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]

Having got clear of the rapid early in the day, we proceeded on a smooth

current for some little distance, when the river makes a short bend

nearly west. Here, on the south side, were observed two pillars on the

top of an eminence, standing erect side by side, which we named the Two

Sisters.[44] They proved to be of limestone, and at a little distance

very much resembled two human figures. From the Two Sisters, the river

turns to the north again, where once more we had a sight of the open

country. Nature, in these gloomy defiles just passed through, wears the

dreary aspect of eternal winter. On the west, the hills are clothed with

woods; but on the east side, the plains are bleak and barren. On a {138}

beautiful green spot, near a small Indian camp, we put ashore and passed

the night. Here the priest, for the reader must know he had still

followed us, introduced us to a friendly Indian, called Ma-chy-keu-etsa,

or the Walking Bear. This gray-headed, little, old man made us

comprehend that he had seen eighty-four winters or snows, as he

expressed himself—he looked very old, but was still active, and walked

well.

On the 24th we embarked early, and soon reached the mouth of Pisscow’s

river, a beautiful stream, which empties itself into the Columbia,

through a low valley, skirted on each side by high hills. Its mouth, in

the present high state of the water, is eighty yards broad.[45] Here the

Indians met us in great numbers, and vied with each other in acts of

kindness. Sopa, the chief, made us a present of two horses, and others

offered some for sale. We purchased four, giving for each one yard of

print and two yards of red gartering, which was so highly prized by them

that horses from all quarters were brought to us; but we declined buying

any more, not knowing what to do with them. Our six horses were now

delivered over in charge to the priest, who was to proceed with them by

land.

The higher we ascend the river, the more friendly and well disposed are

the aborigines towards us. Sopa invited us to pass the day with him,

which we did, and were highly gratified to see the natives hunt the wild

deer on horseback. They killed several {139} head of game close to our

camp, and we got a two days’ supply of venison from them. Sopa and his

tribe kept smoking, dancing, and singing the whole night, and at every

pause a loud and vociferous exclamation was uttered, denoting that they

were happy now. The whites had visited their land, poverty and misery

would no longer be known amongst them; we passed the night without

keeping watch.

On the 25th we left Pisscows, and proceeded on our voyage, passing

another small river, named Intyclook, and from thence to Oak Point, at

the foot of a steep crag, where we passed the night.[46]

Early in the morning of the 26th we left our encampment, but the stream

becoming more and more rapid, we advanced but slowly, and towards

evening had a good deal of pulling or hauling to ascend Whitehill rapid,

where the river, almost barred across by a ledge of low flat rocks,

makes several quick bends. The west side is mountainous and gloomy to

the water’s edge. Encamping at the head of the rapid, we passed a quiet

night, nor did a single Indian trouble us.[47] Here we saw the ibex, the

white musk goat, and several deer,[48] and supped on a half devoured

salmon, which a white-headed eagle had very opportunely taken out of the

river. Course, north.

On the 27th we started early, and about ten o’clock passed a small but

rapid stream, called by the natives Tsill-ane, which descended over the

rocks in white broken sheets.[49] The Indians told us it took {140} its

rise in a lake not far distant. From Tsill-ane, the hills on the west

side receded, and the river became smooth. Meeting with some Indians, we

put ashore, and the priest, with his horses, joining us soon after, we

passed the night together. Here we got some salmon, roots, and berries

from the Indians, which proved a very seasonable supply. The Indians

were very friendly, communicative, and intelligent.

On the 28th, after despatching the priest with his charge, we left our

camp and pursued our voyage against a strong current. The country on

both sides was open, and the banks of the river low, yet many rapid

places detained us long, and this detention was increased by a strong

head-wind, which so fatigued us that we halted early. On our way to-day,

we saw many deer and some beavers swimming about, but they were very

shy.

On the 29th we reached the foot of a short but strong rapid, where the

river abruptly veers round to east. Opposite to this rapid enters a

tributary stream, which the Indians call Buttle-mule-emauch, or

Salmon-fall River.[50] It is less than the Pisscows, shallow, and full

of stones, having its source near the foot of some lofty mountain not

far distant. After making a discharge, we got over the rapid, and

encamped for the night. Here the Indians assembled in friendly crowds,

according to their usual habit—presented us with abundance of salmon,

offered many horses for sale, and were in all other respects exceedingly

{141} kind. Here also they invited us to remain, to build, and to winter

among them: they said their country abounded in beaver, nor should we

want for provisions.

