Father De Smet was enthusiastic in his enjoyment of the forests and the

mountains; speaking often of the "skyward palaces and holy towers" among

the hills, "the immortal pine," the "rock-hung flower," the "fantastic

grace of the winding rivers." The desert country through which he

travelled, and of which we also saw something in coming to this place,

he called "a little Arabia shut in by stern, Heaven-built walls of

rock." In the narrow valleys at the foot of the Cascade Mountains, he

found magnificent groves of rhododendrons, thousands of them together,

fifteen or twenty feet high,--green arches formed underneath by their

intertwined branches; above, bouquets of splendid flowers, shading from

deepest crimson to pure white.

He mourned very much over the superstitions of the Indians; but said,

nevertheless, that an attack of severe illness, which he suffered after

one of his journeys, was no doubt sent as a punishment for his too

carnal admiration of nature.

* * * * *

While we were talking with Father Joseph, and looking over the journal,

a messenger rode up to the door, and told him that _Tenas Marie_ (Little

Mary) was dying. The Indian agent, who stood by, said, "It is not much

of a loss; she is a worthless creature." Father Joseph turned to him in

a most dignified way, and said, "It is a human being;" and then to

Christine, and asked if she would lend him a horse, she having a whole

herd at command. Presently he started off for a whole night's ride. I

thought, if I were Little Mary, after my bad life, when I must enter

into account for it, I should be a good deal cheered and supported to

see his kind eyes, and hear his firm voice directing me at the last.

The Coeurs d'Alene (pointed hearts, or hearts of arrows--flint)[1]

were so called from their determined resistance to having the white men

come among them. They did not desire to have one of the Hudson Bay

Company's posts upon their land, although the other tribes favored their

establishment among them, wishing to barter their skins and obtain

fire-arms; but said, that, if the white men saw their country, they

would want to take it from them, it was so beautiful.

Father Joseph was their interpreter in the negotiations between them

and the United States Government. They attacked Col. Steptoe, while he

was passing through their territory, because they had heard that the

white men were going to build a road which would drive away the deer and

the buffalo. It was explained to them, that, although this was so, other

advantages would more than compensate for it. This was beyond their

comprehension. To them, the advantages of civilization bore no

comparison to the charm of their free, roving life. When the army

officers entered the Coeur d'Alene country, they declared that no

conception of heaven could surpass the beauty of its exquisite lakes,

embosomed in the forest. This tribe held firm against all propositions

of the government to treat with them, until Donati's comet appeared in

1858; when, supposing it to be a great fiery broom sent to sweep them

from the earth, they accepted a treaty.

The "Battle of Four Lakes" was fought in this country. An old man whom

we met at the fort in Walla Walla, who saw this battle, gave us some

account of it. The lakes are surrounded with rocks covered with pine.

Beyond them is a great rolling country of grassy hills. For about two

miles, he said, this open ground was all alive with the wildest, most

fantastic figures of mounted Indians, with painted horses, having

eagle-feathers braided into their tails and manes; each Indian fighting

separately on his own account. He described to us the appearance of the

war chief as he rode to battle, his own head hidden by a wolf's head,

with stiff, sharp ears standing erect, ornamented with bears' claws, and

under it a circlet of feathers. From this head depended a long train of

feathers that floated down his back; the loss of which would be the loss

of his honor, and as great a disaster to him as, to a Chinaman, the loss

of his cue. His war-horse was painted, as well as his own person, and

also profusely decorated with feathers on head and tail. The Indians

have such a fancy for feathers, that, in some of their medicine

ceremonies, they smear their heads with a sticky substance, and cover

them all over with swan's-down.

Lieut. Mullan's surveying expedition roused many of the tribes to

desperation. Owhi, the Yakima chief, when urged to give up his

land,--or, what amounted to the same thing, to allow free passage to the

surveying party and the road-makers,--argued that he could not give away

the home of his people; saying, "It is not mine to give. The Great

Spirit has _measured_ it to my people." Not being successful in his

arguments, he organized the outbreak of the following winter. The army

destroyed the caches filled with dried berries, and the pressed cake

which the Indians prepare from roots for their winter food, many lodges

filled with grain, and hundreds of horses; the officers mentioning in

their report, that it would insure the Indians a winter of great

suffering, and concluding in these words: "Seldom has an expedition been

undertaken, the recollection of which is invested with so much that is

agreeable, as that against the Northern Indians."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] To the Canadian _voyageur_, the word _alene_ (awl) meant any

sharp-pointed instrument.

VI.

Colville to Seattle.--"Red."--"Ferrins."--"Broke Miners."--A Rare

Fellow-Traveller.--The Bell-Mare.--Pelouse Fall.--Red-Fox

Road.--Early Californians.--Frying-Pan

Incense.--Dragon-Flies.--Death of the Chief Seattle.

SEATTLE, August 23, 1866.

We were detained at Fort Colville several days longer than we desired,

seeking an opportunity to get back to the Columbia River, by some chance

wagon going down from the mines, or from some of the supply-stations in

the upper country. In our expedition on the "Forty-nine," we had seen a

great many miners, and, among them, one horrid character, with a flaming

beard, who was known by every one as "Red." He had been mining in the

snow mountains, far up in British Columbia, and joined us to go down on

the steamer to Colville. He was terribly rough and tattered-looking. The

mining-season in those northern mountains is so short, that he said he

was going back to winter at the mines, so as to be on the spot for work

in the spring, and that he should take up about forty gallons of grease

to keep himself warm through the winter.

He and his companions told great stories about their rough times in the

mountains. Some of them mentioned having been reduced to the extremity

of living on "ferrins" when all other food had failed. These accounts

were generally received, by the rest of the miners, with great outbursts

of laughter. That appeared to be their customary way of regarding all

their misfortunes,--at least, in the retrospect. We wondered what the

"ferrins" could be. Nobody seemed to resort to them, except in the

direst need. Upon inquiry, we found out that they were _boiled ferns_. I

have always noticed that even insects of all kinds pass by ferns. I

suspect that even the hungriest man would find them rather unsatisfying,

but this light diet seemed to have kept them in the most jovial spirits.

R. was rather averse to travelling in such company, and always presented

"Red" to me as the typical miner, when opportunities offered for our

getting down from Colville with a party from the mines. Finally I

persuaded him to accept either "Buffalo Bill," who offered to take us by

ourselves, or an Irishman who insisted upon having a few miners with

him. I think he was rather prejudiced against the former, on account of

his name; and we therefore made an agreement with the latter, to take

us, with only two miners, instead of ten as he at first desired, that R.

should see them before we started, and that we should have the wagon to

ourselves at night. As it happened, we left in haste, and did not see

the miners until they leaped from the wagon, and began to assist in

putting in our baggage. That was not an occasion, of course, for

criticising them. Besides that, I saw, when I first looked at them, that

they were rather harder to read than most people I had met; and I could

not in a minute tell what to make of them. Our wagoner said they were

"broke miners." I did not know exactly what that meant, but thought they

might be very desperate characters, made more so by special

circumstances. One of them looked like a brigand, with his dark hair and

eyes. But I didn't mind; for I was tired of travelling about, and

anxious to get home. I thought I would sleep most of the way down; so I

put back my head, and shut my eyes. Presently the dark man began to talk

with R., in a musical voice, about the soft Spanish names of places in

California; and I could not sleep much. Then he spoke of the primitive

forms in which minerals crystallized, the five-sided columns of volcanic

rock, and the little cubes of gold. I could make no pretence at sleep

any longer; I had to open my eyes; and once in a while I asked a

question or two, although I would not show much interest, and determined

not to become at all acquainted with him, because we were necessarily to

be very intimate, travelling all day together, and camping together at

night. But I watched him a great deal, and listened to his conversation

upon many subjects. I think, that not only on this journey, but in all

the time since we came to this coast, we have not enjoyed any thing else

so much. He had uncommon powers of expression, and of thought and

feeling too, and took great interest in every thing. He had even a

little tin box of insects. He showed us the native grains, wild rice,

etc., the footprints of animals, the craters of old volcanoes, and

called us to listen to the wild doves at night, and the cry of the loon

and the curlew.

We travelled in a large freight-wagon, drawn by four mules. A pretty

little "bell-mare" followed the wagon. At night she was tied out on the

plain; and the mules were turned loose to feed, and were kept from

wandering far away by the tinkle of the bell hung on her neck. We slept

on beautiful flowering grass, which our wagoner procured for us on the

way. When he tied great bunches of it on the front of the wagon, to feed

the animals when they came to a barren place, it looked as if we were

preparing to take part in some floral procession. The first night, we

camped in the midst of the pine-trees. When I woke in the night, and

looked round me, the row of dark figures on either side seemed like the

genii in "The Arabian Nights," that used to guard sleeping princesses.

Besides the knowledge which our fellow-traveller possessed of the

country through which we were passing, which made him a valuable

companion to us then, his general enthusiasm would have made him

interesting anywhere. I remember a little incident at one of our noon

stopping-places, which we thought was very much to his credit. He always

hastened to make a fire as soon as we stopped. It was rather hard to

find good places, sheltered from the wind, where it would burn, and

which would furnish us, too, with a little shade. On this occasion there

was a magnificent tree very near us. We were passing out of the region

of trees, so it was a particularly welcome sight. He started the fire

close to it. It happened to be too near; the pitch caught fire, and

presently the trunk was encircled with flame. He was desperate to think

that he should have been guilty of an act of "such wanton

destructiveness," as he called it,--especially as it was the last fine

tree on the road. He abandoned all idea of dinner, and did nothing

through that fiery noon, when we could hardly stir from the

shade,--which we found farther off,--but rush between the stream near by

and the tree, with his little camp-kettle of water, to try to save it.

He looked back with such a grateful face, as we left the spot, to see

that the flames were smothered. There was something like a child about

him; that is, an uncommon freedom from the wickedness that seems to

belong to most met, certainly the class he is in the habit of

associating with. I doubt if there is one of the men we saw on the

"Forty-nine" who would not have been delighted to burn that tree down;

and how few of them would have thought, as he did, to put the little

pieces of wood that we had to spare, where fuel was scarce, into the

road, so that "some other old fellow, who might chance to come along,

might see them and use them "!

He told us one beautiful story about miners, though, in connection with

the loss of the "Central America." He had a friend on board among the

passengers, who were almost all miners going home. When they all

expected to perish with the vessel, a Danish brig hove in sight, and

came to the rescue. But the passengers could not all be transferred to

her. They filled the ship's boats with their wives and their treasure,

and sent them off; and the great body of them went down with a cheer and

a shout, as the vessel keeled over.

