AN INDIAN RESERVATION.
CHAPTER XXIX
THOUSANDS OF SALMON
We dawdled so long in the quaint and charming country of Japan that it was full summer when we left. As the inverted fan of Fujiyama faded gradually into nothingness against the illimitable spaces of the sky, we said again and again sayonara, which is the musical Japanese word meaning good-bye, for we felt we were taking leave of an old friend. Japan is on the other side of the world from England; shall we ever get there again?
Then came the voyage across the Pacific and the landing at Victoria, the chief town on the great island of Vancouver, which lies off the west coast of Canada. It is always a little confusing to people who have not visited this part, because there are two Vancouvers: one the great island which blocks the western coast of Canada, and the other the town lying on the eastern side of the narrow straits, on the mainland.
Well, here we are in Victoria, and the astonishing homeliness of it gives us both a warm feeling of delight. It seems as if we really had got almost in touch with our own country again. As we wandered through the town to-day we saw in the outskirts red-brick creeper-covered houses that might have been in an English market town. In spite of all its trams and docks and general go-aheadness Victoria is old world. We visited a place called Esquimault, by tram-car, and saw there British ships of war and many other kinds of craft. Now we are back in the hotel, and in our cosy bedroom there is little to remind us we have still a continent and ocean between us and our beloved little island.
What are you doing? Putting your boots out to be cleaned? Well, that is one thing you won't get done here, it is not the custom; you will have to go down to the basement and have them cleaned on your feet, and tip the man who does them then and there. I'll come too, because we have to make a very early start to-morrow. I wish we hadn't, for some things. There is capital shooting and fishing here, though a great deal of the island, which, by the way, is more than twice the size of Wales, is covered with impenetrable forests. It is difficult to get about at all in the interior, but we could have gone around by the coast and explored the inlets, and with luck we might have seen something of the moose and the bear, to say nothing of wild fowl and salmon and trout, but we can't manage it this time. A friend of mine, who is in charge of a salmon-cannery on the coast of British Columbia, is going to put us up for a day or two, and he has arranged that we shall cross over on the cannery steamer, the Transfer, which leaves so early that we'll have to be up at half-past four in the morning.
Ugh, I'm sleepy! But I see the sun is already up and shining in a cloudless sky. It is a trifle cold when we get out at first in the morning, but as we walk briskly down to the steamer we feel warmed up. The wharf shows a busy scene; there are numbers of blue-clad Chinamen rushing backwards and forwards loading boxes on to our little steamer, which floats by the wharf, and what a comic steamer she is! She is like nothing so much as a great fan-tail pigeon sitting on the water! That is because her immense paddle-wheel is tucked away at the back. There is a very good reason for this too! The steamer gives an agonised scream from her siren, the Chinamen on board chatter and gesticulate frantically to their comrades left behind, there is a terrific commotion, and for the moment no one could help believing that something has gone wrong; but no, this is only the way the Celestials say good-bye, for when we are fairly off all the noise stops and a great calm falls on board.