On the 30th, just as we were pushing off from the shore early in the

morning, a large band of Indians, all mounted on horseback, arrived at

our camp: we immediately put about to receive them, which was no sooner

done than harangue after harangue, smoking, and speechifying commenced;

and after one party, another arrived, so that we were absolutely obliged

to remain the whole day where we were.

From the strangers we learned that there were whites before us, but a

long way off. The Indians showed us a gun, tobacco, and some other

articles, which they said had been purchased from the whites ahead,

which confirmed the report. We therefore at once suspected that it must

be a party of the North-Westerns; and here Mr. Stuart, for the first

time, began to think of finding a suitable place to winter in.

On the 31st, we parted early from our friendly visitors, and shaping our

course in an easterly direction along the bend of the river, we pushed

on for about nine miles till we reached the mouth of a smooth stream

called Oakinacken, which we ascended for about two miles, leaving the

main Columbia for the first time, and then pitched our tents for the

night. A great concourse of Indians followed us all {142} day, and

encamped with us. After acquainting them with the object of our visit to

their country, they strongly urged us to settle among them. For some

time, however, Mr. Stuart resisted their pressing solicitations, chiefly

with the view of trying their sincerity; but, at last consenting, the

chiefs immediately held a council, and then pledged themselves to be

always our friends, to kill us plenty of beavers, to furnish us at all

times with provisions, and to ensure our protection and safety.

During this afternoon we observed, for the first time, about 20° above

the horizon, and almost due west, a very brilliant comet, with a tail

about 10° long. The Indians at once said it was placed there by the Good

Spirit—which they called Skom-malt-squisses—to announce to them the glad

tidings of our arrival; and the omen impressed them with a reverential

awe for us, implying that we had been sent to them by the Good Spirit,

or Great Mother of Life.

On the 1st of September, 1811, we embarked, and descending the

Oakinacken again, landed on a level spot, within half a mile of its

mouth. There we unloaded, took our canoes out of the water, and pitched

our tents—which operation concluded our long and irksome voyage of

forty-two days.

The mouth of the Oakinacken is situate 600 miles up the Columbia, and

enters it through a low level plain, a mile wide. This plain is

surrounded on all sides by high hills, so that in no direction does the

view extend far.

{143} The source of the Oakinacken is 280 miles due north, and in its

course south the stream runs through three lakes: near its junction with

the Columbia, it is hemmed in on the east by a sloping range of high

rocky hills, at the foot of which the two rivers meet. On the south bank

of the Oakinacken, half a mile from its mouth, was the site pitched upon

for the new establishment.

The general aspect of the surrounding country is barren and dreary. On

the west the hills are clothed with thick woods—a dense forest: on the

south and east, the scene is bare; but to the north the banks of the

river were lined with the willow and poplar, and the valley through

which it meanders presents a pleasing landscape.

Here it may be remarked, that all the tributary rivers from this place

to the falls, a distance of 200 miles, enter on the right-hand, or west,

side of the Columbia, having their sources in the lofty range of

mountains which terminates at the great narrows, as noticed by me on the

4th of August; so that from this point, or rather a few miles below

this, the Columbia runs south to the narrows; nor is the distance from

this place to the Pacific, in a direct line due west by land, far off.

If we can rely on Indian report, it is not 150 miles.[51]

Soon after the tent was pitched, the priest arrived with his horses all

safe. In the course of the day, Mr. Stuart missed his time-piece, which

had been stolen out of the tent: a general search was made, and {144}

the watch was found, by hearing it strike, although concealed under the

dry sand in the face of the bank. The theft was traced to the holy man,

the priest, which circumstance greatly lessened the high opinion we had

formed of him. On this discovery being made, he was paid for his

services and dismissed.

This little incident taught us that, however strong might be the

friendly professions of the natives, it was still necessary to guard

against their pilfering propensities.

