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New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Early Western Travels
1748–1846
A Series of Annotated Reprints of some of the best and rarest contemporary volumes of travel, descriptive of the Aborigines and Social and Economic Conditions in the Middle and Far West, during the Period of Early American Settlement

Edited with Notes, Introductions, Index, etc., by

Reuben Gold Thwaites, LL.D.

Editor of “The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents,” “Wisconsin Historical Collections,” “Chronicles of Border Warfare,” “Hennepin’s New Discovery,” etc.

Volume VII

Ross’s Adventures of the First Settlers on the Oregon or Columbia River, 1810–1813

Cleveland, Ohio

The Arthur H. Clark Company

1904

Copyright 1904, by

THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Lakeside Press

R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY

CHICAGO

CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII

ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME VII

PREFACE TO VOLUME VII

The present volume is occupied by the reprint, from the original London edition of 1849, of Alexander Ross’s Adventures of the First Settlers on the Oregon or Columbia River from 1810–13.

No less than three members of the Astorian expedition[^[1]] published personal narratives, each of them a work of much merit. As a source for the study of this first attempt in behalf of the United States to colonize the North-west Coast, the account of Ross supplements in many particulars that of Gabriel Franchère, the French Canadian clerk whose notable tale of adventure is published in volume vi of our series. Ross’s narrative was not made public until twenty-nine years after the appearance of the first (French) edition of Franchère’s book; but it was based upon journals written at the time, and has the value of a first-hand relation.

Ross was a Scotchman, who left his father’s home (1804) to seek a fortune in the then “dissolute, extravagant, and butterfly” Province of Canada. He confesses that only stern Scotch pride kept him from returning to the parental roof, for which he secretly longed during several years after his departure. In the new land his fortunes did not flourish. Endowed with a good education, he at first eked out a scanty livelihood by teaching school; but after five years purchased some land in Upper Canada, and turned farmer. The reports of Astor’s enterprise and of fortunes to be acquired in the fur trade, tempted him to abandon the soil and embark in the promising project for a Columbia settlement, and he was a member of the contingent that sailed from New York in the “Tonquin,” in 1810. Arrived at Columbia River, Ross was soon assigned to a post in the interior, where he whiled away the tedium of existence by studying Indian languages and characteristics, by copious journalizing, and much reflection. Nor was incident lacking to divert the isolated fur-trader, as the various brigades of the rival North West Company swept up and down the Columbia, and the fate of Astoria hung trembling in the balance. Most of the “Nor’ Westers” were Scotchmen like himself, and Ross’s sympathies appear to have been enlisted strongly in their behalf. As the books of reminiscence written during his retirement grew, they took on the form of apologies for McDougal and McKenzie, the Scotch partners of the American house, and virtually became tirades against the associates of Astor, and his business management as well.

Upon the consummation of the sale of Astoria (October, 1813), Ross was easily induced to enter the service of the new British owners, and he remained upon Columbian waters so long as the Nor’ Westers operated in that district. With accustomed Scotch canniness he stipulated for an agreement in writing that he should be promoted at the end of seven years’ service; but just before the expiration of that term the North West Company merged with its great rival, the Hudson’s Bay (1821), and Ross’s hopes were again dashed. However, the governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company placed him in command of a large brigade for hunting and exploring the country of the Snake Indians—the vast region of the Rocky Mountain divide, in the present states of Montana and Idaho. Here for two years (1823–25) he led his motley crews of Canadians, half-breeds, Iroquois, and Hawaiians, crossing and recrossing the path of Lewis and Clark, and exploring the fastnesses of the Snake and Salmon rivers.

But the wilderness had now lost its charm, and Ross returned to at least the borders of civilization, there to live in quiet and rear his half-breed children. In recognition of his services, the Hudson’s Bay Company granted him a hundred acres of land in the Red River Valley, where he became one of the earliest and most prominent citizens of the present city of Winnipeg. His estate was known as “Colony Gardens,” and upon the profits of his trade among the settlers and of his relations with the aborigines he grew wealthy and influential. Being chosen the first sheriff of Assiniboine (the present province of Winnipeg), he was later (1835) appointed a member of its first Government Council. Some account of his life as a settler, and a few of his letters, are published in the Historical and Scientific Society of Manitoba Transactions No. 63 (Winnipeg, 1903).

At last blessed with leisure, Ross now turned author, and published three works detailing the differing phases of his life. The first—Adventures of the First Settlers on the Oregon or Columbia River—relates his experiences as a fur-trader in American employ, and was issued from a London press in 1849; this book we here republish. The narrative of his life upon Western waters under the direction of British companies, appeared in 1855, as The Fur Hunters of the Far West. His final essay was a history of The Red River Settlement, its Rise, Progress, and Present State, which appeared in 1856, the year of the author’s death. All of these books are written in a simple, clear, unpretentious style, being mainly narrations of daily events.

Referring specifically to the Adventures, which we have chosen for reprinting, it is evident that the author’s interest in topography was but slight. It is surprising to find a man who has had many years of intimate acquaintance with the interesting regions penetrated transiently by Lewis and Clark along narrow trails, contributing so slightly as does Ross to the world’s knowledge of the country; whereas Lewis and Clark brought back from their hurried journey a wealth of detailed information. With ethnology, Ross exhibits greater concern. His alliance with an Okanagan woman, and his constant contact with the natives of the coast, gave him a command of tribal habits, traditions, and beliefs which makes his work a valuable source for the study of Western Indian life. The last four chapters present a good sociological treatment of the natives of the Shahaptian family—their religion, government, family life, and characteristics—in the primitive state, before contact with the whites had brought modification and degeneracy. Ross’s account of the Indians of the coast, the Clatsop and Chinookan tribes, gives evidences of truth and accurate observation.

But it is chiefly as a narration of the fortunes of the Astorian expedition, that we value Ross’s book. Unlike Franchère, he exhibits no reserve, and unhesitatingly expresses his opinion of the conduct of Captain Jonathan Thorn and Astor’s partners, during the now famous voyage. His accounts of the adventures of the “Tonquin” and its passengers are consequently the more vivid and personal of the two. The dramatic situation evidently appealed strongly to our author’s temperament; the incidents at the Falkland and Hawaiian islands, the irascibility and unreasonableness of Thorn’s conduct, the useless sacrifice of life to the strictness of naval discipline, are related with no assuaging touch. Neither does the writer spare the reader an account of the hardships and trials of the adventurers, the poor and scanty food, the toil in felling trees and erecting buildings, the feuds and ill feeling between the workers, and the caprices of the commanding partners. Later, in describing the transfer of Astoria and its property to British hands, our author unhesitatingly appears as an apologist for the transaction, and an advocate of the pro-British party. His criticism of Astor’s management, while partly justifiable from Ross’s standpoint, seems to possess an element of personal pique; and for the clerks who, like Franchère, chose to remain loyal to the American owners, Ross has but few words of commendation. For a just estimate of the transaction, the reader must balance probabilities between the conclusions of Irving, Franchère, and Ross, and likewise take into consideration the emergencies arising from the Anglo-American war.

Aside from its historical value, Ross’s Adventures possesses abundant interest for all who are stirred by clearly-delineated accounts of life in the great silent places of earth. Our author has a graphic touch: dangers from Indian treachery, perils of the forests and the waterways, thrilling escapes of every sort, lose nothing under his pen; wilderness life is vividly portrayed—the sharp contrasts between civilization and savagery, the obstacles which beset man’s progress through the vast solitudes of the North-west, the forbidding aspects as well as the beauties of primeval nature; all these are presented with force and not seldom with charm.

Assistance in annotating this volume has been received from Louise Phelps Kellogg, Ph. D., and Edith Kathryn Lyle, Ph. D.

R. G. T.

Madison, Wis., August, 1904.

Alexander Ross’s Adventures of the First Settlers on the Oregon or Columbia River

Reprint of the original edition (London, 1849)

ADVENTURES

OF THE FIRST SETTLERS ON THE

OREGON OR COLUMBIA RIVER:

BEING

A NARRATIVE OF THE EXPEDITION FITTED OUT BY

JOHN JACOB ASTOR,

TO ESTABLISH THE

“PACIFIC FUR COMPANY;”

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF SOME

INDIAN TRIBES ON THE COAST OF THE PACIFIC.

BY ALEXANDER ROSS,

ONE OF THE ADVENTURERS.

LONDON:

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

1849.

PREFACE

Having been one of the first commercial adventurers to the Columbia River, and having spent fifteen years of my life travelling among the savage tribes west of the Rocky Mountains, I was induced, from time to time, to note down such incidents and opinions, illustrative of savage life and manners, as appeared to me either new or interesting.

To the characteristic details of Indian life, I have added that of personal adventure, the trials and misfortunes which the first adventurers had to undergo among the Indians in that quarter; connecting therewith an account of the trade and commerce of the country during the early days of that bold spirit which animated the first explorers of the Columbia.

These different subjects have been arranged and {iv} linked together in their natural order, so as to form one complete narrative, embodying the history of “the Pacific Fur Company.”

It is not an arm-chair narrative, derived from hearsay tales, but the result of practical experience on the spot. From beginning to end, I had personally to act my part in the scenes described; they passed under my own eyes; and the account altogether may derive more value from being authentic than from any adventitious embellishment bestowed on it.

While on this part of our subject, it may be observed that there is an error which most travellers, especially those pioneers who first penetrate into dark and remote regions, fall into: they generally run into the extreme, and spoil a simple story by colouring. Not content to leave nature in its simple garb, they must brighten or darken, magnify or diminish, everything they describe, until at last the real likeness of the thing is entirely effaced, and truth itself, by over-refinement, is thrown into the shade.

What belongs to oneself is generally viewed with a partial eye; and perhaps that partiality influences {v} my own opinion as to the interest of the subject before us. In reference to this subject, however, others have written on it as well as myself. Let our readers, therefore, judge for themselves.

In presenting the present work to the public, I have no very sanguine expectations. All I aim at is to lay before my readers a faithful and impartial statement of what took place, during my own times, in a quarter hitherto but little known.

Freedom from imperfection is not to be expected; yet, on the whole, I hope that this volume will prove to the calm inquirer, in all matters connected with the subject generally, a sure and satisfactory guide: allowance being made for any changes that may have taken place since this account was written—thirty years ago.

Red River Settlement, Rupert’s Land.

Aug. 1, 1846.

CONTENTS

ADVENTURES OF THE FIRST SETTLERS

ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER

CHAPTER I

Introductory remarks—John Jacob Astor—Grasping views—Early traders of Canada—The Hudson’s Bay Company—American fur companies—Astor’s policy—Russian settlements—Coasting vessels—The Pacific Fur Company—Flattering results—Oregon territory—New association—Mr. Hunt—Golden prospects—Proposals accepted—List of adventurers—Land party—Sea party—The ship Tonquin—Remarks—Opinion against opinion—Observations—Land expedition departs—Sea party set off for New York—Bark canoe—Spectators—Canadian voyageurs.

When I first conceived the idea of writing the following narrative, my design was to begin with a brief outline of the discoveries already made on the coast of the Pacific, from Drake in 1579 to Vancouver in 1792;[^[2]] or, rather, down to the present time; but, on second thoughts, I felt convinced that enough had been done already in that branch of {2} inquiry; or, at least, that the further prosecution of it might be better left to those who aspire to literary fame. Mine is an humbler ambition—not to figure as an author, but to record faithfully, as a trader, the events in which I bore a part; and, in so doing, to gratify a desire kindled by an acquaintance with strange scenes and new fields of action, in a remote country which is still but little known.

The progress of discovery contributes not a little to the enlightenment of mankind; for mercantile interest stimulates curiosity and adventure, and combines with them to enlarge the circle of knowledge. To the spirit of enterprise developed in the service of commercial speculation, civilized nations owe not only wealth and territorial acquisitions, but also their acquaintance with the earth and its productions. The illustration of these remarks will be found in the following pages.

Mr. Astor of New York, a German by birth, but a citizen of the United States, raised himself, by his adventurous and enterprising spirit, from small beginnings to be one of the wealthiest and most eminent merchants in America. Soon after his arrival in the United States, about the year 1784, he commenced his commercial career in the traffic of furs: at first on a very narrow scale, but gradually expanding as his means increased. In this way he made visits to Canada, purchasing furs in that country, and shipping them from thence to the London market: {3} and it is supposed that at this period his buoyant and aspiring mind conceived the vast project of grasping in his own hands, at some future day, the whole fur trade of North America.[^[3]]

The valuable furs and peltries scattered in former days over the extensive forests, lakes, and rivers of the Canadas, like the rich mines of Potosi and Mexico, invited many adventurers. The French, for some time after settling there, carried on an irregular but lucrative traffic in furs and peltries, with very little opposition, until the year 1670, when the Hudson’s Bay Company, established by royal charter, took possession of the territory now called “Rupert’s Land,” or Hudson’s Bay. The Canada, or as it was more generally called, the North-West Company, was formed in 1787; and these soon became the two great rival companies of the north, as we shall have occasion to notice more fully hereafter. Next on the theatre of action appeared the Mackina Company, which swept the warm regions of the south, as the two others did those of the wintry north, until the American Fur Company, established by Mr. Astor in 1809, commenced operations; but he, finding the Mackina fur traders somewhat in his way, bought out that Company, and added its territorial resources in 1811 to those of the American Fur Company. This body corporate was entitled the South-West, in contradistinction to the North-West Company.[^[4]]

Mr. Astor now saw himself at the head of all the {4} fur trade of the south, and his intention was to penetrate through the barriers of the Northern Company, so as eventually to come into possession of all the fur trade east of the Rocky Mountains. With this plan still before him, he now turned his views to the trade on the coast of the Pacific, or that new field lying west of the Rocky Mountains, and which forms the subject of our present narrative. In this quarter the Russians alone had regular trading ports, opposite to Kamtschatka, where they still carry on a considerable trade in furs and seal-skins, sending them across the Pacific direct to China. Their capital is limited, and their hunting grounds almost entirely confined to the sea-coast and islands around their establishments. The American coasting vessels also frequent this quarter, collecting vast quantities of valuable furs, which they convey to the Chinese market. This casual traffic by coasters, yielded to their owners in former days, by means of the returning cargo, an average clear gain of a thousand per cent. every second year; but these vessels are not so numerous of late, nor are the profits thus made so great as formerly.

The comprehensive mind of Mr. Astor could not but see these things in their true light, and perceive that if such limited and desultory traffic produced such immense profits, what might not be expected from a well-regulated trade, supported by capital and prosecuted with system: at all events, the Russian trader would then be confined within {5} his own limits, and the coasting vessels must soon disappear altogether.

Towards the accomplishment of the great plan which he had in view, Mr. Astor now set about opening a new branch of the fur trade on the Pacific, under the appellation of the “Pacific Fur Company,” the grand central depôt of which was to be at the mouth of the Columbia River, the “Oregon of the Spaniards.”[^[5]] By this means he contemplated carrying off the furs of all the countries west of the Rocky Mountains; at the same time forming a chain of trading posts across the Continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, along the waters of the great Missouri: connecting by this chain the operations of the South-West Company on the east, with that of the Pacific Fur Company on the west side of the dividing ridge.

This grand commercial scheme, appearing now plain and practicable, at least to men of sanguine disposition, gave much satisfaction to the American public, who, from the results contemplated, became deeply interested in its success; for all the rich cargoes of furs and peltries thus to be collected annually over the vast expanse were to be shipped in American vessels for the great China mart, there to be sold, and the proceeds invested in a return cargo of teas, silks, beads, and nankeens, and other articles of high demand in the United States; which would not only prevent to some extent the American specie from going out of the Union for such articles, but also turn the barren wilds of the north and far {6} west into a source of national wealth. Some, however, of the more sagacious and influential among the Americans themselves observed to Mr. Astor at the time, that his plan would be likely to give umbrage to the British, and arouse them to assert more speedily their claims of prior discovery to the Oregon quarter, and that such a step would operate against him. To these suggestions Mr. Astor simply observed, “that he had thought of that, but intended chiefly to employ in his undertaking British subjects, and that he should on that account give less offence; besides,” added, he, “the claims of prior discovery and territorial right are claims to be settled by Government only, and not by an individual.”

Mr. Astor’s plans, hitherto known only to a few, now began to develope themselves more publicly. On the first intimation of the scheme, the North-Westerns took the alarm; for having already, in the prosecution of their trade, penetrated to the west side of the Rocky Mountains, in the direction of New Caledonia and the north branch of the Columbia, where they expected to reap a rich harvest, they viewed Astor’s expedition to that quarter with a jealous eye, according to the old adage that “two of a trade seldom agree;” but others again extolled the brilliant project, as the brightest gem in the American Union, and particularly many of the retired partners of the North-West Company, who, not being provided for in some late arrangements, had left that concern in disgust, and therefore were the most likely {7} to oppose with effect the ambitious views of their former coadjutors. These were just the men Mr. Astor had in his eye; men of influence and experience among savages, and who from their earlier days had been brought up in, and habituated to, the hardships of the Indian trade. To several of these persons Mr. Astor disclosed his plans and made proposals, whereupon Messrs. M‘Kay, M‘Kenzie, M‘Dougall, and Stuart, entered into his views, and became partners in the new concern.[^[6]] The former of these gentlemen had accompanied Sir Alexander M‘Kenzie in his voyages of discovery to the North Polar Sea in 1789, and to the Pacific in 1793, the narratives of which are before the public; and most of the others had equal experience, and were all of them in some way or other related to the great men at the head of the North-West Company.[^[7]]

Articles of association and co-partnership were therefore entered into and concluded at New York, in the spring of 1810, between those gentlemen and Mr. Astor, establishing the firm of the Pacific Fur Company, as already noticed; to which firm five other partners, namely, Messrs. Hunt, Crooks, Miller, M‘Lellan, and Clarke, were soon afterwards added.[^[8]] The association was not a joint-stock concern; Mr. Astor alone furnished the capital, amounting to 200,000 dollars, divided into 100 shares of 2000 dollars each, with power to increase the capital to 500,000 dollars.

The association was formed for a period of twenty {8} years, but with this proviso, that it was to be dissolved if it proved either unprofitable or impracticable, after a trial of five years; during which trial, however, Mr. Astor, as stockholder, was alone to bear all expenses and losses, the other partners giving only their time and labour. Of the above shares, Mr. Astor held fifty in his own hands; Mr. Hunt, as his representative and chief manager of the business, five; while the other partners, who were to carry on the trade with the Indians, were to have four each, in the event of the business succeeding. The remaining shares were reserved for the clerks, who joined the concern as adventurers, without any other remuneration than their chances of success at the end of the five years’ trial. The only exceptions were Mr. Robert Stuart and myself, who were to have our promotion at the end of the third year. From the proportion of interest, or number of shares in the hands of the stockholder and his representative, it will appear evident that the other partners, however unanimous they might be, could never have gained a majority of votes in any case over those which might have been by proxy appointed to represent Astor.

At the head depôt, or general rendezvous, was to be stationed Mr. Astor’s representative. The person appointed to this important trust was Wilson Price Hunt, a gentleman from New Jersey, who alone, of the whole party, had never been engaged in the Indian trade; yet his active habits, perseverance, and enterprise, soon made good his want of experience, {9} and enabled him to discharge the duties of his station. In him was also vested the chief authority, or, in his absence, in M‘Dougall. It was therefore to either or to both of these gentlemen that all Mr. Astor’s measures were made known, and all his cargoes consigned.

At the time when these novel schemes were first agitated, I was in Upper Canada; and the first intimation I had of them was in a letter from Mr. M‘Kay, the senior partner, requesting an interview with me at Montreal. To Montreal I accordingly went in the month of May; and there, for the first time, I saw the gilded prospectus of the new Company, and, accepting the proposals made to me by Mr. Astor, was the first to join the expedition;—and who at the time would not have joined it, for, although the North-Westerns tried to throw all the cold water of the St. Lawrence on the project, yet they could not extinguish the flame it had spread abroad. The flattering hopes and golden prospects held out to adventurers, so influenced the public mind, that the wonder-stricken believers flocked in from all quarters to share in the wonderful riches of the far west.

It need not be wondered at, if, under the influence of such extravagant expectations, many applicants appeared; but in accordance with Astor’s plan, that the business should be carried on only by persons of well-tested merit and experience, for on their habits of perseverance and enterprise alone rested all hopes {10} of ultimate success, his assistants were selected with more than ordinary care, every poor fellow that engaged being led to believe that his fortune was already made. Here Messrs. Franchère, Pillet, M‘Gillis, Farnham, and M‘Lennan, besides Mr. Stuart and myself, joined the adventurers;[^[9]] besides five tradesmen or mechanics, and twenty-four canoe men, the best that could be found of their classes.

