Departure from Wahoo.--Storm.--Arrival at the Mouth of the
Columbia.--Reckless Order of the Captain.--Difficulty of the
Entrance.--Perilous Situation of the Ship.--Unhappy Fate of a part
of the Crew and People of the Expedition.
Having taken on board a hundred head of live hogs, some goats, two
sheep, a quantity of poultry, two boat-loads of sugar-cane, to feed the
hogs, as many more of yams, taro, and other vegetables, and all our
water-casks being snugly stowed, we weighed anchor on the 28th of
February, sixteen days after our arrival at Karaka-koua.
We left another man (Edward Aymes) at Wahoo. He belonged to a boat's
crew which was sent ashore for a load of sugar canes. By the time the
boat was loaded by the natives the ebb of the tide had left her aground,
and Aymes asked leave of the coxswain to take a stroll, engaging to be
back for the flood. Leave was granted him, but during his absence, the
tide haying come in sufficiently to float the boat, James Thorn, the
coxswain, did not wait for the young sailor, who was thus left behind.
The captain immediately missed the man, and, on being informed that he
had strolled away from the boat on leave, flew into a violent passion.
Aymes soon made his appearance alongside, having hired some natives to
take him on board; on perceiving him, the captain ordered him to stay in
the long-boat, then lashed to the side with its load of sugar-cane. The
captain then himself got into the boat, and, taking one of the canes,
beat the poor fellow most unmercifully with it; after which, not
satisfied with this act of brutality, he seized his victim and threw him
overboard! Aymes, however, being an excellent swimmer, made for the
nearest native canoe, of which there were, as usual, a great number
around the ship. The islanders, more humane than our captain, took in
the poor fellow, who, in spite of his entreaties to be received on
board, could only succeed in getting his clothes, which were thrown into
the canoe. At parting, he told Captain Thorn that he knew enough of the
laws of his country, to obtain redress, should they ever meet in the
territory of the American Union.
While we were getting under sail, Mr. M'Kay pointed out to the captain
that there was one water-cask empty, and proposed sending it ashore to
be filled, as the great number of live animals we had on board required
a large quantity of fresh water. The captain, who feared that some of
the men would desert if he sent them ashore, made an observation to that
effect in answer to Mr. M'Kay, who then proposed sending me on a canoe
which lay alongside, to fill the cask in question: this was agreed to by
the captain, and I took the cask accordingly to the nearest spring.
Having filled it, not without some difficulty, the islanders seeking to
detain me, and I perceiving that they had given me some gourds full of
salt water, I was forced also to demand a double pirogue (for the canoe
which had brought the empty cask, was found inadequate to carry a full
one), the ship being already under full sail and gaining an offing. As
the natives would not lend a hand to procure what I wanted, I thought it
necessary to have recourse to the king, and in fact did so. For seeing
the vessel so far at sea, with what I knew of the captain's disposition,
I began to fear that he had formed the plan of leaving me on the island.
My fears, nevertheless were ill-founded; the vessel made a tack toward
the shore, to my great joy; and a double pirogue was furnished me,
through the good offices of our young friend the French schoolmaster, to
return on board with my cask.
Our deck was now as much encumbered as when left New York; for we had
been obliged to place our live animals at the gangways, and to board
over their pens, on which it was necessary to pass, to work ship. Our
own numbers were also augmented; for we had taken a dozen islanders for
the service of our intended commercial establishment. Their term of
engagement was three years, during which we were to feed and clothe
them, and at its expiration they were to receive a hundred dollars in
merchandise. The captain had shipped another dozen as hands on the
coasting voyage. These people, who make very good sailors, were eager to
be taken into employment, and we might easily have carried off a much
greater number.
We had contrary winds till the 2d of March, when, having doubled the
western extremity of the island, we made northing, and lost sight of
these smiling and temperate countries, to enter very soon a colder
region and less worthy of being inhabited. The winds were variable, and
nothing extraordinary happened to us till the 16th, when, being arrived
at the latitude of 35° 11' north, and in 138° 16' of west longitude, the
wind shifted all of a sudden to the S.S.W., and blew with such violence,
that we were forced to strike top-gallant masts and top-sails, and run
before the gale with a double reef in our foresail. The rolling of the
vessel was greater than in all the gales we had experienced previously.
Nevertheless, as we made great headway, and were approaching the
continent, the captain by way of precaution, lay to for two nights
successively. At last, on the 22d, in the morning, we saw the land.
Although we had not been able to take any observations for several days,
nevertheless, by the appearance of the coast, we perceived that we were
near the mouth of the river Columbia, and were not more than three miles
from land. The breakers formed by the bar at the entrance of that river,
and which we could distinguish from the ship, left us no room to doubt
that we had arrived at last at the end of our voyage.
The wind was blowing in heavy squalls, and the sea ran very high: in
spite of that, the captain caused a boat to be lowered, and Mr. Fox
(first mate), Basile Lapensee, Ignace Lapensee, Jos. Nadeau, and John
Martin, got into her, taking some provisions and firearms, with orders
to sound the channel and report themselves on board as soon as possible.
The boat was not even supplied with a good sail, or a mast, but one of
the partners gave Mr. Fox a pair of bed sheets to serve for the former.
