By 3 o'clock we reached the Kingcome River, but it was too late to make a start that night.
September 24th. We got away at 8.15. The morning was fine, and the inlet and snow-covered peaks behind looked very beautiful. The current always runs down this inlet irrespective of the tide, though it is, of course, stronger with the ebb. We made only one halt for lunch, and by 7.15 p.m. reached Quiesden--a deserted Indian village thirty miles from the head of the inlet; not a bad performance, as we had to row the whole way.
Here we found an empty mission house, and Lansdown somewhat burglariously effected an entrance through a window and opened the door from inside. We soon had a fire going in the dilapidated stove, and settled down comfortably for the night on the bare boards. They were at least dry and we had a roof over our heads. The walls of the sitting-room were mostly decorated with texts, but a coloured illustration representing a young naval officer making violent love to an extremely pretty girl showed that even missionaries have a human side to their nature.
The village was entirely deserted, all the inhabitants being away fishing. There were some fine totem poles, and the woods all round were the cemetery of the neighbourhood--the bodies of many departed Siwashes, packed in boxes or bundles, being slung up in the forks of the trees--the Siwash method of burial.
September 25th. Leaving Quiesden at 8.15, we had a fine sailing breeze which before night had increased to half a gale, and on arrival at Alert Bay, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Chambers most hospitably put me up till my old friend the _Queen City_, due at 1 a.m., should arrive.
September 26th. The _Queen City_ did not arrive till noon, and bidding good-bye to my kind friends at Alert Bay and to Lansdown, who was returning to his farm on the Nimquish, we were soon on our way to Vancouver.
Accounts had to be made up and good-bye said to Smith and Thomson and my dear friends "Dick" and "Nigger," for they were all to be landed at some unearthly hour in the morning at Quatiaski Cove. All the roughing was over, and the comforts of civilization were before me, yet it was with sincere regret that I saw the last of my friends and companions. The discomforts were forgotten, the sodden forest, the rain, the indifferent food, and the poor sport, but the impressive scenery of the vast Vancouver forest, the still lakes and rushing creeks, and the beauty of the Kingcome inlet, with its setting of snow-covered mountains, will remain indelibly impressed on my memory, and as the prospect of future trips becomes more remote, the recollections of those days will always be with me. The call of the wild may be as strong as ever, but the capacity to respond to it must diminish as years roll on. The man who has not a love for the solitudes of nature and the simple life in camp, misses experiences which to me at least have been amongst the keenest enjoyments of my life.