full of the liveliest recollections of Indian life, and
quite an authority on Indian tongues and traditions; find also an old
schoolmate, after long years of separation, and am most courteously
entertained. What a drive we had over the hills and along the beach,
where the crows haunt the water's edge like sea-birds! It has been
repeatedly affirmed that these crows have been seen to seize a clam,
raise it high in the air, let it drop upon a rock, and then pounce upon
the fragments and feast furiously. But I have never seen one who has had
ocular proof of this.

There was a very happy hour spent at Colonel Douglas' quarters, over at
the camp; and then such a long, long drive through the deep wildwood,
with its dense undergrowth, said to be the haunt of bear, panther, wild
cat, deer, and other large game. Bearberries grew in profusion
everywhere. The road, kept in splendid repair by the army men, dipped
into a meadow full of savage mosquitoes; but escaping through two gates,
we struck again into the forest, where the road was almost overgrown
with dew-damp brush, that besprinkled us profusely as we passed.

We paused upon the slope above Port Discovery Bay; saw an old fellow on
the porch of a wee cottage looking steadfastly into the future--across
the Bay; with pipe in mouth, he was the picture of contentment,
abstraction and repose. He never once turned to look at us, though few
pass that way; but kept his eyes fixed upon a vision of surpassing
beauty, where the vivid coloring was startling to the eye and the
morning air like an elixir. Nothing but the great summer hotel of the
future--it will surely come some day and stand right there--can rob the
spot of its blissful serenity.

CHAPTER VI.

In the Inland Sea.

We were waiting the arrival of the Alaska boat,--wandering aimlessly
about the little town, looking off upon the quiet sea, now veiled in a
dense smoke blown down from the vast forest fires that were sweeping the
interior. The sun, shorn of his beams, was a disk of copper; the
sun-track in the sea, a trail of blood. The clang of every ship's bell,
the scream of every whistle, gave us new hope; but we were still
waiting, waiting, waiting. Port Townsend stands knee-deep in the edge of
a sea-garden. I sat a long time on the dock, watching for some sign of
the belated boat. Great ropes of kelp, tubes of dark brown sea-grass,
floated past me on the slow tide. Wonderful anemones, pink,
balloon-shaped, mut