Canadian Historic Sites: Occasional Papers in Archaeology and History No. 26

St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church, Lake Bennett, British Columbia

by Margaret Carter

Appendix A. Impromptu Farewell Poem by Capt. Jack Crawford.¹

The following little poem was hurriedly written and rendered by "The Poet Scout," at the last of a series of socials held in St. Andrew's Church tent, at Lake Bennett, on the evening of 23 May. The author's sense of its lack of finish was expressed in his characteristic manner when he introduced it to his audience as "a little piece of impromptu 'doggerel'," and he only consented to its publication because of the importunity of his many friends who wanted copies. But unpolished as it is, it faithfully depicts the scenes of the trail, contains some fine passages, and touches some of our tenderest and holiest feelings.

Oh Comrades, friends, and women fair,
Oh girls and boys, without a care,
Oh age and youth, with hearts aglow,
While hope's bright star is shining so
Beyond the lakes, where we are told,
Is found the bright seductive gold.
God knows I hope with you and pray
That tickle fortune will not play
You false good friends, and that before
Old ninety-eight is known no more
Your hopes may all be realized,
And not a boat or scow capsized.
But sailing smoothly down the lakes
Behind the treacherous little cakes
Of once strong glistening glorious ice,
Whereon you have "mushed" along so nice
With dogs, and sail and loaded sleds.
Whereon you've spread your feather beds
Of soft and soothing hemlock boughs,
Now changed to holds of rustic scows,
And while you smoothly glide along
Let voices ring in merry song,
Let faith in Him who, over all,
Doth even note the sparrow's fall,
Give heart and strength, and bring good cheer,
And make us glad that we are here.

Give mirth full sway, let laughter flow,
And scatter sunshine as you go.
Forget the hardships of the trail,
Forget you ever heard men rail
And cuss, and "mush, mush on! "Dick, Blue,"
Oh maybe, I won't larrup you!"
Gee, gee, I say! Haw. Dick! Gee, Spot
Confound you! Now I'm getting hot,
"There now, take that, and that, now yell,"
And then he whispers "this is hell."

Ah friends, we must forget all this,
And think of home — the parting kiss
From woman's lips, so sweet, so fair,
On those same lips that swore a swear.
Don't blame the man. Don't censure Hush,
Just blame the dog and too much "Mush,"
Or, if you wish, just blame the cat
(And thereby hangs a tale, eh Watt!)

But seriously, I fain would win
That touch that makes the whole world kin,
(Spanish excepted, for I declare
There is no human nature there).
But you, my boy, with prospects fair
Think of home, a mother's prayer —
"God bless my wayward, wandering boy.
His father's pride, his mother's joy.
Oh guide his barque from shore to shore
And bring him safely home once more.

Think of the wife, of little Ted.
Of guileless May, and roguish Fred.
And how they clambered on your knee,
And laughed with merry childish glee,
And how, at eve, with faces bright
And all aglow with heavenly light
They clasp their little hands, and say:
"God bless dear papa, far away."

So men and boys — and you, dear girls —
Sweetness refined, you precious pearls,
Who graced our camps, laughed at the gale,
And sprinkled sunshine on the trail!
And you, it was, who started these
"Mental Improvers." if you please!
These meetings where, as brothers, we
Can meet and "mush" and "haw" and "gee;"
Enjoy as good a social feast
As that dished up in South or East
And as for eatables, we fare
As good as people over there —

Except that we are short on greens.
But Boston cannot beat our beans
And toothsome pork, and solid cake.
And doughnuts only men can bake
And then the firm, the rubber pie
We'll use for ballast bye and bye.
And then we've got some talent too
As good as York of Kalamazoo;
Or Skaguay town beyond the pass,
Where every robust lad and lass
Who passes through, I've heard them say,
Are mighty glad to get away —
From "shell game" fiends, and "bunco steer's,"
And all the lies one daily hears
About the town across the bay,
Just newly built and called Dyea.
But as for lies — to be quite fair.
They're just as robust over there.
While here in Bennett, well I'm loath
To tell the truth — its worse than both.

But joking all aside good friends,
Success or failure all depends
On you. Each one must do his part,
Must work with hands and brain and heart,
For there is no such word as fail,
Except to those who will not sail
When winds are fair. So come what will,
Despite the rushing stream or hill,
Press on! and climb. Say "never die,"
And you will get there bye and bye.