FORT VANCOUVER TO SAN FRANCISCO.
Fort Vancouver is an old Government Post, established in 1849, when
Washington Territory was still a part of Oregon, and all the great
region there was yet a wilderness. The village of Vancouver, a
parasite on its outskirts, had grown up gradually; but had long since
been distanced by Portland, across the Columbia in Oregon. A fine
plateau, with a bold shore, made the Post everything desirable; but
back of the post-grounds, the unbroken forest was still everywhere
around it. It was now Headquarters of the Department of the Columbia,
and the base for all military operations in that section. Here troops
and supplies were gathered, for all the posts up the Columbia and its
tributaries; though Portland, rather, seemed to be the natural brain
of all that region. So, too, it controlled and supplied the forts at
the mouth of the Columbia and the posts on Puget Sound; and, indeed,
was of prime importance to the Government in many ways.
Gen. Steele, in command of the Department, was an old Regular
officer, who during the war commanded first in Missouri, afterwards
around Vicksburg, then in Arkansas, and always with ability. He
is now no more (dying in 1868), but some things he related in
speaking of the war seem worth preserving. He said, Gen. Sherman
was undoubtedly a great soldier; but he owed much to the rough
schooling of his first campaigns, and improved from year to year.
He said, Sherman in '62 was "scary" about Price's movements in
Missouri and cited as an instance, that he once ordered the depot
at Rolla broken up and the troops withdrawn, for fear Price would
"gobble up" everybody and everything. He (Steele) then a Colonel,
but in command at Rolla, appealed to Gen. Halleck, and was allowed
to remain; and subsequently Sherman, with his customary frankness,
admitted his mistake. So, he said, Sherman in '63, when campaigning
around Vicksburg, had little confidence in Grant's famous movement
to the rear, via Grand Gulf and the Big Black, though the results
were so magnificent. He said Sherman was somewhere up the Yazoo,
with Porter and the gun-boats, and from there wrote him (Steele),
in command of the Corps during Sherman's absence, that the proposed
movement was perilous, and would probably fail, ruining them all;
but, "nevertheless," he added, right loyally, "We must support
Grant _cordially_ and _thoroughly_, dear Steele, whatever happens."
Subsequently, after they had landed at Grand Gulf--repulsed Pemberton
and hurled him back on Vicksburg--cleaned Joe Johnston out of Jackson
and chased him out of the country--and were crossing the Big Black
in triumph, the movement now apparently a sure thing, Sherman and he
were lying down to rest a little, at a house near the bridge, while
the troops were filing over. Presently, an orderly announced Gen.
Grant and staff riding by, when Sherman instantly sprang up, and
rushing out of the house bareheaded seized Grant by the hand, and
shaking it very warmly exclaimed, "I congratulate you, General, with
all my heart, on the success of your movement. And, by heaven, sir,
the movement is _yours_, too; for nobody else would endorse it!" He
added, he never heard of Sherman's "protesting" against the movement,
as reported afterwards in the newspapers, and didn't believe he ever
had--"was too soldierly, by far, for that"--but he (Steele), knew all
the facts at the time, and the above was about the Truth of History.
Poor Steele! He was a true Army bachelor, fond of horses and dogs,
and a connoisseur in both. He was besides a man of fine intelligence,
and after dinner told a camp-story capitally. I remember several
he told, with great gusto, while we shared his cosy quarters at
Vancouver; but have not space for them here. Afterwards, we met him
again in San Francisco, on leave of absence, the beloved of all army
circles, and the favorite of society. May he rest in peace!
But to return to Fort Vancouver. We spent several days there very
pleasantly, getting the bearings of things from there as a centre,
and were loath to leave its hospitable quarters. It was now the first
week in December; but the grapes were still hanging on the vines at
Maj. N.'s quarters, and all about the post the grass was springing
fresh and green, as in April in the East. We had fog or rain, or both
together, about every day; no heavy down-pours, however, but gentle
drizzles, as if the Oregon-Washington sky was only a great sieve,
with perpetual water on 'tother side. They said, this was their
usual weather from fall to spring, and then they had a delightful
summer; though sometimes occasional snow-storms, sweeping down from
the Mountains in January or February, gave them a taste of winter.
