Winding string after string about his body, until he had all the haiqua he could carry, he climbed out of the crater and started down the mountain side. But the Tamanous was angry. Wrapping himself in a storm cloud, he pursued the miser, who buffeted by the wind and blinded by the snow and darkness, stumbled on, grasping his treasure. The unseen hands of the god clutched him and tore strand after strand from his neck.
The storm lulled a moment, but returned with renewed energy; the thunder and lightning increased; again the unseen hands held him in a vice-like grasp. Strand after strand the angry god tore from the miser’s grasp, until by the time he arrived at the timber line but one strand remained; this he flung aside and hurried on down the mountain. Not one shell remained to reward him for his perilous journey. Weary and foot-sore he fell fainting in the darkness. When he awoke his hair was white as the snow on the mountain’s brow. He looked back at the snow-crowned peak with never a wish for the treasures of the Tamanous. When he arrived at his home an aged woman was there cooking fish. In her he recognized his wife, who had mourned him as dead for many long years. He dried salmon and jerked meat, which he sold for haiqua, but never again did he brave the Tamanous of Mount Rainier. Thus ends the weird tale of Puget Sound.
Clearing this port, our course lay across the straits of Juan de Fuca, named for the Greek explorer before mentioned. The green slopes of the beautiful San Juan islands now came into view.
We landed at Victoria, the capital of the province of British Columbia, at eight o’clock in the morning. The city was still wrapt in slumber. A cow placidly munching grass in the street, looked at us inquiringly. We met a dejected looking dog and presently a laborer going to his work.
PARLIAMENT HOUSE, VICTORIA.
A handsome hotel occupies a commanding site, but the doors were closed. Not a store was open. The government buildings, naval station and museum are the only places of interest.
The Island of Vancouver is composed of rock and sand. All along the shore are magnificent sea weeds, ferns and club mosses, growing fast to the rocky side and the bottom of the sea. Many of these plants break loose and go floating about.
Imagine a perfectly smooth, flexible parsnip, from twenty to fifty feet long, with leaves of the same length like those of the horse radish in form, but the color of sapless, water-soaked grasses, and you have a kelp. Coming toward you head on, the long leaves floating back under it, you have a miniature man-of-war.
The fortifications for the protection of the harbor are submerged. You would never suspect that below that innocent looking daisy covered surface great guns were ready at a moment’s notice to blow you and your good ship to atoms should her actions proclaim her an enemy.