FROM THE JUNCTION OF THE KOOSKOOSKEE WITH LEWIS'S RIVER TO THE COLUMBIA.
From the mouth of the Kooskooskee to that of the Lewis is about a
hundred miles; which distance they descended in seven days. The
navigation was greatly impeded by rapids, which they passed with more or
less danger and difficulty; being greatly indebted to the assistance of
the Indians, as they thankfully acknowledge. Sometimes they were obliged
to unload their boats, and to carry them round by land. All these rapids
are fishing-places, greatly resorted to in the season.
On the 17th of October (1805), having reached the junction of Lewis's
River with the Columbia, they found by observation that they were in
latitude 46 deg. 15', and longitude 119 deg. They measured the two rivers by
angles, and found, that, at the junction, the Columbia is 960 yards
wide; and Lewis's River, 575: but, below their junction, the joint
river is from one to three miles in width, including the islands. From
the point of junction, the country is a continued plain, rising
gradually from the water. There is through this plain no tree, and
scarcely any shrub, except a few willow-bushes; and, even of smaller
plants, there is not much besides the prickly-pear, which is abundant.
In the course of the day, Capt. Clarke, in a small canoe, with two men,
ascended the Columbia. At the distance of five miles, he came to a small
but not dangerous rapid. On the bank of the river opposite to this is a
fishing-place, consisting of three neat houses. Here were great
quantities of salmon drying on scaffolds; and, from the mouth of the
river upwards, he saw immense numbers of dead salmon strewed along the
shore, or floating on the water.
The Indians, who had collected on the banks to view him, now joined him
in eighteen canoes, and accompanied him up the river. A mile above the
rapids, he observed three houses of mats, and landed to visit them. On
entering one of the houses, he found it crowded with men, women, and
children, who immediately provided a mat for him to sit on; and one of
the party undertook to prepare something to eat. He began by bringing
in a piece of pine-wood that had drifted down the river, which he split
into small pieces with a wedge made of the elk's horn, by means of a
mallet of stone curiously carved. The pieces were then laid on the fire,
and several round stones placed upon them. One of the squaws now brought
a bucket of water, in which was a large salmon about half dried; and, as
the stones became heated, they were put into the bucket till the salmon
was sufficiently boiled. It was then taken out, put on a platter of
rushes neatly made, and laid before Capt. Clarke. Another was boiled for
each of his men. Capt. Clarke found the fish excellent.
At another island, four miles distant, the inhabitants were occupied in
splitting and drying salmon. The multitudes of this fish are almost
inconceivable. The water is so clear, that they can readily be seen at
the depth of fifteen or twenty feet; but at this season they float in
such quantities down the stream, and are drifted ashore, that the
Indians have nothing to do but collect, split, and dry them. The Indians
assured him by signs that they often used dry fish as fuel for the
common occasions of cooking. The evening coming on, he returned to camp.
Capt. Clarke, in the course of his excursion, shot several grouse and
ducks; also a prairie-cock,--a bird of the pheasant kind, about the size
of a small turkey. It measured, from the beak to the end of the toe, two
feet six inches; from the extremity of the wings, three feet six inches;
and the feathers of the tail were thirteen inches long. This bird we
have seen nowhere except upon this river. Its chief food is the
grasshopper, and the seeds of wild plants peculiar to this river and the
Upper Missouri.
ADVENTURE OF CAPT. CLARKE.
Oct. 19.--Having resumed their descent of the Columbia, they came to a
very dangerous rapid. In order to lighten the boats, Capt. Clarke
landed, and walked to the foot of the rapid. Arriving there before
either of the boats, except a canoe, he sat down on a rock to wait for
them; and, seeing a crane fly across the river, shot it, and it fell
near him. Several Indians had been, before this, passing on the opposite
side; and some of them, alarmed at his appearance or the report of the
gun, fled to their houses. Capt. Clarke was afraid that these people
might not have heard that white men were coming: therefore, in order to
allay their uneasiness before the whole party should arrive, he got into
the canoe with three men, and rowed over towards the houses, and, while
crossing, shot a duck, which fell into the water. As he approached, no
person was to be seen, except three men; and they also fled as he came
near the shore. He landed before five houses close to each other; but no
person appeared: and the doors, which were of mat, were closed. He went
towards one of them with a pipe in his hand, and, pushing aside the mat,
entered the lodge, where he found thirty-two persons, men and women,
with a few children, all in the greatest consternation; some hanging
down their heads; others crying, and wringing their hands. He went up to
them all, and shook hands with them in the most friendly manner. Their
apprehensions gradually subsided, but revived on his taking out a
burning-glass (there being no roof to the lodge), and lighting his pipe.
