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!