return, bring the same dismal story: no good! I know they tell the truth from their looks. They also have their plunder in their boats to corroborate it.

Bought a piece of moose meat for breakfast; eat very fine. Man very stingy with it.

July 14: Waiting patiently for the boys up on Black Hills Creek to come down and report. That is the only creek we can get any kind of a good report from. I hope we may find it there. Everybody discouraged. Wind blew harder today for a couple of hours than I ever saw it in the NWT [North West Territory]. Helped blow the mosquitoes away.

A little steamer came up from Dawson this evening. Did not seem to exceed 2 miles per hour against the strong current. Everybody flocked to it for news & got disappointed. Seemed to be loaded down with people going out.

Friday, July 15, 1898:

On that date, and without explanation, Thomas Boldrick abruptly ceased writing in his diary, leaving the reader to ponder the reasons. Disillusionment, fatigue, or whatever else, he now joined the majority of men who were never motivated to record any of the adventures in the first place. Eventually, he carried his diary home to Texas with its remaining pages blank. The end of his story, he carried home in his head. Those events which he later divulged to his wife and sons are now part of the family legend.

Shortly Boldrick must have given up on boats and rivers and creeks and digging and gold panning—and yes, even on his expectations as well. The day soon came when he too crowded onto the "little steamer loaded down with people going out" to Dawson City, 80 miles down river.

As if his luck had not soured enough, while waiting in Dawson, somewhere along a trail he was accosted by a man brandishing a pistol. The would-be robber called out, "Tom, do you know me?"

Sure enough, Boldrick did recognize this man from his hometown in Texas, but instantly realized the wisdom in denial. His appeasing answer went back: "Never saw you before in my life."

Evidently the thief—with his loathesome method of extracting gold—was satisfied that his victim would not identify him or bring charges in the future. Though spared from being shot or even killed, Boldrick was thus relieved of what little gold he had found, his watch, and all his money. Some 6,000 miles from home and flat broke, he was left with only the resource of contacting his wife and sons. The way home by steamer wended some 1,600 miles down the Yukon River to the Bering Sea; another 2,800 miles to Seattle; then across the States to Texas.

It was told to me by my father that my grandfather, sick from his ordeal in the Klondike, notified the family in Texas of his predicament. They sent money for his passage, expenses, and land trip home to Denison. He arrived there in "sickly" health, but recovered in due time.

In 1909, the youngest son, William Thomas, came to San Diego to get established. He was followed in the next few years by his brothers John and George. The three opened their own shoe store, and then sent for their parents to join them there in retirement. Boldrick's Fine Shoes served San Diegans into the 1960s.

My grandfather, as you have read, was an early successful pioneer in the field of merchandising as a store owner. He was also an adventurer, investor, speculator, an opportunist, risk taker, and a family man who created his own security. He was successful at making his own way in life taking care of himself and his family regardless of the trials of the time. He had three sons, my father being the eldest. He was never a financial burden on his sons, living a happy long life and leaving enough reserve to take care of my grandmother until her death in 1943. Although I never knew him, he was a grandpa to be respected and admired.

Thomas Boldrick, the Texas "Chechako" in the Klondike Gold Rush, died in 1920 at the age of 74 years.