Having at length restored some confidence by the gift of some small
presents, he visited some other houses, where he found the inhabitants
similarly affected. Confidence was not completely attained until the
boats arrived, and then the two chiefs who accompanied the party
explained the friendly intentions of the expedition. The sight of
Chaboneau's wife also dissipated any remaining doubts, as it is not the
practice among the Indians to allow women to accompany a war-party.
To account for their fears, they told the two chiefs that they had seen
the white men fall from the sky. Having heard the report of Capt.
Clarke's rifle, and seen the birds fall, and not having seen him till
after the shot, they fancied that he had himself dropped from the
clouds.
This belief was strengthened, when, on entering the lodge, he brought
down fire from heaven by means of his burning-glass. We soon convinced
them that we were only mortals; and, after one of our chiefs had
explained our history and objects, we all smoked together in great
harmony.
Our encampment that night was on the river-bank opposite an island, on
which were twenty-four houses of Indians, all of whom were engaged in
drying fish. We had scarcely landed when about a hundred of them came
over to visit us, bringing with them a present of some wood, which was
very acceptable. We received them in as kind a manner as we could,
smoked with them, and gave the principal chief a string of wampum; but
the highest satisfaction they enjoyed was in the music of our two
violins, with which they seemed much delighted. They remained all night
at our fires.
AN INDIAN BURYING-PLACE.
We walked to the head of the island for the purpose of examining a
vault, or burying-place, which we had remarked in coming along. The
place in which the dead are deposited is a building about sixty feet
long and twelve feet wide, formed by placing in the ground poles, or
forks, six feet high, across which a long pole is extended the whole
length of the structure. Against this ridge-pole are placed broad
boards, and pieces of wood, in a slanting direction, so as to form a
shed. The structure stands east and west, open at both ends. On entering
the western end, we observed a number of bodies wrapped carefully in
leather robes, and arranged in rows on boards, which were then covered
with a mat. This part of the building was destined for those who had
recently died. A little farther on, limbs, half decayed, were scattered
about; and in the centre of the building was a large pile of them heaped
promiscuously. At the eastern extremity was a mat, on which twenty-one
skulls were arranged in a circular form: the mode of interment being
first to wrap the body in robes; and, as it decays, the bones are thrown
into the heap, and the skulls placed together in order. From the
different boards and pieces of wood which form the vault were suspended
on the inside fishing-nets, baskets, wooden bowls, robes, skins,
trenchers, and trinkets of various kinds, intended as offerings of
affection to deceased relatives. On the outside of the vault were the
skeletons of several horses, and great quantities of bones in the
neighborhood, which induced us to believe that these animals were
sacrificed at the funeral-rites of their masters.
In other parts of the route, the travellers found a different species of
cemetery. The dead were placed in canoes, and these canoes were raised
above the ground by a scaffolding of poles. The motive was supposed to
be to protect them from wild beasts.
FALLS OF THE COLUMBIA.
About a hundred and fifty miles below the junction of Lewis's River, we
reached the Great Falls. At the commencement of the pitch, which
includes the falls, we landed, and walked down to examine them, and
ascertain on which side we could make a portage most easily. From the
lower end of the island, where the rapids begin, to the perpendicular
fall, is about two miles. Here the river contracts, when the water is
low, to a very narrow space; and, with only a short distance of swift
water, it makes its plunge twenty feet perpendicularly; after which it
rushes on, among volcanic rocks, through a channel four miles in length,
and then spreads out into a gentle, broad current.
We will interrupt the narrative here to introduce from later travellers
some pictures of the remarkable region to which our explorers had now
arrived. It was not to be expected that Capts. Lewis and Clarke should
have taxed themselves, in their anxious and troubled march, to describe
natural wonders, however striking.
Lieut. Fremont thus describes this remarkable spot:--
THE DALLES.--"In a few miles we descended to the river, which
we reached at one of its highly interesting features, known as
the Dalles of the Columbia. The whole volume of the river at
this place passes between the walls of a chasm, which has the
appearance of having been rent through the basaltic strata
which form the valley-rock of the region. At the narrowest
place, we found the breadth, by measurement, fifty-eight yards,
and the average height of the walls above the water twenty-five
feet, forming a trough between the rocks; whence the name,
probably applied by a Canadian voyageur."
The same scene is described by Theodore Winthrop in his "Canoe and
Saddle:"--
"The Dalles of the Columbia, upon which I was now looking,
must be studied by the American Dante, whenever he comes, for
imagery to construct his Purgatory, if not his Inferno. At
Walla-walla, two great rivers, Clarke's and Lewis's, drainers
of the continent north and south, unite to form the Columbia.