Operations were now deemed requisite for the accomplishment of the Company’s views; therefore, while one party, headed by Mr. Hunt, was ordered to make its way across the Continent by land, another party, headed by Mr. M‘Kay, was to proceed by sea in the Tonquin, a ship of 300 tons, and mounting twelve guns. The Tonquin’s course was round Cape Horn, for the north-west coast. The Columbia River was to be the common destination of both parties. The land party at its outset consisted of only seventeen persons, but Mr. Hunt’s object was to augment that number to about eighty as he passed along, by means of American trappers and hunters from the south. Here M‘Kenzie strongly recommended Mr. Hunt to take all his men from Canada, as too much time might probably be lost in collecting them from the south; and besides, Canadians, as he thought, would answer much better; but Mr. Hunt adhered to his first plan.

The arrangement of these two expeditions, in which M‘Kay, whose life had been spent in voyaging through the Indian countries, and who was nowise {11} qualified as a merchant, had resigned the inland voyage to a gentleman, bred to mercantile pursuits, but unacquainted with this new mode of travelling, exhibited such an egregious inversion of the ordinary rules of prudence, as gave rise to much comment.

Matters being so far settled, Mr. Hunt, who was now seconded by Mr. M‘Kenzie, left La Chine, nine miles south of Montreal, with the land expedition, in the beginning of July; and, on the 20th of the same month, the ship party, consisting of three partners, five clerks, Mr. Stuart, and myself, five mechanics, and fourteen canoe men, left Montreal for New York, where we were to embark. Of this number, however, M‘Kay and eight of the most expert voyageurs proceeded in a bark canoe through the States: on all such occasions there is a kind of mutual understanding between both parties, that is, between the canoe men and the canoe, the former undertaking to carry the latter over the land part of the journey, while the latter is bound to carry the others safe over water. The appearance of this unusual kind of craft on the American waters, with the cheerful chantings of its crew, their feathered caps and sylvan appearance, as they approached the gay city of New York, attracted such a crowd of spectators of all classes around them, as left but little space to land; but what was the astonishment, when, in the twinkling of an eye, two of the crew were seen to shoulder their craft, capable of containing {12} two tons weight, and to convey it to a place of safety on terra firma. Mr. Astor, who happened to be present, was so delighted with the vivacity and dexterity of the two men, that he gave them an eagle to drink his health; then turning round, observed to some gentlemen who were standing by, that “six Americans could not do what these two brawny fellows had done,” which observation gave rise to some further remarks, when Mr. M‘Kay, with an air of confidence, challenged the swiftest New York boat for a three mile race, offering to bet ten to one on his canoe men, but, after what had been witnessed, no one appeared disposed to risk his money. It is scarcely necessary in this place to observe, that the Canadian voyageurs are among the most expert and venturesome canoe men in the world.

{13} CHAPTER II[^[10]]

The Tonquin sails—Quarrels on board—The captain’s character—Accommodations—A sudden squall—Flying fish—The captain’s harshness—Cape de Verd Islands—Alarm of fire—A suspicious sail—Crossing the line—Springing a leak—Short allowance of water—Immense wave—The Falkland Islands—Rocky passage—Wild fowl—Port Egmont Bay—The party on shore—Mr. Farnham’s gray goose—Old graves renewed—Epitaphs—Party left behind—New dangers—Mr. Robert Stuart’s determined conduct—Feuds on board—Cape Horn doubled—The weather—Pilot fish—Trade winds—Rogues’ mess—Little pilot—Mouna Roa—A man overboard—The mate in irons.

On the 6th of September, 1810, all hands—twenty-two belonging to the ship, and thirty-three passengers—being on board, the Tonquin set sail, and a fresh breeze springing up, soon wafted her to a distance from the busy shores of New York. We had not proceeded far, when we were joined by the American frigate Constitution, which was to escort us clear of the coast. On the 7th, in the afternoon, we passed Sandy Hook lighthouse, and the next day the Constitution returned, we dismissed our pilot, and were soon out of sight of land, steering a S.E. course. {14} So far all was bustle and confusion upon deck, and every place in the ship was in such topsy-turvy state, with what sailors call live and dead lumber, that scarcely any one knew how or where he was to be stowed; and it was in settling this knotty point that the crusty supremacy of the high-minded captain was first touched. Captain Jonathan Thorn had been brought up in the American navy, had signalized himself, and upon the present occasion he stood upon his own quarter-deck. Matters went on well enough till we came to the mechanics: these young men had been selected from the most respectable of their class, had been promised by their employers situations as clerks in the trade whenever vacancies should occur, and in consequence, serving in the twofold capacity of clerks and tradesmen, they were entitled, by their engagements, whilst on board ship to the same treatment as the other clerks; but behold when the captain came to assign them their place, it was not in either the second or the third cabin, no, nor in the steerage, but before the mast among the common sailors. In vain did they remonstrate, and equally vain was it for them to produce copies of their engagements; right or wrong, forward they must go; but that was not all; to the grievance of bad accommodations was added that of an insult to their feelings, by being compelled, as a further punishment for their obstinacy, to perform the duties of common seamen both by day and night. After this bit of a row with the captain, they applied for {15} redress to the partners on board, the very persons with whom they had executed their agreements. The partners interposed, and in their turn remonstrated with the captain, but without effect; he remained inexorable. Both parties then getting into a violent passion, Mr. M‘Kay said, “That his people would defend themselves rather than suffer such treatment.” On hearing this, the captain, suddenly turning round on his heel, defied Mr. M‘Kay and his people, adding, “that he would blow out the brains of the first man who dared to disobey his orders on board his own ship.” In the midst of this scene, Mr. David Stuart, a good old soul, stept up, and by his gentle and timely interference put an end to the threatening altercation.

This was the first specimen we had of the captain’s disposition, and it laid the foundation of a rankling hatred between the partners and himself, which ended only with the voyage, and not only that, but it soon spread like a contagion amongst all classes, so that party spirit ran high: the captain and his people viewing the passengers as the passengers did them, with no very cordial feelings. Whilst these feuds agitated the great folks at the head of affairs, we amused ourselves with conjectures as to the issue of the contest. A new leaf was to be turned over, the captain forbade the partners the starboard side of the quarter-deck; the clerks, the quarter-deck altogether; and as for the poor mechanics and Canadians, they were ruled ever after with a rod of iron. All this {16} time the Tonquin was speeding her way proudly over the wide bosom of the Atlantic, until the 18th, in the morning, when she was struck with a sudden squall, which backed all the sails and placed her in a critical position for about two minutes; her stern going down foremost was almost under water, when all at once she recovered and relieved our anxiety. The next day two sail were descried a head, all hands were mustered on deck, and each had his station assigned to him in case of coming to close quarters. For some days past the flying fish appeared in immense numbers, passing frequently through the ship’s rigging, and now and then falling on the deck. We measured one of them and found its length to be 5½ inches, circumference of the body 2 inches; the wings, situate near the gills, resemble in texture the wings of the bat, and measure, when stretched, 5 inches between the tips. In their flight they generally rise to 15 or 20 feet above the surface of the water, and fly about 150 yards at a time. As soon as their wings get dry they fall again into the water, and only fly to avoid their pursuers. They are the prey of the dolphin and other large fishes.

On the 6th of October we made one of the Cape de Verd Islands, on the coast of Africa. It proved to be Bonavista, in lat. 16° N. and long. 22° 47′ W. The land, covered with a blue haze, appeared broken, barren, and rocky. The weather was overcast, and we had heavy rain and thunder at the time. Near this place immense shoals of porpoises kept skipping {17} on the surface of the water going southwards. They were said to prognosticate the near approach of bad weather. We found the changes of the weather here very remarkable, from calm to rough, from foul to fair; clear, cloudy, wet, dry, hazy, and squally alternately, with the usual finale of mist and rain, and not unfrequently all these changes within the twenty-four hours.

After leaving the land, some of the gentlemen amused themselves one fine evening with shooting at a mark suspended from the ship’s stern, under which a boat lay secured; soon afterwards, in the dusk of the evening, smoke was seen to issue from that quarter; the alarm of fire was given, and in an instant all the people assembled on deck in a state of wild confusion, some calling out to broach the water-casks, others running to and fro in search of water, some with mugs, others with decanters, while the mâitre de cuisine was robbed of his broth and dish water—no one, in the hurry and bustle of the moment, ever thought of dipping the buckets alongside. At length to the inexpressible joy of all, it was discovered that the smoke was occasioned only by the wadding of the guns setting fire to some old junk which was lying in the boat astern. This gentle warning, however, put an end to such sport in future. Some angry words took place between the captain and Mr. Fox, the first mate, on which the latter was suspended from duty, and ordered below: no other reason could be assigned for this act but {18} the friendly and sociable terms existing between the mate and the partners; for by this time such was the ill feeling between the captain and the passengers generally, that scarcely a word passed between them. After three days’ confinement Mr. Fox was reinstated.

Just as we entered the trade winds, a sail appeared about two leagues to leeward; she gained fast upon us, and dogged us all day, and the next morning was close under our stern. She appeared to be an armed brig, and pierced for twenty guns, and looked very suspicious; very few hands, however, were to be seen on her deck, which might have been a manœuvre to decoy us alongside. We were prepared for combat, at least as far as a good display of numbers on deck: for to our numbers, and not to either our skill or discipline, did we chiefly trust, and it is probable this show had the desired effect, for she soon bore away and we saw her no more.

On the 25th, in long. 26° 24′ W. we crossed the equinoctial line, and here the usual ceremony of ducking was performed on such of the sailors as had never before entered the southern hemisphere. The heat was intense, the weather a dead calm, and the ocean smooth as a sheet of glass. The thermometer stood at 92° in the shade.

In lat. 3° 17′ S. and long. 26° 40′ W. we spoke a brig from Liverpool bound to Pernambuco. On nearing this old and ghastly-looking hulk, which apparently had but few hands on board, we thought {19} ourselves exceedingly strong compared to her, and I suppose from the bold front we presented, put her in as much bodily fear as the armed brig some days before did us.

On the 10th of November a violent gale came on, which lasted for fifty hours without intermission, and did us considerable damage, our jib and jib-boom being both carried off, and a leak of considerable extent sprung; but as it was easy of access, we soon got it stopped again. In the night of the 14th, an alarm of fire was again given; but after much confusion it ended without serious consequences. Of all calamities that of fire on board ship seems to be the most terrific, and every precaution was taken to prevent any accident of the kind, for at nine o’clock every night all the lights were, by the captain’s orders, put out, and this rule was strictly observed during the voyage. In these latitudes we saw many turtle, and caught some of them sleeping on the water, one of which weighed forty-five pounds; we also frequently met with what the sailors call a Portuguese man-of-war, or sea-bladder, floating on the surface of the waters.

In lat. 35° S. and 42° 17′ W. we experienced another tempestuous gale, which lasted upwards of forty hours. During this violent storm the ship laboured hard, and sustained damage. Two new leaks were observed, and many of the sails blown to rags. Although the top and top-gallant masts had been lowered, six of the guns got dismounted, and {20} kept for some time rolling like thunder on the deck, and the ship in a constant heavy sea. For seventeen hours she scudded before the wind, and went in that time two hundred and twenty miles; nothing alarming, however, took place until eight o’clock in the morning of the second day, when a very heavy sea broke over the stern, and filled us all with consternation. This wave, like a rolling mountain, passed over her deck ten feet high, and broke with a tremendous crash about the mainmast; yet, fortunately, no lives were lost, for on its near approach we all clung to the rigging, and by that means saved ourselves. On the weather moderating the carpenter was soon at work, and succeeded effectually in stopping the leaks. On the 20th our allowance of water, already short by one-half, was lessened to a pint and a half per man, and on the 2nd of December to a pint each man per day—then a gallon of brandy was offered for a pint of fresh water! but on the 5th, when the joyful sight of land was announced, a hogshead of water was offered in return for a pint of brandy. In the afternoon of this day, we made the N. W. point of one of the Falkland Islands, the rugged and solitary features of which presented a truly romantic appearance. Near this spot are three remarkable peaked rocks, or insular bluffs, of considerable height, and nearly equal distance from each other. We soon afterwards came close in with the shore, and beheld a rocky surface, with an aspect of hopeless sterility. {21} Here we came to an anchor; but the captain not liking the place changed his resolution of taking in water there.

During the few hours, however, which we spent on shore, while the ship lay at anchor, one of the sailors, named Johnston, strolled out of the way. The captain, nevertheless, gave orders to weigh anchor, declaring that he would leave the fellow to his fate; but after much entreaty he consented to wait an hour, adding, that if the man did not return in that time he should never more set foot on board his ship. A party immediately volunteered to go in search of the lost tar. This party after beating about in vain for some time, at last thought of setting fire to the few tufts of grass which here and there alone decked the surface. This expedient succeeded, and the man was found, having fallen asleep near the water’s edge. But the hour had unfortunately elapsed, and the loss of a few minutes more so enraged the captain, that he not only threatened the man’s life, but maltreated all those who had been instrumental in finding him. We then set sail, and had much difficulty in effecting a passage through a narrow strait which lay before us, interrupted in many places by ledges of rocks, which were literally covered with seals, penguins, white and grey geese, ducks, shags, albatrosses, eagles, hawks, and vultures. After making our way through this intricate pass, we again came to anchor.

{22} On the 7th of December we anchored in Port Egmont Bay, for the purpose of taking in a supply of water. The bay or inlet of Port Egmont is about a mile long, and half a mile broad, and sheltered from almost every wind that blows. All hands now were set to work; two of the mates and two-thirds of the crew, together with the mechanics and Canadians, commenced replenishing the water-casks, whilst the other two mates with the remainder of the people were employed on board repairing the rigging, and putting everything in a fit condition for a new start. During these operations the partners and clerks, and frequently the captain also, went sporting on shore, where wild fowl of all kinds stunned our ears with their noises, and darkened the air with their numbers, and were generally so very tame, or rather stupid, that we often killed them with sticks and stones, and the sailors in their boats often knocked down the ducks and penguins with their oars in passing the rocks. The only quadruped we saw on land was a wolverine of ordinary size, which one of our party shot.

Our tent was pitched on shore, not above four hundred yards from the ship; this was our sporting rendezvous. On the 10th all the water-casks were ready, and the captain on going on board that evening said to Mr. M‘Dougall, that the ship would probably sail the next day. Soon after, however, Messrs. M‘Kay and M‘Dougall also went on board, where they passed the night; but coming ashore {23} the next morning, they told us that the ship would not sail till the 12th, and that all hands were ordered on board on that night.

In the mean time Mr. Farnham, one of the clerks, had caught a grey goose, which he tied to a stone between our hut and the landing-place, in order to have some sport with it. Soon afterwards the captain, happening to come on shore, and seeing the goose, he up with his gun to shoot at it. Thinking, however, that he had missed it, he instantly reloaded and fired again, and seeing the goose flutter he ran up to catch it, when he discovered his mistake, on which we all burst out a laughing. Nettled at this, he immediately turned round and went on board again. Meantime, Messrs. M‘Dougall and Stuart started across the point after game; whilst Mr. M‘Kay, myself, and some others, went up the bay a little to repair two old graves which we had discovered in a dilapidated state the day before. On one of these graves was the following rudely-cut inscription on a board:—“William Stevens, aged twenty-two years, killed by a fall from a rock, on the 21st of September, 1794;” on the other, “Benjamin Peak died of the smallpox on the 5th of January, 1803, ship Eleonora, Captain Edmund Cole, Providence, Rhode Island.”

While we were thus eagerly employed, little did we suspect what was going on in another quarter; for, about two o’clock in the afternoon, one of our party called out, “The ship’s off!”—when all of us, {24} running to the top of a little eminence, beheld, to our infinite surprise and dismay, the Tonquin, under full sail, steering out of the bay. We knew too well the callous and headstrong passions of the wayward captain to hesitate a moment in determining what to do; with hearts, therefore, beating between anxious hope and despair, some made for the boat, whilst others kept running and firing over hill and dale to warn Messrs. M‘Dougall and Stuart, who had not yet returned. In half an hour we were all at the water’s edge; the ship by this time was three miles out at sea. We were now nine persons on shore, and we had to stow, squat, and squeeze ourselves into a trumpery little boat, scarcely capable of holding half our number. In this dreadful dilemma, we launched on a rough and tempestuous sea, and, against wind and tide, followed the ship. The wind blowing still fresher and fresher, every succeeding wave threatened our immediate destruction. Our boat already half full of water, and ourselves, as may be supposed, drenched with the surges passing over her, we gave up all hope of succeeding in the unequal struggle, and a momentary pause ensued, when we deliberated whether we should proceed in the perilous attempt or return to land. The ship was now at least two leagues ahead of us, and just at this time the man who was bailing out the water in the boat unfortunately let go and lost the pail, and one of our oars being broken in the struggle to recover it, our destiny seemed sealed beyond a doubt. A second deliberation {25} ended in the resolve to reach the ship or perish in the attempt. The weather now grew more violent; the wind increased; and, what was worst of all, the sun had just sunk under the horizon, and the fearful night began to spread its darkness over the turbulent deep. Every ray of hope now vanished: but so shortsighted is man, that the moment when he least expects it, relief often comes from an unseen hand; and such was our case; for in an instant our hopeless anxiety was turned into joy by the ship suddenly making down to our assistance: but here again we had a new danger to contend with; for, on coming alongside, we were several times like to be engulfed or dashed to pieces by the heavy seas and rolling of the ship. The night was dark; the weather stormy; and death in a thousand forms stared us in the face. At length, after many ineffectual attempts and much manœuvring, we succeeded in getting on board; having been in the boat upwards of six hours. That the captain’s determination was to leave us all to our fate, there is not the least doubt; for he declared so afterwards, in a letter written to Mr. Astor from the Sandwich Islands, and he was only prevented from carrying his purposes into effect by the determined conduct of Mr. Robert Stuart, who, seizing a brace of pistols, peremptorily told the captain to order about ship and save the boat; or, he added, “You are a dead man this instant.”

During the night the gale increased almost to a hurricane, so that two of our sails were torn to pieces, {26} and the side-rails broke by the labouring of the ship; so we had to lie-to under a storm-staysail for six hours. The reader is here left to picture to himself how matters went on after the scene just described. All the former feuds and squabbles between the captain and passengers sink into insignificance compared to the recent one. Sullen and silent, both parties passed and repassed each other in their promenades on deck without uttering a word; but their looks bespoke the hatred that burnt within. The partners on the quarter-deck made it now a point to speak nothing but the Scotch dialect; while the Canadians on the forecastle spoke French—neither of which did the captain understand; and as both groups frequently passed hours together, cracking their jokes and chanting their outlandish songs, the commander seemed much annoyed on these occasions, pacing the deck in great agitation. Yet all this time the ship good was hastening on her way.

On the 15th we saw Staten Land, whose forked peaks and rugged surface exhibited much snow. Soon afterwards, Terra del Fuego came in sight; and on the 19th, at 9 o’clock in the morning, we had a full view of Cape Horn. But adverse winds meeting us here, we were unable to double it before Christmas morning, and were carried, in the mean time, as far south as lat. 58° 16′. While in these latitudes, notwithstanding the foggy state of the weather, we could read common print at all hours of the night on deck without the aid of artificial light. The sky was {27} generally overcast, and the weather raw and cold, with frequent showers of hail and snow, but we saw no ice. Here the snow birds and Cape pigeon frequently flew in great numbers about the ship. After doubling the Cape, a speckled red and white fish, about the size of a salmon, was observed before the ship’s bow, as if leading the way. The sailors gave it the name of the pilot fish.

With gladdened hearts, we now bent our course northward on the wide Pacific. On the 19th of January, 1811, all hands passed the ordeal of inspection, or as the sailors more appropriately called it, the “general turn-out;” and as none could guess what this new manœuvre portended, we all judged it to be a relic of man-of-war discipline, which the captain introduced merely to refresh his memory; but the proceeding must be described:—After breakfast, all hands were summoned on deck, and there ordered to remain, while the officers of the ship got up the trunks, chests, hammocks, dirty shirts, and old shoes belonging to each individual, on deck. They were then ordered to empty out the contents of the boxes, examine, and expose the whole to view, each man’s paraphernalia separately. While this was going on, the bystanders were ordered to claim any article belonging to them in the possession of another. This declaration cleared up the matter, and set our judgment right as to the captain’s motives; but to the credit of all, very little stolen property was found—being only three articles, namely, a pamphlet, a clasp-knife, {28} and a spoon, and even as to them the theft was not very well proved; but the three individuals implicated were nevertheless condemned, and placed on what is called the “rogue’s mess” for a month.

