here and there in centers and whirling
with dizzy velocity. A flat-bottomed boat like our little skiff, we
thought, could not stay afloat there very long.

Just then some Indian canoes came along, moving with the tide. We
expected to see them swamped as they encountered the troubled waters;
but to our astonishment they passed right through without taking a drop
of water Then there came two well-manned canoes creeping alongshore
against the tide. I have said well-manned, but half the paddles, in
fact, were wielded by women, and the post of honor, or that where most
dexterity was required, was occupied by a woman.

[Illustration: _Edward S. Curtis_

Sunset on the Pacific.]

"_Me-si-ka-kwass kopa s'kookum chuck?_"[6] said the maiden in the bow of
the first canoe, as it drew alongside our boat, in which we were
sitting.

Since our evening's experience at the clambake camp, we had been
industriously studying the Chinook language, and we could understand
that she was asking if we were afraid of the rough waters. We responded,
partly in English and partly in Chinook, that we were, and besides that
it was impossible for us to proceed against the strong current.

"_Ne-si-ka mit-lite_,"[7] she replied; that is to say, she told us that
the Indians were going to camp with us and wait for the turn of the
tide, and accordingly they landed near by.

[Illustration: _Asahel Curtis_

Mt. Rainier.]

By the time the tide had turned, night had come. We hardly knew
whether to camp in our boat or to start out on unknown waters in the
dark. Our Indian visitors made preparations to proceed on their journey,
and assured us it was all right ahead. They offered to show us to good
camping grounds in a big bay where the current was not strong.

Sure enough, a short pull with a favorable current brought us to the
Narrows and into Commencement Bay, in sight of numerous camp fires in
the distance. I remember that camp quite vividly; though I cannot locate
it exactly, I know that it was on the water front within the present
limits of the large and thriving city of Tacoma.

I well remember our supper of fresh salmon. Of all the delicious fish
known, give me the salmon caught by trolling in early summer in the deep
waters of Puget Sound, the fish so fat that the excess of oil must be
turned out of the pan while cooking. We had scarcely got our camp fire
started before a salmon was offered us; I cannot recall what we paid,
but I know it was n