The event of special interest, in our journey home, was our visit to the

Pelouse Fall. We had heard that there was a magnificent fall on the

Pelouse, twelve miles by trail from the wagon-road, which we were very

desirous of seeing; but no one could give us exact directions for

finding it. Our friend the miner wanted very much to see it also; and as

he seemed to have quite an instinct for finding his way, by rock

formations and other natural features of the country, we ventured to

attempt it with him. The little bell-mare, which was a _cayuse_ (Indian)

horse, was offered for my use, and an old Spanish wooden saddle placed

upon her back. I had no bridle; but I had been presented at the fort

with a _hackama_ (a buffalo-hair rope), such as the Indians use with

their horses. This was attached to the head of the horse, so that the

miner could lead her. My saddle had an arrangement in front by which to

attach the lasso, in catching animals. The miner said that just the same

pattern was still in use in Andalusia and other Spanish provinces. I

felt as if I were starting on quite a new career. When he lifted me on

to the horse, he said, "How light you are!" It was because every care

had dropped off from me.

We rode over the wildest desert country, with great black walls of rock,

and wonderful canyons, with perpendicular sides, extending far down into

the earth. Mr. Bowles, in his book, "Across the Continent," says he

cannot compare any thing else to the exhilaration of the air of the

upland plains; neither sea nor mountain air can equal it. The extreme

heat, too, seemed to intensify every thing in us, even our power of

enjoyment, notwithstanding the discomfort of it. The thermometer marked

117 deg. in the shade. I felt as if I had never before known what breezes

and shadows and streams were. Just as we had reached the last limit of

possible endurance, the shadow of some great wall of rock would fall

upon us, or a little breeze spring up, or we would find the land

descending to the bed of a stream. At length our miner, who had been

for the last part of the way looking and listening with the closest

attention, struck almost directly to the spot, hardly a step astray. It

was all below the surface of the earth, so that hardly any sound rose

above; and there was no sign of any path to it, not a tree, nor shrub,

nor blade of grass near, but an amphitheatre of rock, and the beautiful

white river, in its leap into the canyon falling a hundred and ninety

feet. The cliffs and jagged pinnacles of basaltic rock around it were

several hundred feet high. It looked like a great white bridal veil. It

was made up of myriads of snowy sheaves, sometimes with the faintest

amethyst tint. It shattered itself wholly into spray before it struck

the water below,--that is, the outer circumference of it,--and the inner

part was all that made any sound.

The miner looked upon it with perfect rapture. He said to me, "It is a

rare pleasure to travel with any one who enjoys any thing of this kind."

I felt it so too.

His striking directly at the spot, after many miles of travel, without

any landmarks, reminded me of the experience of Ross, the Hudson Bay

trader, when he travelled from Fort Okanagan on foot, two hundred miles

to the coast, taking with him an Indian, who told him they would go by

the Red Fox road; that is, the road by which Red Fox the chief and his

men used to go. After they had travelled a long distance over a pathless

country, without any sign of a trail, or climbed along the rocky banks

of streams, he asked his guide when they would reach the Red Fox road.

"This is it, you are on," was the reply. "Where?" eagerly inquired Ross:

"I see no road here, not even so much as a rabbit could walk on."--"Oh,

there is no road," answered the Indian: "this is the place where they

used to pass."

At another time, when he was travelling with an Indian guide, who was

accompanied by some of his relatives, the latter were left at a place

called Friendly Lake, and were to be called for on their return. They

went on to their journey's end, and on their way back, some days after,

stopped at the place; but no sign of the relatives appeared. The guide,

however, searched about diligently, and presently pointed to a small

stick, stuck up in the ground, with a little notch in it. He said, "They

are there," pointing in the direction in which the stick slanted,--"one

day's journey off." Exactly there they were found.

There was a kind of generosity about this "broke miner," that made us

ready to forgive a great deal in him. No doubt there would have been a

great deal to forgive if we had known him more. He was, very likely, in

the habit of drinking and gambling, like the others that we saw. I know

he was a terrible tobacco chewer and smoker. He has been seventeen years

on the Pacific side of the continent, came out as a "forty-niner," has

travelled a great deal, and taken notes of all he has seen, and said he

thought of making use of them some time, if his employments would ever

admit of it. I think he is the best fitted to describe the country, of

all the persons I have met.

He gave us quite a vivid idea of the semi-barbarous life of the

California pioneers, and of the intense desire they sometimes felt for a

glimpse of their homes, their wives, and children. I remembered Starr

King's saying that women and children had been more highly appreciated

in California ever since, on account of their scarcity during the first

few years. I rather think the sentiment of the miners was somewhat

intensified by the extreme difficulty they found in doing women's work.

One of them, now an eminent physician, pricked and scarred his fingers

in the most distressing manner, in attempting to sew on his buttons,

and patch the rents in his garments. Another member of the camp, who

was afterwards governor of the State, won his first laurels as a cook,

by the happy discovery, that, by combining an acid with the alkali used

in the making of their bread, the result was vastly more satisfactory

than where the alkali alone was used. In crossing the plains, they had

used the alkali water found there for this purpose.

A travelling theatrical company, who presented themselves with the

announcement that they would perform a drama entitled "The Wife," met

with unbounded appreciation. Carpenters were employed at sixteen dollars

a day to prepare for its presentation. This was the first play ever

acted in San Francisco. The company were encouraged to remain, and give

other performances; but, as there was only one lady actor, every play

had to be altered to conform to this condition of things.

The most tempting advertisement a restaurant could offer was, "potatoes

at every meal." Those who indulged in fresh eggs did so at an expense of

one dollar per egg.

When the signal from Telegraph Hill announced the arrival of the monthly

mail-steamer, there was a general rush for the post-office; and a long

line was formed, reaching from the office out to the tents in the

chapparal. The building was a small one, and the facilities for

assorting and delivering the mail so limited, that many hours were

consumed in the work. Large prices were often paid for places near the

head of the line; and some of the more eager ones would wrap their

blankets around them, and stand all night waiting, in order to get an

early chance.

Thus, with endless stories and anecdotes, accounts of his adventures as

a miner and explorer, and descriptions of the new and wonderful places

he had visited, and the curious people he had met, our fellow-traveller

beguiled the tediousness of the journey, and continually entertained us.

As we approached Walla Walla, we made our last camp at the Touchet, a

lovely stream. I woke in the morning feeling as if some terrible

misfortune had befallen us. I could not tell what, until I was fully

roused, and found it could be nothing else than that we must sleep in a

bed that night.

We left our miner in Walla Walla, to get work, I think, as a machinist.

My acquaintance with him was a lesson to me, never to judge any one by

appearance or occupation. We met afterwards some little, common-looking

men, who had been so successful at the mines that they could hardly

carry their sacks of gold-dust, which made hard white ridges in their

hands. They had fifteen thousand dollars or more apiece. I thought, how

unequally and unwisely Fate distributes her gifts; but then, as Mrs. S.

said when there was such a rush for the garments brought on board the

steamer for us at Panama, after our shipwreck, "Let those have them who

can least gracefully support the want of them."

Among the miners of the upper country, who had not seen a white woman

for a year, I received such honors, that I am afraid I should have had a

very mistaken impression of my importance if I had lived long among

them. At every stopping-place they made little fires in their

frying-pans, and set them around me, to keep off the mosquitoes, while I

took my meal. As the columns of smoke rose about me, I felt like a

heathen goddess, to whom incense was being offered. The mosquitoes were

terrible; but we found our compensation for them in the journey

homeward. I remember the entomology used to call the dragon-fly the

"mosquito-hawk;" and such dragon-flies I never before saw as we met with

near the rivers, especially at the Pelouse. There seemed to be a

festival of them there, and one kind of such a green as I believe never

was seen before on earth,--so exquisite a shade, and so vivid. There

were also burnished silver and gold ones, and every beautiful variety of

spotting and marking. A little Indian boy appeared there, dressed in

feathers, with a hawk on his wrist,--a wild, spirited-looking little

creature.

On Sunday we reached Olympia, and saw the waters of the Sound, and the

old headlands again. I had no idea it could look so homelike; and when

the mountain range began to reveal itself from the mist, I felt as if

nothing we had seen while we were gone had been more beautiful, more

really impressive, than what we could look at any day from our own

kitchen-door.

As we approached Seattle, we began to gather up the news. It is very

much more of an event to get back, when you have had no newspapers, and

only the rarest communication of any kind, while you have been gone.

Seattle, the old chief, had died. When he was near his end, he sent word

over to the nearest settlement, that he wished Capt. Meigs, the owner of

the great sawmill at Port Madison, to come when he was dead, and take

him by the hand, and bid him farewell.

We learned that the beautiful Port Angeles was to be

abandoned,--Congress having decided to remove the custom-house to Port

Townsend,--and that no vessels would go in there. It seemed like leaving

Andromeda on her rock. We are going down to make a farewell visit.

VII.

Port Angeles Village and the Indian Ranch.--A "Ship's

_Klootchman_."--Indian _Muck-a-Muck_.--Disposition of an Old Indian

Woman.--A Windy Trip to Victoria.--The Black

_Tamahnous_.--McDonald's in the Wilderness.--The Wild Cowlitz.--Up

the River during a Flood.--Indian Boatmen.--Birch-Bark and Cedar

Canoes.

EDIZ HOOK, October 21, 1866.

We are making a visit at the end of Ediz Hook. No one lives here now but

the light-keepers. When we feel the need of company, we look across to

the village of Port Angeles and the Indian ranch. It is very striking to

see how much more picturesque one is than the other, in the distance. In

the village, all the trees have been cut down; but the lodges of the

Indians stand in the midst of a maple grove, and in this Indian-summer

weather there is always a lovely haze about it, bright leaves, and blue

beams of mist across the trees. Living so much out of doors as they do,

and in open lodges, their little fires are often seen, giving their

ranch a hospitable look, and making the appearance of the village very

uninviting in comparison.

OCTOBER 26, 1866.

We have had a great storm; and last night, about dark, a white figure of

a woman appeared in the water, rising and falling, outside the breakers.

Some Indians went out in their canoes, and took her in to the shore. One

of them came to tell us about it. A "ship's _klootchman_" (wife or

woman), he said it was, and a "_hyas_ [big] ship" must have gone down.

It was the figure-head of a vessel. The next morning, I saw that the

Indians had set it up on the sand, with great wings--which they made of

broken pieces of spars--at the sides. It was the large, handsome figure

of a woman, twice life-size. They seemed to regard it as a kind of

goddess; and I felt half inclined to, myself, she looked out so serenely

at the water. I sat down by her side, thinking about what had probably

happened, to try to get her calm way of regarding it. A sloop was sent

over from the custom-house, to take it across the bay for

identification; but that proved impracticable. The captain said that he

knew the work,--it was English carving. Soon after, a vessel came in,

having lost her figure-head. The men on board said that a strange ship

ran into her in the night, and immediately disappeared. They supposed

she was much injured, as they afterwards saw a deck-load of lumber

floating, which they thought had come from her. They said it might be

the "Radama," bound for China.

OCTOBER 29, 1866.

