Quesnelle Forks

by Gary R. Hoffman

The Quesnelle River running below Burke was making a noise somewhere between a 747 taking off and a crowd welcoming Jeff Foxworthy to the stage. Even with all the planning he had done for this trip, he never imagined he would find something like this. His trip up the West Access Route to get to the Alaska Highway was barely three days old. He had decided to take a side trip on a road heading northeast out of Williams Lake in British Columbia.

According to his Milepost book, there was supposed to be a ghost town at the end of the road. He had been somewhat skeptical about there actually being a ghost town, but the one picture in the book looked interesting. His drive here had taken him from an asphalt road, to a gravel road, and then to a dirt path through the forest that was barely wide enough to accommodate his car.

When he got to what was left of this town, he was in complete awe. It was indeed the ruins of an old gold mining town. He could see the ruins of a dozen log buildings and remnants of a cemetery. He drove his car as close as he dared to the river’s edge and got out. Above the roar of the river that had provided tons of gold to the old miners, he heard a couple of ravens take off behind him. The sun was shinning brightly on this June morning, and the temperature was in the sixties.

He got his camera out to start recording this amazing place. It wasn’t a “tourist trap” ghost town. It was simply the ruins of an early 1900’s town. The first thing he noticed was an old cook stove sitting on the decaying porch of one cabin. Boy, if that stove could only talk! He walked towards the cabin so he could get closer pictures.

He then stepped through the ruins of where he figured the front door had been. Good Lord! What must have gone on in this place? He starting walking around the ruins of the cabin just to see if he could find any artifacts. Sticking out from under the edge of a fallen roof beam he saw what appeared to be a door from the old cook stove. He pulled on it, but it was stuck. He laid his camera down and found a smaller piece of wood to use as a pry bar. He got the larger beam up enough to move the stove door. As he pulled it out, he heard a scraping noise. The door had been lying on a metal pie tin. In the middle of the pie tin, there was a small sewn-bound notebook. The two pieces of metal had made a perfect place to protect the notebook. Wow!

He picked up the notebook and headed back towards his car. He got a sandwich out of his cooler and sat on the hood of his car to look at the notebook. He slowly opened the notebook, trying to make sure he didn’t damage it. He then started to read.

My name is John Schulte, of Cheshire County, England. If I have notched my date stick correctly, today is Monday, January 22, 1903, and tomorrow will be my twenty-third birthday. I say “if,” because sometimes the intense cold makes the mind do funny things. I decided to start this journal because I feel the end of my life may be near.

I left my dear home in England and the security of my position teaching at St. Luke’s Preparatory School, over two years ago. The lure of finding gold brought me here. I have not been as lucky as many of the other blokes who came here. Most of them have made their fortune and moved on or returned to their homes.

Six of us decided to stay the winter and hope the melting snows of spring would bring more gold down the Quesnel River. We buddied up, with two men to a cabin. We have plenty of everything we need except food. When the others left, what they could not carry out or haul on their pack animals, they gave to the six of us, all that is except their food.

One of my major concerns is that my cabin mate, Thomas Knoll, disappeared two days ago. He had been ranting for a couple of days about the cold, but I really don’t feel he just lost his head and wandered off. Before the rest of us even realized he was gone, another of our town members, Jules Bennett, laid claim to some of his clothing. It is difficult to talk to the others without Jules being around.

Yesterday, I went out in search of wood and to look around some for any signs of Thomas. Before I could really look for him, I fell through the ice on the river. My left foot was numb before I got back to the cabin. Today, part of it is black. I’m afraid it is frozen.

The intense cold is wearing on all of us in one way or another.

Tuesday, January 23. If I were home, I would be visiting my dear parent’s house tonight for tea and cakes. I must go and see if I can talk to Zachary and David without Jules being around.

The situation is getting worse.

I talked to David just now and Zachary has apparently wandered off during the night. He may have gone out in the night to relieve himself, but we saw no tracks in the snow anywhere. It is almost like he flew away.

There was an area where Jules had drug a large branch up for firewood, so he could have covered up tracks that way.

The only good side of all of this is we now have more food.

