[June 1st - June 3rd]

                                           Victoria B.C. June 1st '99

My dear -

     I have had a charming morning stroll and a good breakfast and now while smoking will tell you what I saw.  We came in here in the middle of the night after a quiet and uneventful run from Seattle.  The clouds hung low and refused to reveal the mountain scenery for which Puget Sound is famous but we did get a poor glimpse of Mt. Baker before darkness fell.  The evening passed with cards and tramping the deck, chiefly with Keeler who is good company.  I woke this morning to find the boat tied up to the dock in a tidy little harbor surrounded by forest covered hills.  The town lies out of sight over one of them and we are soon going to visit it.

     I found no one else out at 6:30 when I got on deck and strolled off alone.  It was softly raining and the trees and meadows were heavy with raindrops but none the less beautiful.  Strange to say I was armed with rubbers and mackintosh so I did not care.  The forests were of Douglass spruce—the great tree of this region and there were but few flowers—sweet-scented wild roses and english daisies studding the meadow grass were the chief ones.  But the woods were full of a chorus of birds among them a thrush whose song is close kin to our Hermit of fond memory so I had double reason to think of you as I listened to the trill and tinkle of their voices.

     When I reached the boat after my stroll I found breakfast already served—7 to 8:30 and revelled in the delicious strawberries and fresh smelts.

     Now I am smoking a very sweet corn cob pipe I got yesterday.  Your pipe is nice and I have smoked it most of the time.  It begins to color but I have scratched the bowl and I fear it will never be very fine.  It is too delicate for travelling.  The bunch of flowers I brought in pleased the girls and furnished topics of conversation for the meal. 

     We are going to town to see the Museum and I to do some final shopping for this is the last town we shall see for two months in which we can get anything of account.  Here come the ladies and the crowd so I must close for now. 

`    We have only a short time to stay here so I will close now that I am by the P.O. and have a chance to mail.  Good bye with many loving greetings.

                                          Charlie -

Yes I love you!

[On a separate piece of paper, otherwise unmarked]

     Now at last it is really good-bye—Be good to yourself and do not be lonely nor forget your devoted lover

                                          Charlie.

                                           On board G.W. Elder

                                           June 1st

My dear -

     Now we can consider our voyage really begun—Victoria is some hours behind us and we are off for a run of two days and a half before again halting.  As I write it is near six o'clock—the sun has come out brilliantly and sea and shore are a marvel of coloring.  It is a type of scenery that is quite new to me and one of peculiar beauty.  We sail in quiet inland seas from which rise mountains on all sides to varying heights.  Not long since we ran thro' a channel not over half a mile wide—Active Pass it is called—connecting two broader reaches of the Georgia Gulf.  The land on either hand was not very high but was clothed from the water's edge with a dense forest of the deep green pines you love.  Here before me and miles away rises a range of jagged snow capped mountains, their higher summits partly lost in white cloud masses.  The lower hills before them are deep blue-purple in the level light and the very bases melt into the sea thro' a light haze.  Lines of driftwood, gulls, (a whale's spout has even now been sighted), and many steamers dot and enliven the sea.  Just now we are passing a full rigged ship towed by a puffing tug on one side and a steamer is coming up on the other.

     I am seated on the topmost promenade deck near the bridge from which the captain and his officers navigate the ship.  the girls are all learning to "box the compass" or with the men are spying thro' glasses at everything in sight.  I for my part am basking in the warm soft air, enjoying the beauty of the scene and wishing for you to be here to share it all.

     Everyone has some special interest.  Saunders has been mounting and pressing some of the seaweeds he collected this morning at Victoria.  the hunters and fishers are getting their guns and tackle ready; we geologists have as yet little to do but study the forms of the land—our turn comes later.  So we pass the time each as he best pleases.

     I spent an hour after lunch putting my little room in order.  I took out the lower bunk and put my big trunk underneath in very handy fashion.  I shall now have to sleep in the upper berth which is on the whole preferable and can get at any of the things I want with comparative ease.

                                           June 3rd—Saturday

     I did not get to my journal yesterday for reasons which will presently appear.  But I will go on as if I had.  Thursday evening we had a most glorious sunset.  The sun went down behind a line of level clouds hanging above some picturesque islands.  Off on either side the higher distant mountains were a glorious purple-blue which with the blue water gave a splendid setting for the golden glory of the sun himself and his broad path across the waters towards us.  The glow had faded out by 8:20 and we were all summoned to the "Science Hall" to listen to a lecture by Dr. Dall on the History and Geography of Alaska—the first session of the Alaska Institute.  Although from my reading I knew most of what he told still it was well given and I only went to sleep two or three times.  When the discussion was over it was easily bedtime.