On the 24th we again crossed the Equator, and entered the northern hemisphere, and here the pilot fish that joined us at Cape Horn disappeared. During a run of upwards of 5,000 miles, our little piscatory pilot was never once known, by day or night, to intermit preceding the ship’s bow. On the 10th of February, the cloud-capped summit of the towering Mouna Roa—a pyramidal mountain in Owhyhee, and the loftiest in the Sandwich Islands—was visible at the distance of 50 miles.

As we drew near to the land, going at the rate of eight knots an hour, a Canadian lad named Joseph LaPierre fell overboard. This was an awkward accident, as all eyes were at the time gazing with admiration on the scenery of the land. In an instant, however, the sails were backed, boats lowered, and everything at hand thrown overboard to save the drowning man; but before he could be picked up the ship had distanced him more than a mile, and when the boatswain reached the ship with the body, the captain, in his usual sympathizing mood, peremptorily ordered him about to pick up all the trumpery which had been thrown into the water. This took a considerable time. The apparently lifeless body was then hoisted on board, and every means tried to restore animation, and at last, by rolling the body in warm {29} blankets, and rubbing it with salt, the lad recovered, after being thirty-eight minutes in the water, and though unable to swim.

Mr. Fox, who had again fallen under the captain’s displeasure, and who had been, in consequence, off duty for a week past, was reinstated this morning. This was no sooner done, however, than the fourth mate, the captain’s own brother, was put into irons. The young Thorn was as factious and morose a subject as his brother; with this only difference, that he had less power to do mischief. He had maltreated one of the passengers; and the captain, in order to show impartiality, awarded him the above punishment.

{30} CHAPTER III[^[11]]

Karakakooa Bay—The sailors desert—The captain’s conduct—Productions of Owhyhee—Tocaigh Bay—Governor Young—Royal proclamation—Woahoo—Ourourah, the residence of Tammeatameah—Harbour fees—Excursion on shore—The Queen’s umbrella—The King’s appearance—Royal palace and guards—Arsenal, or royal workshop—Royal dinner—His Majesty’s fleet—Morais, or places of public worship—Sacred or puranee ground tabooed—Storm—A sailor left to his fate among the natives—Parting visit from his Majesty—His meanness—Diving of the natives—Native proas: how made—Clothing—Customs and peculiarities—Character of the women—White men at the Sandwich Islands—The King’s disposition towards foreigners—Captain Cook—Pahooas, or war spears—A sham fight—Religion—Tammeatameah conqueror and king—Apparent happiness of the natives—Prophetic hint—Distressed situation of a boat.

On the 13th of February the ship anchored in Karakakooa Bay, in the island of Owhyhee, and within a mile of the place where the unfortunate Captain Cook fell in 1779. The Sandwich Islands are eleven in number, and lie between the 19th and 22nd parallels of N. latitude, and the meridians of 151° and 160° W. longitude. The climate is warm but healthy, and more temperate and uniform than {31} is usual in tropical countries; nor is it subject to hurricanes and earthquakes. In their customs and manners the natives resemble the New Zealanders, and like them are a warlike people: all classes tattoo their bodies.

Karakakooa Bay is about a mile or more in extent, but sheltered only on one side, which presents a high rugged front of coral rock, resembling a rampart or battery in the bottom of the bay, facing the ocean, with two bushy trees on it waving in the wind like flags. The shores, with the exception of the above-mentioned rock, are everywhere low, with here and there clumps of cocoa-nut and other trees, which give a pleasing variety to the scene; and the land, rising gradually as it recedes to a considerable height, looks down over intervening hill and dale upon the delightful little villages of Kakooa and Kowrowa.

We were now near land, and the captain’s conduct to both passengers and crew had fostered a spirit of desertion among the sailors: Jack Tar, slipping off in the night, was seen no more. This new feature in our affairs portended no good, but brought about a sweeping change, for the captain had now no resource but to place his chief confidence in those whom he had all along maltreated and affected to despise. In this state of things, the natives were employed to bring back the deserters. One Roberts, a yankee, was confined below; Ems, a Welshman, was tied up and flogged; Johnston, an Englishman, {32} was put in irons; and Anderson, the boatswain, could not be found. Storming and stamping on deck, the captain called up all hands; he swore, he threatened, and abused the whole ship’s company, making, if possible, things worse. I really pitied the poor man, although he had brought all this trouble upon himself: with all his faults he had some good qualities, and in his present trying situation we all forgot our wrongs, and cheerfully exerted ourselves to help him out of his difficulties. The clerks were appointed to assist the officers, and the Canadians to supply the place of the sailors in keeping watch and doing the other duties on shore; while the partners, forgetting former animosities, joined hand in hand with the captain in providing for the wants of the ship.

Order being now restored, the partners and some of the clerks went occasionally on shore; meantime, the natives having paid several visits on board, and sounded our bargain-making chiefs (for they are shrewd dealers), a brisk trade commenced in plantains, bananas, yams, taro, bread-fruit, sweet potatoes, sugar-canes, cocoa-nuts, and some pork, the principal productions of the place. We had not been long here, however, till we learned that the chief of the island resided at a place called Tocaigh Bay, some distance off; and as we expected a further and better supply there, we sailed for that place, where we had an interview with the governor, a white man, named John Young. He received us kindly, and with {33} every mark of attention peculiar to an Indian chief; showed us his wife, his daughter, his household, and vassals—a strange assemblage of wealth and poverty, filth and plenty.

Governor Young was a native of England, and belonged to an American ship, the Eleanor, of which he was boatswain. That vessel, happening to touch at the Sandwich Islands in 1790, left Young there to shift for himself; but his nautical skill and good conduct soon recommended him to the reigning prince, Tammeatameah, and he is now Viceroy or Governor of Owhyhee. He is about 60 years of age, shrewd, and healthy; but, from his long residence among the natives, he has imbibed so much of their habits and peculiarities, that he is now more Indian than white man.

We had not been long at the village of Tocaigh, when Governor Young gave us to understand that no rain had fallen in that neighbourhood during the four preceding years, and that in consequence provisions were very scarce, and good water was not to be found there at any time. These details were discouraging. The natives, however, began a brisk trade in fruits and vegetables; we, however, were desirous of purchasing hogs and goats, but were told that the sale of pork had been prohibited by royal proclamation, and that, without the permission of the king, who resided in the island of Woahoo, no subject could dispose of any. Anxious to complete our supplies, we immediately resolved on sailing to Woahoo.

{34} On the 21st of February, we cast anchor abreast of Ourourah, the metropolis of Woahoo, and royal residence of Tammeatameah. This is the richest and most delightful spot in the whole archipelago. On our approaching the land, two white officers came on board; the one a Spaniard, secretary to his majesty; the other a Welshman, the harbour master: the latter brought us safe to anchor in Whyteete Bay, for which service he demanded and was paid five Spanish dollars.

The royal village of Ourourah is situate at the foot of a hill, facing the ocean, on the west side of the island. The houses were 740 in number, and contained 2025 inhabitants. It will appear strange that so few inhabitants should require so many houses, but this will be explained hereafter. Behind the village there is an extensive field under fine cultivation—perhaps it may measure 500 acres; but its appearance was greatly injured by irregular enclosures, or rather division lines, formed of loose stones running on the surface, intersecting and crossing each other in every possible direction, for the purpose of marking the plot claimed by each individual or family: the whole is cultivated with much skill and industry, the soil teemingly rich, and the labour abundant, with here and there small water-courses and aqueducts.

Immediately after coming to anchor, Captain Thorn, accompanied by Mr. M‘Kay and Mr. M‘Dougall, waited on his majesty, Tammeatameah, {35} and after dining with him, returned on board. In the afternoon his majesty and three queens returned the visit in state, the royal canoe being paddled by sixteen chiefs, with the state arm-chest on board. Their majesties were received with becoming ceremony. The flag was displayed, and three guns fired. The king was conducted to the cabin followed by his valet, who held a spitting-box in his hand, but the queens preferred remaining on deck. While here, they very unceremoniously disrobed themselves, plunged overboard, and after swimming and sporting for some time in the water, came on board again and dressed themselves, after which they joined Tammeatameah in the cabin, where they did ample justice to a good collation, drank two bottles of wine, and left us apparently well pleased with their reception. The chiefs remained all the time in the royal yacht alongside.

Tammeatameah appeared to be about fifty years of age; straight and portly, but not corpulent; his countenance was pleasing, but his complexion rather dark, even for an Indian. He had on a common beaver hat, a shirt, and neckcloth, which had once been white; a long blue coat with velvet collar, a cassimere vest, corduroy trousers, and a pair of strong military shoes; he also wore a long and not inelegant sword, which he said he got from his brother, the king of England.

During these interviews and visits of ceremony, the captain had broached the subject of pork to {36} his majesty; but this was not the work of an hour nor of a day; pork was a royal monopoly, and the king well knew how to turn it to his advantage on the present occasion, for several conferences were held, and all the pros and cons of a hard bargain discussed, before the royal contract was concluded. Time however, brought it about, and the negotiation was finally closed; the king furnished the requisite supplies of hogs, goats, poultry, and vegetables, for all of which a stipulated quantity of merchandise was to be given in return. Business now commenced, and good water and provisions were brought to the ship in boat-loads; and as the king further pledged himself, that if any of the sailors deserted he would answer for their safe delivery again, this assurance, although the words of kings are not always sacred, had the effect of relieving the passengers from the ship’s duties; we were, therefore, enabled to go on shore.

On walking up to the royal city on our first landing, we were met by two of the queens, accompanied by a page of honour. They were all three walking abreast, the page in the middle, and holding with his two hands a splendid parasol of the richest silk, measuring six feet eight inches in diameter. From this umbrella hung twelve massy tassels, weighing at least a pound each. The ladies were very communicative, and after detaining us for nearly half an hour passed on. We were soon afterwards introduced to his majesty, who honoured us with a glass of arrack. Here {37} we had a full view of the royal palace, the royal family, and the life-guards. The palace consisted of thirteen houses, built so as to form a square. All the buildings of the country are a kind of wicker work, remarkable for their neatness and regularity; and although slender, they appear to be strong and durable; nor did there appear any difference between the royal buildings and the other houses of the place, the square and courtyard excepted. The king occupied three of these houses; one for eating, another for sleeping, and the third for business, which may be called the audience chamber. Each of the queens occupied three also; a dressing house, a sleeping house, and an eating house. His majesty never enters any of the queens’ houses, nor do they ever enter any of his: in this respect, they are always tabooed. There is a house set apart exclusively for their interviews. The established custom of the land is that each family, however poor, invariably occupies three houses; and this will explain why so many houses are required for so few inhabitants.

We also saw two of the king’s sons; one of them was in disgrace and tabooed; that is, interdicted from speaking with anybody. We were next shown the life-guards, consisting of forty men, accoutred in something of the English style, with muskets, belts, and bayonets; but their uniform was rather old and shabby. The parade-ground, or place where the guards were on duty, lay just behind the royal buildings, on a level square green spot made up for the {38} purpose, and on which were placed eighteen four or six pounders, all mounted, and apparently in good order.

From this we proceeded to a long narrow range of buildings, where a number of artisans were at work, making ship, sloop, and boat tackling, ropes, blocks, and all the other et ceteras required for his majesty’s fleet; while others again, in a wing of the same building, were employed in finishing single and double canoes; the former for pleasure, the latter for commercial purposes. At the far end of the buildings was erected a blacksmith’s forge; and beyond that, in a side room, lay the masts, spars, and rigging of a new schooner. The tools used by the different workmen were very simple, slender, few, and ill-made, and yet the work done by them surprised us.

While in the workshops, Mr. M‘Kay took a fancy to a small knot of wood, about the size of a pint-pot, and asked it of the king. His majesty took the bit of wood in his hand, and after looking at it for some time turned round to Mr. M‘Kay and said, “This is a very valuable piece of wood; it is the finest koeye, and what my Erees make their pipes of; but if you will give me a new hat for it, you can have it.” Mr. M‘Kay smiled, adding, “Your majesty shall have it.” So the bargain was struck, but Mr. M‘Kay fell in love with no more of his majesty’s wood. They make their own cloth, cordage, salt, sugar, and whisky.

{39} The king then invited us to dine; and entering a small wretched hovel adjoining the workshop, we all sat down round a dirty little table, on which was spread some viands, yams, taro, cocoa-nuts, pork, bread-fruit, and arrack. The king grew very jovial, ate and drank freely, and pressed us to follow his example. After dinner, he apologized for the meanness of the place, by saying that his banqueting house was tabooed that day. Dinner being over, he brought us to see a large stone building, the only one of the kind on the island, situate at some distance from the other buildings; but he showed no disposition to open the door and let us have a peep at the inside. He said it cost him 2,000 dollars. We were told the royal treasure and other valuables were kept there. Behind the stone building, and near the shore, was lying at anchor an old ship of about 300 tons, with some guns and men on deck—said to be the guard-ship. From this position, we saw sixteen vessels of different sizes, from 10 to 200 tons, all lying in a wretched and ruinous condition along the beach; some on shore, others afloat, but all apparently useless. The day being excessively warm, and our curiosity gratified, we took leave of his majesty, and staid for the night at the house of a Mr. Brown, an American settler, who had resided on the island for several years.

After passing an agreeable night, we bade adieu to our hospitable landlord, and set out to view the morais, or places of public worship. Of these, Ourourah {40} alone contains fifteen of this description. Each morai is composed of several miserable-looking little huts, or houses. Passing by all the inferior ones, we at length reached the king’s morai, or principal one of the place. It consisted of five low, gloomy, and pestiferous houses, huddled close together; and alongside of the principal one stood an image made of wood, resembling a pillar, about 28 feet high, in the shape of the human figure, cut and carved with various devices; the head large, and the rude sculpture on it presenting the likeness of a human face, carved on the top with a black cowl. About thirty yards from the houses, all round about, was a clear spot called the “king’s tabooed ground,” surrounded by an enclosure. This sacred spot is often rigorously tabooed and set apart for penance. It was while walking to and fro on this solitary place that we saw Tatooirah, the king’s eldest son, who was in disgrace. We were prevented from entering within the enclosure. At the foot of this pagot, or pillar, were scattered on the ground several dead animals: we saw four dogs, two hogs, five cats, and large quantities of vegetables, almost all in a state of putrefaction, the whole emitting a most offensive smell. On the death of the king or other great eree, and in times of war, human sacrifices are frequently offered at the shrine of this moloch. The word taboo implies interdiction or prohibition from touching the place, person, or thing tabooed; a violation of which is always severely punished, and at the king’s morai, with death.

{41} We had scarcely got on board, late in the evening, when a tremendous gale from the land arose and drove the ship out to sea. The fury of the tempest and darkness of the night obliged us to cut cable, and two days were spent in anxious forebodings, ere we got back again into harbour.

On the 27th, all our supplies, according to contract, were safe on board; and from the good conduct of the sailors since our arrival, we began to think matters would go on smoothly for the future; but these hopes were of short duration—the hasty and choleric disposition of the captain destroyed our anticipations. Two of the boats had gone on shore as usual; but on the call for all hands to embark, three of the sailors were missing. The boats, without waiting a moment, pushed off, but had reached the ship only fifteen minutes before two of the three men arrived in an Indian canoe. Notwithstanding the anxiety they manifested, and their assurance that the boat had not been off five minutes before they were on the beach, they were both tied up, flogged, and then put in irons. But this was not all; Emms, the third man, not being able to procure a canoe, had unfortunately to pass the night on shore, but arrived the next morning by sunrise. On arriving alongside, the captain, who was pacing the deck at the time did not wait till he got on board, but jumping into a boat which lay alongside, laid hold of some sugar-canes with which the boat was loaded, and bundled the poor fellow, sprawling and speechless, at {42} his feet; then jumping on deck, kept pacing to and fro in no very pleasant mood; but on perceiving Emms still struggling to get up, he leaped into the boat a second time, and called one of the sailors to follow him. The poor fellow, on seeing the captain, called out for mercy; but in his wrath the captain forgot mercy, and laid him again senseless at his feet, then ordered him to be thrown overboard! Immediately on throwing the man into the sea, Mr. Fox made signs to some Indians, who dragged him into their canoe and paddled off to shore. During this scene, no one interfered; for the captain, in his frantic fits of passion, was capable of going any lengths, and would rather have destroyed the expedition, the ship, and every one on board, than be thwarted in what he considered as ship discipline, or his nautical duties.

In the evening, the Indians brought Emms again to the ship. Here the little fellow implored forgiveness, and begged to be taken on board; but the captain was inexorable, and threatened him with instant death if he attempted to come alongside. Soon after he made his appearance again, but with no better effect. He then asked for his protection, a paper which the American sailors generally take with them to sea. The captain returning no answer to this request, Mr. Fox contrived to throw his clothes and protection overboard unperceived, at the same time making signs to the Indians to convey them to Emms. On receiving the little bundle, he remained {43} for some time without uttering a word; at last, bursting into tears, he implored again and again to be admitted on board, but to no purpose. All hopes now vanishing, the heroic little fellow, standing up in the canoe, took off his cap, and waving it in the air, with a sorrowful heart bade adieu to his shipmates; the canoe then paddled to land, and we saw him no more.

Our supplies being now completed, the king came on board before our departure; and it will appear something surprising that the honest and wealthy monarch, forgetting the rank and pomp of royalty, should at his parting visit covet everything he saw with us: he even expressed a wish to see the contents of our trunks; he begged a handkerchief from me, a penknife from another, a pair of shoes from a third, a hat from a fourth, and when refused, talked of his kindness to us on shore; while, on the other hand, he bowed low when presented with a breastpin, a few needles, or paper-cased looking-glass, not worth a groat. Even the cabin-boy and cook were not forgotten by this “King of the Isles,” for he asked a piece of black-ball from the former, and an old saucepan from the latter. His avarice and meanness in these respects had no bounds, and we were all greatly relieved when he bade us farewell and departed.

Having taken leave of his majesty, I shall now make a few remarks on the habits, dress, and language of the natives.

{44} The Sandwich Islanders are bold swimmers, and expert navigators. They are like ducks in the water. As soon as we had cast anchor in Karakakooa Bay the natives, men and women, indiscriminately flocked about the ship in great numbers: some swimming, others in canoes, but all naked, although the Tonquin lay a mile from the shore. Few, however, being admitted on board at once (probably a necessary precaution), the others waited very contentedly floating on the surface of the water alongside, amusing themselves now and then by plunging and playing round the ship. After passing several hours in this way, they would then make a simultaneous start for the land, diving and plunging, sporting and playing, like so many seals or fish in a storm all the way. During their gambols about the ship, we often amused ourselves by dropping a button, nail, or pin into the water; but such was their keenness of sight and their agility, that the trifle had scarcely penetrated the surface of the water before it was in their possession; nothing could escape them. On one occasion a ship’s block happening to fall overboard, one of the natives was asked to dive for it in thirty-six feet of water; but after remaining three minutes and fifty seconds under water he came up unsuccessful; another tried it and succeeded, after being under water four minutes and twelve seconds: the blood, however, burst from his nose and ears immediately after.

Their voyaging canoes are made to ride on the {45} roughest water with safety by means of a balance or outrigger shaped like a boat’s keel, and attached to the canoe at the distance of five feet by two slender beams. The canoe goes fully as well with as without the balance, skipping on the surface of the water as if no such appendage accompanied it. When the swell or surge strikes the canoe on the balance side, the weight of the outrigger prevents its upsetting, and when on the opposite side the buoyancy of the outrigger, now sunk in the water, has the same effect.

The climate here is so very mild and warm that the natives seldom wear any clothing, and when they do, it is of their own manufacture, and extremely simple. The inner bark of different trees (the touta in particular) is prepared by beating it into a pulp or soft thin web, not unlike grey paper, called tappa. The common people wear it in this raw state, but the better sort paint it with various colours, resembling printed cotton. Tappa is as strong as cartridge paper, but not so thick, and can answer for clothing only in dry climates. The common dress of the men consists of a piece of this tappa, about ten inches broad and nine feet long, like a belt, called maro. The maro is thrown carelessly round the loins, then passed between the thighs, and tied on the left side. The females wear the pow or pau, a piece of tappa similar to the maro, only a little broader, and worn in the same manner; but the queens had on, in addition to the pow, a loose mantle or shawl thrown round {46} the body, called kihei, which consisted of twenty-one folds of tappa; yet when compressed it did not equal in thickness an English blanket. The kihei is generally worn by persons of distinction, but seldom of more than two or three folds, excepting among the higher ranks. Like a Chinese mandarin, a lady here makes known her rank by her dress, and by the number of folds in her kihei.

