IX.

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 vesselshad 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 sailonthe water; but our vessel drovethroughit, just as I have seen the snow-plough drive through the great drifts after a storm. Going to sea on a steamergives 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 vesselplunged 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 conclusionit 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 Russianserf, 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 cultivatedat 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 soundin 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 nebulæ 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; andwhen 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 thatenter 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 bythe 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. Frémont 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 thestream. 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.

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 theywere 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, aresmooth, 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 theSpanish 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 employés, 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 holdwater. 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 MakahIndians live, derives its name fromTootootche, 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. Itappeared 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 littlehuts that cover the graves. They were nailing a new red covering over it. We asked them if a chief was dead. Aklootchmanwe 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 pouredon 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 wordtenas-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 clumsinessand 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, withunbroken 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.

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 admirationof 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."

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 veryshores, 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 tothis 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 itPuerto 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 calledCanal de Nuestra Señora 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 thehfrom 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 wasformerly 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,—Teekaletbeing its Indian name. Returning to Admiralty Inlet, we presently passed Skagit Head, at the entrance of Possession Sound, so named by Vancouver to commemorate theformal 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'sedge; 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 SpaniardsMontaña del Carmêlo. 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,—anddepend 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, butmost 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 seeingthe 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. Hehad 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.

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