Part 9 (1/2)

We spent one night in a myrtle-grove. The trees leaned gracefully together, and the whole grove for miles was made of beautiful arched aisles. Coming from our s.h.a.ggy firs, and the rough undergrowth that is always beneath them, to these smooth, glossy leaves, and clear, open s.p.a.ces of fine gra.s.s, was like entering fairy-land, or the ”good green wood” of the ballads. I looked for princes and lovers wandering among them, and felt quite transformed myself. The driver I regarded as a different man from that moment; to think that he should show so much good taste as to draw up for the night in that lovely place.

In coming from the mountain, we had to ride a good deal of the way without seeing where we were going; and once we found ourselves with a great roof over our heads, hollowed out of the solid rock, and covered with dripping maiden's-hair. All the rock about was like flint, and worn into strange shapes by the water.

One day we were accompanied quite a distance through the woods by a female chief, Yaquina. I think that she is a celebrated woman in Oregon, and that Yaquina Bay was named for her. She was mounted on a little pony, and riding along in a free and joyous way, looking about at the green leaves and the suns.h.i.+ne. I thought of Victoria with her heavy crown, that gives her the sick headache, and wondered how she would like to exchange with her.

We were quite interested in some of the people we saw, one of them especially,--a man whose house had no windows. We felt at first as if we could not stop with him; but he came out to our wagon, looking so bright and clean, and had such an air of welcome as he said, ”We are not very well provided, but we are very accommodating,” that we at once decided to stop, particularly as the driver said the horses could not possibly go enough farther to get to any better place that night. He ushered us in very hospitably, and looking round the room--the chairs being rather scarce--said, ”There are plenty of seats--on the floor.” I saw some books on a shelf, and, going to look at them, found ”Mill's Logic,” and ”Tyndall on Sound,” and several others, scientific and historical. We found him, as he said we should, eager to make us comfortable. He noticed that the baby did not look well, and went out into the woods, and cut down a little tree that he said would do her good, and urged us to take it with us. He said that he was generally called in by his neighbors, in case of sickness or accident. He had learned to help himself in most ways, as he came there originally with only fifty cents in his pocket.

Another old man, at the next stopping-place, made a beautiful picture, as he sat inside his open door, in a great, rough, home-made armchair, with a black bear-skin for a pillow,--a large, strong man, with long, s.h.i.+ning, silver hair. We were very much pleased to find that we were to spend the night there, he looked so interesting. All his talk was about fights with wild beasts and Indians, and cutting down the big trees, and making the terrible roads we had been over. There was a good deal of refinement and gentleness, too, about him. He had in his arms a dear little child. He had adopted her, he said, because his were all grown up. She seemed like a soft little bird, so timid and clinging.

When we came to see our accommodations, we were delighted to find every thing so clean and agreeable. We expressed our pleasure to him, and he said, ”Yes; a woman, I think, will go a mile or two farther for a clean sheet; and even a man does not altogether like to be tucked into bed with a stranger;” which suggests what the customs are there.

DECEMBER 20, 1873.

We were startled to learn, a few days since, that one of our neighbors had been found dead,--a man about whom there had always been a good deal of mystery in the village. He lived alone, and never spoke of any relations or friends. He was a man of very courteous manners, but on this point he would allow no questions. There was no one to notify of his death, and n.o.body appeared to claim his property.

The first time we ever saw him, he was riding in the woods, on a handsome horse, with a bright scarlet blanket. He looked so picturesque, and there was so much grace and dignity about him, that I felt as if he did not belong anywhere about here. It seemed as if he might have come riding out of some foreign land, or some distant age,--like a knight going to a tournament.

When we came to know him, we could not help wondering what could induce him to live here. He was thought to be Southern, and it was generally supposed that some difficulties arising at the time of the war had brought him here. He seemed disposed to make the best of our dull life, and always had something that interested him to show us,--a new flower, or curious sh.e.l.l, or some pretty Indian child.

The last time we saw him was Sat.u.r.day night. It must have been only a few hours before his death, but he appeared in his usual fine health.

The next we knew of him was Monday morning, when some men who lived near us said that nothing had been seen of him since his light disappeared Sat.u.r.day night. As he did not open his house, as usual, on Sunday, they said to themselves, ”He does not like to be disturbed,” and waited till Monday, when they went to the window; and the dog inside, hearing the noise, came and tore down the curtain, and went back and sat down beside his master, where he lay on the bed, and licked his face; and they saw that he was dead. He was tenderly buried by the people of the village, without religious ceremonies; but they dropped little green branches into his grave in the way of the Free Masons. I was surprised at the delicacy of feeling shown in regard to his desire to remain unknown, rude curiosity concerning any thing peculiar being everywhere so common.

MAY 20, 1874.

This afternoon we went out a little farther than usual in our boat, and saw a herd of whales in the distance,--great free creatures, puffing and snorting, spouting and frolicking, together. The boatman said that a flap from one of their tails would send our boat clean out of the water, and turned hastily about, hallooing in the wildest way, to keep them off.

On our way back we pa.s.sed some deserted buildings on a sandy point. We inquired about them, and were told that they were the commencement of a city, originally called ”New York;” but, having disappointed its founders, the Indian name of _Alki_ (By and By) was given to it in derision.

We saw in the woods near here some magnificent rhododendrons, ten or twelve feet tall, covered with cl.u.s.ters of rose-colored flowers.

One of the boatmen has a pet seal that we sometimes take out in the boat with us. We put him occasionally into the water, feeling that he must be longing to go; but he always stays near the boat, and comes back if we whistle to him, and seems quite companionable. Who would have believed that one of these cold sea creatures could ever have been enticed into such intimacy? Our only idea of them, before this experience, had been of a little dark head here and there in the distance, in the midst of great wastes of water, where, as Lowell says, they--

”Solemnly lift their faces gray, Making it yet more lonely.”

One of the captains we sailed with told us that he had at one time a gray eagle he had tamed when young, that often took coasting-voyages with him, leaving the vessel occasionally, and returning to it, even when it had sailed many miles; never, by mistake, alighting on another craft instead of his. Sometimes, when out on a voyage to San Francisco, it would leave the vessel, and return to his house on Port Discovery Bay.

OCTOBER 15, 1874.

As we were pa.s.sing along near the sh.o.r.e to-day, in our boat, we saw an Indian woman sitting alone on the beach, moaning, and dipping her hands continually in the water. Her canoe was drawn up beside her. We stopped, and asked her if any one was dead. She pointed to a square box[2] in the canoe, and said, ”_mika tenas_” (my child). She said, afterwards, that she was as tall as I, and ”_hyas closhe_” (so good)!

As the poor Indian mother looked round at the waves and the sky to comfort her, I thought, what is there, after all, that civilization can offer, beyond what is given by Nature alone, to every one in deepest need?

Yeomans, our old Port Angeles friend, called on us to-day. Every year since we left there, he has included us in his annual visit to the Seattle tribes. Each time we see him I think must be the last, he looks so very old; but every autumn brings him back, apparently unchanged. He seems to alter as slowly as the old firs about him. I am surprised always at his light tread; he bears so little weight on his feet, but glides along as if he were still in the woods, and would not have a leaf rustle.

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