In the account of our voyage, I have been silent as to the two strangers

who cast up at Astoria, and accompanied us from thence; but have noticed

already, that instead of being man and wife, as they at first gave us to

understand, they were in fact both women—and bold adventurous amazons

they were. In accompanying us, they sometimes shot ahead, and at other

times loitered behind, as suited their plans. The stories they gave out

among the unsuspecting and credulous natives, as they passed, were well

calculated to astonish as well as to attract attention. Brought up, as

they had been, near the whites—who rove, trap, and trade in the

wilderness—they were capable of practising all the arts of

well-instructed cheats; and, to effect their purpose the better, they

showed the Indians an old letter, which they made a handle of, and told

them that they had been sent by the great white chief, with a message to

apprize the natives in general that gifts, consisting of goods and

implements of all kinds, were forthwith {145} to be poured in upon them;

that the great white chief knew their wants, and was just about to

supply them with everything their hearts could desire; that the whites

had hitherto cheated the Indians, by selling goods in place of making

presents to them, as directed by the great white chief. These stories,

so agreeable to the Indian ear, were circulated far and wide; and not

only received as truths, but procured so much celebrity for the two

cheats, that they were the objects of attraction at every village and

camp on the way: nor could we, for a long time, account for the cordial

reception they met with from the natives, who loaded them for their good

tidings with the most valuable articles they possessed—horses, robes,

leather, and higuas; so that, on our arrival at Oakinacken, they had no

less than twenty-six horses, many of them loaded with the fruits of

their false reports.

As soon as we could get the distant tribes, who had come to welcome our

arrival, dismissed, we commenced erecting a small dwelling-house,

sixteen by twenty feet, chiefly constructed of drift wood, being more

handy and easier got than standing timber; but, while the building was

in a half-finished state, Messrs. Pillet and M‘Lennan, with two men,

were dispatched to Astoria, as had been agreed upon. Mr. Stuart, with

Montigny and the two remaining men, set off on a journey towards the

north, or head waters of the Oakinacken, intending to return in the

course of a month; while I was to remain alone at {146} the

establishment till Mr. Stuart’s return; my only civilized companion

being a little Spanish pet dog from Monterey, called Weasel.

Only picture to yourself, gentle reader, how I must have felt, alone in

this unhallowed wilderness, without friend or white man within hundreds

of miles of me, and surrounded by savages who had never seen a white man

before. Every day seemed a week, every night a month. I pined, I

languished, my head turned gray, and in a brief space ten years were

added to my age. Yet man is born to endure, and my only consolation was

in my Bible.

The first thing I did after my friends left me, was to patch up the

house a little, and put the few goods I had, so tempting to Indians,

into a kind of cellar which I made in the middle of the house. This

done, I set to in earnest to learn the Indian language, and wrote

vocabulary after vocabulary; and although the task was a hard one, I

soon found, from my progress, that perseverance would overcome many

difficulties.

The novelty of white men, and particularly of a white man alone, drew

crowds of inquisitive Indians about the place. I mixed with them, traded

with them, and at last began to talk with them, and from a constant

intercourse soon came to understand them; but still the evenings were

long, and the winter dreary. Every night before going to bed I primed my

gun and pistol anew, and barricaded the door of my lonely dwelling; and

the Indians, {147} friendly inclined, always withdrew from the house at

dusk; yet they had often alarms among themselves, and often gave me to

understand that enemies, or ill-disposed Indians, were constantly

lurking about; and whenever they began to whoop or yell in the night,

which they frequently did, I of course partook of the alarm.

One night I was suddenly awakened out of my sleep by the unusual noise

and continual barking of Weasel, running backwards and forwards through

the house. Half asleep, half awake, I felt greatly agitated and alarmed.

