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 TamÁhnous," 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.