Vancouver's Island furnishes some of the finest scenery on the Pacific Coast; not grandest, perhaps, but quietly charming. Its shores are indented every here and there with the loveliest of bays and sounds, forming the most exquisite little harbors to be found anywhere in the world. The climate of the Island, especially its summer climate, is delightful. Such bright, bracing airs as come from the sea on one side, and from the snow-capped mountains of the mainland on the other, are seldom met with on either hemisphere. Given a July day, a pleasant companion or two in a crank little boat, whose oars we use to make silvery interludes in our talk, and I should not envy your sailor on the Bosphorus.
On such a July day as I am hinting at, our party had idled away the morning, splashing our way indolently through the blue waters of Nittinat Sound, the mountains towering behind us, the open sea not far off; but all around us a shore so emerald green and touched with bits of color, so gracefully, picturesquely wild, that not, in all its unrestraint, was there an atom of savagery to be subdued in the interest of pure beauty. It was a wilderness not wild, a solitude not solitary; but rather populous with happy fancies, born of all harmonious influences of earth, air and water; of sunlight, shadow, color and fragrance.
"My soul to-day is far away,
Sailing a sunny tropic bay,"
sang Charlie, bursting with poetry. The next moment "Hallo! boat ahoy!" and into the scene in which just now we had been the only life, slipped from some hidden inlet, an Indian canoe.
"Isn't she a beauty, though?" said Charlie, laying on his oar. "Fourteen paddles; slim, crank, and what a curious figure-head! By George, that's a pretty sight!"
And a pretty sight it was, as the canoe, with its red and blue-blanketed oarsmen, was propelled swiftly through the water, and quickly brought alongside; when we had opportunity to observe that the crew were all stalwart young fellows, with rather fine, grand features, that looked as if they might have been cut in bronze, so immobile and fixed were they. Their dress was the modern dress of the Northern Indians, supplied by the Hudson's Bay Company, of bright colors and fine texture. But what most engaged our attention was the figure of the fifteenth occupant of the canoe, who acted as steersman. He was evidently a very old man, and instead of being dressed in blankets, had on a mantle of woven rushes, and leggins of wolf-skin. A quiver full of arrows hung at his back; his bow rested on his knees. On his grizzled head was a tall, pointed and gaily painted hat, made of braided grasses, which completely resembled a mammoth extinguisher. As the canoe shot past us, I imagined that I detected an expression of contempt upon the old man's face, though he never moved nor spoke, nor in any way evinced any interest in us.
"Eheu! what a funny-looking old cove," said Charlie, gazing after the canoe, "I should like to cultivate his acquaintance."
"Well, you have the opportunity," rejoined Fanny, the third member of our party. "They are going to land on that point just ahead of us."
We were all watching them, fascinated by the noiseless dexterity of their movements, when suddenly there was nothing to be seen of either boat or crew.