Always near at hand was the deep green of the Canadian forests,
denser, darker than a tropic jungle, for this was the land of
"plenty waters." The hillsides were carpeted knee-deep with moss,
wet to saturation. Out of every gulch came a brawling stream
whipped to milk-white frenzy; snow lay heavy upon the higher
levels, while now and then from farther inland peered a glacier,
like some dead monster crushed between the granite peaks. There
were villages, too, and fishing-stations, and mines and quarries.
These burst suddenly upon the view, then slipped past with
dreamlike swiftness. Other ships swung into sight, rushed by, and
were swallowed up in the labyrinthine maze astern.

Those passengers of the Nebraska who had never before traversed
the "Inside Passage" were loud in the praises of its
picturesqueness, while those to whom the route was familiar
seemed to find an ever-fresh fascination in its shifting scenes.

Among the latter was Murray O'Neil. The whole north coast from
Flattery to St. Elias was as well mapped in his mind as the face
of an old friend, yet he was forever discovering new vistas,
surprising panoramas, amazing variations of color and topography.
The mysterious rifts and passageways that opened and closed as if
to lure the ship astray, the trackless confusion of islets, the
siren song of the waterfalls, the silent hills and glaciers and
snow-soaked forests--all appealed to him strongly, for he was at
heart a dreamer.

Yet he did not forget that scenery such as this, lovely as it is
by day, may be dangerous at night, for he knew the weakness of
steel hulls. On some sides his experience and business training