To-day, when we were coasting along the shore, we saw Yeomans preparing

his canoe for a long excursion. It was lined with mats. In the middle

were two of the baskets the Indians weave from roots, filled with red

salmon-spawn. Against them lay a gray duck, with snowy breast; then,

deer-meat, and various kinds of fishes. Over the whole he had laid great

green leaves that looked like the leaves of the tulip-tree. The narrow

end of the canoe was filled with purple sea-urchins, all alive, and of

the most vivid color. I took one up, and asked him if they were good to

eat. He said, "Indian _muck-a-muck_, not for Bostons" (whites). His

arrangements looked a great deal more picturesque than our preparations

for picnics.

The light-keeper at Ediz Hook told us to-day that he had exhumed an old

Indian woman, whom some of her tribe had buried alive, or, rather,

wrapped up and laid away in one of the little wooden huts in their

graveyard, according to their custom of disposing of the dead. They had

apparently become tired of the care of her, and concluded to anticipate

her natural exit from the world by this summary disposition of her. Mr.

S. heard her cries, and went to the rescue. He restored her to the

tribe, with a reprimand for their barbarity, and told them the Bostons

would not tolerate such _mesahchie_ (outrageous) proceedings.

PORT ANGELES, October 31, 1866.

We made a spirited voyage to Victoria, across the Straits of Fuca. There

had been a very severe storm, which we thought was over; but it had a

wild ending, after we were on our way, and beyond the possibility of

return. We saw the California steamer, ocean-bound, putting back to

port. Our only course was to hasten on. The spray was all rainbows, and

there were low rainbows in the sky,--incomprehensible rainbows above and

below,--and the strongest wind that ever blew. It was all too wonderful

for us to be afraid: it was like a new existence; as if we had cast off

all connection with the old one, and were spirits only. We flew past the

high shores, and looked up at the happy, homelike houses, with a strange

feeling of isolation and independence of all earthly ties.

I staid on deck till every man had gone in, feeling that I belonged

wholly to wind and wave, borne on like a bird. But the captain came and

took me in, lest I should be swept from the deck. When we reached

Victoria, great wooden signs were being blown off the stores, and

knocking down the people in the streets. This is certainly the home of

the winds.

NOVEMBER 20, 1866.

To-day we met on the beach Tleyuk (Spark of Fire), a young Indian with

whom we had become acquainted. Instead of the pleasant "_Klahowya_" (How

do you do?), with which he was accustomed to greet us, he took no notice

of us whatever. On coming nearer, we saw hideous streaks of black paint

on his face, and on various parts of his body, and inquired what they

meant. His English was very meagre; but he gave us to understand, in a

few hoarse gutturals, that they meant hostility and danger to any one

that interfered with him. We noticed afterwards other Indians, with

dark, threatening looks, and daubed with black paint, gathering from

different directions. The old light-keeper was launching his boat to

cross over to the spit, and we turned to him for an explanation. He

warned us to keep away from the Indians, as this was the time of the

"Black _Tamahnous_," when they call up all their hostility to the

whites. He pointed to some Indian children, who had a white elk-horn,

like a dwarf white man, stuck up in the sand to throw stones at. I had

noticed for the last few days, when I met them in the narrow paths in

the woods, that they stopped straight before me, obliging me to turn

aside for them.

We saw them withdraw to an old lodge in the woods, as if to hold a

secret council. We did not feel much concerned as to the result of it

for ourselves, as we held such friendly relations to Yeomans, the old

chief, and had always given the Indians all the sea-bread they

wanted,--that being the one article of our food that they seemed most to

appreciate. As it proved, it was a mere thunder-cloud, dissipated after

a few growls.

MCDONALD'S, December 18, 1866.

Not knowing the name of the nearest town, I date this from McDonald's,

that having been our last stopping-place. It is on the stage-route

between Columbia River and Puget Sound, and a place worth remembering. I

wish I could give an idea of its cheeriness, especially after travelling

a fortnight in the rain, as we have done. At this season of the year,

every thing is deluged; and the roads, full of deep mudholes and

formidable stumps, are now at their worst. The heavy wagons move slowly

and laboriously forward, sometimes getting so deep in the mire that it

is almost impossible to extricate them, and at times impeded by fallen

trees, which the driver has to cut away. They are poorly protected

against the searching rains, and for the last two days we have been

drenched.

When we caught the first glimpse of the red light in the distance, we

felt very much inclined to appreciate any thing approaching comfort,

tired and dripping as we were; but what our happy Fates had in store for

us, we never for a moment imagined. We had hardly entered the house

before we felt that it was no common place. The fireplace was like a

great cavern, full of immense logs and blazing bark. It lighted up a

most hospitable room. From a beam in the low ceiling, hung a great

branch of apples. I counted twenty-three bright red and yellow apples

shining out from it.

Two stages meet here, and the main business at this time of the year is

drying the passengers sufficiently for them to proceed on their way the

next day. The host and his family stood round the fire, handling and

turning the wet garments with unbounded good-nature and patience. The

stage-drivers cracked jokes and told stories. A spirit of perfect

equality prevailed, and a readiness to take every thing in the best

possible part. The family are Scotch,--hard-working people; but they

have not worked so hard as to rub all the bloom off their lives, as so

many people have that we have seen.

When supper was announced, another surprise awaited us. Instead of the

unvarying round of fried meat and clammy pie with which we had hitherto

been welcomed, we were refreshed with a dish of boiled meat, a

corn-starch pudding, and stewed plums. Why some other dweller in the

wilderness could not have introduced a little variety into his bill of

fare, we could never conceive. It seemed a real inspiration in McDonald,

to send to California or Oregon for a little dried fruit and some papers

of corn-starch. He gave us, too, what was even more delightful than his

wholesome food,--a little glimpse of his home-life. To a tired

traveller, what could be more refreshing than a sight of somebody's

home? Generally, at whatever place we stopped, we saw only the

"men-folks;" the family, often half-breed, being huddled away in the

rear. Here, in the room in which the guests were received, lay the

smiling baby in its old-fashioned cradle. Two blithe little girls danced

in and out, and the old grandfather sat holding a white-haired boy. When

dinner was over, the great business of drying the clothes was resumed by

the travellers and the family; and we held our wrappings by the fire,

and turned them about, until we became so drowsy that we lost all sense

of responsibility. We found, the next morning, that our host sat up and

finished all that were left undone. He had become so accustomed to this

kind of work, that he did not seem to consider it was any thing extra,

or that it entitled him to any further compensation than the usual one

for a meal and a night's lodging. When we offered something more, he

pointed to a little box nailed up beside the door, over which was a

notice that any one who wished might contribute something for a school

which the Sisters were attempting to open for the children of that

neighborhood. Being Scotch people, I could hardly believe they were

Catholics; but found upon inquiry that their views were so liberal as to

enable them to appreciate the advantages of education, by whomsoever

offered. I was quite touched by McDonald's little contribution to

civilization, in the midst of the wilderness. As I looked back, in

leaving, at the great trees and the exquisitely curved slope of his

little clearing, I felt that in the small log house was something worthy

of the fine surroundings.

OLYMPIA, December 23, 1866.

When we reached Cowlitz Landing, we found the river quite different in

character from what we had known it before. It had risen many feet above

its ordinary level, and was still rising, and had become a wide, fierce,

and rushing stream, bearing on its surface great trees and fragments of

wrecked buildings, swiftly sailing down to the Columbia. How serenely we

descended the river last year, floating along at sunset, admiring the

lovely valley and the hills, reaching over the side of the canoe, and

soaking our biscuits in the glacier-water, without once thinking of the

vicissitudes to which we were liable from its mountain origin!

The little steamer that recently had begun to compete with the Indian

canoes in the traffic of the river, and the carrying of passengers, did

not dare to attempt to ascend it. Navigation was not to be thought of by

ordinary boats, or by white men, and was possible only by canoes in the

most trusty hands. No land-conveyance could be had at this point. We

were told that we might take the stream, by those familiar with it, if

we could find good Indians willing to go with us. One called "Shorty"

was brought forward to negotiate with us. He has the same dwarfed

appearance I have noticed in the old women, and that strange,

Egyptian-looking face and air. It would be impossible for any one to

tell, by his appearance, whether he personally were old or young; but

the ancientness of the type is deeply impressed upon him. If

half-civilized Indians had been offered, or those that had had much

intercourse with the whites, I should have hesitated more to trust them;

but he was such a pure Indian, it seemed as if he were as safe as any

wild creature. Whether he would extend any help, in emergencies, to his

clumsy civilized passengers, was a more doubtful question. However, as

the alternative was to wait indefinitely, and the character of the

stopping-places, as a rule, drives one to desperate measures, we

confided ourselves to his hands, and embarked with him and his

assistant, a fine athletic young Indian.

We fixed our eyes intently upon him, as if studying our fates. He was

perfectly imperturbable, and steered only, the other poling the canoe

along the edge of the stream, and grasping the overhanging trees to

pull it along, using the paddle only when these means were not

available. His work required unceasing vigilance and activity, and was

so hard that it would have exhausted any ordinary man in a few hours;

but he kept on from early morning till dark. Always in the most

difficult places, or if his energy seemed to flag in the least, Shorty

would call out to him, in the most animated manner, mentioning a canoe,

a hammock, and a _hyas closhe_ (very nice) _klootchman_; at which the

young man would laugh with delight, and start anew. I considered it was

probably his stock in life, the prospect of an establishment, which was

presented to rouse and cheer him on. Shorty had been recommended to us

as one of the best hands on the river. I began to see that it was for

his power of inspiring others, as well as for his extreme vigilance in

keeping out of the eddies, and avoiding the drift in crossing the river,

to be caught in which would have been destruction. We crossed several

times, to secure advantages which his quick eye perceived. I noticed

that whenever he pointed out any particular branch on the shore to be

seized, how certain the other was to strike it at once. With white men,

how much blundering and missing there would have been!

I never felt before, so strongly, how many vices attend civilization,

which it seems as if men might just as well be free from, as when I

compared these Indians with the common white people about us,--the

stage-drivers, mill-men, and others,--with no smoking nor drinking nor

tobacco-chewing, and so strong and graceful, and sure in their aim, that

no gymnast I have ever seen could compare with them. The ingenious ways

in which they helped themselves along in places where any boat of ours

would have been immediately overturned, converting obstacles often into

helps, were fascinating to study. As night came on, I began to wish that

their consciences were a little more developed, or, rather, that they

had a little more sense of responsibility with regard to us. The safety

of their passengers is no burden whatever on the minds of the Indians.

Their spirits seem to rise with danger. They know that they could very

well save themselves in an emergency, and I believe they prefer that

white people should be drowned. I could only look into the imperturbable

faces of our boatmen, and wonder where we were to spend the night.