Wednesday, January, 24. The cold must be getting to my mind. I no longer seem to think straight. I could have sworn I heard David whistling outside this morning, but Kenneth Jones, his cabin mate, tells me he is no longer in camp. He, too, disappeared sometime during the night.

Kenneth and I decided to move in together so we can keep a watch over each other during the night. We will take turns sleeping. We did manage to bring all of his food to my cabin before Jules could get to it. I’m having a most difficult time walking. The blackness in my foot is spreading.

Thursday, January, 25. Jules came pounding on our door early this morning demanding to know what became of the food in Kenneth’s cabin. He yelled through the door that we had more than enough for two. We yelled back that he had more than enough for one.

Unfortunately, the line has now been drawn. It is Kenneth and I against Jules. Only God knows what will happen.

Friday, January 26. Kenneth and I have spent our entire day inside the cabin. Kenneth fashioned a bar to go across our door so the latch can not be opened from the outside. We also took a spare blanket, put it over our only window, and then nailed boards behind it. It has made our cabin very dark, but we both feel it is necessary to keep Jules out. We do have a good supply of kerosene and candles. One problem is the wick in our kerosene lamp. It is getting very close to being burnt up. We have no spares.

Kenneth has spent his time inside well. He likes to whittle and is very talented in that art. He has fashioned a new handle for his hunting knife out of a moose horn and has carved his initials in it, as well as the head of a moose on the hilt of the handle.

Once today, I thought I heard a bear prowling outside our cabin. Kenneth reminded me all the bears were still in hibernation. He figured it was Jules trying to find some way into our cabin. Earlier in the day, we both thought we heard someone trying to raise the latch on our door. We yelled at Jules to go away, but he did not answer us.

Saturday, January 27. We had to go out this morning to empty the bucket we are now forced to use for our toilet needs. I carried the bucket and Kenneth walked behind me carrying an axe. Since I have been limping badly because of my frozen foot, we decided he would have an easier time of it if Jules should try to attack us.

After emptying the bucket, we went out to get some firewood as we were running very low. We have still seen nothing of Jules. As we were cutting up some dead, fallen limbs, we saw him. He was sitting on a stump about halfway up a slight hillside. He was maybe a hundred meters away. He made no attempt to approach us or say anything to us. We simply cut our wood and carried it back to the cabin, while, of course, keeping an eye on him. We have no idea what he might try next.

Sunday, January 28. My foot is giving me great pain. It is not completely black, but red streaks are beginning to show up on my legs. My foot is rotting on my live body, and I am probably getting blood poisoning. I found myself staring at Kenneth’s hunting knife today, wondering if I could cut off my own foot. I am not sure I would ask him to do such a thing.

Kenneth read out loud from his Bible this morning. It is the closest thing we have to a church service.

Around noon, I’m sure I heard Jules walking around the outside of our cabin. We must find a way to make him stop. We are prisoners here now!

Monday, January 29. Jules came to the door early this morning. He was asking that we let him in so we could all talk. Of course, we refused. He got furious and started pounding on the door. Then we think he got a large stick or log and tried to batter it down.

Kenneth sat in the corner of the cabin for the rest of the day. He slept off and on, but made no attempt to talk to me. He seems to be going inside himself. With my physical condition, if something happens to Kenneth, I will not be able to defend myself against Jules. Sometime, he will catch me outside. All he would really have to do is make me stay outside. I would quickly freeze to death.

Tuesday, January 30. Around dawn, I heard much noise outside. I knew Jules was tearing up something, but had no idea what. I finally convinced Kenneth to help me empty the bucket again, but didn’t have much confidence in his ability to help if anything happened.

Once we were outside, we saw Jules had torn the doors off all the cabins around us, except his. He had also broken out any windows that were left. I began to see his plan. If he could get to our cabin before we could, we would have no way to stay warm. But what about his cabin? Couldn’t we go there? I have many more questions than answers.

We hurried back to our cabin. We did not see him.

Wednesday, January 31. Last night we heard wolves howling very close. They must be getting hungry. Their food is probably running short, also.

Kenneth went out early this morning, cut down a small live tree, and fashioned a crutch for me. Jules was walking in a circle around us, but staying several meters away. He reminded me of the wolves method of attacking. We kept watching each other, but he never tried to approach us. He never spoke to us either, nor we to him.

