150 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 



The current always runs down this inlet irre- 

 spective 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 com- 

 fortably 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. 