Finally, with a terrible whirl, which I felt at the time must be our

last, they entered a white foaming slough (a branch of the river), and

drew up on the bank. They announced to us then that we were to walk a

mile through the woods, to a house. I think no white man, even the most

surly of our drivers, would have asked us to do that,--in perfect

blackness, the trees wet and dripping,--but would have managed to bring

us to some inhabited place. They started off at a rapid gait, and we

followed. We could not see their forms; but one carried something white

in his hand, which we faintly discerned in the darkness, which served as

our guide. They sang and shouted, and sounded their horn, all the way. I

supposed it was to keep off bad spirits, but the next day we heard that

in those woods bears and panthers were sometimes found. At length a

light appeared. We felt cheered; but when we approached it, two furious

dogs rushed out at us. They were immediately followed by their master,

who took us in. After consultation with him, we concluded to abandon our

Indians, as he said he could take us, on the following day, through the

woods to the next stopping-place, with his ox-team. The quiet comfort of

being transported by oxen was something not to be resisted, after having

our nerves so racked. We felt an immense satisfaction in coming again

upon our own kind, even if it were only in an old log cabin, where the

children were taken out of their bed to put us in.

We have seen no bark canoes here; they are all of cedar. No doubt there

is good canoe-birch on the river-banks, but something more durable is

needed. The North-west Fur Company, in early days, sent out a cargo of

birch from Montreal to London, to be shipped from there round Cape Horn

to the north-west coast of America, to be made into canoes for their men

to navigate the Columbia and its branches; in direst ignorance of the

requirements of the country, as well as of its productions.

VIII.

Voyage to San Francisco.--Fog-Bound.--Port Angeles.--Passing Cape

Flattery in a Storm.--Off Shore.--The "Brontes."--The Captain and

his Men.--A Fair Wind.--San Francisco Bar.--The City at

Night.--Voyage to Astoria.--Crescent City.--Iron-Bound

Coast.--Mount St. Helen's.--Mount Hood.--Cowlitz Valley and its

Floods.--Monticello.

SAN FRANCISCO, February 20, 1867.

We are here at last, contrary to all our expectations for the last ten

days. We left Puget Sound at short notice, taking passage on the first

lumber-vessel that was available, with many misgivings, as she was a

dilapidated-looking craft. We went on board at Port Madison, about

dusk,--a dreary time to start on a sea-voyage, but we had to accommodate

ourselves to the tide. The cabin was such a forlorn-looking place, that

I was half tempted to give it up at the last; when I saw, sitting beside

the rusty, empty stove, a small gray-and-white cat, purring, and rubbing

her paws in the most cheery manner. The contrast between the great,

cold, tossing ocean, and that little comfortable creature, making the

best of her circumstances, so impressed me, that I felt ashamed to

shrink from the voyage, if she was willing to undertake it. So I

unpacked my bundles, and settled down for a rough time. There were only

two of us as passengers, lumber-vessels not making it a part of their

business to provide specially for their accommodation.

The sky looked threatening when we started; and the captain said, if he

thought there was a storm beginning, he would not try to go on. But as

we got out into the Straits of Fuca, the next day, a little barque, the

"Crimea," came up, and said she had been a week trying to get out of the

straits, and thought the steady south-west wind, which had prevented

her, could not blow much longer. We continued beating down towards the

ocean, and in the afternoon a dense fog shut us in. The last thing we

saw was an ocean-steamer, putting back to Victoria for shelter. Our

captain said his vessel drew too much water for Victoria Harbor, and the

entrance was too crooked to attempt; but, if he could find Port Angeles,

he would put in there. A gleam of sunshine shot through the fog, and

showed us the entrance; and we steered triumphantly for that refuge. Two

other vessels had anchored there. But just as we were about rounding

the point to enter, and were congratulating ourselves on the quiet night

we hoped to spend under the shelter of the mountains, the captain spied

a sail going on towards the ocean. He put his vessel right about,

determined to face whatever risks any other man would. But the vessel

seemed unwilling to go. All that night, and the next day, and the next

night, we rode to and fro in the straits, unable to get out.

Passing Cape Flattery is the great event of the voyage. It is always

rough there, from the peculiar conformation of the land, and the

conflict of the waters from the Gulf of Georgia, and other inlets, with

the ocean-tides. Our captain had been sailing on this route for fifteen

years, but said he had never seen a worse sea than we encountered. We

asked him if he did not consider the Pacific a more uncertain ocean than

the Atlantic. At first he said "Yes;" then, "No, it is pretty certain to

be bad here at all times." What could Magellan's idea have been in so

naming it? He, however, sailed in more southern latitudes, where it may

be stiller. We expected to sail _on_ the water; but our vessel drove

_through_ it, just as I have seen the snow-plough drive through the

great drifts after a storm. Going to sea on a steamer gives one no idea

of the winds and waves,--the real life of the ocean,--compared to what

we get on a sailing-vessel. Every time we tried to round the point,

great walls of waves advanced against us,--so powerful and

defiant-looking, that I could only shut my eyes when they drew near. It

did not seem as if I made a prayer, but as if I were myself a prayer,

only a winged cry. I knew then what it must be to die. I felt that I

fled from the angry sea, and reached, in an instant, serene heights

above the storm.

Finally, as the result of all these desperate efforts, in which we

recognized no gain, the captain announced that we had made the point,

but we could get no farther until the wind changed; and, while we still

felt the fury of the contrary sea, it was hard to recognize that we had

much to be grateful for. We saw one beautiful sight, though,--a vessel

going home, helped by the wind that hindered us. It was at night; and

the light struck up on her dark sails, and made them look like wings, as

she flew over the water. What bliss it seemed, to be nearing home, and

all things in her favor!

I could hear all about us a heavy sound like surf on the shore, which

was quite incomprehensible, as we were so far from land. But the water

drove us from the deck. The vessel plunged head foremost, and reeled

from side to side, with terrible groaning and straining. If we attempted

to move, we were violently thrown in one direction or another; and

finally found that all we could do was to lie still on the cabin-floor,

holding fast to any thing stationary that we could reach. We could hear

the water sweeping over the deck above us, and several times it poured

down in great sheets upon us. We ventured to ask the captain what he was

attempting to do. "Get out to sea," he said, "out of the reach of

storms." That is brave sailing, I thought, though I would not have gone

if I could have helped it. We struggled on in this way for a day and a

night, and then he said we were beyond the region of storms from land. I

am afraid I should, if left to myself, linger always with the

faint-hearted mariners who hug the shore, notwithstanding this great

experience of finding our safety by steering boldly off from every thing

wherein we had before considered our only security lay. After this, I

performed every day the great exploit of climbing to the deck, and

looking out at the waste of water. I saw only one poor old vessel,

pitching and reeling like a drunken man. I wondered if we could look so

to her. She was always half-seas-over. I came to the conclusion it was

best not to watch her, but it was hard to keep my eyes off of her. She

was our companion all the way down, always re-appearing after every gale

we weathered, though often far behind. I remember, just as we were

fairly under way, hearing a man sing out, "There's the old 'Brontes'

coming out of the straits." My associations with the name were gloomy in

the extreme.

When the wind and sea were at their worst, considering the extremity, we

felt called upon to offer some advice to the captain, and suggested

that, under such circumstances, it might be advisable to travel under

bare poles; but that, he assured us, was only resorted to when a man's

voice could not possibly be heard in giving orders.

The captain was quite a study to us. On shore he presented the most

ordinary appearance. When we had been out two or three days, I noticed

some one I had not seen before on deck, and thought to myself, "That is

an apparition for a time of danger,--a man as resolute as the sea

itself, so stern and gray-looking." I was quite bewildered, for I

thought I must certainly before that have seen every one on board. It

proved to be the captain in his storm-clothes. One of the sailors was a

Russian serf, running away, as he said, from the Czar of Russia, not

wholly believing in the safety of the serfs. He had shipped as a

competent sea-man; but when he was sent up to the top of the

mizzen-mast, to fix the halliards for a signal, he stopped in the most

perilous place, and announced that he could not go any farther. It seems

that every man on board was a stranger to the captain. It filled us with

anxiety to think how much depended on that one man. One night there was

an alarm of "A man overboard!" If it had been the captain, how aimlessly

we should have drifted on! I liked to listen, when we were below, to

hear the men hoisting the sails, and shouting together. It sounded as if

they were managing horses, now restraining them, and now cheering them

on. When the captain put his hand on the helm, we could always tell

below. There was as much difference as in driving. In the midst of the

wildest plunging, he would suddenly quiet it by putting the vessel in

some other position, just as he would have held in a rearing horse.

Two or three times, when there was a little lull, I went on deck; and

the air was as balmy as from a garden. What can it mean, this fragrance

of fresh flowers in the midst of the sea?

Some virtues, I think, are admirably cultivated at sea. Night after

night, as we lay there, I said to the captain, "What is the meaning of

those clouds?" or "that dull red sky?" And he answered so composedly,

"It's going to be squally," that I admired his patience; but it wore

upon us very much.

At length, one night, as I lay looking up through our little skylight,

at the flapping of the great white spanker-sheet,--my special enemy and

dread, because the captain would keep it up when I thought it unsafe, it

seemed such a lawless thing, and so ready to overturn us every time it

shifted,--a great cheerful star looked in. It meant that all trouble was

over. One after another followed it. I could not speak, I was so glad. I

could only look at them, and feel that our safety was assured. The wind

had changed. I appreciated the delight of Ulysses in "the fresh North

Spirit" Calypso gave him "to guide him o'er the sea,"--the rest of our

voyage was so exhilarating.

We had one more special risk only,--crossing the bar of San Francisco

Bay. The captain said, if he reached it at night, he expected to wait

until daylight to enter; but I knew that his ambitious spirit would

never let him, if it were possible to get over. About three o'clock in

the morning, I heard a new sound in the water, like the rippling of

billows, as if it were shallow. I hastened upon deck, and found that we

were apparently on the bar. The captain and the mate differed about the

sounding. Immediately after, I heard the captain tell a man to run down

and see what time it was; and, upon learning the hour, heard him

exclaim, in the deepest satisfaction, "Flood-tide, sure! Well, we had a

chance!" I felt as if we had had a series of chances from the time we

left Port Angeles Harbor, to the running in without a pilot, and

drifting, as we did, into the revenue-cutter, just as we anchored. We

had a beautiful entrance, though. It is a long passage, an hour or two

after crossing the bar. San Francisco lay in misty light before us, like

one of the great bright nebulae we used to look at in Hercules, or the

sword-handle of Perseus. It is splendidly lighted. As we drew nearer,

there seemed to be troops of stars over all the hills.

ASTORIA, ORE., October 17, 1868.

In making the voyage from San Francisco, I could hardly go on deck at

all, until the last day; but, lying and looking out at my little

port-hole, I saw the flying-fish, and the whales spouting, and the

stormy-petrels and gulls.

On Sunday the boat was turned about; and when we inquired why, we were

told that the wind and sea were so much against us, we were going to put

back into Crescent City. It came at once into our minds, how on Sunday,

three years before, the steamer "Brother Jonathan," in attempting to do

the same thing, struck a rock, and foundered, and nearly all on board

were lost.

