Introduction
Of all the colourful events surrounding the Cariboo Gold Rush, few surpass the brief interlude when camels were utilized as pack animals along the Cariboo Road.
They were first used in North America by the United States Army before being brought to San Francisco.
A Seton Portage rancher and packer, John C. Galbraith, imported 23 of the beasts to be used as pack animals between Seton Lake and Barkerville. In turn they were purchased by businessman, Frank Laumeister.
Not surprisingly, the camels proved unsuitable for the terrain, their feet not designed for the rigours of "the road." They also tended to spook every creature they encountered. Those that survived the harsh environment were eventually set loose. The last of the Cariboo camels reportedly died in 1905.
July 1, 1862.
Arrived Clinton. Very hot and dusty. Tethered Nellie to a mile post to munch on bunchgrass ,while went in search of a place to roost. Returned to find irate rancher wavin' a shotgun and steamin' about his cattle bein' spooked. Did notice cows all over the place hangin' off fences and running into trees. Grumpy Breeches called Nellie an "odiferous oddity" and other less flatterin' names and proceeded to shoo at her.
Reckon old Nell was justified in spittin' on him. Ate his hat, too. Got me a bed at the hostelry. Nellie bedded down with the horseflesh in the stables, but they went all weenie on her and charged into the bunkhouse and we was thrown out. Bunked under a wagon. Cain't say I got much shuteye though. Nellie's breath aint so good an' she grund them big molars of hers all night long.
July 2. Hoped to make 70 Mile, but spent all day roundin' up nags after Nellie tried to make friends with the lead mule in a pack train and sent them chargin' about like they'd supped on hornets. Wagon Master threatened to butcher Nell on the spot if I didn't set to gatherin' up his critters.
Slept in a fahlin' down cow shed. Nellie grunted and chittered all blessed night. Could be she's feelin' down in the humps over the mule business an' them not recipercatin' her slobbers.
July 3. Peed down rain all day an' Nell's feet hurtin’. Couldn't hardly git 'er movin'.
Stockman chanced by and ordered me to move on "an' take that lumpy evil-smellin' excuse for a packhorse" with me. Eventually, found a spot in the roadhouse to pitch my bedroll.
Tethered Nellie next the outhouse. Reckon they cancelled each other out. We was doin' just fine until a parcel o' bladders at the bar needed relievin' and Nell happened to make the acquaintance of one of their number just as he was gitin' set to let out a great big sigh. Next thing the biffy wiz rockin' and bouncin' like the stage outa Ashcroft, an' pretty soon there was one hellacious big ruckus an' red flannel scatterin' in all directions.
Needless t' say, the innkeeper were none too pleased an' we got turfed again, but not before Nell got into the kitchen and ate all his soap. Another night 'neath a wagon.
July 4. Headin' to Bridge Creek. Tryin' to anyway. Nell aint too good; burpin' an' blowin' bubbles like a Chinese laundry.
Feller remarked how this ol' ship of the desert looked to have sprung a serious leak.
Hope to meet some of the female persuasion at the 100 Mile. Getting' mighty lonesome with nothin' but a camel for company.
Made it to the 83 Mile before nightfall. Bunked on the floor. Proprietor let me turn Nell out into a field for the night. Luckily, he didn't get a good look at 'er in the dark.
Said as long it weren't one o' them soap-eatin' dromyderrys he'd been hearin' about that knocked over the kitchen stove at the 70 Mile an' burned the place to the ground, he had no objection.
July 5. Lit out for Bridge Creek early, before our host could strong-arm me into helping round up his livestock.
On the way out, spotted a few wild-eyed heifers tangled up in a fence by the creek. Elected to move on - speedy-like.
Arrived at the creek around supper time. Managed to drum up some beans and brew at the 100 Mile House. followed by a bit of shut-eye.
Woke to hostess cryin' down the wrath o' God on ol' Nell. Seems she'd munched through her hobble and sashayed into the yard where the laundry was hangin'. Ate some britches before she got chased off all decorated in undergarments and such. Commotion drew every nipper for miles around. If some o' them hadn't a chucked stones at her, Nell would nivir have got sore and nibbled any a one o' them.
July 6. Couldn't hardly walk this mornin'. Stiff an' sore from sleepin' in the piggery at the 115 Mile.
Nell can't hardly walk neither - feet's all cut an' bleedin' - bein' designed more for sand and shinin' up pyramids. Thinkin' maybe shouldna traded for the mules.
July 7. 116 Mile. We's bogged down. Nell's dug in. Cain't shift her.
At this rate we ain't nivir makin' Bill's Puddle let alone Barkerville. Slept in hay wagon. Scratchin' all over.
July 7. 120 Mile. Had encounter with first of the female persuasion in months. Dissapointin' though.
They was somewhat largish Hurdy Gurdy gals headin' up on the BX stage, before Nell ran it off the road and they was deposited roadside.
Language were none too ladylike neither. Took me the best part o' six hours t' locate Nell after driver loosed off a brace of shots at her. Bedded down 'longside pond. Mosquitos real bad.
July 8. 130 Mile. Feller offert t' take Nell off my hands for pack mule and some fresh duds. Assured me she'd have a soft life an' never want. Didn't see no butcherin' gear so traded right there.
Felt some sad t' see the beast go, but reckon I could do with somewhat less excitement in my life. Will look in on her on the way back.