My faithful gun and pistol were at hand, for they lay always at my side

in bed; but then all was dark, I could see nothing, could hear nothing

but the barking of Weasel, which was continually growing louder and

louder. I then thought there must be somebody in the house; for I was

ready to put the worst construction on appearances. In this perplexing

dilemma I got my hand, with as little noise as possible, to the muzzle

of my gun, and gradually drawing out the ramrod, tried, with my right

arm stretched out, to stir up the embers, so that I might see; but here

again a new danger presented itself; I was exposing myself as a mark to

a ball or an arrow, without the chance of defending myself, for the

light would show me to the enemy before I could see my object; but there

was no alternative, and something must be done. Between hope and despair

I managed to stir up the ashes, so that I could see little Weasel

running {148} to and fro to the cellar-door. I concluded that the enemy

must be skulking in the cellar. I then, but not without difficulty, got

a candle lighted. Holding the candle in my left hand, I laid hold of my

pistol. With the lynx-eye and wary step of a cat ready to pounce on its

prey, I advanced rather obliquely, with my right arm stretched out at

full length holding the cocked pistol, till I got to the cellar-door,

the little dog all the while making a furious noise; when, lo! what was

there but a skunk sitting on a roll of tobacco! The shot blew it almost

to atoms, and so delicately perfumed everything in the house that I was

scarcely able to live in it for days afterwards; but that was not all,

the trivial incident was productive of very bad consequences. Several

hundreds of Indians being encamped about the place at the time, no

sooner did they see the light, or hear the shot, than they all rushed

into the house, thinking something serious had happened. So far,

however, there were no great harm; but when they beheld two rolls of

tobacco and two small bales of goods, it appeared such wealth in their

eyes that they could scarcely recover from the surprise. These tempting

articles I had endeavoured all along to keep as much as possible out of

their sight, and dealt them out with a sparing hand, and as long as the

Indians did not see them in bulk all went well; but after the

overwhelming exhibition of so much property there was no satisfying

them. They became importunate {149} and troublesome for some time, and

caused me much anxiety. The time fixed for Mr. Stuart’s return had now

arrived, and I most anxiously looked for him every hour. Often had I

reason to curse the intrusion of the skunk into my house. After some

time, however, things settled down again to their usual level, and good

order and good feelings were again renewed between us.

October had now passed by and November also, but no Mr. Stuart came, and

various reports were circulated by the Indians as to his fate; and I

myself now began to despair of his return. The delay of Mr. Stuart’s

party had a visible effect on the conduct of the Indians; they became

more bold, neglected their hunting, and loitered about the place, as if

in expectation of some sudden change. Strange Indians were every day

swelling the camp; they held councils, too; altogether they were a

changed people.

Seeing this unfavourable change fast spreading among the Indians, in

consequence of Mr. Stuart’s delay, I set about counteracting it. I

assembled all the chiefs and other great men, and after smoking the pipe

of friendship, told them not to be uneasy at Mr. Stuart’s absence; that

I could easily account for it; that finding the country rich in furs as

he went along, and the Indians peaceable and well disposed, he had most

probably gone off to the white men’s land for more goods, and would be

back early with a rich supply and many people, so that {150} all their

wants would be satisfied; that those who hunted best would get most;

that they had better exert themselves in hunting and procuring furs;

that their success would entitle them to the favour of Mr. Stuart and

the great white chief; and that I would not fail to represent their

conduct in the fairest light. This harangue had the desired effect. The

Indians set to hunting in earnest, and kept bringing in furs regularly,

and in other respects behaved exceedingly well during the whole of the

winter.

Thus I wished to make them believe what I did not believe myself,

because in my critical situation safety required it. But to return to

Mr. Stuart: December now was passed, and the new year of 1812 ushered

in; but still there was no account of the absent party. January passed,

and likewise February, but no Mr. Stuart; nor was it till the 22nd of

March that little Weasel announced, early in the morning, the approach

of strangers, and I was rejoiced to meet again at my lonely dwelling my

long-expected friends all safe and well.

During Mr. Stuart’s absence of 188 days I had procured 1550 beavers,

besides other peltries, worth in the Canton market 2,250_l._ sterling,

and which on an average stood the concern in but 5½_d._, a piece,

valuing the merchandize at sterling cost, or in round numbers 35_l._

sterling; a specimen of our trade among the Indians!

Here follows Mr. Stuart’s account of his journey: {151}—“After leaving

this place,” said he, “we bent our course up the Oakinacken, due north,

for upwards of 250 miles, till we reached its source; then crossing a

height of land fell upon Thompson’s River, or rather the south branch of

Fraser’s River,[52] after travelling for some time amongst a powerful

nation called the She Whaps. The snow fell while we were here in the

mountains, and precluded our immediate return; and after waiting for

fine weather the snows got so deep that we considered it hopeless to

attempt getting back, and, therefore, passed our time with the She Whaps

and other tribes in that quarter.[53] The Indians were numerous and well

disposed, and the country throughout abounds in beavers and all other

kinds of fur; and I have made arrangements to establish a trading post

there the ensuing winter. On the 26th of February we began our homeward

journey, and spent just twenty-five days on our way back. The distance

may be about 350 miles.”