Crescent City is an isolated little settlement, a depot for supplies for

miners working on the rivers in Northern California. It has properly no

harbor, but only a roadstead, filled with the wildest-looking black

rocks, of strange forms, standing far out from the shore, and affords a

very imperfect shelter for vessels if they are so fortunate as to get

safely in. The Coast Survey Report mentions it as "the most dangerous of

the roadsteads usually resorted to, filled with sunken rocks and reefs."

It further says, that "no vessel should think of gaining an anchorage

there, without a pilot, or perfect knowledge of the hidden dangers. The

rocks are of peculiar character, standing isolated like bayonets, with

their points just below the surface, ready to pierce any unlucky craft

that may encounter them." The "Dragon Rocks" lie in the near vicinity,

at the end of a long reef that makes out from Crescent City. All the

steamers that enter or depart from there must pass near them.

It is very remarkable, that, while the Atlantic coast abounds in

excellent harbors, on the Pacific side of the continent there is no good

harbor where a vessel can find refuge in any kind of weather between San

Francisco Bay and San Diego to the south, and Port Angeles, on the

Straits of Fuca, to the north. It is fitly characterized by Wilkes as an

"iron-bound coast."

We reached here Saturday night. Sunday morning, hearing a silver

triangle played in the streets, we looked out for tambourines and

dancing-girls, but saw none, and were presently told it was the call to

church. We were quite tempted to go and hear what the service would be,

but the sound of the breakers on the bar enchained us to stop and listen

to them.

PORTLAND, ORE., October 20, 1868.

In coming up the river from Astoria, we had always in view the

snow-white cone of St. Helen's, one of the principal peaks of the

Cascade Range. Nothing can be conceived more virginal than this form of

exquisite purity rising from the dark fir forests to the serene sky.

Mount Baker's symmetry is much marred by the sunken crater at the

summit; Mount Rainier's outline is more complicated: this is a pure,

beautiful cone. It is so perfect a picture of heavenly calm, that it is

as hard to realize its being volcanic as it would be to imagine an

outburst of passion in a seraph. Fremont reports having seen columns of

smoke ascending from it, and showers of ashes are known to have fallen

over the Dalles.

As we approached Portland, the sharp-pointed form of Mount Hood came

prominently into view. Portland would be only a commonplace city, the

Willamette River being quite tame here, and the shores low and

unattractive; but this grand old mountain, and the remnant of forest

about it, give it an ancient, stately, and dignified look.

OLYMPIA, October 30, 1868.

In crossing from the Columbia River to the Sound, we saw, along the

Cowlitz Valley, marks of the havoc and devastation caused by the floods

of last winter. The wild mountain stream had swept away many familiar

landmarks since we were last there; in fact, had abandoned its bed, and

taken a new channel. It gave us a realizing sense of the fact that great

changes are still in process on our globe. Where we had quietly

slumbered, is now the bed of the stream. We mourned over the little

place at Monticello, where for eight years a nice garden, with rows of

trim currant-bushes, had gladdened the eyes of travellers, and the neat

inn, kept by a cheery old Methodist minister, had given them hospitable

welcome,--not a vestige of the place now remaining. Civilization is so

little advanced in that region, that few men would have the heart or the

means to set out a garden.

IX.

Victoria.--Its Mountain Views, Rocks, and Flowers.--Vancouver's

Admiration of the Island.--San Juan Islands.--Sir James

Douglas.--Indian Wives.--Northern Indians.--Indian

Workmanship.--The Thunder-Bird.--Indian Offerings to the Spirit of

a Child.--Pioneers.--Crows and Sea-Birds.

VICTORIA, B.C., November 15, 1868.

We are to stay for several months in this place. We are delightfully

situated. The house has quite a Christmas look, from the holly and other

bright berries that cluster round the windows. The hall is picturesquely

ornamented with deer's horns and weapons and Indian curiosities. But the

view is what we care most about. On our horizon we have the exquisite

peaks of silver, the summits of the Olympic Range, at the foot of which

we lived in Port Angeles. We look across the blue straits to them.

Immediately in front is an oak grove, and on the other side a great

extent of dark, Indian-looking woods. There are nearer mountains, where

we can see all the beautiful changes of light and shade. Yesterday they

were wrapped in haze, as in the Indian summer, and every thing was soft

and dreamy about them; to-day they stand out bold and clear, with great

wastes of snow, ravines, and landslides, and dark prominences, all

distinctly defined. When the setting sun lights up the summits, new

fields of crystal and gold, and other more distant mountains, appear.

It is very refreshing to get here, the island has such a rich green look

after California. It is quite rocky about us; but the rocks even are

carpeted deep with moss, and the old gnarled branches of the oaks have a

coating of thick, bright velvet. It is now the middle of November; and

the young grass is springing up after the rain, and even where it does

not grow there is no bare earth, but brown oak-leaves and brakes, with

soft warm colors, particularly when the sun strikes across them. The

skies, too, are like those at home, with the magnificent sunrise and

sunset that only clouds can give. The California sky is, much of the

time, pure unchanging blue.

When we first landed here, we were very much impressed by the appearance

of the coast, it being bold and rocky, like that of New England; while

on the opposite side of the straits, and almost everywhere on the Sound,

are smooth, sandy shores, or high bluffs covered with trees. The trees,

too, at once attracted our attention,--large, handsome oaks, instead of

the rough firs, and a totally different undergrowth, with many flowers

wholly unknown on the opposite side, which charmed us with their

brilliancy and variety of color; among them the delicate cyclamen, and

others that we had known only in greenhouses. They continually recalled

to us the surprise of some of the early explorers at seeing an

uncultivated country look so much like a garden. We were told that much

less rain falls here than on the American side; the winds depositing

their moisture as snow on the mountains before they reach Victoria,

which gives it a dryer winter climate.

Vancouver, in his narrative, repeatedly speaks of the serenity of the

weather here, and says that the scenery recalled to him delightful

places in England. He felt as if the smooth, lawn-like slopes of the

island must have been cleared by man. Every thing unsightly seemed to

have been removed, and only what was most graceful and picturesque

allowed to remain. He says, "I could not possibly believe that any

uncultivated country had ever been discovered exhibiting so rich a

picture." When requested by the Spanish Seignor Quadra to select some

harbor or island to which to give their joint names, in memory of their

friendship, and the successful accomplishment of their business (they

having been commissioned respectively by their governments to tender and

receive the possessions of Nootka, given back by Spain to Great

Britain), he selected this island as the fairest and most attractive

that he had seen, and called it the "Island of Quadra and Vancouver."

The "Quadra," as was usual with the Spanish names, was soon after

dropped.

Between Vancouver's Island and Washington Territory lie the

long-disputed islands of the San Juan group; the British claiming that

Rosario Strait is the channel indicated in the Treaty of 1846, which

would give them the islands; while the United States claim that De Haro

Strait is the true channel, and that the islands belong to them.

These islands are valuable for their pasturage and their harbors, and

most of all for their situation in a military point of view. While this

question is still in dispute, the British fort at one end of San Juan,

and the American fort at the other, observe towards each other a

respectful silence.

DECEMBER 1, 1868.

Sir James Douglas, the first governor of British Columbia, selected the

site of Victoria. Owing to his good taste, the natural beauty of the

place has been largely preserved. The oak groves and delicate

undergrowth are a great contrast to the rude mill-sites of the Sound,

where every thing is sacrificed to sending off so much lumber. He lives

at Victoria in a simple, unpretending way. It was made a law in British

Columbia, that no white man should live with an Indian woman as wife,

without marrying her. He set the example himself, by marrying one of the

half-breed Indian women. Some of the chief officers of the Hudson Bay

Company did the same. The aristocracy of Victoria has a large admixture

of Indian blood. The company encouraged their employes, mostly French

Canadians, to take Indian wives also. They were absolute in prohibiting

the sale of intoxicating drinks to the Indians, and dismissed from their

employ any one who violated this rule. They gave the Indians better

goods than they got from the United States agents; so that they even now

distinguish between a King George (English) blanket, and a Boston

(American) blanket, as between a good one and a bad one.

It was, no doubt, owing to the influence of Sir James Douglas, that

Lady Burdett Coutts sent out and established a high school here for boys

and girls.

DECEMBER 5, 1868.

We saw here some of the Northern Indians of the Haidah tribe, from Queen

Charlotte's Islands. They came in large canoes, some of which would hold

a hundred men, and yet each was hollowed out of a single log of cedar.

They came down to bring a cargo of dogfish-oil to the light-house at

Cape Flattery. They camped for two weeks on the beach, and we went often

to see them. Having led such an isolated life on their islands,

surrounded by rough water, and hardly known to white men, they have

preserved many peculiarities of their tribe, and are quite different in

their looks and habits from the Indians of Puget Sound. Some of the old

women had a little piece of bone or pearl shell stuck through the lower

lip, which gave them a very barbarous appearance; but in many ways the

men had more knowledge of arts and manufactures than any other Indians

we have seen. They showed us some ornaments of chased silver, which they

offered for sale; also bottle-shaped baskets, made of roots and bark, so

closely woven together as to hold water. But most curious to us were

some little black, polished columns, about a foot high, that looked like

ebony. They were covered with carvings, very skilfully executed. When we

took them into our hands, we were surprised at their weight, and found

that they were made of a fine, black coal-slate. A man who stood by

explained to us that this slate is a peculiar product of their islands.

When first quarried, it is so soft as to be easily cut; and when

afterward rubbed with oil, and exposed to the air, it becomes intensely

hard. At the foot of the column was the bear, who guards the entrance of

their lodges; at the top, the crow, who presides over every thing. On

some were frogs and lizards. One was surmounted by the "thunder-bird," a

mythological combination of man and bird, who lives among the mountains.

When he sails out from them, the sky is darkened; and the flapping of

his wings makes the thunder, and the winking of his eyes the lightning.

It is very strange that the "thunder-bird" should be one of the deities

of the Indians of the North-west, where thunder is so rare as to be

phenomenal. We heard of him in other parts of British Columbia, and see

him represented in carvings from Sitka. Tatoosh Island, off Cape

Flattery, where the Makah Indians live, derives its name from

_Tootootche_, the Nootka name for the "thunder-bird." The Makahs

originally came from the west coast of Vancouver's Island. They deem

themselves much superior to the tribes of the interior, because they go

out on the ocean. Their home being on the rocky coast islands, they

naturally look to the water to secure their living. Their chief business

is to hunt the whale, they being the only Indians who engage in this

pursuit.

Sometimes we found the Indians so deeply interested in a game they were

playing, that they took no notice of us. It was played with slender

round sticks, about six inches long, made of yew wood, so exquisitely

polished that it had a gloss like satin. Some of the sticks were inlaid

with little bits of rainbow pearl, and I saw one on which the figure of

a fish was very skilfully represented. It is quite incomprehensible, how

they can do such delicate work with the poor tools they have. They use

only something like a cobbler's knife.