Such snows, however, were light, and never lasted long. It seems,
the Gulf Stream of the Pacific, sweeping up from the tropics, bears
the isothermal lines so far north on this coast, that here at Fort
Vancouver in the latitude of Montreal, they have the climate of
the Carolinas in winter, with little of their excessive heats in
summer. Walla-Walla, in latitude 46°, boasts the range of Washington,
D. C. in 39°; and San Francisco, on the line of New York, claims
the climate of Savannah. One evening while there, after a day of
weary rain, the clouds suddenly broke away, and just at sunset we
caught another noble view of Mount Hood again. A thin, veil-like
cloud enrobed his feet, extending much of the way up; but above, his
heaven-kissing head rose right regally, and his snowy crown became
transfigured through all the changes--from pink to purple, and into
night--as the day faded out. He looked still loftier and grander,
than we had yet seen him, as if piercing the very sky, and was really
superb. Aye, _superbus_. Haughty, imperial, supremely proud--which is
about what the Romans meant, if I mistake not.
A ride of six miles down the Columbia, on the little steamer _Fanny
Troup_, and then twelve miles up the Willamette, landed us at
Portland, Oregon, the metropolis of all that region. The distance
from Fort Vancouver, as the crow flies, is only about six miles,
but by water it is fully eighteen, as above stated. Here we found
a thrifty busy town, of eight or ten thousand people, with all the
eastern evidences of substantial wealth and prosperity. Much of
the town was well built, and the rest was rapidly changing for the
better. Long rows of noble warehouses lined the wharves, many of the
stores were large and even elegant, and off in the suburbs handsome
residences were already springing up, notwithstanding the abounding
stumps nearly everywhere. The town seemed unfortunately located, the
river-plateau was so narrow there; but just across the Willamette
was East Portland, a growing suburb, with room plenty and to spare.
A ferry-boat, plying constantly, connected the two places, and made
them substantially one. Portland already boasted water, gas, and
Nicholson pavements; and had more of a solid air and tone, than any
city we had seen since leaving the Missouri. The rich black soil, on
which she stands, makes her streets in the rainy season, as then,
sloughs or quagmires, unless macadamised or Nicholsoned; but she was
at work on these, and they promised soon to be in good condition.
Several daily papers, two weekly religious ones, and a fine
Mercantile Library, all spoke well for her intelligence and culture,
while her Public School buildings and her Court-House would have been
creditable anywhere. The New England element was noticeable in many
of her citizens, and Sunday came here once a week, as regularly as in
Boston or Bangor. The Methodists and Presbyterians both worshipped in
goodly edifices, and the attendance at each the Sunday we were there
was large and respectable.
Being the first city of importance north of San Francisco, and
the brain of our northwest coast, Portland was full of energy and
vigor, and believed thoroughly in her future. The great Oregon Steam
Navigation Company had their headquarters here, and poured into
her lap all the rich trade of the Columbia and its far-reaching
tributaries, that tap Idaho, Montana, and even British America
itself. So, also, the coastwise steamers, from San Francisco up, all
made Portland their terminus, and added largely to her commerce.
Back of her lay the valley of the Willamette, and the rich heart
of Oregon; and her wharves, indeed, were the gateways to thousands
of miles of territory and trade, in all directions. Nearer to
the Sandwich Islands and China, by several hundred miles, than
California, she had already opened a brisk trade with both, and
boasted that she could sell sugars, teas, silks, rice, etc., cheaper
than San Francisco. Victoria, the British city up on Puget Sound, had
once been a dangerous rival; but Portland had managed to beat her out
of sight, and claimed now she would keep her beaten. It was Yankee
Doodle against John Bull; and, of course, in such a contest, Victoria
went to the wall!
It seemed singular, however, that the chief city of the northwest
coast should be located there--a hundred miles from the sea, and
even then twelve miles up the little Willamette. Your first thought
is, Portland has no right _to be_ at all, where she now is. But, it
appears, she originally got a start, from absorbing and controlling
the large trade of the Willamette, and when the Columbia was opened
up to navigation rapidly grew into importance, by her heavy dealings
in flour, wool, cattle, lumber, etc. The discovery of mines in Idaho
and Montana greatly invigorated her, and now she had got so much
ahead, and so much capital and brains were concentrated here, that it
seemed hard for any new place to compete with her successfully.[14]
Moreover, we were told, there are no good locations for a town
along the Columbia from the ocean up to the Willamette, nor on the
Willamette up to Portland. Along the Columbia, from the ocean up,
wooded hills and bluffs come quite down to the water, and the whole
back country, as a rule, is still a wilderness of pines and firs;
while the Willamette up to Portland, they said, was apt to overflow
its banks in high water. Hence, Portland seemed secure in her
supremacy, at least for years to come, though no doubt at no distant
day a great city will rise on Puget Sound, that will dominate all
that coast, up to Sitka and down to San Francisco. From want of time,
we failed to reach the Posts on Puget's Sound; but all accounts
agreed, that--land-locked by Vancouver's and San Juan islands--we
there have one of the largest and most magnificent harbors in the
world. With the Northern Pacific Railroad linking it to Duluth and
the great lakes, commerce will yet seek its great advantages; and the
Boston, if not the New York, of the Pacific will yet flourish where
now are only the wilds of Washington. The Sound already abounded
in saw-mills, and the ship-timber and lumber of Washington we
subsequently found famed in San Francisco, and throughout California.