A custom prevalent here, and which is, I believe, peculiar to these islanders, is, that the women always eat apart from the men, and are forbidden the use of pork. The favourite dish among all classes is raw fish, mashed or pounded in a mortar. Considering their rude and savage life, these people are very cleanly. The houses of all classes are lined and decorated with painted tappa, and the floors overspread with variegated mats. The women are handsome in person, engaging in their manners, well featured, and have countenances full of joy and tranquility; but chastity is not their virtue.

The king’s will is the paramount law of the land, but he is represented as a mild and generous sovereign, invariably friendly to the whites whom choice or accident has thrown on these islands. To those who behave well the king allots land, and gives them slaves to work it. He protects both them and their property, and is loth ever to punish an evildoer. Near Ourourah we saw eight or ten white men comfortably settled; and upwards of thirty {47} others naked and wild among the natives, wretched unprincipled vagabonds, of almost every nation in Europe, without clothing and without either house or home.

I have already noticed the principal esculent vegetables growing here; there are also some beautiful kinds of wood; that called koeye, of which the war spears or pahooas are made, and sandalwood, are the kinds most highly esteemed among the natives for their hardness and polish. The cocoa-nut, in clumps here and there, forms delightful groves, and these are often frequented by the industrious females for the purpose of manufacturing and painting their tappa—preferring the cool shade and open air to the heat of a dwelling-house.

At the place where Captain Cook was killed, which we visited soon after our arrival, were still a few old and shattered cocoa-nut trees, pierced with the shot from his ships; and a flat coral rock; at the water’s edge, is still pointed out to strangers as the fatal spot where he fell.

The chief weapon used in their warfare is the pahooa or spear, 12 feet long, polished, barbed, and painted. It is poised and thrown with the right hand with incredible force and precision. His majesty ordered fifty men to parade one day, and invited us to see them exercising, and we were certainly much gratified and astonished at their skill in throwing and parrying the weapons.

{48} After going through several manœuvres, the king picked four of the best marksmen out, and ordered one of them to stand at a certain point; the three others at a distance of sixty yards from him, all armed with pahooas, and facing one another. The three last mentioned were to dart their spears at the single man, and he to parry them off or catch them in passing. Each of the three had twelve pahooas; the single man but one. Immediately after taking his position the single man put himself upon his guard, by skipping and leaping from right to left with the quickness of lightning: the others, equally on the alert, prepared to throw. All eyes were now anxiously intent; presently one threw his spear, at a short interval the next followed; as did the third—two at a time next threw, and then all three let fly at once, and continued to throw without intermission until the whole thirty-six spears were spent, which was done in less than three minutes. The single man, who was placed like a target to be shot at, defended himself nobly with the spear he had in his hand, and sent those of his opponents whistling in every direction, for he had either to parry them off like a skilful boxer, or be run through on the spot; but such was the agility with which he shifted from one position to another, and managed the spear with his right hand, that he seemed rather to be playing and amusing himself than seriously engaged, for twice or thrice he dexterously seized his opponent’s spear at {49} the moment it came in contact with his own, allowing at the same time the latter to fly off, and this shifting or exchanging spears is thought a masterpiece, being the most difficult and dangerous manœuvre in the whole affair, and it is only an adept that can attempt it with safety. When all was over, the man had received a slight wound on the left arm; but it happens not unfrequently that he who is thus placed is killed on the spot; for if he allows the spear to be knocked out of his hand without catching another, he is almost sure to fall, as the throwers are not allowed to stop while a pahooa remains with them, and every weapon is hurled with a deadly intention.

The king is said to be a dexterous pahooa man himself, and it was his prowess and knowledge in war, and not his rank, that made him sovereign of these islands. After the people had dispersed, the man who had acted so conspicuous a part in the exhibition just described, came to us and offered to risk his life for a handkerchief, at the distance of twenty yards; telling us to select the best marksman among us, with a fowlingpiece either with shot or ball, and he would stand before him, and either win the handkerchief or lose his life! We were not disposed, however, to accept the challenge, but gave the fellow a handkerchief and sent him about his business.

All the islands of this group, excepting one, have {50} acknowledged Tammeatameah as their king, and the jarring interests and feuds of the different islands have at last sunk into a system of union which, if we may judge from appearance, renders this country, under its present government, an earthly paradise, and the inhabitants thereof as free from care, and perhaps as happy, as any in the globe;—but mark! civilized man has now begun to trade on its innocent and peaceful soil: there is an end, therefore, to all primeval simplicity and happiness.

These people speak with a quickness which almost baffles imitation; and in very many instances, the same word is repeated twice. The language is bold and masculine; and, although the accent be clear, is very difficult to be attained by the whites.

We shall now take our leave of the friendly and hospitable natives of these islands. On his majesty leaving the ship, a boat was sent to shore for a few remaining articles; meantime, preparations were made for weighing anchor. The wind from the sea beginning to blow retarded the boat’s return; and the delay so nettled our worthy commander, that he gave orders to set sail, and the ship stood out to sea, leaving the boat to follow as she could. The wind soon increasing to a gale, the boat had to struggle with a tempestuous sea for six hours, during which time we expected every minute to witness her destruction. The Falkland Island affair was yet fresh in our {51} minds, and this seemed to equal, if not surpass it in cruelty. At length, however, the ship bore down, and with much difficulty rescued the boat’s crew from a watery grave.

{52} CHAPTER IV[^[12]]

Departure from the Sandwich Islands—Bad weather—Live stock destroyed—Columbia River—A boat and crew lost—Captain’s conduct towards Mr. Fox—Mouth of the river—Bar and breakers—Cape Disappointment—Point Adams—Narrow escape of the long boat—Sounding the bar—A boat and crew left to perish—The ship in the breakers—Critical situation—Melancholy narrative of Steven Weeks—Search made for the lost boat, and narrow escape—Long boat swamped—Fidelity of the natives—Preparations for leaving the ship—Captain Thorn—The voyage concluded.

On the 1st of March, 1811, we took our departure from the Sandwich Islands; steering direct for Columbia River. The first step taken, after leaving the land, was to liberate those who had been put in irons. Poor fellows! they considered themselves particularly unfortunate, and doubly punished, in not having been partakers of the pleasures which the others had enjoyed on shore. All our thoughts now tended to one point; and the hope of soon terminating a long and irksome voyage made us forget all former misunderstandings, and a few days passed in harmony and good-fellowship, until the 12th, when the weather becoming squally and cold, with snow {53} and sleet, the partners wished to serve out some articles of clothing to the passengers, who now began to feel very sensibly the change of climate; but the captain considered the broaching of a bale or box as an encroachment on his authority, and a violation of ship rules, and therefore steadily opposed it. This gave rise to bad blood on both sides. The partners swore they would have such articles as they wanted; the captain swore they should touch nothing. The dispute went to such a height that pistols were resorted to, and all, from stem to stern, seemed for a moment involved in the flame of civil war; but on this, as on a former occasion, Mr. David Stuart and some others interfering brought about a reconciliation. The partners desisted; the captain kept his bales and boxes untouched; and the men froze in the icy rigging of the ship until many of them were obliged to take to their hammocks.

On the 14th, in lat. 37° N. and long. 137° W., a violent gale came on, which increased almost to a hurricane, and lasted four days without intermission, during which we were much puzzled in manœuvring the ship. She had sprung a leak, but not seriously. Sometimes we had to let her scud before the wind; sometimes she lay-to; sometimes under one sail, sometimes under another, labouring greatly; and much anxiety was felt by all on board. During this storm, almost everything on deck was carried off or dashed to pieces; all our live stock were either killed or washed overboard; and so bad was the weather, {54} first with rain, and then with sleet, hail, frost, and snow which froze on the rigging as it fell, that there was no bending either ropes or sails, and the poor sailors were harassed to death. But bad and harassing as this state of things was, it proved to be only the beginning of our troubles, and a prelude to far greater trials. During this gale, we sustained considerable damage in the sails and rigging, besides the loss of our live stock, and other things on board.

On the 22nd of March, we came in sight of land, which, on a nearer approach, proved to be Cape Disappointment, a promontory forming the north side of the Great Oregon or Columbia River. The sight filled every heart with gladness. But the cloudy and stormy state of the weather prevented us seeing clearly the mouth of the river; being then about ten miles from land. The aspect of the coast was wild and dangerous, and for some time the ship lay-to, until the captain could satisfy himself that it was the entrance of the river; which he had no sooner done, than Mr. Fox, the first mate, was ordered to go and examine the channel on the bar. At half-past one o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Fox left the ship, having with him one sailor, a very old Frenchman, and three Canadian lads, unacquainted with sea service—two of them being carters from La Chine, and the other a Montreal barber. Mr. Fox objected to such hands; but the captain refused to change them, adding that he had none else to spare. Mr. Fox then represented the impossibility of performing the business {55} in such weather, and on such a rough sea, even with the best seamen, adding, that the waves were too high for any boat to live in. The captain, turning sharply round, said—“Mr. Fox, if you are afraid of water, you should have remained at Boston.” On this Mr. Fox immediately ordered the boat to be lowered, and the men to embark. If the crew was bad, the boat was still worse—being scarcely seaworthy, and very small. While this was going on, the partners, who were all partial to Mr. Fox, began to sympathize with him, and to intercede with the captain to defer examining the bar till a favourable change took place in the weather. But he was deaf to entreaties, stamped, and swore that a combination was formed to frustrate all his designs. The partners’ interference, therefore, only riveted him the more in his determination, and Mr. Fox was peremptorily ordered to proceed. He, seeing that the captain was immoveable, turned to the partners with tears in his eyes and said—“My uncle was drowned here not many years ago, and now I am going to lay my bones with his.” He then shook hands with all around him, and bade them adieu. Stepping into the boat—“Farewell, my friends!” said he; “we will perhaps meet again in the next world.” And the words were prophetic.

The moment the boat pushed off, all hands crowded in silence to take a last farewell of her. The weather was boisterous, and the sea rough, so that we often lost sight of the boat before she got 100 yards from {56} the ship; nor had she gone that far before she became utterly unmanageable, sometimes broaching broadside to the foaming surges, and at other times almost whirling round like a top, then tossing on the crest of a huge wave would sink again for a time and disappear altogether. At last she hoisted the flag; the meaning could not be mistaken; we knew it was a signal of distress. At this instant all the people crowded round the captain, and implored him to try and save the boat; but in an angry tone he ordered about ship, and we saw the ill-fated boat no more.

Mr. Fox was not only an able officer, but an experienced seaman, and a great favourite among all classes on board; and this circumstance, I fear, proved his ruin, for his uniform kindness and affability to the passengers had from the commencement of the voyage drawn down upon his head the ill-will of his captain; and his being sent off on the present perilous and forlorn undertaking, with such awkward and inexperienced hands, whose language he did not understand, is a proof of that ill-will.

The mouth of Columbia River is remarkable for its sand-bars and high surf at all seasons, but more particularly in the spring and fall, during the equinoctial gales: these sand-bars frequently shift, the channel of course shifting along with them, which renders the passage at all times extremely dangerous. The bar, or rather the chain of sand banks, over which the huge waves and foaming breakers {57} roll so awfully, is a league broad, and extends in a white foaming sheet for many miles, both south and north of the mouth of the river, forming as it were an impracticable barrier to the entrance, and threatening with instant destruction everything that comes near it.

The river at its mouth is 4½ miles broad, confined by Cape Disappointment on the north, and Point Adams on the south; the former is a rocky cliff or promontory, rising about 500 feet above the level of the water, and covered on the top with a few scattered trees of stinted growth; the latter a low sandy point, jutting out about 300 yards into the river, directly opposite to Cape Disappointment: the deepest water is near the Cape, but the channel is both narrow and intricate. The country is low, and the impervious forests give to the surrounding coast a wild and gloomy aspect.

After the captain ordered about ship, as already stated, some angry words passed between himself and Mr. Mumford, the second officer, which ended in the latter being ordered below. After passing an anxious night, the return of day only increased the anxiety, and every mind was filled with gloomy apprehensions. In the course of this day, Mr. Mumford resumed his duties, and the ship kept beating off and on till noon, when she cast anchor in fourteen fathoms, about a mile from the breakers; and the weather becoming calm, Mr. M‘Kay, Mr. David Stuart, myself, and several others, embarking in the {58} long boat, which was well manned and armed, stood in for the shore, in hopes of being able to effect a landing. On approaching the bar, the terrific chain of breakers, which kept rolling one after another in awful succession, completely overpowered us with dread; and the fearful suction or current became so irresistibly great, that, before we were aware of it, the boat was drawn into them, and became unmanageable: at this instant, Mr. Mumford, who was at the helm, called out, “Let us turn back, and pull for your lives; pull hard, or you are all dead men”. In turning round, the boat broached broadside to the surf, and was for some time in imminent danger of being engulfed or dashed to pieces; and, although every effort was made, we were for twelve minutes struggling in this perilous situation, between hope and despair, before we got clear, or the boat obeyed the oars, and yet we were still two miles from the shore; and, had it not been for the prompt and determined step taken by Mr. Mumford, the boat and every soul on board of it must have inevitably perished. Notwithstanding our narrow escape, we made a second and third attempt, but without success, and then returned to the ship. The same afternoon, Mr. Mumford was sent more to the south to seek for a channel, but to no purpose. The charts were again examined, and every preparation made for next morning.

On the 25th, early in the morning, Mr. Mumford was again ordered in another direction to go and discover {59} if possible the proper channel, and ascertain the depth of water. After several trials, in one or two of which the boat got again entangled in the breakers, and had a very narrow escape, she at length came into 2½ fathoms of water, and then returned; but the captain seemed to hint that Mr. Mumford had not done so much as he might have done, or in other words, he was dissatisfied; indeed, his mind was not in a state to be satisfied with anything, not even with himself; but his officers, whatever they did, were sure to displease.

The captain now called on Mr. Aikens, the third mate, and ordered him to go and sound in a more northerly direction, and if he found 3½ fathoms water to hoist a flag as a signal. At three o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Aikens, together with the sailmaker, armourer, and two Sandwich Islanders, embarked in the pinnace, and proceeded to the bar. As soon as the pinnace hoisted the flag agreed upon, the ship weighed anchor and stood in for the channel; at the same time the boat, pulling back from the bar, met the ship about half a mile from the breakers, in eight fathoms, going in with a gentle seabreeze, at the rate of three knots an hour.

As the ship and boat drew near to each other, the latter steered a little aside to be out of the ship’s way, then lay upon her oars in smooth water, waiting to be taken on board, while the ship passed on within twenty yards of them in silence; nor did the people in the boat speak a single word. As soon as the {60} ship had passed, and no motion made to take the boat on board, every one appeared thunderstruck, and Mr. M‘Kay was the first that spoke,—“Who,” said he, “is going to throw a rope to the boat?” No one answered; but by this time she had fallen astern, and began to pull after the ship. Every one now called out, “The boat, the boat!” The partners, in astonishment, entreated the captain to take the boat on board, but he coolly replied, “I can give them no assistance.” Mr. Mumford said it would not be the work of a minute. “Back a sail, throw a rope overboard,” cried the partners; the answer was, “No, I will not endanger the ship.” We now felt convinced that the boat and crew were devoted to destruction—no advice was given them, no assistance offered, no reasons assigned for risking so cruel a sacrifice of human life—for the place where the boat met us was entirely free from the influence of the breakers, and a long way from the bar. It is impossible, therefore, to account for the cool indifference manifested towards the fated boat and her crew, unless we suppose that the mind of the captain was so absorbed in apprehension, and perplexed with anxiety at the danger which stared him in the face, and which he was about to encounter in a few minutes, that he could not be brought to give a thought to anything else but the safety of the ship.

During this time the ship was drawing nearer and nearer to the breakers, which called our attention {61} from the boat to look out for our own safety; but she was seen for some time struggling hard to follow the ship as we entered the breakers, the sight of which was appalling. On the ship making the first plunge, every countenance looked dismay; and the sun, at the time just sinking below the horizon, seemed to say, “Prepare for your last.” Mr. Mumford was now ordered to the masthead, to point out the channel. The water decreasing from 8 to 2½ fathoms, she struck tremendously on the second reef or shoal; and the surges breaking over her stern overwhelmed everything on deck. Every one who could, sprang aloft, and clung for life to the rigging. The waves at times broke ten feet high over her, and at other times she was in danger of foundering: she struck again and again, and, regardless of her helm, was tossed and whirled in every direction, and became completely unmanageable. Night now began to spread an impenetrable gloom over the turbulent deep. Dark, indeed, was that dreadful night. We had got about a mile into the breakers, and not far from the rocks at the foot of the cape, against which the foaming surges wreaked their fury unceasingly. Our anxiety was still further increased by the wind dying away, and the tide still ebbing. At this instant, some one called out, “We are all lost, the ship is among the rocks.” A desperate effort was then made to let go the anchors—two were thrown overboard; the sails kept flapping for some time: nor was the danger diminished by learning the fact {62} that the surf dragged ship, anchors, and all, along with it. But there is a limit to all things: hour after hour had passed, and terrific was the sight; yet our faithful bark still defied the elements, until the tide providentially beginning to flow—just at a time when it appeared as if no earthly power could save us from a watery grave—brought about our deliverance by carrying the ship along with it into Baker’s Bay, snug within the Cape, where we lay in safety.

Here are two points for consideration; first, the time of sounding: and, secondly, the time chosen for entering the breakers. In respect to both, there was an unwarrantable precipitation—a manifest want of sound judgment. We made the land in the middle of a storm, the channel and coast both unknown to us, and without either pilot or guide: under such circumstances, it was evident to all that no boat could live on the water at the time, far less reach the shore; and our entering the breakers at so late an hour, the sun at the time not being fifty minutes above the horizon, the channel also being unexplored, was certainly a premature and forlorn undertaking: but there existed such disunion—such a spirit of contradiction on board—that the only wonder is how we ever got so far. But I must now inform the reader what became of the boat.

In the morning of the 26th, Captain Thorn, Mr. M‘Kay, myself, and a few men, left the ship, to take a view of the coast from the top of Cape Disappointment, to try if we could learn any tidings of the {63} boats. We had not proceeded fifty yards, when we saw Steven Weeks, the armourer, standing under the shelter of a rock, shivering and half-dead with cold. Joy for a moment filled our hearts, and running up to the poor fellow, we inquired for his comrades, but could get no satisfactory reply; we then brought him to the ship, and, after giving him some food, resumed our inquiries; but he appeared so overpowered with grief and vexation, that we could scarcely get a word from him; in short, he seemed to reproach us bitterly. “You did it purposely,” said he, in great agitation; but after some time, and when we had first told him what we had suffered, he seemed to come round, as if his feelings were soothed by the recital of our dangers; and then he related his melancholy tale, in the following words:—

“After the ship passed us we pulled hard to follow her, thinking every moment you would take us on board; but when we saw her enter the breakers we considered ourselves as lost. We tried to pull back again, but in vain; for we were drawn into the breakers in spite of all we could do. We saw the ship make two or three heavy plunges; but just at this time we ourselves were struck with the boiling surf, and the boat went reeling in every direction; in an instant a heavy sea swamped her—poor Mr. Aikens and John Coles were never seen after. As soon as I got above the surface of the water, I kept tossing about at the mercy of the waves. While in this state I saw the two Sandwich Islanders struggling {64} through the surf to get hold of the boat, and being expert swimmers they succeeded. After long struggles they got her turned upon her keel, bailed out some of the water, and recovered one of the oars. I made several attempts to get near them, but the weight of my clothes and the rough sea had almost exhausted me. I could scarcely keep myself above water, and the Owhyhees were so much occupied about the boat, that they seemed to take no notice of anything else. In vain I tried to make signs, and to call out; every effort only sank me more and more. The tide had drawn the boat by this time out to sea, and almost free of the breakers, when the two islanders saw me, now supporting myself by a floating oar, and made for me. The poor fellows tried to haul me into the boat, but their strength failed them. At last, taking hold of my clothes in their teeth, they fortunately succeeded. We then stood out to sea as night set in, and a darker one I never saw. The Owhyhees, overcome with wet and cold, began to lose hope, and their fortitude forsook them, so that they lay down despairingly in the boat, nor could I arouse them from their drowsy stupor. When I saw that I had nothing to expect from them, I set to sculling the boat myself, and yet it was with much ado I could stand on my legs. During the night one of the Indians died in despair, and the other seemed to court death, for he lost all heart, and would not utter a single word. When the tide began to flow I was roused by the sense {65} of my danger, for the sound of the breakers grew louder and louder, and I knew if I got entangled in them in my exhausted state all was lost; I, therefore, set to with might and main, as a last effort, to keep the boat out to sea, and at daylight I was within a quarter of a mile of the breakers, and about double that distance short of the Cape. I paused for a moment, ‘What is to be done?’ I said to myself; ‘death itself is preferable to this protracted struggle.’ So, turning the head of my boat for shore, I determined to reach the land or die in the attempt. Providence favoured my resolution, the breakers seemed to aid in hurrying me out of the watery element; and the sun had scarcely risen when the boat was thrown up high and dry on the beach. I had much ado to extricate myself from her, and to drag my benumbed limbs along. On seeing myself once more on dry land, I sat down and felt a momentary relief; but this was followed by gloomy reflections. I then got into the boat again, and seeing the poor islander still alive, but insensible, I hauled him out of the boat, and with much ado carried him to the border of the wood, when covering him with leaves I left him to die. While gathering the leaves I happened to come upon a beaten path, which brought me here.” Such was Weeks’s melancholy story: himself and the Indian being the only survivors of the last boat, it follows that eight men in all lost their lives in entering this fatal river.