We have spent the rest of the day in our cabin. Occasionally, we heard Jules mumbling just outside our walls. Kenneth seemed to retreat a little further today. He simply sits close to the stove and does not even respond when I talk to him. Today, he has never even made eye contact with me.

Maybe it is our lack of light that effects him, also. We are now burning only one candle at a time, and our cabin is very dark and dreary.

Thursday, February 1. I do not know what is to become of me now. Kenneth went outside this morning, for what reason, I do not know. I tried to ask him why, but he did not answer. I then tried to follow him. Jules came running at him from the side of our cabin, yelling like a banshee. I was hobbling far enough behind to be of no help. Jules had a hatchet raised as he came at Kenneth. Kenneth drew his hunting knife. At almost the same moment, Jules hit Kenneth in the neck with the hatchet, and Kenneth plunged his hunting knife into Jules’ belly. They both went down bleeding badly.

I tried to help Kenneth, but could get no response from him. Jules groaned once, but then quit breathing. I could not even bury their bodies. I pushed as much snow over them as I could with my crutch. I’m sure by now their bodies are frozen solid.

As much as it pained me, I pulled the knife out of Jules. I also took the hatchet. I need some kind of protection, even though I may not be able to use it.

I have tried to review my situation. I can find no bright spots, except I now have enough food to probably last until spring, if I should live that long. I’m not sure if I will be able to get wood. My leg becomes more useless each day. The poison in my now infected leg will surely kill me. If I attempt to cut it off, I will probably bleed to death. So I am stuck in this cabin with only the infernal cold for company.

Friday, February 2. Last night, I heard the wolves just outside the cabin. I’m sure they were feasting on the bodies out there. There was much growling and yapping among them. I am afraid to even venture out. I do not want to see what I know is there.

I have been in the cabin all day. I dread tomorrow. I will have to go out to find more wood. Maybe, if I go to the left of the cabin, I can avoid seeing the grizzly mess.

A while ago, it seemed to get very quiet outside. The wind died and there was little sound. I peeked out around the corner of the blanket over the window. The snow coming down very gently, but heavy. My job of getting wood will now be more difficult.

Saturday, February 3. It is my mother’s birthday today. Again, if I were home, I would be enjoying tea and cakes with her tonight, instead of facing certain death as I am here.

When I went out for wood this morning, my eyes were drawn to the spot where the two bodies should have been. They appeared to be gone. I shuttered at the thought of the wolves dragging them away. With the new snow, there was no sign of the tragedy that had occurred there.

I now sit here contemplating what to do about my leg. I just do not think I can attempt to sever it, yet not to is certain death.

Whatever happens, may God have mercy on my soul!

That was the last entry in the small journal. Burke slid off the hood of his car and laid the journal on his front seat. He went back into the cabin. Of course, there was nothing there to give him any answers.

After he had looked around for a couple of hours and taken many pictures, he had to drive through the town of Likely on his way back to the main highway. Once there, he noticed a museum of mining there. He decided to stop in.

The man attending the museum seemed very helpful and told Burke he would try and answer any questions he may have. “You know, there is something I would like to know about,” Burke told him. “Do you have any information on a person named John Schulte who may have lived around here in the early 1900’s?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know. You look around, and I’ll see what I can find out in our data base.” The man clicked some keys on his computer.

“Hey, thanks.” Burke approached the man again after finishing looking around the museum. “Any luck?”

“Actually, yes. It seems in the spring of 1903, several hopeful miners returned to Quesnelle Forks for the summer months. They found the remains of a man. A paper he had in his pocket identified him as John Schulte. John apparently froze or starved to death. A large hunting knife with the initials “KJ” carved into the handle was found next to him, actually down by his right leg. His body was found inside a locked cabin. Probably kept the wolves from dragging his body away. Does that help you any?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” Burke paused. “Does it say anything in your information about whether John had both of his legs or not?”

“No, not really. It says a knife was found by his right leg. No mention of his left leg. What made you think he may have lost a leg?“

“Just a minute. I’ll be right back. I have a book in my car I think I need to donate to the museum.”

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