it on such forbidding
land as this. The dense forest stretching out before us was interesting
enough to the lumberman, and for aught I knew there were channels for
the ships; but I wanted to be neither lumberman nor sailor. My first
camp on Puget Sound was not cheerful.

Olympia at the time contained about one hundred inhabitants. It had
three stores, a hotel, a livery stable, a saloon, and one weekly
newspaper. A glance at the advertising columns of this paper, _The
Columbian_ (the name which was expected to be that of the new
territory), disclosed but a few local advertisers. "Everybody knows
everybody here," a resident remarked to me, "so what's the use of
advertising?"

We could not stay at Olympia. We had pushed on past some good locations
on the Chehalis, and farther south, without locating. Should we now
retrace our steps? Oliver said no, and my better judgment also said no,
though I was sorely pressed with a feeling of homesickness.

The decision was quickly made to see more of this Puget Sound. But how
were we to see these--to us--unexplored waters? I declared that I would
not go in one of those Indian canoes, that we should upset it before we
were out half an hour. I had to admit that the Indians navigated the
whole Sound in these canoes and were safe, but I would not trust myself
in a craft that would tip as easily as a Siwash canoe. When I came to
know the Indians better and saw their performances in these frail craft,
my admiration for the canoes was even greater than my distrust had been.

Neither Oliver nor I had much experience in boating, and we had none in
boat building. However, when we had discarded the idea of taking a
canoe, we set to work with a hearty good will to build us a skiff. We
made it out of light lumber, then easily obtained at Tumwater. We
determined to have the skiff broad enough not to upset easily, and long
enough to carry us and our light cargo of food and bedding.

As in the trip across the Plains, we must provide our own
transportation. Here and there might be a vessel loading piles and
square timber for the San Francisco market, but not a steamer was then
plying on the Sound; there was not even a sailing craft that essayed to
carry passengers.

As the tide drew us off on the placid waters of the bay at Olympia, with
just a breath of air stirring, our little eighteen-foot craft behaved
splendidly. The slight ripples jostling against the bow brought dreams
of a pleasure trip