She was then putting lumber down in San Francisco, cheaper than
the Californians could bring it from their own foot-hills, and
her magnificent forests of fir and pine promised yet to be a rare
blessing to all the Pacific Coast.
The Portlanders, of course, were energetic, go-ahead men, from all
parts of the North, with a good sprinkling from the South. Outside
of Portland, however, the Oregonians appeared to be largely from
Missouri, and to have retained many of their old Missouri and
so-called "conservative" ideas still. All through our Territories,
indeed, Missouri seemed to have been fruitful of emigrants. Kentucky,
Indiana, Illinois, were everywhere well represented; but Missouri
led, especially in Idaho and Oregon. This fact struck us repeatedly,
and was well accounted for by friend Meacham's remark (top of the
Blue Mountains), "the left wing of Price's army is still encamped in
this region." The tone of society, in too many places, seemed to be
of the Nasby order, if not worse. No doubt hundreds of deserters and
draft-sneaks, from both armies, had made their way into those distant
regions; and then, besides, the influence of our old officials,
both civil and military, had long been pro-slavery, and this still
lingered among communities, whom the war had not touched, and among
whom school-houses and churches were still far too few. Of course,
we met some right noble and devoted Union men everywhere, especially
in Colorado; but elsewhere, and as a rule, they did not strike us
as numerous, nor as very potential. In saying this, I hope I am not
doing the Territories injustice; but this is how their average public
opinion impressed a passing traveller, and other tourists we met _en
route_ remarked the same thing.
Here at Portland, John Chinaman turned up again, and seemed to be
behaving thoroughly well. At Boisè, we found these heathen paying their
stage-fare, and riding down to the Columbia, while many Caucasians
were walking, and here at Portland they appeared alike thrifty and
prosperous. Their advent here had been comparatively recent, and there
was still much prejudice against them, especially among the lower
classes; but they were steadily winning their way to public favor
by their sobriety, their intelligence and thrift, and good conduct
generally. Washing and ironing, and household service generally, seemed
to be their chief occupations, and nearly everybody gave them credit
for industry and integrity. Mr. Arrigoni, the proprietor of our hotel
(and he was one of the rare men, who know how to "keep a hotel"), spoke
highly of their capacity and honesty, and said he wanted no better
servants anywhere. One of them, not over twenty-one, had a contract to
do the washing and ironing for the Arrigoni House, at a hundred dollars
per month, and was executing it with marked fidelity. He certainly did
his work well, judging by what we saw of the hotel linen. In walking
about the town, we occasionally came upon their signs, over the door
of some humble dwelling, as for example, "Ling & Ching, Laundry;"
"Hop Kee, washing and ironing;" "Ching Wing, shoemaker;" "Chow Pooch,
doctor;" etc. As far as we could see, they appeared to be intent only
on minding their own business, and as a class were doing more hearty
honest work by far, than most of their bigoted defamers. We could not
refrain from wishing them well, they were so sober, industrious, and
orderly; for, after all, are not these the first qualities of good
citizenship the world over?
We left Portland, Dec. 11th, on the good steamer _Oriflamme_, for San
Francisco. For a wonder, it was a calm clear day, with the bracing air
of our Octobers in the east, and as we glided out of the Willamette
into the noble Columbia, we had a last superb view of Mts. Jefferson,
Hood, Adams and St. Helens all at the same time. Sometimes Rainier also
is visible from here, but ordinarily only Hood and St. Helens appear.