{66} In the evening the Sandwich Islander who died in the boat was interred on the beach where the boat came ashore; the other poor fellow was carried to the ship, and afterwards recovered.

On the 27th I was appointed to head a party to go in search of the boat that was lost on the 22nd; but after examining the coast for upwards of forty miles southwards, not a trace of our missing friends was discovered, nor did we ever learn any tidings of them.

We had on this occasion a specimen of Chinooke navigation. While crossing the river in an Indian canoe, on our way back to the ship, we were suddenly overtaken by a storm, and our craft was upset in the middle of the passage. The expertness of the natives in their favourite element was here put to the test. At this time we were upwards of two miles from the shore, while eight persons unable to swim were floating in every direction; coats, hats, and everything else adrift, and all depending on the fidelity of the four Indians who undertook to carry us over; yet, notwithstanding the roughness of the water, and the wind blowing a gale at the time, these poor fellows kept swimming about like so many fishes, righted the canoe, and got us all into her again, while they themselves staid in the water, with one hand on the canoe and the other paddling. In this manner they supported themselves, tossing to and fro, till we bailed the water out of our frail craft, and got under weigh again. Here it was that {67} the Indians showed the skill and dexterity peculiar to them. The instant the canoe rose on the top of a wave, those on the windward side darted down their long paddles to the armpits in the water to prevent her from upsetting; while those on the leeside at the same moment pulled theirs up, but kept ready as soon as the wave had passed under her to thrust them down again in a similar manner, and thus by their alternate movements they kept the canoe steady, so that we got safe to shore without another upset, and with the loss of only a few articles of clothing; but we suffered severely from wet and cold.

During this time the Indians from the village which we had left, seeing our critical situation, had manned and sent off two canoes to our assistance. One of the boats from the ship was also despatched for the same purpose; but all would have proved too late had we not been fortunate enough of ourselves to weather the storm.

The Indians all the time never lost their presence of mind. Indeed, it was supposed, from the skilful manner in which they acted afterwards, that the sordid rascals had upset us wilfully, in order to claim the merit of having saved us, and therewith a double recompense for their trip. The boat which had put off to our assistance was upset on her return to the ship; and had it not been for the two Indian canoes that followed us, its crew would have all perished.

{68} On the 4th of April the long boat was swamped off Chinooke Point, when ten persons were saved by Comecomly and his people. On this occasion, however, many articles of value were lost, so that every hour admonished us that we stepped on insecure and slippery ground. Every succeeding day was marked by some new and alarming disaster; but a few remarks will now suffice to conclude the account of our voyage, in which we sailed, according to the ship’s log, 21,852 miles.

Captain Thorn was an able and expert seaman; but, unfortunately, his treatment of the people under his command was strongly tinctured with cruelty and despotism. He delighted in ruling with a rod of iron; his officers were treated with harshness, his sailors with cruelty, and every one else was regarded by him with contempt. With a jealous and peevish temper, he was easily excited; and the moment he heard the Scotch Highlanders speak to each other in the Scottish dialect, or the Canadians in the French language, he was on his high horse, making every one on board as unhappy as himself; and this brings us down to the period of our departure from the ship, a period to which we all anxiously looked forward, and the satisfaction both felt and expressed was universal, when the general order was read that all the passengers should prepare to land on the following day.

{69} CHAPTER V[^[13]]

Preparations for landing—Site of the new emporium of the west—Astor’s representative—Hard work—Huge trees—Natives—Comecomly—Mode of felling trees—Danger—Trying scenes—Three men killed—Three wounded—Party reduced by sickness—Disaffection—Conduct of the deputy—Desertion—Mr. Astor’s policy—Climate—Indian rumours—Comecomly’s intrigues and policy—Trip to the cascades—Mr. M‘Kay and north-west notions—Anecdote—Exploring party to the north—Several persons killed—Hostile threats of the Indians—Potatoes and other seeds planted—New building—Astoria—Departure of the ship—Dangerous situation of the whites—Great assemblage of Indians—People under arms—Blunderbuss accident—Alarming moment—Two strangers arrive—Mr. Thompson at Astoria—M‘Dougall’s policy—The two great functionaries.

For some days, much time was spent in examining both sides of the inlet, with a view of choosing a suitable place to build on. At last it was settled that the new establishment should be erected on the south side, on a small rising ground situate between Point George on the west and Tonquin Point on the east, distant twelve miles from the mouth of the inlet or bar.

{70} On the 12th of April, therefore, the whole party, consisting of thirty-three persons, all British subjects excepting three (eleven Sandwich Islanders being included in that number), left the ship and encamped on shore.

However pleasing the change, to be relieved from a long and tedious voyage, and from the tyranny of a sullen despotic captain, the day was not one of pleasure, but of labour. The misfortunes we had met with in crossing the fatal bar had deadened all sensibility, and cast a melancholy gloom over our most sanguine expectations. In our present position, everything harmonized with our feelings, to darken our future prospects. Silent and with heavy hearts we began the toil of the day, in clearing away brush and rotten wood for a spot to encamp on.

The person who now assumed the command was the deputy-agent, Duncan M‘Dougall, Esq., an old north-western, who, in the absence of Mr. Hunt, held the first place in Mr. Astor’s confidence. He was a man of but ordinary capacity, with an irritable, peevish temper; the most unfit man in the world to head an expedition or command men.

From the site of the establishment, the eye could wander over a varied and interesting scene. The extensive Sound, with its rocky shores, lay in front; the breakers on the bar, rolling in wild confusion, closed the view on the west; on the east, the country as far as the Sound had a wild and varied aspect; while towards the south, the impervious and magnificent {71} forest darkened the landscape, as far as the eye could reach. The place thus selected for the emporium of the west, might challenge the whole continent to produce a spot of equal extent presenting more difficulties to the settler: studded with gigantic trees of almost incredible size, many of them measuring fifty feet in girth, and so close together, and intermingled with huge rocks, as to make it a work of no ordinary labour to level and clear the ground. With this task before us, every man, from the highest to the lowest, was armed with an axe in one hand and a gun in the other; the former for attacking the woods, the latter for defence against the savage hordes which were constantly prowling about. In the garb of labourers, and in the sweat of our brow, we now commenced earning our bread. In this manner we all kept toiling and tearing away, from sunrise till sunset—from Monday till Saturday; and during the nights we kept watch without intermission.

On our first arrival, the natives of the place appeared very friendly towards us, owing no doubt to some trifling presents which they now and then received from us; but still, circumstances occurred occasionally which indicated treachery, and kept us always on our guard, against the more distant tribes in particular, for their attitude was invariably shy and hostile. Our ill opinion of them proved but too true in the sequel; but we had all along received every assurance of fidelity and protection from Comecomly, {72} the principal chief of the place, and in him we reposed much confidence.

The frame of a coasting vessel, to be named the Dolly, was brought out on board the Tonquin, and as soon as we had got a spot cleared, the carpenters were set to work, to fit her up for immediate service; but the smallness of her size, of only thirty tons, rendered her useless for any purpose but that of navigating the river.

It would have made a cynic smile to see this pioneer corps, composed of traders, shopkeepers, voyageurs, and Owhyhees, all ignorant alike in this new walk of life, and the most ignorant of all, the leader. Many of the party had never handled an axe before, and but few of them knew how to use a gun, but necessity, the mother of invention, soon taught us both. After placing our guns in some secure place at hand, and viewing the height and the breadth of the tree to be cut down, the party, with some labour, would erect a scaffold round it; this done, four men—for that was the number appointed to each of those huge trees—would then mount the scaffold, and commence cutting, at the height of eight or ten feet from the ground, the handles of our axes varying, according to circumstances, from two and a half to five feet in length. At every other stroke, a look was cast round, to see that all was safe; but the least rustling among the bushes caused a general stop; more or less time was thus lost in anxious suspense. After {73} listening and looking round, the party resumed their labour, cutting and looking about alternately. In this manner the day would be spent, and often to little purpose: as night often set in before the tree begun with in the morning was half cut down. Indeed, it sometimes required two days, or more, to fell one tree; but when nearly cut through, it would be viewed fifty different times, and from as many different positions, to ascertain where it was likely to fall, and to warn parties of the danger.

There is an art in felling a tree, as well as in planting one; but unfortunately none of us had learned that art, and hours together would be spent in conjectures and discussions: one calling out that it would fall here; another, there; in short, there were as many opinions as there were individuals about it; and, at last, when all hands were assembled to witness the fall, how often were we disappointed! the tree would still stand erect, bidding defiance to our efforts, while every now and then some of the most impatient or fool-hardy would venture to jump on the scaffold and give a blow or two more. Much time was often spent in this desultory manner, before the mighty tree gave way; but it seldom came to the ground. So thick was the forest, and so close the trees together, that in its fall it would often rest its ponderous top on some other friendly tree; sometimes a number of them would hang together, keeping us in awful suspense, and giving us double labour to extricate the one from the other, and when {74} we had so far succeeded, the removal of the monster stump was the work of days. The tearing up of the roots was equally arduous, although less dangerous: and when this last operation was got through, both tree and stump had to be blown to pieces by gunpowder before either could be removed from the spot.

Nearly two months of this laborious and incessant toil had passed, and we had scarcely yet an acre of ground cleared. In the mean time three of our men were killed by the natives, two more wounded by the falling of trees, and one had his hand blown off by gunpowder.

But the labour, however trying, we were prepared to undergo. It was against neglect and ill-treatment that our feelings revolted. The people suffered greatly from the humidity of the climate. The Sandwich Islanders, used to a dry, pure atmosphere, sank under its influence; damp fogs and sleet were frequent, and every other day was a day of rain. Such is the climate of Columbia at this season of the year, and all this time we were without tents or shelter; add to this the bad quality of our food, consisting solely of boiled fish and wild roots, without even salt, and we had to depend at all times on the success or good-will of the natives for our daily supply, which was far from being regular; so that one-half of the party, on an average, were constantly on the sick list; and on more than one occasion I have seen the whole party so reduced that scarcely {75} one could help the other, and all this chiefly owing to the conduct of Mr. Astor; first, in not sending out a medical man with the party; and, secondly, in his choice of the great pasha, M‘Dougall, whom he placed at the head of his affairs. The sick and the sound both fared alike; the necessities of both were overlooked, while he, himself, was served in state; for a good many articles of provision had been put on shore before the ship sailed.

Our hard labour by day, with the watching during night, had not only reduced our party by sickness to a mere nothing, but raised a spirit of discontent, and plots and plans were set on foot to abandon all, and cross the continent by land. This extravagant resolution was, however, overruled by the more moderate of the malcontents, yet it resulted in a party waiting on M‘Dougall with the view of bettering the existing state of things, and opening his eyes to his own situation; but this produced no good effect; it rather augmented the evil: and a second deputation proved equally unsuccessful. At last four men deserted, and had proceeded eighty miles up the river when they were laid hold of by the Indians and kept in a tent; nor would the stern and crafty chief of the tribe deliver them up until he had received a ransom for them.

Yet all this could not open the eyes of M‘Dougall, nor was it till he had rashly ventured to provoke all classes, that he began to see clearly that he was standing on the verge of a precipice. Everything at {76} this moment seemed at a stand; the folly and imprudence of the man in power had nearly extinguished all hopes of success. Another party of six men, headed by one of the Americans, deserted, but were brought back the third day by our friendly chief, Comecomly. We had some time ago found out that the sordid hope of gain alone attached this old and crafty chief to the whites.

The desertion of these parties, and the number confined by sickness, began now to admonish the man at the head of affairs that he had probably gone a step too far, and that it is much easier to destroy than restore confidence. He suddenly changed for the better; tents were distributed among the sick, and more attention was paid to their diet; still there was no medical man to attend the sufferers. In this case we surely look in vain for that sagacity and forethought which Mr. Astor was thought to possess. His own interest was involved in the result, and nothing could more clearly prove his reckless indifference for the lives of his people than his not providing a medical man of some kind or other, either for his ship or his infant colony.

But feuds and petty grievances among ourselves, arising chiefly from our minds being soured by hardships, were not the only obstacles we had to contend with; our weakness and forlorn situation began to open our eyes to a sense of common danger, and fear began to exercise its influence, so that unanimity alone could enable us to oppose a {77} common enemy. Rumours from all quarters and suspicious appearances had raised an alarm that the distant tribes were forming some dark design of cutting us off, and reports countenancing this belief were daily brought us by Comecomly and his people. We now established a regular patrol of six men, which diminished our labouring body to a mere nothing, but under such circumstances self-preservation obliged us to adopt every precaution. Comecomly was sent for, and questioned on the occasion; but all we could learn from him was, that the hostile tribes were a very bad people, and ill-disposed towards the whites, and this we had no reason to disbelieve, because Comecomly and his people were the only Indians who had regularly traded with us; consequently, we were anxious to ascertain the cause of this rupture between us and the distant tribes.

We had now begun to pick up a few words of the language, and were given to understand that the crafty Chinookes, like the cat in the fable, had fomented and nourished the misunderstanding between us and the distant tribes; that they had artfully impressed the latter with the idea that we were hostile towards them, and, by the same crafty policy, assuring us of their enmity. By this stratagem, they kept them from coming near us—thereby monopolizing all the trade themselves, by buying up all the furs, and selling them again to us at double their first cost. As soon, however, as we were convinced of the {78} intrigues of old Comecomly and his people, we set about counteracting them. For this purpose, several parties were sent up the country in different directions, to do away with the unfavourable impressions, and to convince the natives, far and near, of our friendly intentions to all.

On the 2nd of May, Mr. M‘Kay, accompanied by Mr. Robert Stuart, in a small canoe, and four men, proceeded up the river to sound the dispositions of the Indians, and to assure them of our good-will towards them; and likewise to gain some information respecting the surrounding country and state of the water. Having proceeded as far as the cascades, a distance of 180 miles, made some presents to the principal men, and convinced all the different tribes they saw of the friendly intentions of the whites, the party returned again at the end of twelve days, reporting most favourably of both natives and country.

Mr. M‘Kay had figured in the north-west as an Indian trader—was very active, but whimsical and eccentric. An anecdote will picture the man:—It is a habit among the grandees of the Indian trade to have May-poles with their names inscribed thereon on conspicuous places, not to dance round, but merely to denote that such a person passed there on such a day, or to commemorate some event. For this purpose, the tallest tree on the highest ground is generally selected, and all the branches are stripped off excepting a small tuft at the top.

On Mr. M‘Kay’s return from his reconnoitring {79} expedition up the river, he ordered one of his men to climb a lofty tree and dress it for a May-pole. The man very willingly undertook the job, expecting, as usual on these occasions, to get a dram; but he had no sooner reached the top than his master, through love of mischief, lighting a fire at the bottom, set the tree in a blaze. The poor fellow was instantly enveloped in a cloud of smoke, and called out for mercy. Water was dashed on the tree; but this only increased the danger by augmenting the smoke, for the fire ran up the bark of the gummy pine like gunpowder, and was soon beyond our reach, so that all hope of saving the man’s life was at an end. Descending a little, however, he leaped, in despair, on to a branch of another tree, which fortunately offered him a chance of safety; and there he hung between earth and heaven, like a squirrel on a twig, till another man, at no small risk, got up and rescued him from his perilous situation.

Soon after M‘Kay’s return from the cascades, Mr. Robert Stuart, myself, and five men, proceeded on an excursion to the north. It was here that we became fully acquainted with the dangerous effects of the Chinooke policy. The Indians, on our approach, flew to arms, and made signs for us to keep at a distance. We halted, and tried to moderate their ferocity by a display of presents; but they would not listen to us. Their forces were collecting fast; every moment’s delay increased our danger; and, fearful of being surrounded, we were deliberating on a hasty {80} retreat, when, fortunately, a friendly Indian happened to arrive, by means of whom we got into conversation with the others; and the result was, that they explained and cleared up the matter to our utmost satisfaction, and showed us several piles of furs laid up in store waiting the Chinooke traders; but when they saw and compared the prices we paid with that which the Chinookes were in the habit of giving them, they put their hands on their mouths in astonishment, and strongly urged us to return again, saying they would never more trade with the one-eyed chief. We got back again to the establishment on the fifteenth day; yet, notwithstanding the apparent friendly impression we had made on these sordid and treacherous rogues, we had a very narrow escape in crossing one of the rivers—for a party of them had got before us, taken up a strong position on the opposite bank, and disputed the passage; but, by a little manœuvring, we defeated their intentions. Soon afterwards, however, one of our men was killed by them; and on another occasion, a Mr. M‘Kenzie and his whole party, consisting of eight men, were cut to pieces by them.

But we shall now return, for a moment, to notice what was going on at the establishment. On the fourth day after our landing, we planted some potatoes and sowed a few garden seeds, and on the 16th of May we laid the foundations of our first building; but in order to procure suitable timber for the purpose, we had to go back some distance—the wood on {81} the site being so large and unmanageable; and for want of cattle to haul it, we had to carry it on our shoulders, or drag it along the ground—a task of no ordinary difficulty. For this purpose, eight men were harnessed, and they conveyed in six days all the timber required for a building or store of sixty feet long by twenty-six broad. On the 18th, as soon as the foundation was completed, the establishment was named Astoria, in honour of Astor, the projector of the enterprise.

The Tonquin, in the prosecution of her voyage along the coast, left Astoria on the 1st of June, and crossed the bar on the 5th, when we saw her for the last time. The captain had landed but a small part of the cargo, intending on his return to put the rest on shore; but with his ship all was lost, and Astoria, in consequence, was left almost destitute of the necessary articles of trade. Mr. M‘Kay, as supercargo, went on board with Mr. Lewis and two Canadians; but Mr. Mumford, the second officer, was dismissed and sent on shore. On M‘Kay’s embarking, he called me aside, and taking me by the hand recommended his son to my care; then adding—“You see,” said he, “how unfortunate we are: the captain, in one of his frantic fits, has now discharged the only officer on board,” alluding to Mr. Mumford. “If you ever see us safe back, it will be a miracle.” So saying, we parted, and he slept on board. The departure of the ship unfolded to us the danger of our situation. It is allowed by all experienced fur traders, {82} that in forming an establishment among savages, the first consideration is safety; and although we had been aware that the ship’s stay protected the embryo settlement, and that her departure would proclaim to all the hostile tribes around our defenceless state, yet was there any preparation made for the event?—None. When the ship left us, not a gun was mounted; not a palisade raised; nor the least precaution taken to secure either life or property. Such was the character of the man whom Mr. Astor placed at the head of his affairs.

The Indians from all quarters now began to assemble in such swarms, that we had to relinquish all labour, and think only of defence. We naturally put the worst construction on so formidable an array of savages in arms. On the other hand, the arrival of the different tribes might have been produced by the steps we had lately taken in regard to the Chinooke policy, of assuring them of our friendly intentions; but the departure of the ship had left us so powerless and weak, that we could not help suspecting their intentions; and our suspicion was strengthened by the absence of Comecomly and his people, who had avoided coming near us ever since the arrival of the strangers. We had frequently sent for the crafty chief, but he as frequently disappointed us, until he was given to understand that a large present would be the reward of his good offices in the present emergency, for we had reason to believe that now, as on former occasions, he was very {83} busy in labouring to conceal the truth, or, in other words, sowing the seeds of alienation, in order that he and his people might as usual engross all the foreign trade themselves.

At length Comecomly arrived; necessity compelled us to dissemble our opinion of his conduct: he was received with open arms, behaved well, and rendered us essential services. We now opened a friendly intercourse with the strangers; traded with each tribe in turn; made some presents; and they left us, apparently well satisfied with the friendly reception they had experienced, while we were no less agreeably relieved by their departure. The guard was reduced, and the people set to work as usual. Comecomly and his two sons received each a suit of chief’s clothing; nor did they omit to insinuate, that to their influence and good offices we not only owed our safety, but were indebted for all the furs obtained from our distant visitors.