{152} CHAPTER IX

Anxieties at Astoria—Indians depart—A schooner built—The _Dolly’s_

first trip—Criminal curiosity—The powder keg—The schooner condemned—

Mr. Astor’s cargoes—His policy—Remarks on the North-West coast—

Unwelcome rumours—Calpo’s statement—Rumours renewed—Hard cases—Joe

Lapierre—Kasiascall’s account of the _Tonquin_—Strange Indian—

Kasiascall’s conduct—His character—His design on Astoria—Remarks.

Having in the preceding chapters given a detailed account of our first

expedition into the interior, we propose in the present briefly to

notice the state of things at Astoria after our departure, and the fate

of the _Tonquin_.

No sooner had we left the establishment in July last, than the natives

became more and more hostile and annoying to the whites at Astoria, so

that under the impression of danger, all other labour being suspended,

the hands and minds of all were employed both day and night in the

construction and palisading of a stronghold for self-defence; but after

various alarms the savage horde, without making any hostile

demonstration more than usual, took their departure {153} from the

place, leaving the whites once more in the enjoyment of peace and

tranquillity.

In the fall of the year, a schooner, of twenty-five tons, to be named

the _Dolly_, the frame of which had come out in the _Tonquin_, was built

at Astoria. This vessel was intended only for the coast trade; but in

the present instance was placed as a guard-ship in front of the infant

establishment. She was found, however, to be too small for the coast

trade, and even unfit for tripping up and down the river; and from her

unwieldiness, not so safe as either open boats or canoes. The people

were also awkward and unskilful, as might be expected, having never been

accustomed to such duties. In the very first trip up the river, she had

well nigh fallen into the hands of the Indians: getting becalmed one day

a little above the mouth of the Wallamitte, with only four men on board,

curiosity drew a crowd of Indians about her, and once on board it was no

easy matter to get them off again. Curiosity led to theft: every one

began to help himself, and to take whatever he could lay his hands upon.

The pillage was begun, when the interpreter boldly and opportunely

called out that he was going instantly to set fire to a keg of powder,

and would blow all up into the air, unless they left the ship that

moment: the Indians got frightened; those who had canoes jumped into

them, made for shore with the hurry of despair; others jumped overboard,

and in an instant the vessel was cleared of her troublesome visitors,

and let go before {154} the current. It will be recollected that Mr.

Aikens, the officer who had come out to take command of the _Dolly_,

was, with several others, unfortunately drowned on the bar. Having made

two or three trips up the river, she was condemned, and laid aside

altogether as useless.

It is a true saying, that the wisest of us is not always wise. In

appointing so small a vessel as the _Dolly_ to a station so dangerous,

was manifested a total ignorance of the character of the natives on the

coast. Mr. Astor ought to have known that even well appointed large and

armed ships often ran great hazards there, some of that class having

been taken and pillaged by the hostile savages of that quarter.

The American traders, with their usual spirit of enterprize, had long

carried on a lucrative business on the north-west coast; they knew well,

and none knew better than Astor himself, what was necessary and suitable

for that market; but we had got nothing of this kind. Instead of guns,

we got old metal pots and gridirons; instead of beads and trinkets, we

got white cotton; and instead of blankets, molasses. In short, all the

useless trash and unsaleable trumpery which had been accumulating in his

shops and stores for half a century past, were swept together to fill

his Columbia ships. That these cargoes were insured need not be told;

sink or swim, his profits were sure.

But these we might have overlooked, had we not {155} felt aggrieved in

other matters closely connected with the general interest. The articles

of agreement entered into, and the promises of promotion held out, when

the company was formed, were violated, and that without a blush, by the

very man at the head of the concern,—that man who held its destinies in

his hand. This perhaps may be rendered a little more intelligent, by

stating, that according to the articles of co-partnership made at New

York, two of the clerks were to be promoted to an interest in the

concern, or, in other words, to become partners, after two years’

service, and on that express condition they joined the enterprize; but

what will the reader say, or the world think, when it is told that a

young man who had never seen the country was, by a dash of the pen, put

over their heads, and this young man was no other than Mr. Astor’s

nephew. Although a little out of place, we shall just mention another

circumstance which may show how deeply and how sincerely Mr. Astor was

interested in the success and prosperity of his Columbia colony. When

the war broke out between Great Britain and the United States, the

Boston merchants sent out, at a great expense, intelligence of the event

to their shipping on the north-west coast, and applied to Astor for his

quota of that expense, as he too had people and property there at stake.