They shuffled the sticks under tow of cedar-bark, droning all the time a

low, monotonous chant. It is curious that any thing so extremely simple

can be so fascinating. They will sit all day and night, without stopping

for food, and gamble away every thing they possess. It appeared to be

identical with the old game of "Odd or Even" played by the ancient

Greeks, as described by Plato.

We saw here the great conical hat worn by the Cape Flattery Indians,

similar in form to the Chinese hat; and also some blankets of their own

manufacture, woven of dog's hair.

PORT TOWNSEND, WASHINGTON TERRITORY,

April 4, 1869.

This afternoon we rode past the graveyard of the Indians on the beach.

It is a picturesque spot, as most of their burial-places are. They like

to select them where land and water meet. A very old woman, wrapped in a

green blanket, was digging clams with her paddle in the sand. She was

one of those stiff old Indians, whom we occasionally see, who do not

speak the Chinook at all, and take no notice whatever of the whites. I

never feel as if they even see me when I am with them. They seem always

in a deep dream. Her youth must have been long before any white people

came to the country. When she dies, her body will be wrapped in the

tattered green blanket, and laid here, with her paddle, her only

possession, stuck up beside her in the sand.

We saw two Indians busy at one of the little huts that cover the

graves. They were nailing a new red covering over it. We asked them if a

chief was dead. A _klootchman_ we had not noticed before looked up, and

said mournfully, "No," it was her "little woman." I saw that she had

before her, on the sand, a number of little bright toys,--a doll wrapped

in calico, a musical ball, a looking-glass, a package of candy and one

of cakes, a bright tin pail full of sirup, and two large sacks, one of

bread, and the other of apples.

Another and older woman was picking up driftwood, and arranging it for a

fire. When the men had finished their work at the hut, they came and

helped her. They laid it very carefully, with a great many openings, and

level on the top, and lighted it.

Then the grandmother brought a little purple woollen shawl, and gave it

to the old man. He held it out as far as his arm could reach, and waved

it, and apparently called to the spirit of the child to come and receive

it; and he then cast it into the fire. He spoke in the old Indian

language, which they do not use in talking with us. It sounded very

strange and thrilling. Each little toy they handled with great care

before putting it into the flames. After they had burned up the bread

and the apples, they poured on some sugar, and smothered the flames,

making a dense column of smoke.

Then they all moved a little farther back, and motioned us to also. We

wondered they had tolerated us so long, as they dislike being observed;

but they seemed to feel that we sympathized with them. The old man staid

nearest. He lay down on the sand, half hidden by a wrecked tree. He

stripped his arms and legs bare, and pulled his hair all up to the top

of his head, and knotted it in a curious way, so that it nodded in a

shaggy tuft over his forehead. Then he lay motionless, looking at the

fire, once in a while turning and saying something to the women,

apparently about the child, as I several times distinguished the word

_tenas-tenas_ (the little one). I thought perhaps he might be describing

her coming and taking the things. At times he became very animated. They

did not stir, only answered with a kind of mournful "Ah--ah," to every

thing he said.

At last their little dog bounded forward, as if to meet some one. At

that, they were very much excited and pleased, and motioned us to go

farther off still, as if it were too sacrilegious for us to stay there.

They all turned away but the old man, and he began to move in a stealthy

way towards the fire. All the clumsiness and weight of a man seemed to

be gone. He was as light and wiry as a snake, and glided round the old

drift that strewed the sand, with his body prostrate, but his head held

erect, and his bright eyes fixed on the fire, like some wild desert

creature, which he appeared to counterfeit. The Indians think, that, by

assuming the shape of any creature, they can acquire something of its

power. When he had nearly reached the fire, he sprang up, and caught

something from it. I could not tell whether it was real or imaginary. He

held it up to his breast, and appeared to caress it, and try to twine it

about his neck. I thought at first it was a coal of fire; perhaps it was

smoke. Three times he leaped nearly into the flames in this way, and

darted at something which he apparently tried to seize. Then he seemed

to assure the others that he had accomplished his purpose; and they all

went immediately off, without looking back.

APRIL 20, 1869.

We are surprised to find so many New-England people about us. Many of

those who are interested in the sawmills are lumbermen from Maine. The

two men who first established themselves in the great wilderness, with

unbroken forest, and only Indians about them, are still living near us.

They are men of resources, as well as endurance. A man who comes to do

battle against these great trees must necessarily be of quite a

different character from one who expects, as the California pioneer did,

to pick up his fortune in the dust at his feet. I am often reminded of

Thoreau's experience in the Maine woods. He says, "The deeper you

penetrate into the woods, the more intelligent, and, in one sense, less

countrified, do you find the inhabitants; for always the pioneer has

been a traveller, and to some extent a man of the world; and, as the

distances with which he is familiar are greater, so is his information

more general and far-reaching."

MAY 30, 1869.

The gulls and crows give parties to each other on the sand, at low-tide.

Farther out are the ducks, wheeling about, and calling to each other,

with sharp, lively voices. It is curious to watch them, and try to

understand their impulses. Sometimes they are all perfectly motionless,

sitting in companies of hundreds, in the deepest calm; sometimes all in

a flutter, tripping over the water, with their wings just striking it,

uttering their shrill cry. They dive, but never come to shore. What one

does, all the rest immediately do. Sometimes the whole little fleet is

gone in an instant, and the water unruffled above them.

The prettiest among them is the spirit-duck,--its motion is so

beautiful, as it breasts the little billows, or glides through the still

water. Their bosoms are so like the white-caps, I have to look for their

little black heads, to see where they are. Once in a while, a loon comes

sailing along, in its slow, stately way, turning its slender, graceful

neck from side to side, as if enjoying the scenery. We never see more

than two of them together, and they generally separate soon.

X.

Puget Sound and Adjacent Waters.--Its Early Explorers.--Towns,

Harbors, and Channels.--Vancouver's Nomenclature.--Juan de

Fuca.--Mount Baker.--Chinese "Wing."--Ancient Indian Women.--Pink

Flowering Currant and Humming-Birds.--"Ah Sing."

PORT TOWNSEND, September 10, 1869.

We have been spending a day or two in travelling about the Sound by

steamer, touching at the various mill-towns and other ports, where the

boat calls, to receive and deliver the mails, or for other business.

Every time we pass over these waters, we admire anew their extent and

beauty, and their attractive surroundings, their lovely bays and

far-reaching inlets, their bold promontories and lofty shores, their

setting in the evergreen forest, and the great mountains in the

distance, standing guard on either side.

The early explorers who visited this part of the country evidently had a

high appreciation of it, as their accounts of it show. Vancouver, who

came in 1792, expressed so much admiration of these waters and their

surroundings, that his statements were received with hesitation, and it

was supposed that his enthusiasm as an explorer had led him to

exaggeration. But Wilkes, who followed him many years afterwards,

confirmed all that he had said, and, in his narrative, writes as follows

regarding this great inland sea:--

"Nothing can exceed the beauty of these waters, and their safety.

Not a shoal exists within the Straits of San Juan de Fuca,

Admiralty Inlet, Puget Sound, or Hood's Canal, that can in any way

interrupt their navigation by a seventy-four-gun ship. I venture

nothing in saying there is no country in the world that possesses

waters equal to these."

In another account Wilkes writes: "One of the most noble estuaries

in the world; without a danger of any kind to impede navigation;

with a surrounding country capable of affording all kinds of

supplies, harbors without obstruction at any season of the year,

and a climate unsurpassed in salubrity."

More recently the United States Coast Survey Report of 1858 declares,

that, "For depth of water, boldness of approaches, freedom from hidden

dangers, and the immeasurable sea of gigantic timber coming down to the

very shores, these waters are unsurpassed, unapproachable."

We were at first puzzled by the various names given to the different

waters over which we travelled; but soon discovered, that, while the

term "Puget Sound" is popularly applied to the whole of them, it

properly belongs only to the comparatively small body of water lying

beyond the "Narrows," at the southern end, and the arms and inlets that

branch therefrom.

The great natural divisions of this system are: the Straits of Juan de

Fuca, extending from the ocean eastward about eighty miles, and then

branching into the vast Gulf of Georgia to the north, and Admiralty

Inlet to the south; Hood's Canal, branching from the latter, on the west

side, near the entrance, and running south-west about sixty miles;

Possession Sound, branching from the east side, and extending north

between Whidby Island and the mainland, as far as Rosario Straits; and

Puget Sound, connected with the southerly end of Admiralty Inlet by the

"Narrows."

We commenced our recent trip at Victoria, and crossed the Straits of

Fuca,--through which the west wind draws as through a tunnel,--to Port

Angeles. This place was named by Don Francisco Elisa, who was sent out

to this region in 1791 by the Mexican Viceroy. Of course Don Francisco

must compliment the Viceroy by giving his name to some important points.

This royal personage had a string of ten proper names, besides his

titles. These Don Francisco distributed according to his judgment. Being

apparently a religious man, he was mindful also of the claims of saints

and angels; and, when he reached the first good harbor on the upper

coast, he called it _Puerto de los Angeles_ (Port of the Angels).

Proceeding eastward, the next point of interest is New Dungeness, so

called by Vancouver from its resemblance in situation to Dungeness on

the British Channel. The harbor of this place, like that of Port

Angeles, is formed by a long sand-spit that curves out from the shore.

On account of this resemblance, Vancouver gave to Port Angeles the name

of False Dungeness, thinking it might be mistaken for the other. But

this name has been dropped, and the more poetical designation of the

Spaniard retained. The pious Elisa called the long-pointed sand-spit at

Dungeness "the Point of the Holy Cross."

The great body of water north of Vancouver's Island, which had not yet

received its name, he called _Canal de Nuestra Senora del Rosario_ (the

Channel of Our Lady of the Rosary). When Vancouver, in the following

year, gave his own name to the island, he called this body of water the

Gulf of Georgia, in honor of George III., the reigning king of England.

The name given by Elisa is still retained by the strait east of the De

Haro Archipelago.

The next place at which we stopped was Port Townsend. This was named, by

Vancouver, Marrowstone Point, from the cliff of marrowstone at the head

of the peninsula; but this name was afterwards given to the headland on

the opposite side of the entrance to Port Townsend Bay, to the

south-east of the town, and the name of Townshend, one of the lords of

the Admiralty, was given to the bay. The town afterwards took the same

name, dropping the _h_ from it. Admiralty Inlet commences here, and was

named by Vancouver in honor of the Board of Admiralty for whom he

sailed. Hood's Canal was named for another of the lord-members of the

Board.

