I have always met with among the Pacific tribes.

I drew my deck-stool nearer to him, and he acknowledged the action
with another half smile, but did not stir from his entrenchment,
remaining as if hedged about with an inviolable fortress of
exclusiveness. Yet I knew that my Chinook salutation would be a
drawbridge by which I might hope to cross the moat into his castle
of silence.

Indian-like, he took his time before continuing the acquaintance.
Then he began in most excellent English:

"You do not know these northern waters?"

I shook my head.

After many moments he leaned forward, looking along the curve of
the deck, up the channels and narrows we were threading, to a
broad strip of waters off the port bow. Then he pointed with
that peculiar, thoroughly Indian gesture of the palm uppermost.

"Do you see it--over there? The small island? It rests on the
edge of the water, like a grey gull."

It took my unaccustomed eyes some moments to discern it; then all at
once I caught its outline, veiled in the mists of distance--grey,
cobwebby, dreamy.

"Yes," I replied, "I see it now. You will tell me of it--tillicum?"