What was his reply? “Let the United States’ flag protect them.” Need it

then be told that we were left to shift for ourselves. So much did Mr.

Astor care about our safety.

{156} But from this disagreeable subject we turn to another still more

so, and that is the fate of the unfortunate _Tonquin_, which ship, it

will be remembered, left Astoria in June last.

On the 5th of August, Calpo,[54] a friendly Chinook Indian, informed

M‘Dougall that it was current among the Indians that the _Tonquin_ had

been destroyed by the natives along the coast, and this was the first

tidings the Astorians had of her fate: the report had spread quickly and

widely, although we remained ignorant of the fact; for not many days

after we had arrived at Oakinacken, a party of Indians reached that

place, on their return from the Great Salt Lake, as they called it, and

gave us to understand by signs and gestures that a large ship, with

white people in it, had been blown up on the water; and, in order the

better to make us comprehend the subject, they threw up their arms in

the air, blew with the mouth, and made the wild grimace of despair, to

signify the explosion. On our part all was conjecture and suspense,

unwilling as we were to believe what we did not wish to be true; but the

more we reflected, the more we were disposed to believe the report, from

the well-known fact that Mr. Astor’s choice of a captain was most

unfortunate: in this instance, he seemed to have wanted his usual

sagacity; and this was the first rock on which his grand enterprize had

split. A man who could deliberately leave, as we have already seen, nine

of his fellow-creatures to perish on the Falkland Islands; {157} who

could throw one of his sailors overboard, at the Island of Woahoo; who

could offer the Indians at Owhyhee a reward for the head of one of his

own officers; who could force from his ship four of his men in a storm,

to perish at the mouth of the Columbia; who could witness unmoved, from

his own deck, three of his men left to perish on Columbia bar; and, to

cap the climax of cruelty, we might, however disagreeable, mention

another circumstance. On the 11th of February, 1811, while sailing on

the high seas, a man named Joe Lapierre fell from the mainmast-head

overboard, the ship at the time going eight knots—a boat was instantly

lowered: in the mean time a hen-coop, binnacle, and some boards were

thrown into the water, but he failed to get hold of anything, and soon

fell a good mile or more astern. When picked up he was in a state of

insensibility, and the crew made all possible haste to reach the ship;

but, as they were approaching, the captain, in a peremptory tone,

ordered them back to pick up the hen-coop, binnacle, and boards, before

they came alongside, or put the man on board. The boat obeyed orders,

went back again, picked up all, and returned to the ship at the end of

fifty-two minutes—yet life was not quite extinct, for, after applying

the usual remedies of salt, warm blankets, and friction, Lapierre

revived.

But to return to the subject of Calpo’s report—the conduct of Captain

Thorn throughout, coupled with the fact of his having left Astoria

without a {158} single officer on board his ship, led strongly to the

conclusion that all was not right, and that the reports in circulation

might ultimately prove true. The facts above stated I myself witnessed—

fifty others witnessed them also: they cannot be denied nor gainsaid—yet

such was the man who enjoyed Mr. Astor’s unbounded confidence.

Various and conflicting were the reports that had from time to time

reached Astoria respecting the fate of the _Tonquin_; yet all agreed in

the main point—that is, in her destruction. She had also passed, by some

months, the time of her expected return, so that there remained but

little doubt of her fate; yet, subsequently to Calpo’s statement,

nothing transpired to add to our fears for a month or two, although

during that time various individuals and parties had been employed to

trace out the true story of her fate.

On the 12th of October, however, three Chinooks were fitted out, and set

off with the determination not to return until they should reach the

place where it was reported she had been cut off, or obtain certain

accounts respecting her. These men had not, however, proceeded far,

before they were met by a strange Indian, on his way to Astoria with the

unwelcome news of the _Tonquin’s_ tragical end: so the Chinooks turned

about, and accompanied the stranger back to Astoria, where they arrived

on the eighth day; and here the strange Indian made his report, which we

shall give in his own words:—[55]

