g down towards the
ocean, and in the afternoon a dense fog shut us in. The last thing we
saw was an ocean-steamer, putting back to Victoria for shelter. Our
captain said his vessel drew too much water for Victoria Harbor, and the
entrance was too crooked to attempt; but, if he could find Port Angeles,
he would put in there. A gleam of sunshine shot through the fog, and
showed us the entrance; and we steered triumphantly for that refuge. Two
other vessels had anchored there. But just as we were about rounding
the point to enter, and were congratulating ourselves on the quiet night
we hoped to spend under the shelter of the mountains, the captain spied
a sail going on towards the ocean. He put his vessel right about,
determined to face whatever risks any other man would. But the vessel
seemed unwilling to go. All that night, and the next day, and the next
night, we rode to and fro in the straits, unable to get out.

Passing Cape Flattery is the great event of the voyage. It is always
rough there, from the peculiar conformation of the land, and the
conflict of the waters from the Gulf of Georgia, and other inlets, with
the ocean-tides. Our captain had been sailing on this route for fifteen
years, but said he had never seen a worse sea than we encountered. We
asked him if he did not consider the Pacific a more uncertain ocean than
the Atlantic. At first he said "Yes;" then, "No, it is pretty certain to
be bad here at all times." What could Magellan's idea have been in so
naming it? He, however, sailed in more southern latitudes, where it may
be stiller. We expected to sail _on_ the water; but our vessel drove
_through_ it, just as I have seen the snow-plough drive through the
great drifts after a storm. Going to sea on a steamer gives one no idea
of the winds and waves,--the real life of the ocean,--compared to what
we get on a sailing-vessel. Every time we tried to round the point,
great walls of waves advanced against us,--so powerful and
defiant-looking, that I could only shut my eyes when they drew near. It
did not seem as if I made a prayer, but as if I were myself a prayer,
only a winged cry. I knew then what it must be to die. I felt that I
fled from the angry sea, and reached, in an instant, serene heights
above the storm.

Finally, as the result of all these desperate efforts, in which we
recognized no gain, the captain announced that we had made the point,
but we could get no farther until the wind changed; and,