It flows furiously for a hundred and twenty miles westward.
When it reaches the dreary region where the outlying ridges of
the Cascade chain commence, it finds a great, low surface,
paved with enormous polished sheets of basaltic rock. These
plates, in French, _dalles_, give the spot its name. The great
river, a mile wide not far above, finds but a narrow rift in
this pavement for its passage. The rift gradually draws its
sides closer, and, at the spot now called the Dalles,
subdivides into three mere slits in the sharp-edged rock. At
the highest water, there are other minor channels; but
generally this continental flood is cribbed and compressed
within its three chasms suddenly opening in the level floor,
each chasm hardly wider than a leap a hunted fiend might take."
It is not easy to picture to one's self, from these descriptions, the
peculiar scenery of the Dalles. Fremont understands the name as
signifying a _trough_; while Winthrop interprets it as _plates_, or
_slabs_, of rock. The following description by Lieut. (now Gen.) Henry
L. Abbot, in his "Report of Explorations for a Railroad Route," &c.,
will show that the term, in each of its meanings, is applicable to
different parts of the channel:--
"At the Dalles of the Columbia, the river rushes through a
chasm only about two hundred feet wide, with vertical,
basaltic sides, rising from twenty to thirty feet above the
water. Steep hills closely border the chasm, leaving in some
places scarcely room on the terrace to pass on horseback. The
water rushes through this basaltic trough with such violence,
that it is always dangerous, and in some stages of the water
impossible, for a boat to pass down. The contraction of the
river-bed extends for about three miles. Near the lower end of
it, the channel divides into several sluices, and then
gradually becomes broader, until, where it makes a great bend
to the south, it is over a quarter of a mile in width."
After this interruption, the journal is resumed:--
"We soon discovered that the nearest route was on the right side, and
therefore dropped down to the head of the rapid, unloaded the canoes,
and took all the baggage over by land to the foot of the rapid. The
distance is twelve hundred yards, part of it over loose sands,
disagreeable to pass. The labor of crossing was lightened by the
Indians, who carried some of the heavy articles for us on their horses.
Having ascertained the best mode of bringing down the canoes, the
operation was conducted by Capt. Clarke, by hauling the canoes over a
point of land four hundred and fifty-seven yards to the water. One mile
farther down, we reached a pitch of the river, which, being divided by
two large rocks, descends with great rapidity over a fall eight feet in
height. As the boats could not be navigated down this steep descent, we
were obliged to land, and let them down as gently as possible by strong
ropes of elk-skin, which we had prepared for the purpose. They all
passed in safety, except one, which, being loosed by the breaking of the
ropes, was driven down, but was recovered by the Indians below."
Our travellers had now reached what have since been called the Cascade
Mountains; and we must interrupt their narrative to give some notices of
this remarkable scenery from later explorers. We quote from Abbot's
Report:--
"There is great similarity in the general topographical
features of the whole Pacific slope. The Sierra Nevada in
California, and the Cascade range in Oregon, form a continuous
wall of mountains nearly parallel to the coast, and from one
hundred to two hundred miles distant from it. The main crest of
this range is rarely elevated less than six thousand feet above
the level of the sea, and many of its peaks tower into the
region of eternal snow."
Lieut. Abbot thus describes a view of these peaks and of the Columbia
River:--
"At an elevation of five thousand feet above the sea, we stood
upon the summit of the pass. For days we had been struggling
blindly through dense forests; but now the surrounding country
lay spread out before us for more than a hundred miles. The
five grand snow-peaks, Mount St. Helens, Mount Ranier, Mount
Adams, Mount Hood, and Mount Jefferson, rose majestically above
a rolling sea of dark fir-covered ridges, some of which the
approaching winter had already begun to mark with white. On
every side, as far as the eye could reach, terrific convulsions
of Nature had recorded their fury; and not even a thread of
blue smoke from the camp-fire of a wandering savage disturbed
the solitude of the scene."
THE COLUMBIA RIVER.--"The Columbia River forces its way through
the Cascade range by a pass, which, for wild and sublime
natural scenery, equals the celebrated passage of the Hudson
through the Highlands. For a distance of about fifty miles,
mountains covered with clinging spruces, firs, and pines, where
not too precipitous to afford even these a foothold, rise
abruptly from the water's edge to heights varying from one
thousand to three thousand feet. Vertical precipices of
columnar basalt are occasionally seen, rising from fifty to a
hundred feet above the river level. In other places, the long
mountain-walls of the river are divided by lateral canyons
(pronounced _canyons_), containing small tributaries, and
occasionally little open spots of good land, liable to be
overflowed at high water."