{159} “My name is Kasiascall, but the Chinooks and other Indians

hereabout call me Lamazu. I belong to the Wick-a-nook tribe of Indians

near Nootka Sound. I have often been on board ships. The whites call me

Jack. I understand most of the languages that are spoken along the

coast. I can speak some Chinook, too. I have been twice at this place

before; once by land and once by sea. I saw the ship _Tonquin_; Captain

Thorn was her commander. I went on board of her at Woody Point harbour

in June last. We remained there for two days. We then sailed for

Vancouver’s Island; and just as we had got to it, a gale of wind drove

us to sea, and it was three days before we got back again. The fourth

morning we cast anchor in Eyuck Whoola, Newcetu Bay. There we remained

for some days; Indians going and coming, but not much trade. One day the

Indians came on board in great numbers, but did not trade much, although

they had plenty of skins. The prices offered did not please the Indians;

so they carried back their furs again. The day following the chiefs came

on board, and as usual asked the captain to show them such and such

things, and state the lowest price, which he accordingly did. They did

not, however, trade, but pressed the captain for presents, which he

refused. The chiefs left the ship displeased at what they called stingy

conduct in the captain, as they were accustomed to receive trifling

presents from the traders on the coast.

“In the evening of the same day, Mr. M‘Kay and {160} myself went on

shore, and were well received by the chiefs, and saw a great many

sea-otter skins with the Indians. We both returned to the ship the same

evening. Next day the Indians came off to trade in great numbers. On

their coming alongside, the captain ordered the boarding-netting to be

put up round the ship, and would not allow more than ten on board at a

time; but just as the trade had commenced, an Indian was detected

cutting the boarding-netting with a knife in order to get on board. On

being detected, he instantly jumped into one of the canoes which were

alongside, and made his escape. The captain then, turning round, bade

the chiefs to call him back. The chiefs smiled and said nothing, which

irritated the captain, and he immediately laid hold of two of the

chiefs, and threatened to hang them up unless they caused the delinquent

to be brought back to be punished. The moment the chiefs were seized,

all the Indians fled from the ship in consternation. The chiefs were

kept on board all night with a guard over them. Food was offered them,

but they would neither eat nor drink. Next day, however, the offender

was brought to the ship and delivered up, when the captain ordered him

to be stripped and tied up, but did not flog him. He was then dismissed.

The chiefs were also liberated, and left the ship, refusing with disdain

a present that was offered them, and vowing vengeance on the whites for

the insult received.

“Next day not an Indian came to the ship; but in {161} the afternoon an

old chief sent for Mr. M‘Kay and myself to go to his lodge. We did so,

and were very kindly treated. Mr. M‘Kay was a great favourite among the

Indians; and I have no doubt that the plot for destroying the ship was

at this time fully arranged, and that it was intended, if possible, to

save M‘Kay’s life in the general massacre. But not finding this

practicable without the risk of discovery, he, as we shall soon learn,

fell with the rest. When we were on shore we saw the chiefs, and they

seemed all in good humour, and asked me if the captain was still angry;

and on being assured that they would be well treated and kindly received

by him if they went on board, they appeared highly pleased, and promised

to go and trade the following day. Mr. M‘Kay returned to the ship that

evening, but I remained on shore till the next morning. When I got on

board, Mr. M‘Kay was walking backwards and forwards on deck in rather a

gloomy mood, and considerably excited; himself and the captain having,

as he told me, had some angry words between them respecting the two

chiefs who had been kept prisoners on board, which was sorely against

M‘Kay’s will.

“As soon as I got on deck, he called me to him. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘are

the Indians coming to trade to-day?’ I said, ‘They are.’ ‘I wish they

would not come,’ said he again; adding, ‘I am afraid there is an

under-current at work. After the captain’s late conduct to the chiefs, I

do not like so sudden, so flattering a change. There is treachery in the

case, or they {162} differ from all other Indians I ever knew. I have

told the captain so—I have also suggested that all hands should be on

the alert when the Indians are here; but he ridicules the suggestion as

groundless. So let him have his own way.’ M‘Kay then asked me my

opinion. I told him it would be well to have the netting up. He then bid

me go to the captain, and I went; but before I could speak to him, he

called out, ‘Well, Kas, are the Indians coming to-day?’ I said I thought

so. He then asked—‘Are the chiefs in good humour yet?’ I said I never

saw them in better humour. ‘I humbled the fellows a little; they’ll not

be so saucy now; and we will get on much better,’ said the captain. At

this moment M‘Kay joined us, and repeated to the captain what he had

just stated to me. The captain laughed; observing to M‘Kay, ‘You pretend

to know a great deal about the Indian character: you know nothing at

all.’ And so the conversation dropt.