Besides the knowledge which our fellow-traveller possessed of the country through which we were pa.s.sing, 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 pa.s.sing 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 cla.s.s he is in the habit of a.s.sociating 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 pa.s.sengers, 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 pa.s.sengers 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 la.s.so, 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 canons, 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 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 gra.s.s near, but an amphitheatre of rock, and the beautiful white river, in its leap into the canon 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 circ.u.mference 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 pa.s.s."

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, p.r.i.c.ked and scarred his fingers in the most distressing manner, in attempting to sew on his b.u.t.tons, 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 ent.i.tled "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 advertis.e.m.e.nt 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 a.s.sorting 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 G.o.ddess, 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 G.o.ddess; 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 sh.o.r.e, 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-sp.a.w.n. 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 antic.i.p.ate 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 sh.o.r.es, 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sengers 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 ent.i.tled 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.