There was a delightful baby in one of the shops, and Tom begged hard to be allowed to “snap” it, but the parents said “No,” and could not be moved to relent, though they did offer the photographer a live gold-fish as some compensation for the refused privilege.
Mr. Percival also took his charges to the splendid naval station of Esquimault, where the Pacific Squadron of English ships were lying at anchor.
The Percivals hired a man (from Connecticut) to row them out in a boat to the great War Spite over which they were shown by a smart British sailor boy in blue. They were deeply interested in her great cannon, throwing a three hundred pound ball, her massive machinery, and her vicious-looking steel torpedoes, which run under water, and are guided by an electric wire connected with the ship. “You can guess the size of the vessel,” wrote Randolph to a friend that night, “when you learn that six hundred men are now quartered in her.”
Just at dusk, on the second day in Victoria, they went on board the good ship Queen, which was waiting to bear them northward to the rugged coast, the island-studded gulfs and bays, and the eternal ice-rivers of Alaska.
For a long time that evening they walked the deck, Kittie pacing side by side with Fred Seacomb, Randolph telling Pet of his Freshman struggles and triumphs and pleasures at Harvard, Tom talking eagerly with his father, whose arm he took as they went to and fro, or paused to look out over the quiet waters, or the twinkling lights of Victoria. Adelaide, Bess, Rossiter and Mrs. Percival formed a cosey group reclining in their steamer-chairs in the shelter of the staterooms which they were to occupy that night.
At six the next morning the passengers felt the first thrill which told that the Queen had begun her voyage. Hastily they dressed, and emerged one by one from their staterooms, to gain every moment of this enchanted day.
The voyage northward led through narrow channels, where one could almost toss a biscuit ashore on either side; across open stretches of the blue Pacific, whose great waves rocked them gently; along the base of lofty mountains, with wild, untraveled forests growing on the water’s very edge.
Soon they began to see Indian encampments, or solitary natives, paddling their queer-shaped, dug-out canoes. Whales rose solemnly and spouted with deep sighs. Porpoises showed their glistening backs above water, raced beside the ship, and threw themselves out into the sunlight. Eagles winged their way from shore to shore, and ducks paddled merrily in every small bay. On masses of floating timber hovered snow-gulls, their beautiful wings lifting and closing as their rafts were rocked in the steamer’s wake.
The second day on board was Sunday. There was an Episcopal service in the saloon in the forenoon, nearly all the excursionists assembling and joining in the hymns. The afternoon passed quietly, many of the passengers writing letters to home friends, some reading, some walking or reclining in steamer-chairs on deck.
In the evening the Percivals gathered for a sing in a sheltered place near the wheel-house. Never before did the old church tunes sound so sweetly. At nine o’clock the sky was all golden with sunset colors, reflected in the smooth waters of the Sound.