maraschino cherries better than champagne, but the
party were agreed that it was excellent drinking. One said it had a
pulse; another, that European grapes sucked in more sun than those
grown in America; "The stuff that makes the world go round," remarked a
third. Assuredly it looks well, thought I, and the bubbles caper like
they were alive.

Under the balm and stimulus of the champagne, the men (all of them
old-timers) were not indisposed to talk concerning the party who
brought it into the country and of the things that befell them. Also,
they tell about the other parties who attempted to reach the
gold-diggings by the overland route from Edmonton. These were
heart-breaking tales, with, here and there, a golden thread of humour
showing up in the black fabric of despoliation and defeat.

The thirty members of the Helpman Party came from Great Britain. They
were unfortunate from the start. They arrived at Edmonton on Christmas
Eve, one of them, Captain Alleyn, being ill with pneumonia, from which
disease he died a couple of days later. He was the artist of the
party, and correspondent of Reuter's News Agency.

His was the first military funeral held in the North, so that it was an
event around which much interest centred.

The expedition was under the command of Colonel Helpman and Lord
Avonmore of Gortmerron House, County Tyrone, known to the local folk by
the unkind name of "Lord 'Ave-one-more." He died last year in Ireland.
"A truly remarkable man, my dear," said an old lady of our lemonade
group, "and always he talked of smashing niggers."

All provisions and supplies for the gold crusade were brought from
England, except the horses, and the duty thereon amounted to several
thousand dollars. In truth, they were provisioned under War Office
approval, for, said they, "We are English gentlemen and must travel as
English gentlemen." Baled hay and hay-choppers, baths, beds, tents,
sanitary conveniences, and other impedimenta were imported by the
train-load.

These Canadian men will have it, moreover, that the Britishers brought
in snowshoes for their horses, which gear they were wont to designate
as "bloomin' tennis racquets." I might have believed this
extraordinary statement had I not guessed that my narrator gleaned his
idea from the _Voyages and Explorations of Samuel de Champlain_, for
these imperturbable northmen never so much as blink an eye when adding
the inevitable pinch of spice to a story.