CANYONS.--The plains east of the Cascade Mountains, through the
whole extent of Oregon and California, are covered with a volcanic
deposit composed of trap, basalt, and other rocks of the same class.
This deposit is cleft by chasms often more than a thousand feet deep,
at the bottom of which there usually flows a stream of clear, cold
water. This is sometimes the only water to be procured for the distance
of many miles; and the traveller may be perishing with thirst while he
sees far below him a sparkling stream, from which he is separated by
precipices of enormous height and perpendicular descent. To chasms of
this nature the name of _canyons_ has been applied, borrowed from the
Spaniards of Mexico. We quote Lieut. Abbot's description of the canyon of
Des Chutes River, a tributary of the Columbia:--
"Sept. 30.--As it was highly desirable to determine accurately
the position and character of the canyon of Des Chutes River, I
started this morning with one man to follow down the creek to
its mouth, leaving the rest of the party in camp. Having
yesterday experienced the inconveniences of travelling in the
bottom of a canyon, I concluded to try to-day the northern
bluff. It was a dry, barren plain, gravelly, and sometimes
sandy, with a few bunches of grass scattered here and there.
Tracks of antelopes or deer were numerous. After crossing one
small ravine, and riding about five miles from camp, we found
ourselves on the edge of the vast canyon of the river, which,
far below us, was rushing through a narrow trough of basalt,
resembling the Dalles of the Columbia. We estimated the depth
of the canyon at a thousand feet. On each side, the precipices
were very steep, and marked in many places by horizontal lines
of vertical, basaltic columns, fifty or sixty feet in height.
The man who was with me rolled a large rock, shaped like a
grindstone, and weighing about two hundred pounds, from the
summit. It thundered down for at least a quarter of a
mile,--now over a vertical precipice, now over a steep mass of
detritus, until at length it plunged into the river with a
hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed through the gorge for
miles. By ascending a slight hill, I obtained a fine view of
the surrounding country. The generally level character of the
great basaltic table-land around us was very manifest from this
point. Bounded on the west by the Cascade Mountains, the plain
extends far towards the south,--a sterile, treeless waste."
THE CASCADES.--"About forty miles below the Dalles, all
navigation is suspended by a series of rapids called the
Cascades. The wild grandeur of this place surpasses
description. The river rushes furiously over a narrow bed
filled with bowlders, and bordered by mountains which echo back
the roar of the waters. The descent at the principal rapids is
thirty-four feet; and the total fall at the Cascades, sixty-one
feet. Salmon pass up the river in great numbers; and the
Cascades, at certain seasons of the year, are a favorite
fishing resort with the Indians, who build slight stagings over
the water's edge, and spear the fish, or catch them in rude
dip-nets, as they slowly force their way up against the
current."
We now return to our travellers.
INDIAN MODE OF PACKING SALMON.
Near our camp are five large huts of Indians engaged in drying fish, and
preparing it for market. The manner of doing this is by first opening
the fish, and exposing it to the sun on scaffolds. When it is
sufficiently dried, it is pounded between two stones till it is
pulverized, and is then placed in a basket, about two feet long and one
in diameter, neatly made of grass and rushes, and lined with the skin of
the salmon, stretched and dried for the purpose. Here they are pressed
down as hard as possible, and the top covered with skins of fish, which
are secured by cords through the holes of the basket. These baskets are
then placed in some dry situation, the corded part upwards; seven being
usually placed as close as they can be together, and five on the top of
them. The whole is then wrapped up in mats, and made fast by cords.
Twelve of these baskets, each of which contains from ninety to a hundred
pounds, form a stack, which is now left exposed till it is sent to
market. The fish thus preserved are kept sound and sweet for several
years; and great quantities of it, they inform us, are sent to the
Indians who live lower down the river, whence it finds its way to the
whites who visit the mouth of the Columbia. We observe, both near the
lodges and on the rocks in the river, great numbers of stacks of these
pounded fish.
Beside the salmon, there are great quantities of salmon-trout, and
another smaller species of trout, which they save in another way. A hole
of any size being dug, the sides and bottom are lined with straw, over
which skins are laid. On these the fish, after being well dried, is
laid, covered with other skins, and the hole closed with a layer of
earth, twelve or fifteen inches deep. These supplies are for their
winter food.
The stock of fish, dried and pounded, was so abundant, that Capt. Clarke
counted one hundred and seven stacks of them, making more than ten
thousand pounds.