We thought this the finest view of these splendid snow-peaks that we
had had yet, and it seemed strange no artist had yet attempted to group
them all in one grand landscape, from the mouth of the Willamette as
a stand-point. Or, if he could not get them all in, he might at least
combine Hood and St. Helens. The breadth and scope, the grandeur and
sublimity of such a picture, with the Columbia in the foreground, and
the great range of the Cascade Mountains in the perspective, would make
a painting, that would live forever. We watched them all, with the
naked eye and through the glass, until we were far down the Columbia,
and to the last, Hood was the same
"Dread ambassador from earth to heaven!"
How he soared and towered, beyond and above everything, as if
communing with the Almighty! Lofty as were the rest, they seemed
small by his majestic side. St. Helens, however, though not so
imperial, was perhaps more simply and chastely beautiful. An unbroken
forest of fir, deep green verging into black, girt her feet, while
above she "swelled vast to heaven," a perfect snow sphere rather than
cone, whose celestial whiteness dazzled the eye. She looked like a
virgin's or a nun's white breast, unsullied by sin, and standing
sharply out against the glorious azure of that December sky, seemed
indeed a perfect emblem of purity and beauty. Farther down the river,
we detected a light smoke or vapor, drifting dreamily away from
her summit, and Capt. Conner of the _Oriflamme_ said this was not
unusual, though St. Helens was not rated as a volcano. He thought it
steam or vapor, caused by internal heat melting the snow, rather than
smoke; but the effect was about the same.
We reached the mouth of the Columbia, the same evening; but Capt.
Conner thought it risky to venture over the bar, until morning. The
next morning early, we lifted anchor, and steamed down to Astoria--a
higgledy-piggledy village, of only four or five hundred inhabitants
still, though begun long before prosperous Portland. Her anchorage
seemed fair; but ashore the land abounded in a congeries of wooded
bluffs and ridges, that evidently made a town or farms there
difficult, if not impossible. A short street or two of straggling
houses, propped along the hillsides, was about all there was of
Astoria; and yet she was a port of entry, with a custom-house and
full corps of officials, while Portland with all her enterprise and
commerce was not, and could not get to be. What her custom-officials
would have to do, were it not for the business of Portland, it seemed
pretty hard to say. A venture of John Jacob Astor's a half century
before, as a trading post with the Indians, she had never become
of much importance, because lacking a good back country; and it
appeared, had no future now, because wanting a good town-site. This
was unfortunate perhaps for Oregon, and the whole Columbia region;
but over it Portland rejoiced, and continued to wax fat.
Of course, it had begun to rain again, and by the time we had passed
the ordeal of the custom-house at Astoria, the weather had thickened
up into a drizzly fog, that caused Capt. C. much anxiety--especially,
when he observed the barometer steadily going down. The bar of the
Columbia, always bad, is peculiarly rough in winter, and only the
voyage before the _Oriflamme_ had to lay to here, nearly a week,
unable to venture out. Her provisions became exhausted, and she had
to "clean out" Astoria, and all the farm-houses up and down the
river for miles, before she finally got away. Our company of four
hundred passengers had no fancy for an experience of this sort, and
"dirty" as the weather promised to be, Capt. C. at last decided to
try the bar, even if we had to return, hoping to find better skies
when fairly afloat in blue water. Our engines once in motion, we soon
ran down past Forts Stevens and Cape Disappointment, at the mouth
of the Columbia, on the Oregon and Washington sides respectively,
with the black throats of their heavy cannon gaping threateningly
at us. Both forts seem necessary there, as they completely command
the mouth of the Columbia, and so hold the key to all that region.
But life in them must be an almost uninterrupted series of rains
and fogs, with the surf forever thundering at your feet, and one
can but pity the officers and men really exiled there. Gathered
about the flag-staff or lounging along the ramparts, they gazed
wistfully at us as we steamed past; and already in the distance we
could see the white-caps, racing in over the dreaded bar. Heading
for the north channel, we put all steam on, and once out of the jaws
of the Columbia were soon fairly a-dancing on the bar. The wind and
tide both strong, were both dead ahead, which made our exit about
as bad, as could well be. The sea went hissing by, or broke into
huge white-caps all about us. The engines creaked and groaned, and
at times seemed to stand still, as if exhausted with the struggle.