Some days afterwards, however, an awkward circumstance took place, which threatened to involve us again in serious troubles. While in the act of removing some leaf tobacco, an Indian was detected in the act of pilfering—for they are notorious thieves; the tobacco was taken from him, and he was reprimanded for his conduct. “What!” said the fellow, indignantly, “do you say I am a thief?” at the same time drawing his bow. M‘Dougall then ordered him to be hand-cuffed and imprisoned, with a sentinel over him, in one of the deep but open pits, out of {84} which a large tree had been dug. In the night, however, he contrived to effect his escape, carrying off not only his irons, but the sentinel’s gun along with him. Next day Comecomly, accompanied by a large retinue, arrived at Astoria; the great mufti, as usual, was ushered into the tent of state. Here M‘Dougall was showing the Chinooke Tye-yea, among other things, the properties of a blunderbuss, and in so doing made a woful blunder, for off went the piece unexpectedly, shattering a corner of his majesty’s robe. The report and the dense smoke issuing from the place proclaimed danger, and the affrighted chief, darting out of the tent without his robe, cap, or gun, began calling to his people, who in a moment, giving the war-whoop and arming themselves, fiercely menaced the whites with destruction. In the mean time one of our sentinels, hearing the report of the gun, and seeing the tent enveloped in a cloud of smoke, and the chief running off at full speed from it, supposed that he had murdered M‘Dougall, and fired after him, calling out treason! murder! at the sound of which our people flew to arms; and every man, with his finger on the trigger of his gun, advanced to the spot. M‘Dougall and myself, who fortunately knew the circumstances, hastened to run in between the hostile ranks, making signs of peace, and after a tumultuous moment, the mysterious affair was explained without bloodshed; yet long afterwards the chief retained some suspicion that a plot had been formed against his life.

{85} Among the many visitors who every now and then presented themselves, were two strange Indians, in the character of man and wife, from the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains, and who may probably figure in our narrative hereafter. The husband, named Ko-come-ne-pe-ca, was a very shrewd and intelligent Indian, who addressed us in the Algonquin language, and gave us much information respecting the interior of the country.

On the 15th of July, we were rather surprised at the unexpected arrival of a north-west proprietor at Astoria, and still more so at the free and cordial reception given to an opponent. Mr. Thompson, north-west-like, came dashing down the Columbia in a light canoe, manned with eight Iroquois and an interpreter, chiefly men from the vicinity of Montreal. M‘Dougall received him like a brother; nothing was too good for Mr. Thompson; he had access everywhere; saw and examined everything; and whatever he asked for he got, as if he had been one of ourselves. Mr. Thompson at once recognised the two strange Indians, and gave us to understand that they were both females. His own visit had evidently no other object but to discourage us—a manœuvre of the North-West policy to extend their own trade at the expense of ours; but he failed. The dangers and difficulties, which he took great pains to paint in their worst colours, did not deter us. He forgot that in speaking to us, he was speaking to north-westerns—men as experienced and as cunning as himself. The {86} North-West had penetrated to the west side of the mountains as early as 1804, and had in 1811 two or three small posts on the waters of the Columbia, exclusive of the New Caledonia quarter. Every one knew this, and knowing it, how could we account for the more than warm and unreserved welcome Mr. Thompson met with from Astor’s representative. Unless, as some thought at the time, M‘Dougall was trying to pay Mr. Thompson back with his own coin, by putting on a fair face, so as to dupe him into an avowal of his real object. This is more than probable, for in point of acuteness, duplicity, and diplomatic craft, they were perhaps well matched.

{87} CHAPTER VI

The ten tribes—Number of warriors—Their laws—Chief’s arbitrary power—Dress, games, and arms of the men—Dress of the women, slaves, and basket-making—Lewdness of the women—Food, ornaments—The salmon—Superstitious customs—Sturgeon—Fathomfish—Roots and berries—Circulating medium—Econé, or Good Spirit—Ecutoch, or Bad Spirit—Etaminua, or priests—Keelalles, or doctors—War canoes—Diseases—Winter houses—Temporary, or Summer houses—Fleas—Practice of flattening the head—Colonization—Wallamitte—Cowlitz, or Puget’s Sound—Conclusion.

All the Indian tribes inhabiting the country about the mouth of the Columbia, and for a hundred miles round, may be classed in the following manner:—1. Chinooks;—2. Clatsops;—3. Cathlamux;—4. Wakicums;—5. Wacalamus;—6. Cattleputles;—7. Clatscanias;—8. Killimux;—9. Moltnomas;—and, 10. Chickelis; amounting collectively to about 2,000 warriors.[^[14]] But they are a commercial rather than a warlike people. Traffic in slaves and furs is their occupation. They are said to be decreasing in numbers. All these tribes appear to be descended from the same stock, live in rather friendly intercourse {88} with, and resemble one another in language, dress, and habits. Their origin, like that of the other aborigines of the continent, is involved in fable, although they pretend to be derived from the musk-rat. Polygamy is common among them, and a man may have as many wives as he pleases, but he is bound to maintain his own children. In war, every man belonging to the tribe is bound to follow his chief; and a coward is often punished with death. All property is sacred in the eye of the law, nor can any one touch it excepting the principal chief, or head Tye-yea, who is above the law, or rather he possesses an arbitrary power without any positive check, so that if he conceive a liking to anything belonging to his subjects, be it a wife or a daughter, he can take it without infringing the law; but he must, nevertheless, pay for what he takes—and their laws assign a nominal value to property of every kind.

The Chinooks are crafty and intriguing, and have probably learned the arts of cheating, flattery, and dissimilation in the course of their traffic with the coasting traders: for, on our first arrival among them, we found guns, kettles, and various other articles of foreign manufacture in their possession, and they were up to all the shifts of bargaining. Nor are they less ingenious than inquisitive; the art they display in the making of canoes, of pagods, and of fishing-tackle, and other useful instruments, deserves commendation. They show much skill in carved {89} work, which they finish with the most delicate polish.

The men are generally stout, muscular, and strong, but not tall, and have nothing ferocious in their countenances. Their dress invariably consists of a loose garment, made of the skin of the wood-rat, neatly sewed together and painted, which they wrap round the body like a blanket; nor does the hardy savage, though constantly rustling through the woods, ever wear a shirt, leggings, or shoes. The chief’s robe is made of sea-otter skin and other valuable furs. All classes wear the cheapool, or hat, which is made of a tough strong kind of grass, and is of so close a texture as to be water-proof. The crown is of a conic form, terminating generally in a point at the top, and the rim so very broad as to screen the shoulders from the rain. The cheapool is chequered or diversified with the rude figures of different animals, particularly the dog and deer, not painted, but ingeniously interwoven.[^[15]] Their war garments are of two kinds, one is termed clemal, of elk-skin, dressed and worked to the thickness of nearly half an inch, and arrow-proof. The clemal nearly covers the whole body, with an opening left on the right side to allow the arm free action in combat. The other is a kind of vest, made of small round sticks of the size and shape of arrows, twelve inches long: they are laid side to side, and then sewed together, and fixed on the body like a waistcoat. This is arrow-proof also. They carry a circular {90} shield, about eighteen inches in diameter, which is likewise made of the elk-skin; but in addition to its thickness it is hardened by fire and painted, and is not only arrow-proof, but proof against the knife and the tomahawk also. Their implements of warfare are guns, bows and arrows, knife, bludgeon, and tomahawk, all of which they use with great dexterity. A Chinooke Indian armed cap-à-pie is a most unsightly and hideous being.

When not employed either in war or hunting, the men generally spend their time in gambling. The chief game, chal-e-chal, at which they stake their most valuable property, is played by six persons, with ten circular palettes of polished wood, in size and shape resembling dollars. A mat three feet broad and six feet long is spread on the ground, and the articles at stake laid at one end, then the parties seat themselves, three on each side of the mat, facing one another; this done, one of the players takes up the ten palettes, shuffling and shifting them in his hands, when at a signal given he separates them in his two fists, and throws them out on the mat towards his opponent, and according as the palettes roll, slide, or lie on the mat when thrown, the party wins or loses. This he does three times successively. In this manner each tries his skill in turn, till one of the parties wins. Whole days and nights are spent in this game without ceasing, and the Indians seldom grumble or repine even should they lose all that they possess. During the {91} game the players keep chanting a loud and sonorous tune, accompanying the different gestures of the body just as the voyageurs keep time to the paddle.

Having noticed some of the characteristic manners and customs of the men, I shall now indulge the reader’s curiosity with a few remarks on the habits and accomplishments of the fair sex. The women are generally of the middle size, but very stout and flabby, with short necks and shapeless limbs; yet they are well featured, with something of a smile on the countenance, fair complexion, light hair, and prominent eyes. In addition to the rat-garment used by the men, the women wear a kind of fringed petticoat suspended from the waist down to the knees, made of the inner rind of the cedar bark, and twisted into threads, which hang loose like a weaver’s thrums, and keep flapping and twisting about with every motion of the body, giving them a waddle or duck gait. This garment might deserve praise for its simplicity, or rather for its oddity, but it does not screen nature from the prying eye; yet it is remarkably convenient on many occasions. In a calm the sails lie close to the mast, metaphorically speaking, but when the wind blows the bare poles are seen.

Instead of the cedar petticoat, the women of some tribes prefer a breech cloth, similar to the pow of the Owhyhee females, and is nothing more than a piece of dressed deer-skin, six inches broad and four feet long, which, after passing between the thighs, {92} is tied round the waist. Words can hardly express the disgusting unsightliness of this singular female dress. The women, when not employed in their domestic labour, are generally occupied in curing fish, collecting roots, and making mats and baskets; the latter, of various sizes and different shapes, are made of the roots of certain shrubs, which are flexible and strong, and they are capable of containing any liquid. In this branch of industry they excel among Indian tribes. The neatness and good taste displayed in the Chinooke baskets are peculiar to that article, which is eagerly sought after as a curiosity.

The women here are not generally subject to that drudgery common among most other Indian tribes. Slaves do all the laborious work; and a Chinooke matron is constantly attended by two, three, or more slaves, who are on all occasions obsequious to her will. In trade and barter the women are as actively employed as the men, and it is as common to see the wife, followed by a train of slaves, trading at the factory, as her husband. Slaves are the fruits of war and of trade among the tribes along the sea-coast far to the north, and are regularly bought and sold in the same manner as any other article of property; but I never knew a single instance of a Chinooke, or one of the neighbouring tribes, ever selling his wife, or daughter, or any other member of his family.

Chastity is not considered a virtue by the Chinooke {93} women, and their amorous propensities know no bounds. All classes, from the highest to the lowest, indulge in coarse sensuality and shameless profligacy. Even the chief would boast of obtaining a paltry toy or trifle in return for the prostitution of his virgin daughter.

The females are excessively fond of singing and adorning their persons with the fantastic trinkets peculiar to savages; and on these occasions the slaves are generally rigged out the best, in order to attract attention and procure admirers. All classes marry very young; and every woman, whether free born or a slave, is purchased by her husband.

Children are suckled at the breast till their second or third year, and the mother, in consequence, becomes an old hag at the age of thirty-five.

The women have also their own amusements. Their chief game, called omintook, is played by two only, with four beaver teeth, curiously marked and numbered on one side, which they throw like dice. The two women being seated on the ground, face to face, like the men at chal-echal, one of them takes up the teeth, keeps shaking them in her hands for some time, then throws them down on the mat, counts the numbers uppermost, and repeating the sum thrice, hands the teeth over to the other party, who proceeds in like manner. The highest number wins. At this game, trinkets of various descriptions and value are staked. On a fine day, it is amusing to see a whole camp or village, both men and women, {94} here and there in numerous little bands, gambling, jeering, and laughing at one another, while groups of children keep in constant motion, either in the water or practising the bow and arrow, and even the aged take a lively interest in what is passing, and there appears a degree of happiness among them, which civilized men, wearied with care and anxious pursuits, perhaps seldom enjoy.

These people live by hunting and fishing; but the greater part of their food is derived from the waters. The Columbia salmon, of which there are two species, are perhaps as fine as any in the world, and are caught in the utmost abundance during the summer season: so that, were a foreign market to present itself, the natives alone might furnish 1,000 tons annually. The largest caught in my time weighed forty-seven pounds. Sturgeon also are very abundant, and of uncommon size, yet tender and well flavoured, many of them weighing upwards of 700 pounds, and one caught and brought to us, measured 13 feet 9 inches in length, and weighed 1,130 pounds. There is a small fish resembling the smelt or herring, known by the name of ulichan, which enters the river in immense shoals, in the spring of the year. The ulichans are generally an article of trade with the distant tribes, as they are caught only at the entrance of large rivers. To prepare them for a distant market, they are laid side to side, head and tail alternately, and then a thread run through both extremities links them together, in which state they are dried, smoked, {95} and sold by the fathom, hence they have obtained the name of fathom-fish.[^[16]] Roots and berries likewise form no inconsiderable portion of the native’s food. Strawberries are ripe in January. The wapatoe, a perennial root, of the size, shape, and taste of the common potato, is a favourite article of food at all times of the year. This esculent is highly esteemed by the whites; many other roots and berries are to be had, all of which grow spontaneously in the low marshy ground.[^[17]] Fish, roots, and berries, can therefore be had in perfection, all along the coast, every month in the year. But not a fish of any kind is taken out of the ocean.

The circulating medium in use among these people is a small white shell called higua, about two inches long, of a convex form, and hollow in the heart, resembling in appearance the small end of a smoking pipe. The higua is thin, light, and durable, and may be found of all lengths, between three inches down to one-fourth of an inch, and increases or decreases in value according to the number required to make a fathom, by which measure they are invariably sold. Thirty to a fathom are held equal in value to three fathoms of forty, to four of fifty, and so on. So high are the higua prized, that I have seen six of 2½ inches long refused for a new gun. But of late, since the whites came among them, the beaver skin called enna, has been added to the currency; so that, by these two articles, which form the medium of trade, all property is valued, and all exchange fixed and {96} determined. An Indian, in buying an article, invariably asks the question, Queentshich higua? or, Queentshich enna? That is, how many higua? or, how many beaver skins is it?

All Indians are more or less superstitious, and we need scarcely be surprised at that trait in their character, when even civilized men respect so many prejudices. Every great chief has one or more pagods or wooden deities in his house, to which, in all great councils of peace or war he presents the solemn pipe, and this is the only religious temple known among them.

They acknowledge a good and a bad spirit, the former named Econé, the latter Ecutoch. The Etaminuas, or priests, are supposed to possess a secret power of conversing with the Econé, and of destroying the influence of the Ecutoch: they are employed in all cases of sickness to intercede for the dying, that these may have a safe passage to the land of departed spirits. Besides the Etaminua, there is another class called Keelalles, or doctors, and it is usual for women, as well as men, to assume the character of a Keelalle, whose office it is to administer medicine and cure diseases. But the antic gestures, rude and absurd ceremonies gone through by them in visiting the sick, are equally useless and ridiculous, humming, howling, singing, and rattling of sticks, as if miracles were to be performed by mere noise; yet if we forget these useless gesticulations, which may be called the ornamental part, we must {97} allow them to be a serviceable and skilful class of people. Their knowledge of roots and herbs enables them to meet the most difficult cases, and to perform cures, particularly in all external complaints.

The property of a deceased person is generally destroyed, and the near relations cut their hair, disfigure and lacerate their bodies; nor is this all, at the funeral ceremony strangers are here, as among some oriental nations, paid to join in the lamentation. All, excepting slaves, are laid in canoes or wooden sepulchres, and conveyed to some consecrated rock or thicket assigned for the dead; but slaves are otherwise disposed of; that is, if he or she dies in summer, the body is carelessly buried; but if in winter, a stone is tied about the neck, and the body thrown into the river, and none but slaves ever touch a slave after death.

When the salmon make their first appearance in the river, they are never allowed to be cut crosswise, nor boiled, but roasted; nor are they allowed to be sold without the heart being first taken out, nor to be kept over night; but must be all consumed or eaten the day they are taken out of the water; all these rules are observed for about ten days. These superstitious customs perplexed us at first not a little, because they absolutely refused to sell us any unless we complied with their notions, which of course we consented to do. All the natives along the coast navigate in canoes, and so expert are they that the stormiest weather or roughest water never {98} prevents them from cruising on their favourite element. The Chinook and other war canoes are made like the Birman barge, out of a solid tree, and are from forty to fifty feet long, with a human face or a white-headed eagle, as large as life, carved on the prow, and raised high in front.

If we may judge from appearances, these people are subject to but few diseases. Consumption and the venereal disease are the complaints most common amongst them; from their knowledge in simples, they generally succeed in curing the latter even in its worst stages.

In winter they live in villages, but in summer rove about from place to place. Their houses are oblong, and built of broad, split cedar-planks, something in the European style, and covered with the bark of the same tree. They are sufficiently large and commodious to contain all the members of a numerous family, slaves included. At the top or ridge pole, an opening gives free passage to the smoke; they have one or more, according to the number of families in each. But I never saw more than four fires, or above eighty persons—slaves and all—in the largest house.

Towards the spring of the year, or as soon as the rainy season is over, all the Indians on the coast break up their winter quarters, and form large square sheds, for the purpose of drying and curing their fish, roots, and berries. Within this huge enclosure they then live in hordes, like so many cattle in a fold; but {99} these sheds are only for temporary purposes; and it must have been on some such occasion that Meares found Wickananish in his “household of 800 persons.”[^[18]] They migrate towards the interior sometimes for months together; war and traffic in slaves often call them to a distance; and this may account for the absence of inhabitants about Port Discovery and Desolation Sound when Vancouver was there.[^[19]] But another cause, and perhaps the best that can be assigned, for their abandoning their winter domiciles as soon as the warm weather sets in, is the immense swarms of fleas that breed in them during that season. You might as well encounter a bee-hive, as approach one of these deserted villages.

Among other fantastic usages, many of the tribes on the coast of the Pacific, and particularly those about Columbia, flatten the heads of their children. No sooner, therefore, is a child born, whether male or female, than its head is put into a press, or mould of boards, in order to flatten it. From the eyebrows, the head of a Chinook inclines backward to the crown; the back part inclining forward, but in a less degree. There is thus a ridge raised from ear to ear, giving the head the form of a wedge; and the more acute the angle, the greater the beauty.[^[20]] The flatness of the head is considered the distinguishing mark of being free born. All slaves are forbidden to bear this aristocratic distinction. Yet I have seen one or two instances to the contrary, where a favourite slave was permitted to flatten the head of a first-born {100} child. No such custom is practised in any part of the interior. But all nations, civilized as well as savage, have their peculiar prejudices. The law of the land compels a South-Sea Islander to pull out a tooth; a northern Indian cuts a joint off his finger; national usage obliges a Chinese lady to deform her feet; an English lady, under the influence of fashion, compresses her waist; while a Chinook lady deforms her head. But Solomon hath said, “That which is crooked cannot be made straight.”

As tracts suitable for agricultural purposes, may be mentioned several fertile and rich flats on the Columbia, although the country generally presents but a rocky, light, and sandy soil. On the south side, the river is joined, about eighty miles above Astoria, by the Wallamitte, a fine clear stream, 300 miles long, which, with its tributary rivulets, fertilizes one of the finest valleys west of the Rocky Mountains. The Wallamitte was always called by the whites, “the garden of the Columbia.” For forty miles the river is navigable for boats of the largest size, to the falls, but there it is barred across by a ledge of rocks, over which the whole body of water descends—a height of 30 feet—in one smooth green sheet. The climate of this valley is salubrious and dry, differing materially from that of the sea-coast; and the heat is sufficiently intense to ripen every kind of grain in a short time.

Descending from the Wallamitte to Puget’s Sound, north of the Columbia, where there is a large and {101} convenient sea-port, or harbour, we find here a tract ranking next, perhaps, in an agricultural point of view. The plain is well watered by several fine rivers, and is far more extensive than the valley of the Wallamitte, nor is the soil much inferior; but there is a vast difference in the climate; rain falls near the coast almost incessantly from the beginning of November till April, and the country in other respects is gloomy and forbidding.

But, however inviting may be the soil, the remote distance and savage aspect of the boundless wilderness along the Pacific seem to defer the colonization of such a region to a period far beyond the present generation; and yet, if we consider the rapid progress of civilization in other new and equally remote countries, we might still indulge the hope of seeing this, at no distant time, one of the most flourishing countries on the globe.

The language spoken by these people is guttural, very difficult for a foreigner to learn, and equally hard to pronounce. To speak the Chinook dialect, you must be a Chinook.