Opposite, across the inlet, to the north and east, lies Whidby Island,

which Vancouver named for one of his lieutenants. It is a pity it could

not have had some more poetic name, it is so beautiful a place; it is

familiarly known here as the "Garden of the Territory." It was formerly

owned and occupied by the Skagit Indians, a large tribe, who had several

villages there, and fine pasture-grounds; their name being still

retained by the prominent headland at the southern extremity of the

island. I heard one of the passengers remark that there were formerly

white deer there. I strained my eyes as long as it was in sight, hoping

to see one of these lovely creatures emerge from the dark woods; but in

vain. Wilkes says that the Skagit Indians had large, well-built lodges

of timber and planks. But, since so many tribes have been swept away by

the small-pox, most of them have lost their interest in making

substantial houses, feeling that they have so little while to live.

North of Whidby is Fidalgo Island, named for a Spanish officer. Between

them is a narrow passage, called Deception Pass, very intricate and full

of rocks, above and below the water, and most difficult to navigate,--in

striking contrast to the waters of the Sound in general.

We called at Port Ludlow and Port Gamble, the latter on Hood's Canal,

near the entrance,--_Teekalet_ being its Indian name. Returning to

Admiralty Inlet, we presently passed Skagit Head, at the entrance of

Possession Sound, so named by Vancouver to commemorate the formal

taking possession, by him, of all the territory around the Straits of

Fuca and Admiralty Inlet, on the king's birthday.

We steamed serenely on, over the clear, still water, to Port Madison,

and then crossed the inlet to Seattle. Thence we proceeded south, and

passed Vashon Island, which has many attractive features.

Quartermaster's Harbor, at the southern end, is a lovely place; and

beautiful shells and fossils are to be found there. Occasionally we came

across a great boom of logs, travelling down to some sawmill; or a

crested cormorant, seated on a fragment of drift, sailed for a while in

our company. We passed on through the "Narrows," and entered Puget Sound

proper, named for Peter Puget, one of Vancouver's lieutenants, who

explored it.

All Vancouver's friends, patrons, and officers--lieutenants, pursers,

pilots, and pilot's mates--are abundantly honored in the names scattered

about this region. He appears, too, to have had a good appreciation of

nature, and praised, in his report, the landscape and the flowers. He

regarded somewhat, in his nomenclature, the natural features of the

country; as in Point Partridge, the eastern headland of Whidby Island;

Hazel Point, on Hood's Canal; Cypress Island, one of the San Juan

group; and Birch Bay, south of the delta of Fraser River.

The Spanish explorers in this region do not seem to have taken much

pains to record and publish the result of their discoveries. Vancouver

held on to his with true English grip, and often supplanted their names

by others of his own choosing.

At night we reached Steilacoom, where there was formerly a military

post. It has an imposing situation, with a fine mountain view; and there

are some excellent military roads leading from it in various directions.

We spent a pleasant day at Olympia, which lies at the southern extremity

of the Sound, and resembles a New-England village, with its maples

shading the streets, and flower-gardens. It has an excellent class of

people, as have the towns upon the Sound in general; and the evidences

of taste and culture, which are continually seen, are one of the

pleasantest characteristics of this new and thinly settled part of the

country.

There are no sawmills on the Straits of Fuca, and the slight

settlements along its shores have scarcely marred their primitive

wildness and beauty. The original forest-line is hardly broken; the deer

still come down to the water's edge; and the face of the country has

apparently not changed since Vancouver, nearly a hundred years ago,

stooped to gather the May roses at Dungeness; or Juan de Fuca, two

centuries earlier, "sailed into that silent sea," and looked round at

the mountains,--not less beautiful, though more imposing, than those

that lay about his own home on the distant Mediterranean.

DECEMBER 10, 1869.

We have just seen an English gentleman who came over to this country for

the purpose of ascending Mount Baker, first called by the Spaniards

_Montana del Carmelo_. He was three years in trying to get a small

company to attempt the expedition with him. Indians do not at all

incline to ascending mountains; they seem to have some superstitious

fear about it. I believe this mountain has never been explored to any

extent. He describes the colors of the snow and ice as intensely

beautiful. He has travelled among the Alps, but saw an entirely new

phenomenon on the summit of Mount Baker,--the snow like little tongues

of flame. In the deep rifts was a most exquisite blue. On the last day's

upward journey, they were obliged to throw away all their blankets,--as

they were not able to carry any weight,--and depend on chance for the

night's shelter. How well Fate rewarded them for trusting her! They

happened at night upon a warm cavern, where any extra coverings would

have been quite superfluous. It was part of the crater, but they slept

quietly notwithstanding.

JANUARY 15, 1870.

We have now a little Chinese boy to live with us; that is, he represents

himself as a boy, but he seems more as if he were a most ancient man. He

might have stepped out of some Ninevite or Egyptian sculpture. He is

like the little figures in the processions on the tombs, and his face is

perfectly grave and unchanging all the time. I feel about him, as I do

about some of the Indians,--as if he had not only his own age, but the

age of his race, about him.

There never could be any thing more inappropriate than that he should be

named "Wing," for no creature could be farther from any thing light or

airy. One reason, I think, why he seems so different from any of his

countrymen that we have seen, is because he has never lived in a city,

but only in a small village, which he says has no name that we should

understand.

He works in the slowest possible way, but most faithfully and

incessantly, and never shows the slightest desire for any recreation or

rest. Even the anticipation of the great national Chinese feast, which

is to be celebrated next month, and which occurs only once in a thousand

years, has failed to arouse any enthusiasm in him, and he is apparently

quite indifferent to it.

Our goat has taken a great dislike to him,--I think just because he is

so different from herself. She is always making thrusts at him with her

horns, and trying to butt him over. But he preserves, even toward her,

his uniform sweet manner; calls her a "sheep," entirely ignoring her

rude, fierce ways; leads her to pasture every day, under great

difficulties; and attempts to milk her, at the risk of his life. The

serenity of these people is really to be envied; they go on their way so

perfectly undisturbed, whatever happens.

APRIL 30, 1870.

The tides are very peculiar here. Every alternate fortnight they run

very low, and then the beach is uncovered so far out that we can take

long rides on it, as far as the head of the bay.

We are very much entertained with seeing the old Indian crones digging

clams. They appear to be equally amused with us, and chuckle with

delight as we pass. It seems very strange to see human beings without

the least approach to any thing civilized or artificial, with the single

exception of the old blankets knotted about them with pieces of rope;

but when I compare them with civilized women of the same age, who are

generally helpless, I see that they have a great advantage over them.

They are out everywhere, in all weathers, and do always the hardest of

the work. We meet them often in the woods, so bowed down under the loads

of bark on their backs, that it looks as if the bark itself had a stout

pair of legs, and were walking. Our horse is always frightened, and can

never get used to them.

We can ride now for hours on the beach, looking at the water on one

side, and on the other at the densely wooded bluffs, now most

beautifully lighted up by the pink flowering currant. It is like the

rhodora at home, in respect to coming very early,--the flowers before

the leaves. At first it is of a delicate faint pink; but as the season

advances it becomes very deep and rich in color, and contrasts most

beautifully with the drapery of light-gray moss, and the dark fir-trees.

This flower attracts the humming-bird, and furnishes its earliest food.

This delicate, tropical-looking little creature is the first bird to

arrive; coming often in March from its winter home in California, where

it lives on another species of flowering currant that blooms through the

winter.

In making some excavations here, there have been found the bones and

teeth of the American elephant, and with them a bone made into a wedge,

such as the Indians here use in splitting wood; which seems to imply

great antiquity for their race.

AUGUST 10, 1870.

We have a new China boy, Ah Sing, who is very impulsive and

enthusiastic, quite a different character from the unemotional Wing. He

is almost too zealous to learn. R. began to teach him his letters, to

make him contented. I hear him now repeating them over and over to

himself, with great emphasis, while he is washing the clothes. He is so

big and strong, that they come out with great force. A few nights ago,

after everybody had gone to bed, he came down past our room, and went

into the kitchen. R. followed him to see what was the matter, and, as

the boy looked a little wild, thought perhaps he was going into a fit.

He had seized the primer, and was flourishing it about and

gesticulating with it; and finally R., who has a wonderful faculty for

comprehending the Chinese, divined that he had gone to bed without a

lesson, and could not sleep until he had learned something.

XI.

Rocky-mountain Region.--Railroad from Columbia River to Puget

Sound.--Mountain Changes.--Mixture of Nationalities.--Journey to

Coos Bay, Oregon.--Mountain Canyon.--A Branch of the

Coquille.--Empire City.--Myrtle Grove.--Yaquina.--Genial Dwellers

in the Woods.--Our Unknown Neighbor.--Whales.--Pet Seal and

Eagle.--A Mourning Mother.--Visit from Yeomans.

PORT TOWNSEND, November 18, 1872.

We had quite a pleasant journey back from the East, and saw some things

we must have passed in the night on our trip thither. About the

Rocky-mountain region we saw what appeared to be immense ruins; but they

were really natural formations, resembling old castles, with ramparts

and battlements and towers. I could not help feeling as if they must

belong to some gigantic extinct race. On the wide, solitary plains they

were most imposing.

At the Laramie Plains, where we stopped a while, we were so blinded by

the glittering crystals of quartz and specks of mica, we could well

understand why the name of the Glittering Mountains was first given to

the Rocky-mountain Range.

We saw at Cheyenne a most curious cactus. Outside, it was only a green,

prickly ball; inside, was a deep nest, filled with a cluster of pink

blossoms.

We looked into the beautiful Blue Canyon--blue with mist. Hundreds of

feet below us was the gliding silver line of a stream.

At one of our stopping-places was a team of buffalo and oxen working

together. To see this chief Manitou of the Indians so degraded, was like

seeing a captive Jugurtha.

We found great changes had taken place within a year between Columbia

River and Puget Sound. Where we used to cross alone, in the deepest

solitude of the forest, there were cars running, gangs of Chinamen

everywhere at work, great burnt tracts, and piles of firewood. Once in a

while a stray deer bounded by, and turned back to look at us, with

pretty, innocent curiosity. And there were still some of the old trees

left standing, gnarled and twisted, and so thickly coated with moss,

that great ferns grew out of it, and hung down from the branches. What a

pity to destroy the work of centuries, the like of which we shall never

see again!

We saw to-day some of the pretty spotted sea-doves, that have just

arrived to spend the winter with us. Puget Sound, with its mild climate,

is their Florida or Bermuda. In early spring they return to the rocky

lagoons of the North, to pair and breed.

DECEMBER 15, 1872.

With our wider range from the hill-top to which we have removed, we

notice more how the appearance of the mountains changes with the changes

of the sky. This morning they were all rose-color; and are now so

ghostly, the snow like shrouds about them. Before, we had only single

chains and solitary peaks; here, we look into the bosom of a mountainous

country, and every change in the light reveals something new. Where we

have many times looked without seeing any thing, at length some

beautiful new outline appears in faint silver on the distant horizon.

Heaven ought to be more real to us for living in sight of what is so

inaccessible, and so full of beauty and mystery.

MARCH 9, 1873.

