had been vaccinated, and many of them were ashamed to do this. As far as I knew, none of them made a false statement. When about half-way through I met Mr. H. W. Henshaw, who had been sent from Washington to give general information about the work, and he absolved them from the requirement of showing the scar. He said that all that was needed was to satisfy myself on the point. On this coast, a dime is called a bit, although in reality a bit is half a quarter, and the Indians so understand it. In finding how nearly a pure Clallam one man was, I was informed that he was partly Clallam and partly of another tribe. But when I tried to find out how much of the other tribe I was told: “Not much; _a bit_, I guess.” I was instructed to take the names of not only those who were at home, but of a number who were across the straits on the British side, whose residence might properly be said to be on this side. In asking about one man I was told that he had moved away a long time ago, very long, _two thousand years_, probably, and so was not a member of the tribe. It struck me that some pictures of myself, with descriptions of them would have adorned _Harper’s Monthly_ as well as any of Porte Crayon’s sketches. With an old Indian man and his wife I sat on the beach in Port Discovery Bay all day waiting for the wind to die down, because it was unsafe to proceed in a canoe with the snow coming down constantly on one of the coldest days of the year, with a mat up on one side to keep a little of the wind off, and a small fire on the other side; and, at last, we had to give up and return to Port Discovery, as the wind would not die. I waked up one morning on the steamer _Dispatch_ to have a drop of water come directly into my eye, for there was a hard rain, and the steamer overhead (not underneath) was leaky. I got up to find my shirt so wet that I dared not put it on, while the water in the state-room above me was half an inch deep and was shoveled out with a dust-pan. I walked from the west to the east end of Clallam Bay, only two miles, but while trying to find a log across the Clallam River I wandered about a long time in the woods and brush, wet with a heavy rain, and when I did find it it reached just _not_ across the river, but within a few feet of the bank, and I stood deliberating whether it was safe or not to make the jump; trying to jump and not quite daring to run the risk of falling into the river, sticking my toes and fingers into the bank, and the like, but at last made the crossing safely. It took half a day to travel those two miles. I ate a Sunday dinner at Elkwa, between church-services, of some crumbs of sweet cake out of a fifty-pound flour-sack, so fine that I had to squeeze them up in my hands in order to get them into my mouth. An apple and a little jelly finished the repast--the last food I had. At Port Angeles I rode along the beach on horseback at high tide, and at one time in trying to ford a slough I