The good ship _Oriflamme_ pitched and tossed, battling with the
waves like a practiced pugilist, yet ever advanced, though sometimes
apparently drifting shoreward. At one period, indeed, Capt. C. feared
we would have to about ship and run for the Columbia--we progressed
so slowly; but something of a lull in the wind just then helped us
on, and at last we saw by the receding head-lands, that we were
fairly over the bar and out into the broad Pacific. We congratulated
ourselves in thus getting speedily to sea; but our tussle on the bar
had been too much for the majority of our passengers, and soon our
bulwarks were thronged with scores "casting up their accounts" with
Father Neptune. Sea-sickness, that deathliest of all human ailments,
had set in, and our "rough and tumble" with the waves had been so
sharp, that many began to suffer from it, who declared they had
never been attacked before. A notable New Yorker, a brawny son of
Æsculapius at that, bravely protested, that sea-sickness was "Only a
matter of the imagination. Anyone can overcome it. It only requires
a vigorous exercise of the will." But, unfortunately for his theory,
soon afterwards he himself became the sickest person on board, not
excepting the ladies. My own experience ended with a qualm or two;
but the majority of our passengers suffered very much, for several
days. Our steamer really had accommodations for only about one
hundred passengers; but some four hundred had crowded aboard of her
at Portland, mostly miners eager to get "below" to winter, and those
who had no state-rooms now "roughed it" pitiably. They lay around
loose--on deck, in the cabin, in the gang-way, everywhere--the most
disconsolate-looking fellows I ever saw, outside of a yellow-fever
hospital. The few ladies aboard were even sicker; but these all had
state-rooms, and kept them mostly for the voyage.
The weather continued raw and the sea rough, most of the way down
the coast, and our voyage of eight hundred miles from Portland to
San Francisco, as a whole, could hardly be called agreeable. We
had fog, and rain, and head-winds all the way down, and with the
exception of a day or two, it was really cold and uncomfortable.
The steam-heating apparatus of the vessel was out of order, and
the only place for us all to warm was at a register in the Social
Hall--a narrow little cabin on deck, that would not accommodate
over thirty persons at the farthest. There was a similar place for
the ladies, but they usually filled this themselves. Groups huddled
here all day, smoking and talking, and when the weather permitted
also swarmed about the smoke-stacks. And then, besides, as already
stated, our ship was badly overcrowded. Of our 400 passengers, less
than a quarter had state-rooms, and the rest were left to shift for
themselves. After the sea-sickness began to abate, we filled two or
three tables every meal; and when bed-time came, mattrasses thronged
the cabin from end to end. How it was down in the steerage, where the
miners and Chinamen mostly congregated, one need not care to imagine.
Fortunately great-coats and blankets abounded, or many would have
suffered much. We found many choice spirits aboard, and in spite of
wind and weather enjoyed ourselves, after all, very fairly. When it
did not rain too hard, we walked the deck and talked for hours; and
when everything else failed, we always found something of interest in
the gulls that followed us by hundreds, and the great frigate-birds
with their outstretched pinions, and the ever-rolling boundless sea.
Our table-fare was always profuse and generally excellent, especially
the Oregon apples and pears they gave us for dessert; and had it not
been for our broken heating apparatus, no doubt we would have got
along very satisfactorily after all, all things considered.
We arrived off the Golden Gate, late at night, Dec. 14th, only four
days out from Portland; but the sea was still so rough, that we
feared to venture in. Next morning, however, when the mist broke
away a little, we up steam and headed again for San Francisco. We
had a tough time getting in, nearly as bad as getting out of the
Columbia. We had to combat a strong wind dead-ahead, and to wrestle
with a heavy sea. But, nevertheless, our good ship held on her course
bravely; and at last, weathering Point Reyes, and rounding Fort
Point, we steamed up past frowning Alcatraz, and with booming cannon
dropped anchor at the Company's wharf. The storm we had encountered
was reported as one of the worst known on the coast for years, and
we were glad once more to touch _terra firma_, and strike hands
with a live civilization. In a half hour we were ashore and at the
_Occidental_, a hostelry worthy of San Francisco or any other city.
And so, we had reached California at last. All hail, the Golden Gate!
And 'Frisco, plucky, vain young metropolis, hail! Bragging, boasting,
giddy as you are, there is much excuse for you. Surely, with your
marvellous growth, and far-reaching schemes, you have a right to call
yourself the New York of the Pacific Coast, if that contents you.
FOOTNOTE:
[14] Though since scourged severely by fire, (1873), she has vindicated
herself well by prompt and general rebuilding, like Chicago.