{102} CHAPTER VII

First expedition into the interior—Number of the party—Tongue Point—Canoe swamped—Sailing difficulties—Indian villages—Cedars—First night’s encampment—Mount Coffin—Cowlitz—Wallamitte—Columbia Valley—Point Vancouver—Difficulties—The Cascades—Concourse of Indians—General appearance of the country—The portage—Description of the Cascades—The roll of tobacco—Pilfering—Mr. Thompson—Exchange of men—The Long Narrows—Warlike appearance of the Indian cavalry—Button contract—Critical situation of the party—Camp of gamblers—The narrows—Hard work at the carrying place—A day’s work—Description of the portage—Number of Indians—Aspect of the country—The plains begin—End of the woods—Want of sleep—Demeanour of the Indians.

Notwithstanding the departure of the ship, and our reduced numbers, measures were taken for extending the trade; and the return of Mr. Thompson up the Columbia, on his way back to Canada, was considered as affording a favourable opportunity for us to fit out a small expedition, with the view of establishing a trading post in the interior: we were to proceed together, for the sake of mutual protection and safety, our party being too small to attempt anything of the kind by itself. Accordingly, Mr. {103} David Stuart, myself, Messrs. Pillette and M‘Lennan, three Canadian voyageurs, and two Sandwich Islanders, accompanied by Mr. Thompson’s party and the two strangers, in all twenty-one persons, started from Astoria, at eleven o’clock on the 22nd of July, 1811.

In two clumsy Chinook canoes, laden each with fifteen or twenty packages of goods, of ninety pounds weight, we embarked to ascend the strong and rapid Columbia; and, considering the unskilfulness of our party generally in the management of such fickle craft, the undertaking was extremely imprudent; but then, being all of us more or less ambitious, we overlooked, in the prospect of ultimate success, both difficulty and danger. After our canoes were laden, we moved down to the water’s edge—one with a cloak on his arm, another with his umbrella, a third with pamphlets and newspapers for amusement, preparing, as we thought, for a trip of pleasure, or rather all anxious to be relieved from our present harassing and dangerous situation. The wind being fair and strong, we hoisted sail; but had not proceeded to Tongue Point, a small promontory in the river, not three miles distant from Astoria, when the unfriendly wind dashed our canoes, half-filled with water, on the shore; and, as we were not able to double the Point, we made a short passage across the isthmus, and then, being somewhat more sheltered from the wind, proceeded, but had not got many miles before our progress was again arrested by a {104} still worse accident; for, while passing among the islands and shoals, before rounding Oathlamuck Point, at the head of Gray’s Bay, the wind and swell drove us on a sandbank, where we stuck fast—the waves dashing over us, and the tide ebbing rapidly.[^[21]] Down came the mast, sail, and rigging about our ears; and, in the hurry and confusion, the canoes got almost full of water, and we were well drenched: here we had to carry the goods and drag the canoes till we reached deep water again, which was no easy task. This disaster occupied us about two hours, and gave us a foretaste of what we might expect during the remainder of the voyage. Cloaks and umbrellas, so gay in the morning, were now thrown aside for the more necessary paddle and carrying strap, and the pamphlets and newspapers went to the bottom. Having, however, got all put to rights again, we hoisted sail once more, passed Puget’s Island, and then the great Whill Wetz village, situated on Oak Point, where the river makes a sudden bend to S.S.E.:[^[22]] here, on the south side, the rocks became high and the current strong, and night coming on us before we could reach low ground, we were compelled to encamp on the verge of a precipice, where we passed a gloomy night—drenched with wet, without fire, without supper, and without sleep. During this day’s journey, both sides of the river presented a thick forest down to the water’s edge—the timber being large, particularly the cedars. The sound, from Cape Disappointment {105} to the head of Gray’s Bay, which we passed to-day, is about twenty-five miles in length, and varies from four to seven in breadth.

On the 23rd, after a restless night, we started, stemming a strong and almost irresistible current by daylight. Crossing to the north side, not far from our encampment, we passed a small rocky height, called Coffin Rock, or Mount Coffin, a receptacle for the dead: all over this rock—top, sides, and bottom—were placed canoes of all sorts and sizes, containing relics of the dead, the congregated dust of many ages.

Not far from Mount Coffin, on the same side, was the mouth of a small river, called by the natives Cowlitz, near which was an isolated rock, covered also with canoes and dead bodies. This sepulchral rock has a ghastly appearance, in the middle of the stream, and we rowed by it in silence; then passing Deer’s Island, we encamped at the mouth of the Wallamitte.[^[23]] The waters of the Columbia are exceedingly high this year—all the low banks and ordinary water-marks are overflowed, and the island inundated. At the mouth of the Wallamitte, commences the great Columbian valley of Lewis and Clark; but in the present state of flood, surrounded on all sides by woods almost impervious, the prospect is not fascinating. The Indians appeared very numerous in several villages. General course the same as yesterday, S.E.

On the 24th, after a good night’s rest, and having {106} made some trifling presents to a principal chief, named Kiasno,[^[24]] we proceeded on our voyage; but had not gone far, when we passed another and larger branch of the Wallamitte—so that this river enters the Columbia by two channels, from the last of which the Columbia makes a gradual bend to the E.N.E.

During this day, we passed the Namowit Village, Bellevue Point, Johnson’s Island, and stayed for the night as Wasough-ally Camp, near Quicksand River, which enters the Columbia on the left.[^[25]]

Bellevue Point on the right-hand side of the river, although but low, presents a scene of great beauty, compared to what we had yet seen during the voyage: here the eye is occasionally relieved from the monotonous gloomy aspect of dense woods, by the sight of green spots, clumps of trees, small lakes, and meadows alternately.

On the 25th, early this morning, we arrived at and passed Point Vancouver, so named after the celebrated navigator, and the extreme point of Broughton’s survey of the Columbia.[^[26]] From the lower branch of the Wallamitte to Point Vancouver, the banks of the river on both sides are low; but, as we proceeded further on, a chain of huge black rocks rose perpendicularly from the water’s edge: over their tops fell many bold rills of clear water. Hemmed in by these rocky heights, the current assumed double force, so that our paddles proved almost ineffectual; and, to get on, we were obliged to drag ourselves along from point to point, by laying {107} hold of bushes and the branches of overhanging trees, which, although they impeded our progress in one way, aided us in another. After a day of severe toil, we halted for the night. We saw but five Indians all this day; and, for the first time, now came to our camp at night. The ebb and flow of the tide is not felt here. The country, generally, has a wild and savage appearance: course, E.N.E.

On the 26th, it was late this morning before we could muster courage to embark. The burning sun of yesterday, and the difficulty of stemming the rapid current, had so reduced our strength that we made but little headway to-day; and, after being for six hours rowing as many miles, we stopped, tired and rather discouraged: course, N.E.

On the 27th, we were again early at work, making the best of our way against a turbulent and still increasing current: as we advanced, the river became narrower, the hills and rocks approaching nearer and nearer to the river on either side. Here the view was very confined, and by no means cheering.

We, however, continued our toil till late in the evening, when, in place of a uniform smooth and strong current, as usual, the water became confused and ripply, with whirlpools and cross currents, indicating the proximity of some obstruction. At the foot of a rocky cliff, which we named Inshoach Castle,[^[27]] we put ashore for the night; nor did we see a single Indian all day. Mr. Thompson encamped on one side {108} of the river, and we on the other. General course, to-day, nearly east.

During last night the water rose ten inches. This was supposed to be occasioned by the tide, although, after passing Bellevue Point, the influence of tide was not perceptible on the current. From the mouth of the river to this place—a distance of a hundred and eighty miles—there is sufficient depth of water for almost any craft to pass; even ships of 400 tons might reach Inshoach Castle had they power to stem the current.

As regards agricultural purposes, Bellevue Point and the valley of the Wallamitte were the most favourable spots we met with. Generally speaking, the whole country on either side of the river, as far as the eye could reach, presented a dense, gloomy forest. We found, however, a marked improvement in the climate. Here the air is dry and agreeable. Fogs, mists, damp and rainy weather, ceased after we had passed the Wallamitte.

On the 28th, early in the morning, Mr. Thompson crossed over to our camp, and informed us that we were within a short distance of the cascades. We then embarked, and proceeded together. After making some distance with the paddles, we had recourse to the poles, and then to the hauling line, till at length we reached the point of disembarkation.

We had no sooner landed, than a great concourse of Indians assembled at a short distance from us, and, after holding a consultation, came moving on in a {109} body to meet us, or rather, as we thought, to welcome our arrival. The parley being ended, and the ceremony of smoking over, they pointed up the river, signifying that the road was open for us to pass. Embarking again, we pushed on, and passing the Strawberry Island of Lewis and Clark, we continued for some distance further, and finally put on shore at the end of the portage, or carrying place, situate on the right-hand side of the river, and at the foot of a rather steep bank.[^[28]] Here the Indians crowded about us in fearful numbers, and some of them became very troublesome. A small present being made to each of the chiefs, or great men, in order to smooth them down a little in our favour, they pointed across the portage, or carrying place, as much as to say—All is clear; pass on.

From this point we examined the road over which we had to transport the goods, and found it to be 1450 yards long, with a deep descent, near the Indian villages, at the far end, with up-hills, down-hills, and side-hills, most of the way, besides a confusion of rocks, gullies, and thick woods, from end to end. To say that there is not a worse path under the sun would perhaps be going a step too far, but to say that, for difficulty and danger, few could equal it would be saying but the truth. Certainly nothing could be more discouraging than our present situation—obstacles on every side; by land, by water, and from the Indians—all hostile alike. Having landed the goods, and secured the canoe, we commenced the {110} laborious task of carrying, and by dividing ourselves in the best possible manner for safety, we managed to get all safe over by sunset. Not being accustomed myself to carry, I had of course, as well as some others, to stand sentinel; but seeing the rest almost wearied to death, I took hold of a roll of tobacco, and after adjusting it on my shoulder, and holding it fast with one hand, I moved on to ascend the first bank; at the top of which, however, I stood breathless, and could proceed no farther. In this awkward plight, I met an Indian, and made signs to him to convey the tobacco across, and that I would give him all the buttons on my coat; but he shook his head, and refused. Thinking the fellow did not understand me, I threw the tobacco down, and pointing to the buttons one by one, at last he consented, and off he set at a full trot, and I after him; but just as we had reached his camp at the other end, he pitched it down a precipice of two hundred feet in height, and left me to recover it the best way I could. Off I started after my tobacco; and if I was out of breath after getting up the first bank, I was ten times more so now. During my scrambling among the rocks to recover my tobacco, not only the wag that played me the trick, but fifty others, indulged in a hearty laugh at my expense; but the best of it was, the fellow came for his payment, and wished to get not only the buttons but the coat along with them. I was for giving him—what he richly deserved—buttons of another mould; but peace, in our present situation, was deemed the better {111} policy: so the rogue got the buttons, and we saw him no more.

Before leaving this noted place, the first barrier of the Columbia, we may remark that the whole length of the cascade, from one end to the other, is two miles and a half. We were now encamped at the head or upper end of them, where the whole river is obstructed to the breadth of one hundred or one hundred and twenty feet, and descends in high and swelling surges with great fury for about one hundred yards. Then the channel widens and the river expands, and is here and there afterwards obstructed with rocks, whirlpools, and eddies throughout, rendering the navigation more or less dangerous; but there are no falls in any part of it, either at high or low water, and with the exception of the first shoot, at the head of the cascade, where the water rushes with great impetuosity down its channel, they are, with care and good management, passable at all seasons for large craft, that is boats.

All the Indians we saw about this place were in three small camps or villages, and might number two hundred and fifty or three hundred at most. They call themselves Cath-le-yach-ê-yachs, and we could scarcely purchase from the lazy rascals fish and roots enough for our supper. In dress, appearance, and habits, they differed but little from those about Astoria; but they spoke a different language, although many of them understood and spoke Chinook also.[^[29]]

{112} At first we formed a favourable opinion of them; but their conduct soon changed, for we had no sooner commenced transporting our goods than they tried to annoy us in every kind of way—to break our canoes, pilfer our property, and even to threaten ourselves, by throwing stones and pointing their arrows at us. We were not, however, in a situation to hazard a quarrel with them, unless in the utmost extremity; and it was certainly with great difficulty, and by forbearance on our part, that we got so well off as we did. After finishing the labour of the day, we arranged ourselves for the night. The Indians all assembled again about our little camp, and became very insolent and importunate; they looked at everything, and coveted all they saw. Indeed we were afraid at one time that we would have to appeal to arms; but fortunately, after distributing a few trifling presents among the principal men, they smoked and left us; but we kept a constant watch all night. The only domestic animal we saw among them was the dog.

On the 29th, early in the morning, we prepared to leave the cascades; but the bank being steep, and the current very strong where we had to embark, we did not venture off before broad daylight, and before that time the Indians had crowded about us as usual. Their pilfering propensities had no bounds. The more we gave them the more they expected, and of course the more trouble they gave us; and notwithstanding all our care and kindness {113} to them, they stole our canoe axe and a whole suit of clothes, excepting the hat, belonging to Mr. M‘Lennan, which we were unable to recover. We had no sooner embarked, however, than Mr. M‘Lennan in his usual good humour, standing up in the canoe, and throwing the hat amongst them, said, “Gentlemen, there’s the hat, you have got the rest, the suit is now complete,” and we pushed off and left them.

Immediately above the cascade the river resumes its usual breadth, with a smooth and strong current. The day being exceedingly warm, we made but little headway. In the evening we passed a small river on our left, near which we encamped for the night.[^[30]] Here we had promised ourselves a quiet night and sound sleep; but the Indians finding us out partly deprived us of both, as we had to keep watch. They were but few, however, and therefore peaceable. Course this day, N.N.E.

On the 30th we set off early, leaving the five Indians, who slept in our camp last night, sitting by the fire, enjoying a pipe of tobacco. As we proceeded, the country became more bold, rough, and mountainous; but still covered with thick woods and heavy timber. The day being very hot, we encamped early on a very pleasant and thickly-wooded island—course, N.E.

On the 31st, after breakfast, Mr. Thompson and party left us to prosecute their journey, and Mr. Stuart, in one of our canoes, accompanied him as far {114} as the long narrows, nor did he return till late in the afternoon, and then thinking it too late to start, we passed the remainder of the day in camp, enjoying the repose which we had so much need of. The two strangers remained with us.

On Mr. Thompson’s departure, Mr. Stuart gave him one of our Sandwich Islanders, a bold and trustworthy fellow, named Cox, for one of his men, a Canadian, called Boulard.[^[31]] Boulard had the advantage of being long in the Indian country, and had picked up a few words of the language on his way down. Cox, again, was looked upon by Mr. Thompson as a prodigy of wit and humour, so that those respectively acceptable qualities led to the exchange.

On the 1st of August we left our encampment at daylight, but a strong head-wind impeded our progress, and not being able to get on, we put ashore, and encamped at a much earlier hour than we wished. Course, N.E.

On the 2d, at three o’clock in the afternoon, we reached Sandy Bay, at the foot of the narrows. The Indians, being apprised of our coming, had assembled, as might be expected, in great numbers, and presented to us quite a new sight, being all armed cap-à-pie, painted, and mounted on horseback. To us in our present situation they were rather objects of terror than of attraction, but we had to put the best face we could on things, so we landed our goods and invited them to smoke with us.

We had not hitherto settled upon any plan, whether {115} to continue our route by water up the long narrows, or undertake the portage by land, both appearing equally difficult and equally dangerous: at last we adopted the latter plan, because it was recommended by the Indians, in whose power we were either way. The plan being now settled, we bargained with the chiefs for the carriage of the goods—ten metal buttons for each piece was the price stipulated, which reduced our stock by exactly two and a half gross: and in less than ten minutes after the whole cavalcade, goods and all, disappeared, leaving us standing in suspense and amazement. While we were in this painful state of anxiety, one man and an Indian were left to guard the canoes, whilst the rest of us, carrying what we could on our backs, followed the Indians on foot to the other end of the portage, where we arrived at sunset, and found, to our great satisfaction, all the property laid together in safety, and guarded by the chiefs. Having paid the Indians what we promised, and a small recompense to the different chiefs, we arranged our little camp for the night, the chiefs promising us their protection. All the Indians now flocked around us, men, women, and children, and spent the whole night in smoking, dancing and singing, while we kept watch in the centre of the ominous circle. During the night, however, notwithstanding the chief’s guarantee of protection, we perceived some suspicious movements, which gave us considerable alarm. We had recourse again and again to the chiefs, who at last admitted {116} that there was some indication of danger; but added that they were still our friends, and would do their utmost to protect us. Just at this moment, as we were consulting with the chiefs, several harangues were made in the camp, the smoking ceased, and the women and children were beginning to move off. It was a critical moment; we saw the cloud gathering, but could not dispel it; our fate seemed to hang upon a hair. At last we hit upon a stratagem; we persuaded the chiefs to come and stop within our little circle for the night, which they did, and from that position they harangued in turn, which had a good effect, and in this manner we passed the night, not forgetting every now and then to give the chiefs some little toy or trifle, to stimulate their exertions in our favour.

Early in the morning of the 3rd, four of us returned to the other end of the portage, and by two o’clock got one of the canoes safe across. Returning again immediately, we arrived with the other a little after dark; one man still remaining across, taking care of the canoe-tackling and camp utensils. The Indians all the day kept dancing and smoking, and it was our interest to keep them so employed as much as possible; and no one knew better how to do so than Mr. Stuart, his eye saw everything at a glance, and his mild and insinuating manners won their affections.

As night came on, the Indians were to be seen divided in groups, as if in consultation; but there {117} appeared no sign of unanimity among them; each chief seemed occupied with his own little band, and we learned that they were not all one people, with one interest, or under one control, and this divided state no doubt added greatly to our safety; for wherever we found one chief alone, he invariably pointed to the others as bad men, calling them sho-sho-nez, or inlanders. Not knowing, however, who were our friends or who our foes, we had to keep a strict watch all night.

At daybreak on the 4th, three of our men crossed the portage for the remainder of the goods, and arrived safely at an early hour, but had enough to do to save their kettles from some scamps they met with on the way.

The length of this dry and sandy portage is nine miles; and when it is taken into consideration that we had to go and come all that distance four times in one day, without a drop of water to refresh ourselves, loaded as we were, and under a burning sun, it will be admitted that it was no ordinary task. Under any other circumstances but a struggle between life and death, it could never be performed; but it was too much; the effort was almost beyond human strength, and I may venture to say, all circumstances considered, it will never be done again.

The main camp of the Indians is situated at the head of the narrows, and may contain, during the salmon season, 3,000 souls, or more; but the constant inhabitants of the place do not exceed 100 {118} persons, and are called Wy-am-pams;[^[32]] the rest are all foreigners from different tribes throughout the country, who resort hither, not for the purpose of catching salmon, but chiefly for gambling and speculation; for trade and traffic, not in fish, but in other articles; for the Indians of the plains seldom eat fish, and those of the sea-coast sell, but never buy fish. Fish is their own staple commodity. The articles of traffic brought to this place by the Indians of the interior are generally horses, buffalo-robes, and native tobacco, which they exchange with the natives of the sea-coast and other tribes, for the higua beads and other trinkets. But the natives of the coast seldom come up thus far. Now all these articles generally change hands through gambling, which alone draws so many vagabonds together at this place; because they are always sure to live well here, whereas no other place on the Columbia could support so many people together. The long narrows, therefore, is the great emporium or mart of the Columbia, and the general theatre of gambling and roguery.

We saw great quantities of fish everywhere; but what were they among so many: we could scarcely get a score of salmon to buy. For every fisherman there are fifty idlers, and all the fish caught are generally devoured on the spot; so that the natives of the place can seldom lay up their winter stock until the gambling season is over, and their troublesome visitors gone. All the gamblers, horse-stealers, {119} and other outcasts throughout the country, for hundreds of miles round, make this place their great rendezvous during summer.

The narrows by water are not a great deal longer than the portage by land. At the upper end, during low water, a broad and flat ledge of rocks bars the whole river across, leaving only a small opening or portal, not exceeding forty feet, on the left side, through which the whole body of water must pass. Through this gap it rushes with great impetuosity; the foaming surges dash through the rocks with terrific violence; no craft, either large or small, can venture there in safety. During floods, this obstruction, or ledge of rocks, is covered with water, yet the passage of the narrows is not thereby improved. Immediately above the rocks, the river resembles a small still lake, with scarcely any current.