We are very much struck with the mixture of nationalities upon this

coast. We were so fortunate as to secure last winter the services of a

splendid great Swedish girl, the heartiest and healthiest creature I

ever saw. There did not seem to be a shadow of any kind about her, nor

any thing more amiss with her in any way than there is with the sunshine

or the blue sky. All kinds of work she took alike, with equal readiness,

and never admitted to her mind a doubt or anxiety on any subject.

We felt sorry enough, when we had had her only three weeks, to have the

foreman of the mill come and beg us to release her. It seems they were

engaged to be married when they left Sweden; but, being of thrifty

natures, they had agreed to work each a year before settling down in

marriage. The constant sight of her charms proved too much for him, and

they decided that all they needed to begin life together was their

wealth of affection and their exuberant health and spirits.

Her size may be imagined, when I mention that her lover brought up six

rings in succession, to try to find one big enough to go over her

finger. Finally he squeezed on the largest one he could obtain, as an

absolutely essential ceremony to bind them together, and smiled with

delight to see that it could never be taken off.

The only help we could find in her place, at such short notice, was a

Russian boy, lately arrived from Kodiac. When we first saw him, we were

quite disheartened at his appearance, his mouth and eyes were so like

those of a fish, and he seemed so terribly uncivilized. I attempted to

intimate that I thought we could not undertake to do any thing with him.

He seemed to suspect what I thought,--although he could not understand

my words,--and took up a piece of paper, and wrote some Russian words on

it. I asked him what they meant; and he said, "Jesus Christ, he dead; he

get up again; men and devils he take them all up." I supposed the most

civilized person he had ever seen was the priest; and, as the priest had

taught him that, he thought it was a kind of introduction for him, and

that I should feel it to be a bond of union between us. I did not feel

quite so much as if he were a fish or a seal afterward. All the time,

even over the hot cooking-stove, he kept his rough fur cap on his head.

His great staring eyes rolled round in every direction; and he looked so

utterly uncouth and so bewildered, that I doubted very much if he could

ever be adapted to our needs.

To my great surprise, however, he learned very fast, stimulated by his

curiosity to know about every thing. What made him appear so very

stupid at first was, that he felt so strongly the newness of all his

surroundings. After he learned to talk with us, he interested us very

much with accounts of his own country, and with the letters he read us

from his father, an old man of ninety, who had spent his life in charge

of convicts in Siberia. He wrote his father that he was homesick; and

the old man replied: "You homesick--work! work by and by make you

strong!" His letters were directed only: "Son mine--George Olaf." He

seemed to trust to some one on the way, to take an interest in their

reaching him.

The boy generally set up his hymn-book in some place where he could

occasionally glance at it, and chant his Russian hymns, while he was

about his work. On the other side, the nurse sang Dutch songs to the

baby.

JULY 1, 1873.

We have just returned from a long, rough journey in southern and western

Oregon. We crossed the Coast Range of mountains,--not so high and

snow-capped as the Cascades, but beautiful to watch in their variations

of light and shade, always the shadows of clouds travelling over them,

and mists stealing up through the dark ravines. A Dutchwoman--our

fellow-passenger--was in ecstasies, exclaiming continually: "How

beautiful is the land here! How _bracht_ [bright]!"--noticing all the

sun-lighted places; but I was more attracted by the shadows. I heard

another hard-looking woman say to a man, that she cried when she saw the

hills, they were so beautiful. There was a deep welcome in them;

something human and responsive seemed to fill the stillness. In these

solitary places, remote from all other associations, it seems as if

Nature could communicate more directly with us.

I noticed, more than I ever did before, the difference in the appearance

and bearing of the flowers; how some seemed only to flaunt themselves,

and others had so much more character. As we passed a little opening in

the woods, a great dark purple flower, that was a stranger to me, fixed

its gaze upon me so that I felt the look, as we sometimes do from human

eyes. Any thing supernatural is so in keeping with these solitary

places, I felt as if some one had assumed that form to greet me. There

were some beautiful new flowers; among them a snow-white iris, which was

very lovely. It seemed like a miracle that this fair little creature

should come up so unsoiled out of the rough, black earth.

We crossed the mountain range through a canyon. The road wound round and

round the sides of it, sometimes so narrow that it seemed hardly more

than an Indian trail. We had a true California driver, who shouted out

to us every few minutes, to hold on tight, or all to get together on one

side, or something equally suspicious; but dashed on without any regard

to danger. We were in constant expectation of being hurled to the

bottom; but it quickened our senses to enjoy the beauty about us, to

feel that any moment might be our last. We saw below us great trees that

filled the canyon. They were so very tall, that it appeared as if, after

having grown into what would be recognized everywhere as lofty trees,

they had altered their views altogether as to what a tall tree really

should be, and started anew. We did not wholly enjoy looking down at

their great mossy arms, stretched out as if to receive us. Everywhere

was the most exquisite fragrance, from the Linnaea and other flowers. At

the bottom was a little thread of a brook. After we passed through the

canyon, the brook came out, and went down the mountain side with us. It

was very lively company. Sometimes it hid from us, but we could tell

where it was, by the rushing of the water. Then it would appear again,

whirling and eddying about the rocks. In some places, its bed was of

pure, hard stone, with basins full of foam. Sometimes the rocks were

covered with dark, rich moss. There were retired little falls in it,

that seemed like nuns, so unregarding as they were of all the commotion

about them. Then the whole body of water would gather itself up, and

shoot down some rock, and cut like a sword-blade into the still water

below. We shall long remember that little, leaping, dancing branch of

the Coquille, that runs from the Coast Mountains to the sea.

Upon learning that we were approaching "Empire City," we attempted a

hasty toilet,--as appropriate for entering a metropolis as circumstances

would permit,--but we were kindly informed that we might spare ourselves

the trouble, as the place consisted at present of but a single house; a

carpenter having established himself there, and, with a far-seeing eye,

given the place its name, and started a settlement by building his own

dwelling, and a play-house in the woods for his little daughter.

We spent one night in a myrtle-grove. The trees leaned gracefully

together, and the whole grove for miles was made of beautiful arched

aisles. Coming from our shaggy firs, and the rough undergrowth that is

always beneath them, to these smooth, glossy leaves, and clear, open

spaces of fine grass, was like entering fairy-land, or the "good green

wood" of the ballads. I looked for princes and lovers wandering among

them, and felt quite transformed myself. The driver I regarded as a

different man from that moment; to think that he should show so much

good taste as to draw up for the night in that lovely place.

In coming from the mountain, we had to ride a good deal of the way

without seeing where we were going; and once we found ourselves with a

great roof over our heads, hollowed out of the solid rock, and covered

with dripping maiden's-hair. All the rock about was like flint, and worn

into strange shapes by the water.

One day we were accompanied quite a distance through the woods by a

female chief, Yaquina. I think that she is a celebrated woman in Oregon,

and that Yaquina Bay was named for her. She was mounted on a little

pony, and riding along in a free and joyous way, looking about at the

green leaves and the sunshine. I thought of Victoria with her heavy

crown, that gives her the sick headache, and wondered how she would like

to exchange with her.

We were quite interested in some of the people we saw, one of them

especially,--a man whose house had no windows. We felt at first as if we

could not stop with him; but he came out to our wagon, looking so bright

and clean, and had such an air of welcome as he said, "We are not very

well provided, but we are very accommodating," that we at once decided

to stop, particularly as the driver said the horses could not possibly

go enough farther to get to any better place that night. He ushered us

in very hospitably, and looking round the room--the chairs being rather

scarce--said, "There are plenty of seats--on the floor." I saw some

books on a shelf, and, going to look at them, found "Mill's Logic," and

"Tyndall on Sound," and several others, scientific and historical. We

found him, as he said we should, eager to make us comfortable. He

noticed that the baby did not look well, and went out into the woods,

and cut down a little tree that he said would do her good, and urged us

to take it with us. He said that he was generally called in by his

neighbors, in case of sickness or accident. He had learned to help

himself in most ways, as he came there originally with only fifty cents

in his pocket.

Another old man, at the next stopping-place, made a beautiful picture,

as he sat inside his open door, in a great, rough, home-made armchair,

with a black bear-skin for a pillow,--a large, strong man, with long,

shining, silver hair. We were very much pleased to find that we were to

spend the night there, he looked so interesting. All his talk was about

fights with wild beasts and Indians, and cutting down the big trees, and

making the terrible roads we had been over. There was a good deal of

refinement and gentleness, too, about him. He had in his arms a dear

little child. He had adopted her, he said, because his were all grown

up. She seemed like a soft little bird, so timid and clinging.

When we came to see our accommodations, we were delighted to find every

thing so clean and agreeable. We expressed our pleasure to him, and he

said, "Yes; a woman, I think, will go a mile or two farther for a clean

sheet; and even a man does not altogether like to be tucked into bed

with a stranger;" which suggests what the customs are there.

DECEMBER 20, 1873.

We were startled to learn, a few days since, that one of our neighbors

had been found dead,--a man about whom there had always been a good

deal of mystery in the village. He lived alone, and never spoke of any

relations or friends. He was a man of very courteous manners, but on

this point he would allow no questions. There was no one to notify of

his death, and nobody appeared to claim his property.

The first time we ever saw him, he was riding in the woods, on a

handsome horse, with a bright scarlet blanket. He looked so picturesque,

and there was so much grace and dignity about him, that I felt as if he

did not belong anywhere about here. It seemed as if he might have come

riding out of some foreign land, or some distant age,--like a knight

going to a tournament.

When we came to know him, we could not help wondering what could induce

him to live here. He was thought to be Southern, and it was generally

supposed that some difficulties arising at the time of the war had

brought him here. He seemed disposed to make the best of our dull life,

and always had something that interested him to show us,--a new flower,

or curious shell, or some pretty Indian child.

The last time we saw him was Saturday night. It must have been only a

few hours before his death, but he appeared in his usual fine health.

The next we knew of him was Monday morning, when some men who lived

near us said that nothing had been seen of him since his light

disappeared Saturday night. As he did not open his house, as usual, on

Sunday, they said to themselves, "He does not like to be disturbed," and

waited till Monday, when they went to the window; and the dog inside,

hearing the noise, came and tore down the curtain, and went back and sat

down beside his master, where he lay on the bed, and licked his face;

and they saw that he was dead. He was tenderly buried by the people of

the village, without religious ceremonies; but they dropped little green

branches into his grave in the way of the Free Masons. I was surprised

at the delicacy of feeling shown in regard to his desire to remain

unknown, rude curiosity concerning any thing peculiar being everywhere

so common.

MAY 20, 1874.

This afternoon we went out a little farther than usual in our boat, and

saw a herd of whales in the distance,--great free creatures, puffing and

snorting, spouting and frolicking, together. The boatman said that a

flap from one of their tails would send our boat clean out of the water,

and turned hastily about, hallooing in the wildest way, to keep them

off.