The only route to British Columbia then travelled, except the terrible overland journey, attempting to make which so many perished, was that _via_ New York, by sea to the Isthmus of Panama, thence to San Francisco, and on to Victoria. After bidding adieu to home, friends and acquaintances, I left Woodstock on February 25th, 1862. The journey in some respects was a sad one. It was at the time of the American Civil War, and at every station, after crossing the Niagara River, hundreds of men came on board going to “the front,” leaving behind on the platform their mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, many never to meet again. These scenes revived in my own heart the pain of my recent parting with loved ones. That winter was a terrible one, marked by many heavy snowfalls. In New York State the train passed between high banks of heaped up snow. From New York we took passage on board the old S.S. _Champion_. She was crowded with five hundred men, most of whom were bound for the Fraser River or Cariboo gold mines, and some of them the roughest class we ever met, armed with bowie knives and six-shooters. The language used by many of these men was so vile that I could not sleep below, and to escape such offensive atmosphere I took my blankets and went on deck. We had a very rough passage, and it was terribly cold, so I chose a spot close to the smokestack, and rolling myself up, lay down to rest. One night, during a great storm, the waves swept over the deck, drenching me thoroughly, and the officer of the watch came along and roused me with the words, “My boy, if you don’t get out of this you will be washed overboard.” I picked up my dripping blankets, shook myself, and sought a more sheltered spot. The food supply for the passengers was not all that was needed--I got one potato in the trip. Fortunately my friends had provided me with a well-filled lunch-basket, which afforded me good service. The hungry men at times were rough and selfish. As the stewards would pass the food on to the table these hoggish men would grab it off the plates with their hands, so that if any one happened to be a little more modest he could not get anything. On one occasion a tall, good-natured Irishman thought he had struck it when he seized a long potato, but as he was drawing it to himself two other fellows made a grab, one at each end, and poor Pat was left with just the middle. One day the men stood by the swinging tables and swept the whole of the food off into the sea. Then, rushing to the captain, they declared that if he did not give them something better than “that dead horse” they would use their six-shooters. We were delighted to reach the Isthmus, and crossed over by moonlight on the narrow-gauge railway. It was pleasant to have a night crossing, for it was very hot weather, and the temperature in the middle of the day was almost unbearable.