elonged
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