     Friday morning I woke and got up at 4 o'clock in time to enjoy the most magnificent sunrise within my experience.  The sun was coming up behind a splendid range of jagged peaks which were deep blue in the morning shadow while the sky was suffused with golden misty light.  We had been lying by for two hours waiting for the tide to rise to its flood so that we might pass one of the most narrow and intricate parts of our inland way—Seymour Narrows.  We came into [it] at 5 o'clock and it was indeed narrow and very beautiful.  Since then the whole way (with an exception to be noted) has been in narrow waterways not over a mile wide with the mountains rising steeply on both hands 500 to a thousand feet, thickly clothed with forest except at the summit where the snow still lies in heavy masses.  I staid around on deck till the finest scenery was past and there was still time for me to go back and get an hour's snooze before breakfast.  Afterwards I read "David Harum" with such complete satisfaction that both time and scenery were neglected till I suddenly heard that we were to make a landing and that I could go so off I rushed to get my hammer and heavy boots on.  We put into a lovely little cove—Beaver Cove it was called—on the east side of Vancouver Island, at the head of which quite a river ran into the straights.  The whale boat was lowered and fifteen of us got in and were rowed to shore.

     Then there was a scattering.  I hammered away at the rocks on the shore and found some good ones, enough to keep me busy during our short stay—the botanists went for the plants and trees, Ritter dug at his shore animals, the hunters tried their guns to get the sights in order, Morris tried the stream for trout without success, the bird men followed their quarry through the dense thickets.  It was good to get on shore again and get some exercise and I was sorry when we started back for the ship.  We did not get aboard till nearly three o'clock and were glad enough to get our lunch.  By the time I got my stuff packed up and stowed away I was tired and sleepy.  I read David Harum again till I snoozed away and when I woke up we were out in open water where there was quite a swell and it was supper time—7 o'clock.  This was one of the two points where in a stretch of 1300 miles the inland passage fails for a short distance and we are exposed to the swell of the open ocean.  I am rather ashamed to say that I was one of the few who felt the effect of the swell and I had to dispose of my lunch before I could eat a little supper.  I took to my cabin afterward, went to sleep to wake only at 10:30 and then turned in to sleep away the rest of the night with great comfort and content.

     This morning the breakfast gong waked me, refreshed and ready for what proved a very busy day.  We found ourselves in a superb region.  The snow line comes lower as we go north and the peaks that lined our "canal" on both sides were nearly all snow capped.  The forest extends to the very edge of the water and to the summit of the mountains except where bare granite cliffs or domes break its even mass.  And at short intervals cascades of silvery water come tumbling down from the melting snow.  It was a combination of the grand and the minutely beautiful that was as delightful as it was rare.  Just as I had started to write some more of this scribble to you the word was passed that we were to go ashore to examine a wild gorge close [at] hand and I packed off to join the expedition.  The party was smaller than that of the previous day—about 10 of us.  The landing was on some rocks that rose abruptly from the water, the thick mass of forest trees coming down to within a dozen feet of the water's edge. 

     It is hard to describe the delight with which I made my way into this untrodden wilderness.  The forest was such as one reads of—towering trees mostly spruce, cypress and hemlock shadowed the whole ground whose surface was strewn with fallen trunks, all deeply covered with lovely masses of utmost luxuriance.  (If I remble very much you must excuse me on the ground that I am writing while I listen to a lecture by the "sky pilot" Dr. Nelson on the Indian Mission we visit tomorrow.)  Back of the first ridge down which our cascade tumbled was a little meadow in which I found a few spring flowers—such as come first with you at home, violets, star grass, skunk cabbage—and others strange but lovely. We have indeed overtaken the spring in our northward journey especially as it is said to be a very late spring in all this western coast.  Everything was wet as a sponge—the moss the meadow and the bushes—from the recently fallen rain.  I collected my granite specimens and some flowers and returned along the bank of the rushing stream with new delight at every turn.  On returning I had the comfort of a cold salt water bath which with dry clothes put me in fighting trim.

     This and arranging my specimens took the time to lunch.  We made a second landing at three o'clock, in a lovely cove called Lowe Inlet on the mainland.  Here was a salmon cannery and a wharf up to which we drew.  Dr. Fernow and I started out up the hill to reach a summit near at hand.  It was a repetition of the morning's experience to a great extent except that we had a longer time and could get farther up the mountain.  Still the steepness of the slopes and the many obstructions of trees and fallen logs made progress slow and we failed to reach the summit we aimed for.  Still it was a glorious walk and gave me much-needed exercise and a new and deep impression [of] the country we are passing through.

     I am hastening to finish this letter tonight as in the morning we have a chance of sending back a mail—from Mary Island —the first custom house on American soil after we cross the Alaska boundary.  I wish we were to receive a mail there too!

     The trip is so far better in every way than I hoped for and is a grand success.  We are a jolly company, all work together and are all bound to do and see all there is in view.  The most interesting part of the journey is of course yet to come.  Within a week we shall be among the glaciers of Alaska and if we go on as we have so far making frequent stops for collection all will be well.  We are going further west and north too than was first planned and may even visit the seal islands way up in the Behring sea.

     Well I must write home and it is late so I must say good night.  How I wish it were in person and we might have one of our long unwilling good nights and kisses.  But for such joys I must wait.  Every flower I pick I think how you would enjoy it were you here and regret your absence.  Some day we shall have our trip together.  Good night -

                                          Charlie

                                           On board G.W. Elder

                                             in Clarence Strait,

                                             Alaska