As I leaned aft, gazing at the beautiful land, my spirits began to grow brighter, and I was turning round to go down and fetch Esau to come and see the place, when I found that Gunson had come on deck too, and was looking at me in his peculiar manner which always repelled me.
“Is that British Columbia?” I said, to break an awkward silence, for he stood perfectly silent, fixing me with that one piercing eye.
“No, not yet—that’s Yankee-land still. We’ve got to get into the Straits yet before we can see our country.”
“Straits—Gibraltar?” I said thoughtlessly; and then I felt red in the face at my stupidity.
“Not exactly, my lad,” he said, laughing. “Why, my geography is better than yours. The straits we go through are those of Juan de Fuca, the old sailor who discovered them. But from what I know of it, the country is very much the same as this. Think it will do for you?”
“It is lovely,” I cried, enthusiastically.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, and speaking in a quiet soft way that seemed to be very different from his appearance; “a lovely land—a land of promise. I hope your people will all get up yonder safe and sound. It is a long, weary task they have before them.”
“Can’t be worse than ours has been,” I said.
“Well, no, I suppose not; but very trying to those poor women. Look here, my lad,” he said, after a pause, “how are you going to manage when you get ashore at Victoria?”
“Start at once for Fort Elk.”