The general aspect of the country around the long narrows cannot be called agreeable; the place is lone, gloomy, and the surface rugged, barren, and rocky; yet it is cheering in comparison with the dense forests which darken the banks of the river to this place. At the foot of the narrows the whole face of nature is changed, like night into day. There the woody country ceases on both sides of the river at once, and abruptly; the open and barren plains begin. The contrast is sudden, striking, and remarkable. Distance from the cascades to this place seventy miles.

The great bend or elbow of the Columbia is {120} formed by the long narrows: here, on the west side, terminates that long, high, and irregular chain of mountains which lie parallel to the coast, dividing the waters which flow into the Pacific on the west, from those running into the Columbia on the east. This range abounds in beaver and elk, and is often frequented by the industrious hunter. At the Indian tents we saw several small packages of beaver, but we purchased none, our canoes being too small; and, besides, they will always find their way to Astoria. We have all along, however, impressed on the natives the object of our visit to their country, and the value of beaver.

The Indians have been more troublesome, more importunate and forward to-day than at any time since our arrival among them. They often expressed a wish to see what we had in our bales and boxes. The chiefs also gave us to understand that their good offices merited a reward, and they could not comprehend why people who had so much as we were not more liberal. We endeavoured to satisfy their demands, and towards evening the chiefs were invited to sleep in our camp; but for us there was no sleep: there is no rest for the wicked.

{121} CHAPTER VIII

Columbia Falls—A canoe swamped—Suspicious behaviour of the Indians—Stratagem—Umatallow—Walla Walla—Great body of Indians—Harangues—Indian ceremonies—The great forks—Difference in the waters—Length of the forks—The British flag—Mr. Thompson’s design—Indian ideas—Salmon—European articles—Tummatapam—Departure from the Forks—Indian honesty—Eyakema—Marl hills—Dead children—Superstitions—Priest’s Rapid—Rattlesnakes—Appearance of the country—Kewaughchen—Perilous situation of a canoe—The two sisters——The old Indian—Hunting party—Horses—The priest—Piss-cows—Sopa—Great assemblage of Indians—The comet—Oakinacken—Distance from Astoria—Indian council—Resolve to winter—Some account of the place—The stolen watch—The priest dismissed—Voyage concluded—The two strangers—First building—Division of the party—Lonely winter—The lost party—Indian trade—Mr. Stuart’s adventures.

On the 5th of August, early in the morning, after making the chiefs a few presents, we proceeded, and had the singular good luck to get off with the loss of only one paddle. As we left the beach, the sullen savages crowded to the water’s edge, and in silence stood and gazed at us, as if reproaching themselves for their forbearance. As we proceeded, the banks {122} of the river were literally lined with Indians. Having ascended about seven miles, we arrived at the falls—the great Columbia Falls, as they are generally called; but, from the high floods this year, they were scarcely perceptible, and we passed them without ever getting out of our canoes. In seasons of low water, however, the break or fall is about twenty feet high, and runs across the whole breadth of the river, in an oblique direction. The face of the country about this place is bare, rugged, and rocky, and, to our annoyance, every point was swarming with Indians, all as anxious to get to us as we were to avoid them. Our exertions, and the want of sleep for the last three nights in succession, almost stupefied us, and we were the more anxious to find some quiet resting-place for the night. We halted a short distance above the falls, and there encamped. The current was strong, and rapid the whole of this day. Course, north.

On the 6th, after passing a comfortless and almost sleepless night, owing to the crowd of Indians that had collected about us, we were on the water again before sunrise, stemming a strong and rapid current. About a mile from our last encampment, and opposite to a rocky island, the river Lowhum enters the Columbia on the east side.[^[33]] Its breadth is considerable, but the depth of water at its mouth is scarcely sufficient to float an Indian canoe, and over the rocky bottom it made a noise like thunder. Proceeding from this place, we observed, a short distance ahead, {123} a very large camp of Indians, and in order to avoid them we crossed over towards the left shore; but found the current so powerful, that we had to lay our paddles aside and take to the lines. In this rather dangerous operation, we had frequently to scramble up among the rocks. Soon after, a few Indians volunteered their services to help us, and we found them very useful; but one of them, while conducting the line round a rock, endeavoured to cut it with a stone; he was detected, however, in the act, and just in time to prevent accident. Had the villain succeeded, not only the goods, but in all likelihood some lives would have been lost. The wind springing up, we hoisted sail; but found the experiment dangerous, owing to the rapidity of the current. We encamped at a late hour without seeing a single Indian. Course as yesterday.

On the 7th, early in the morning, we passed the river Day—not broad, but pretty deep, and distant about thirty miles from the river Lowhum.[^[34]] In all directions, the face of the country is one wide and boundless plain, with here and there some trifling inequalities, but not a tree nor bush to be seen. General course as yesterday.

On the 8th, after a quiet and comfortable night’s rest, we embarked early; and hoisting sail with a fair wind, we scudded along at a good rate till two o’clock in the afternoon, when, all of a sudden, a squall overtook us and broke the mast of one of our canoes, which, in the hurry and confusion of the moment, {124} filled with water, so that we had great difficulty in getting safe to shore.

The day being fine, we set about drying our things, and for that purpose began to spread them out, for every article had got thoroughly soaked; but this task we had no sooner commenced than the Indians flocked about us in great numbers. We therefore soon perceived the impropriety and danger of exhibiting so great a temptation before their eyes. In a few minutes we were almost surrounded by bows and arrows, one volley of which might have extinguished the expedition for ever; and one of the fellows had the audacity to shoot an arrow into one of our bales, as a warning of what might follow. In short, we thought we could read in the savage expression of their countenances some dark design; we therefore immediately commenced loading. Wet and dry were bundled together, and put into the canoes; and in order to amuse for a moment, and attract the attention of the crowd, I laid hold of an axe, and set it up at the distance of eighty yards, then taking up my rifle, drove a ball through it. This manœuvre had the desired effect. While the Indians stood gazing with amazement at the hole in the axe, our people were not idle. We embarked and got off without a word on either side. Having reached a small, snug island near the Suppa river, we put ashore for the night.[^[35]] Course as yesterday.

The 9th, we remained all day encamped drying the goods, and were visited only by the Indians in one canoe, who sold us a fine salmon.

{125} On the 10th, at an early hour, we proceeded on our voyage, and met with no obstacle till the evening, when we arrived at the foot of a long and strong rapid, where we encamped near the mouth of a considerable river called Umatallow, which enters the Columbia here. This river takes its rise in a long range of blue mountains, which runs nearly east and west, and forms the northern boundary of the great Snake nation. Opposite to our encampment, on the west side, is situated a large mound or hill of considerable height, which, from its lonely situation and peculiar form, we called Dumbarton Castle.[^[36]] During this day we saw many Indians, all occupied in catching salmon. Course as usual.

On the 11th we commenced ascending the rapid—a task which required all our skill and strength to accomplish; and paddles, poles, hauling lines, and carrying-straps were in requisition in turn, and yet half the day was consumed ere we got to the top. At the foot of this rapid, which is a mile in length, the river makes a quick bend to the east for about two miles, then comes gradually round again to the north from the head of the rapid. The channel of the river is studded on both sides with gloomy black rocks arranged like colonnades, for upwards of twenty miles. Here are some sandy islands also, on one of which we encamped; and a dark and cheerless encampment it was, surrounded and shaded by these gloomy heights.

On the 12th we left our camp early, and in a short {126} time came to the colonnade rocks, which suddenly terminated in two huge bluffs, one on each side of the river, exactly opposite to each other, like monumental columns. The river between these bluffs lies right south and north.[^[37]] The banks of the river then become low with sand and gravel, and the plains open full to view again, particularly on the east side.

Close under the right bluff issues the meandering Walla Walla, a beautiful little river, lined with weeping willows. It takes its rise in the blue mountains already noticed. At the mouth of the Walla Walla a large band of Indians were encamped, who expressed a wish that we should pass the day with them. We encamped accordingly; yet for some time not an Indian came near us, and those who had invited us to pass the day with them seemed to have gone away; so that we were at a loss what construction to put upon their shyness. But in the midst of our perplexity we perceived a great body of men issuing from the camp, all armed and painted, and proceeded by three chiefs. The whole array came moving on in solemn and regular order till within twenty yards of our tent. Here the three chiefs harangued us, each in his turn; all the rest giving, every now and then, a vociferous shout of approbation when the speaker happened to utter some emphatical expression. The purport of these harangues was friendly, and as soon as the chiefs had finished they all sat down on the grass in a large circle, when the great calumet of peace was produced, and the smoking began. Soon {127} after the women, decked in their best attire, and painted, arrived, when the dancing and singing commenced—the usual symbols of peace and friendship; and in this pleasing and harmonious mood they passed the whole day.

The men were generally tall, raw-boned, and well dressed; having all buffalo-robes, deer-skin leggings, very white, and most of them garnished with porcupine quills. Their shoes were also trimmed and painted red;—altogether, their appearance indicated wealth. Their voices were strong and masculine, and their language differed from any we had heard before. The women wore garments of well dressed deer-skin down to their heels; many of them richly garnished with beads, higuas, and other trinkets—leggings and shoes similar to those of the men. Their faces were painted red. On the whole, they differed widely in appearance from the piscatory tribes we had seen along the river. The tribes assembled on the present occasion were the Walla-Wallas, the Shaw Haptens, and the Cajouses; forming altogether about fifteen hundred souls.[^[38]] The Shaw Haptens and Cajouses, with part of the Walla-Wallas, were armed with guns, and the others with bows and arrows. The names of the principal chiefs were (in the order of the tribes) Tummatapam, Quill-Quills-Tuck-a-Pesten, and Allowcatt. The plains were literally covered with horses, of which there could not have been less than four thousand in sight of the camp.

On the 13th, we prepared to be off as early as {128} possible; but Tummatapam would not let us go till we had breakfasted on some fine fresh salmon. He told us he would be at the forks before us. We then embarked, and continued our voyage. The banks on both sides of the river, above the Walla Walla, are low, and the country agreeable. After passing three islands, we arrived at the forks late in the evening, and there encamped for the night. The crowd of Indians assembled at that place was immense, and among the rest was our friend Tummatapam. The Indians smoked, danced, and chanted all night, as usual, while we kept watch in turn.

On the 14th, early in the morning, what did we see waving triumphantly in the air, at the confluence of the two great branches, but a British flag, hoisted in the middle of the Indian camp, planted there by Mr. Thompson, as he passed, with a written paper, laying claim to the country north of the forks, as British territory.[^[39]] This edict interdicted the subjects of other states from trading north of that station; and the Indians at first seemed to hint that we could not proceed up the north branch, and were rather disposed to prevent us, by saying, that Koo-Koo-Sint—meaning Mr. Thompson—had told them so, pointing at the same time to the south branch, as if to intimate that we might trade there. The chiefs likewise stated that Koo-Koo-Sint had given them such and such things, and among others the British flag, that they should see his commands respected; but that if Mr. Stuart would give them {129} more than Koo-Koo-Sint had done, then he would be the greater chief, and might go where he pleased.

The opposition of the Indians on the present occasion suggested to our minds two things; first, that Mr. Thompson’s motive for leaving us at the time he did was to turn the natives against us as he went along, with the view of preventing us from getting further to the north, where the North-West Company had posts of their own; and, secondly, that the tribes about the forks would prefer our going up the south branch, because then we would be in the midst of themselves. But it was our interest then to defeat these schemes, and so completely did we upset Mr. Thompson’s plans, that I verily believe had he to pass there again, he would have some difficulty in effecting his purpose. Mr. Thompson’s conduct reminds us of the husbandman and the snake in the fable. That he who had been received so kindly, treated so generously, and furnished so liberally by us, should have attempted to incite the Indians against us, in our helpless and almost forlorn state, was conduct which the world must condemn.

At the junction of the two great branches of the Columbia, the country around is open and very pleasant, and seems to be a great resort, or general rendezvous, for the Indians on all important occasions. The south-east branch is known by the name of Lewis’s River, the north by that of Clarke’s, in honour of the first adventurers.[^[40]] They are both large rivers, but the north branch is considerably the larger {130} of the two. At the junction of their waters, Lewis’s River has a muddy or milk-and-water appearance, and is warm; while Clarke’s River is bluish, clear, and very cold. The difference of colour, like a dividing line between the two waters, continues for miles below their junction. These branches would seem, from a rough chart the Indians made us, to be of nearly equal length from the forks—perhaps 700 miles—widening from each other towards the mountains, where the distance between their sources may be 900 miles.

All the tributary rivers entering between this and the falls, a distance of 200 miles, are on the east side. The most important fishing place on the Columbia, after the long narrows, is here, or rather a little below this, towards the Umatallow. Yet although the salmon are very fine and large, weighing from fifteen to forty pounds each, they are not taken in the immense quantities which some other countries boast of. A Columbian fisherman considers it a good day’s work to kill 100 salmon, whereas, at the Copper-Mine River, a fisherman will kill 1000 a day; and a Kamtschatkan, it is said, will kill, with the same means, 10,000 a day; but if these countries can boast of numbers, the Columbia can boast of a better quality and larger size.

The only European articles seen here with the Indians, and with which they seemed perfectly contented, were guns, and here and there a kettle, or a knife; and, indeed, the fewer the better. They {131} require but little, and the more they get of our manufacture the more unhappy will they be, as the possession of one article naturally creates a desire for another, so that they are never satisfied.

In the afternoon the chiefs held a council, at which Mr. Stuart and myself were present. It was then finally settled that we might proceed up the north branch, and that at all times we might count upon their friendship. This being done, Tummatapam came to our tent, smoked a pipe, and took supper with us; and as he was going off, Mr. Stuart presented him with a suit of his own clothes, which highly pleased the great man. The Indians having retired, we set the watch for the night as usual.

Tummatapam is a middle-aged man, well featured, and of a very agreeable countenance; and what is still better, he is, to all appearance, a good man, was very kind to us, and rendered us considerable service; but the other two chiefs appeared to take precedence of him in all matters of importance.

On the 16th, we left the forks and proceeded up the north branch, which to the eye is as broad and deep here as below the forks. About twelve miles up, a small river entered on the west side, called Eyakema. The landscape at the mouth of the Eyakema surpassed in picturesque beauty anything we had yet seen.[^[41]] Here three Walla Walla Indians overtook us on horseback, and to our agreeable surprise delivered us a bag of shot which we had left by mistake at our encampment of last night—a convincing {132} proof that there is honesty among Indians; and if I recollect well, a similar circumstance, attesting the probity of the Walla-Wallas, occurred when Lewis and Clark passed there in 1805.[^[42]] We saw but few Indians to-day, and in the evening we encamped without a night watch, for the first time since we left Astoria. General course, north.

On the 17th, we were paddling along at daylight. On putting on shore to breakfast, four Indians on horseback joined us. The moment they alighted, one set about hobbling their horses, another to gather small sticks, a third to make a fire, and the fourth to catch fish. For this purpose, the fisherman cut off a bit of his leather shirt, about the size of a small bean; then pulling out two or three hairs from his horse’s tail for a line, tied the bit of leather to one end of it, in place of a hook or fly. Thus prepared, he entered the river a little way, sat down on a stone, and began throwing the small fish, three or four inches long, on shore, just as fast as he pleased; and while he was thus employed, another picked them up and threw them towards the fire, while the third stuck them up round it in a circle, on small sticks; and they were no sooner up than roasted. The fellows then sitting down, swallowed them—heads, tails, bones, guts, fins, and all, in no time, just as one would swallow the yolk of an egg. Now all this was but the work of a few minutes; and before our man had his kettle ready for the fire, the Indians were already eating their breakfast. {133} When the fish had hold of the bit of wet leather, or bait, their teeth got entangled in it, so as to give time to jerk them on shore, which was to us a new mode of angling; fire produced by the friction of two bits of wood was also a novelty; but what surprised us most of all, was the regularity with which they proceeded, and the quickness of the whole process, which actually took them less time to perform, than it has taken me to note it down.

Soon after passing the Eyakema, a long range of marl hills interrupts the view on the east side of the river. Here two dead children were presented to us by their parents, in order that we might restore them to life again, and a horse was offered us as the reward. We pitied their ignorance, made them a small present, and told them to bury their dead. As we advanced along the marl hills, the river inclined gradually to the N.W. After a good day’s work, we stopped for the night near a small camp of Indians, who were very friendly to us. Here and there were to be seen, on small eminences, burial-places. The dead are interred, and a few small sticks always point out the cemetery.

On the 18th, we reached the end of the marl hills. Just at this place the river makes a bend right south for about ten miles, when a high and rugged hill confines it on our left. Here the increasing rapidity of the current gave us intimation that we were not far from some obstruction ahead; and as we advanced a little under the brow of the hill, a strong {134} and rocky rapid presented itself in the very bend of the river. Having ascended it about half way, we encamped for the night.

Here a large concourse of Indians met us, and after several friendly harangues, commenced the usual ceremony of smoking the pipe of peace: after which they passed the night in dancing and singing. The person who stood foremost in all these introductory ceremonies, was a tall, meagre, middle-aged Indian, who attached himself very closely to us from the first moment we saw him. He was called Ha-qui-laugh, which signifies doctor, or rather priest; and as this personage will be frequently mentioned in the sequel of our narrative, we have been thus particular in describing him. We named the place “Priest’s Rapid,” after him.

The name of the tribe is Ska-moy-num-acks; they appear numerous and well affected towards the whites. From the Priest’s Rapid, in a direct line by land to the mouth of the Umatallow, the distance is very short, owing to the great bend of the river between the two places.

The Priest’s Rapid is more than a mile in length, and is a dangerous and intricate part of the navigation. The south side, although full of rocks and small channels, through which the water rushes with great violence, is the best to ascend.

On the 19th, early in the morning, we started, but found the channel so frequently obstructed with rocks, whirlpools, and eddies, that we had much difficulty {135} in making any headway. Crossing two small portages, we at length, however, reached the head of it, and there encamped for the night, after a very hard day’s labour, under a burning sun. From the head of the Priest’s Rapid, the river opens again due north.

The ground here is everywhere full, covered with flat stones, and wherever these stones lie, and indeed elsewhere, the rattlesnakes are very numerous. At times they may be heard hissing all around, so that we had to keep a sharp look-out to avoid treading on them; but the natives appeared to have no dread of them. As soon as one appears, the Indians fix its head to the ground with a small forked stick round the neck, then extracting the fang or poisonous part, they take the reptile into their hands, put it into their bosoms, play with it, and let it go again. When any one is bitten by them, the Indians tie a ligature above the wounded part, scarify it, and then apply a certain herb to the wound, which they say effectually cures it.

On the 20th we left the Priest’s Rapid, and proceeded against a strong ripply current and some small rapids, for ten miles, when we reached two lofty and conspicuous bluffs, situated directly opposite to each other, like the piers of a gigantic gate, between which the river flowed smoothly. Here we staid for the night, on some rocks infested with innumerable rattlesnakes, which caused us not a little uneasiness during the night. From this place due {136} east, the distance, in a direct line, to the marl hills left on the 18th is very short. At the southern angle of this flat is situated the Priest’s Rapid, which we left this morning. Course, north.

Early on the 21st, we were again on the water. The country on the east side is one boundless rough and barren plain; but on the west, the rocks, after some distance, close in to the water’s edge, steep and rugged, and the whole country behind is studded with towering heights and rocks, giving the whole face of the country, in that direction, a bleak, broken, and mountainous appearance. We saw but few natives to-day, but those few were very friendly to us. Towards evening we put ashore for the night, at a late hour. General course, north.

On the 22nd we left our camp early, and soon reached the foot of a very intricate and dangerous rapid, so full of rocks that at some little distance off the whole channel of the river, from side to side, seemed to be barred across, and the stream to be divided into narrow channels, whirlpools, and eddies, through which we had to pass. At the entrance of one of these channels, a whirlpool caught one of the canoes, and after whirling her round and round several times, threw her out of the channel altogether into a chain of cascades, down which she went, sometimes the stem, sometimes stern foremost. In this critical manner she descended to the foot of the rapids, and at last stuck fast upon a rock, when, after much trouble and danger, we succeeded in throwing {137} lines to the men, and ultimately got all safe to shore. Here we encamped for the night, and spent the remainder of the day in drying the goods, mending the canoe, and examining the rapid.

On the 23rd we again commenced ascending, and found on the right-hand side a neck of land, where we made a portage: from thence we towed ourselves among the rocks, from one to another, until we reached the head of the rapid, and a most gloomy and dismal rapid it was. Both sides of the river at this place is rocky, and in no part of the Columbia is the view more confined. A death-like gloom seems to hang over the glen. This rapid, which is called Ke-waugh-tohen, after the tribe of Indians inhabiting the place, who call themselves Ke-waugh-tohen-emachs, is about thirty miles distant from the Priest’s Rapid.[^[43]]