Messrs M'Kay and M'Dougall could not help remonstrating with the
captain on the imprudence of sending the boat ashore in such weather;
but they could not move his obstinacy. The boat's crew pulled away from
the ship; alas! we were never to see her again; and we already had a
foreboding of her fate. The next day the wind seemed to moderate, and we
approached very near the coast. The entrance of the river, which we
plainly distinguished with the naked eye, appeared but a confused and
agitated sea: the waves, impelled by a wind from the offing, broke upon
the bar, and left no perceptible passage. We got no sign of the boat;
and toward evening, for our own safety, we hauled off to sea, with all
countenances extremely sad, not excepting the captain's, who appeared to
me as much afflicted as the rest, and who had reason to be so. During
the night, the wind fell, the clouds dispersed, and the sky became
serene. On the morning of the 24th, we found that the current had
carried us near the coast again, and we dropped anchor in fourteen
fathoms water, north of Cape Disappointment. The _coup d'oeil_ is not
so smiling by a great deal at this anchorage, as at the Sandwich
islands, the coast offering little to the eye but a continuous range of
high mountains covered with snow.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER.
_Ship Tonquin, crossing the bar, 25th March 1811._]
Although it was calm, the sea continued to break over the reef with
violence, between Cape Disappointment and Point Adams. We sent Mr.
Mumford (the second mate) to sound a passage; but having found the
breakers too heavy, he returned on board about mid-day. Messrs. M'Kay
and D. Stuart offered their services to go ashore, to search for the
boat's crew who left on the 22d; but they could not find a place to
land. They saw Indians, who made signs to them to pull round the cape,
but they deemed it more prudent to return to the vessel. Soon after
their return, a gentle breeze sprang up from the westward, we raised
anchor, and approached the entrance of the river. Mr. Aikin was then
despatched in the pinnace, accompanied by John Coles (sail-maker),
Stephen Weeks (armorer), and two Sandwich-islanders; and we followed
under easy sail. Another boat had been sent out before this one, but
the captain judging that she bore too far south, made her a signal to
return. Mr. Aikin not finding less than four fathoms, we followed him
and advanced between the breakers, with a favorable wind, so that we
passed the boat on our starboard, within pistol-shot. We made signs to
her to return on board, but she could not accomplish it; the ebb tide
carried her with such rapidity that in a few minutes we had lost sight
of her amidst the tremendous breakers that surrounded us. It was near
nightfall, the wind began to give way, and the water was so low with the
ebb, that we struck six or seven times with violence: the breakers broke
over the ship and threatened to submerge her. At last we passed from two
and three quarters fathoms of water to seven, where we were obliged to
drop anchor, the wind having entirely failed us. We were far, however,
from being out of danger, and the darkness came to add to the horror of
our situation: our vessel, though at anchor, threatened to be carried
away every moment by the tide; the best bower was let go, and it kept
two men at the wheel to hold her head in the right direction. However,
Providence came to our succor: the flood succeeded to the ebb, and the
wind rising out of the offing, we weighed both anchors, in spite of the
obscurity of the night, and succeeded in gaining a little bay or cove,
formed at the entrance of the river by Cape Disappointment, and called
_Baker's Bay_, where we found a good anchorage. It was about midnight,
and all retired to take a little rest: the crew, above all, had great
need of it. We were fortunate to be in a place of safety, for the wind
rose higher and higher during the rest of the night, and on the morning
of the 25th allowed us to see that this ocean is not always pacific.
Some natives visited us this day, bringing with them beaver-skins; but
the inquietude caused in our minds by the loss of two boats' crews, for
whom we wished to make search, did not permit us to think of traffic. We
tried to make the savages comprehend, by signs, that we had sent a boat
ashore three days previous, and that we had no news of her; but they
seemed not to understand us. The captain, accompanied by some of our
gentlemen, landed, and they set themselves to search for our missing
people, in the woods, and along the shore N.W. of the cape. After a few
hours we saw the captain return with Weeks, one of the crew of the last
boat sent out. He was stark naked, and after being clothed, and
receiving some nourishment, gave us an account of his almost miraculous
escape from the waves on the preceding night, in nearly the following
terms:--
"After you had passed our boat;" said he, "the breakers caused by the
meeting of the wind roll and ebb-tide, became a great deal heavier than
when we entered the river with the flood. The boat, for want of a
rudder, became very hard to manage, and we let her drift at the mercy of
the tide, till, after having escaped several surges, one struck us
midship and capsized us. I lost sight of Mr. Aiken and John Coles: but
the two islanders were close by me; I saw them stripping off their
clothes, and I followed their example; and seeing the pinnace within my
reach, keel upward, I seized it; the two natives came to my assistance;
we righted her, and by sudden jerks threw out so much of the water that
she would hold a man: one of the natives jumped in, and, bailing with
his two hands, succeeded in a short time in emptying her. The other
native found the oars, and about dark we were all three embarked. The
tide having now carried us outside the breakers, I endeavored to
persuade my companions in misfortune to row, but they were so benumbed
with cold that they absolutely refused. I well knew that without
clothing, and exposed to the rigor of the air, I must keep in constant
exercise. Seeing besides that the night was advancing, and having no
resource but the little strength left me, I set to work sculling, and
pushed off the bar, but so as not to be carried out too far to sea.
About midnight, one of my companions died: the other threw himself upon
the body of his comrade, and I could not persuade him to abandon it.
Daylight appeared at last; and, being near the shore, I headed in for
it, and arrived, thank God, safe and sound, through the breakers, on a
sandy beach. I helped the islander, who yet gave some signs of life, to
get out of the boat, and we both took to the woods; but, seeing that he
was not able to follow me, I left him to his bad fortune, and, pursuing
a beaten path that I perceived, I found myself, to my great
astonishment, in the course of a few hours, near the vessel."
The gentlemen who went ashore with the captain divided themselves into
three parties, to search for the native whom Weeks had left at the
entrance of the forest; but, after scouring the woods and the point of
the cape all day, they came on board in the evening without having found
him.