James Kenny

I found myself at the Gold Rush Cemetery in Scagway, Alaska years ago on a summer adventure. What a shock to find the grave of James Kenny, Prince Edward Island with what I would call a “high class” tombstone. I was able to go to the local museum five minutes before closing time and found his death certificate. The curator was extremely helpful and also told me after a brief but intense conversation that I was meant to go to a town just across the border in British Columbia called Atlin. He also said, in a mysterious fashion, that if I visited this small town with it’s vibrant artistic community, I would never leave again. Superstitiously I made it a point not to go. This is a ballad about a young man who finds himself trapped in place and in time.

James Kenny (1876-1901)

My name it is James Kenny As my tombstone does proclaim And you have traveled all this way To stand upon my grave

I am cursed to tread this rocky path Since those heady days of old When many walked the Chilkoot pass With a thirst for Klondike gold

I came here with my father Far from our Island home To seek our share of fortune In this dreary land of cold

I am but one of many Who held no pick or pan But lost his soul to gold dust Washed out from river sand

And so I died here lonesome A broken hearted boy Buried by his own poor father Who lost his pride and joy

We came from many places Leaving all we knew behind And I have left my mother Who on her pillow cried

Say hello to Harley Baker Soapy Smith and John Malone For each day they walk the pass with me And each night they rest alone

We a weary band of spirits Who in truth are strangers still For we march in silence each long day Then return to Gold Rush hill

Take warning all you foolish men Who long for danger found You’re like me and my companions Lying in a burial ground

I climb a path each evening To rest here in the clay I am doomed to walk tomorrow Until the end of days