sun to
stop, and not tell them to hurry up. We could only look on, and admire
their magnificent indifference. They stopped whenever they liked, and
laughed, and told stories. The sky darkened in a very threatening way,
and a heavy shower came on; but it made not the slightest difference to
them. After it was over, there was a splendid rainbow, like the great
gate of heaven. This animated the Indians, and their spirits rose, so
that they began to sing; and we drifted along with them, catching enough
of their careless, joyous mood, not to worry about Port Townsend,
although we did not reach the wharf till two or three hours after dark.

A day or two after, we found, rather to our regret, that we should be
obliged to take a canoe again, from Port Discovery. The intoxicated
"Duke of Wellington"--an Indian with a wide gold band round his hat, and
a dilapidated naval uniform--came down, and invited us to go in his
sloop. We politely declined the offer, and selected Tommy, the only
Indian, we were told, who did not drink. With the aid of some of the
bystanders, we asked his views of the weather. He said there would
undoubtedly be plenty of wind, and plenty of rain, but it would not make
any difference: he had mats enough, and we could stop in the woods. But,
as we had other ideas of comfort, we waited two days; and, as the
weather was still unsettled, we took the precaution, before starting, to
give him his directions for the trip: "_Halo_ wind, Port Angeles; _hyiu_
wind, Dungeness," meaning that we were to have the privilege of stopping
at Dungeness if it should prove too stormy to go on. So he and his
little _klootchman_, about as big as a child of ten, took us off. When
we reached the portage over which they had to carry the canoe, he
pointed out the place of the _memaloost_ (the dead). I see the Indians
often bury them between two bodies of water, and have wondered if this
had any significance to them. I have noticed, too, that their
burial-places have always wild and beautiful surroundings. At this
place, the blue blankets over the graves waved in the wind, like the
wings of some great bird. A chief was buried here; and some enormous
wooden figures, rudely carved, stood to guard him. They looked old and
worn. They had long, narrow eyes, high cheek-bones, and long upper lips,
like true Indians, with these features somewhat exaggerated.

We tried to talk with Tommy a little about the _memaloost_. He said it
was all the sam