"'To whom it may concern: This will introduce Lord Jim, a noted Indian of this part of the country. Look out for him or he will steal the buttons off your coat.' A further acquaintance with Lord Jim seemed to inspire the belief that the confidence of the writer was not misplaced. "Shortly after we left Lord Jim we sailed along Protection Island, one of the beauty spots of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Somewhere along here another thing happened--trivial in its nature--the memory of which has stayed with me all these years. Mr. Pettygrove was walking the deck in a meditative manner, when he happened to feel that he needed a cigar. He called to his son, Ben, about six years old, and told him to bring him some cigars. Ben wanted to know how many he should get. His father told him to get as many as he had fingers on both hands. Ben, proud of his commission, darted away and soon returned with eight cigars. His father looked at them a moment and said: 'How is this; you have only brought me eight cigars?' 'Well,' said Ben, 'that is all the fingers I have.' 'No,' said his father, 'you have ten on both your hands.' 'Why, no I haven't,' said Ben, 'two of them are thumbs,' and I guess Ben was right. "The next morning, after passing Dungeness Spit, we found our vessel anchored abreast of what is now the business part of Port Townsend, which was then a large Indian village. That was February 21, 1852, fifty years ago today. How it stirs the blood and quickens the memory to look back over those eventful years--eventful years for our state, our Pacific Coast and our entire country--and these years have been equally eventful for the little band that landed here that day so full of hope and energy.