THE INDIAN BOATMEN.
The canoes used by these people are built of white cedar or pine, very
light, wide in the middle, and tapering towards the ends; the bow being
raised, and ornamented with carvings of the heads of animals. As the
canoe is the vehicle of transportation, the Indians have acquired great
dexterity in the management of it, and guide it safely over the roughest
waves.
We had an opportunity to-day of seeing the boldness of the Indians. One
of our men shot a goose, which fell into the river, and was floating
rapidly towards the great shoot, when an Indian, observing it, plunged
in after it. The whole mass of the waters of the Columbia, just
preparing to descend its narrow channel, carried the bird down with
great rapidity. The Indian followed it fearlessly to within a hundred
and fifty feet of the rocks, where, had he arrived, he would inevitably
have been dashed to pieces; but, seizing his prey, he turned round, and
swam ashore with great composure. We very willingly relinquished our
right to the bird in favor of the Indian, who had thus secured it at the
hazard of his life. He immediately set to work, and picked off about
half the feathers, and then, without opening it, ran a stick through it,
and carried it off to roast.
INDIAN HOUSES.
While the canoes were coming on, impeded by the difficulties of the
navigation, Capt. Clarke, with two men, walked down the river-shore, and
came to a village belonging to a tribe called Echeloots. The village
consisted of twenty-one houses, scattered promiscuously over an elevated
position. The houses were nearly equal in size, and of similar
construction. A large hole, twenty feet wide and thirty in length, is
dug to the depth of six feet. The sides are lined with split pieces of
timber in an erect position, rising a short distance above the surface
of the ground. These timbers are secured in their position by a pole,
stretched along the side of the building, near the eaves, supported by a
post at each corner. The timbers at the gable-ends rise higher, the
middle pieces being the tallest. Supported by these, there is a
ridge-pole running the whole length of the house, forming the top of the
roof. From this ridge-pole to the eaves of the house are placed a number
of small poles, or rafters, secured at each end by fibres of the cedar.
On these poles is laid a covering of white cedar or arbor-vitae, kept on
by strands of cedar-fibres. A small distance along the whole length of
the ridge-pole is left uncovered for the admission of light, and to
permit the smoke to escape. The entrance is by a small door at the
gable-end, thirty inches high, and fourteen broad. Before this hole is
hung a mat; and on pushing it aside, and crawling through, the descent
is by a wooden ladder, made in the form of those used among us.
One-half of the inside is used as a place of deposit for their dried
fish, and baskets of berries: the other half, nearest the door, remains
for the accommodation of the family. On each side are arranged, near the
walls, beds of mats, placed on platforms or bedsteads, raised about two
feet from the ground. In the middle of the vacant space is the fire, or
sometimes two or three fires, when, as is usually the case, the house
contains several families.
The inhabitants received us with great kindness, and invited us to their
houses. On entering one of them, we saw figures of men, birds, and
different animals, cut and painted on the boards which form the sides of
the room, the figures uncouth, and the workmanship rough; but doubtless
they were as much esteemed by the Indians as our finest domestic
adornments are by us. The chief had several articles, such as scarlet
and blue cloth, a sword, a jacket, and hat, which must have been
procured from the whites. On one side of the room were two wide split
boards, placed together so as to make space for a rude figure of a man,
cut and painted on them. On pointing to this, and asking what it meant,
he said something, of which all we understood was "good," and then
stepped to the image, and brought out his bow and quiver, which, with
some other warlike implements, were kept behind it. The chief then
directed his wife to hand him his _Medicine-bag_, from which he brought
out fourteen fore-fingers, which he told us had once belonged to the
same number of his enemies. They were shown with great exultation; and
after an harangue, which we were left to presume was in praise of his
exploits, the fingers were carefully replaced among the valuable
contents of the red Medicine-bag. This bag is an object of religious
regard, and it is a species of sacrilege for any one but its owner to
touch it.
In all the houses are images of men, of different shapes, and placed as
ornaments in the parts of the house where they are most likely to be
seen.
A SUBMERGED FOREST.
Oct. 30.--The river is now about three-quarters of a mile wide, with a
current so gentle, that it does not exceed a mile and a half an hour;
but its course is obstructed by large rocks, which seem to have fallen
from the mountains. What is, however, most singular, is, that there are
stumps of pine-trees scattered to some distance in the river, which has
the appearance of having been dammed below, and forced to encroach on
the shore.
NOTE. Rev. S. Parker says, "We noticed a remarkable
phenomenon,--trees standing in their natural position in the
river, where the water is twenty feet deep. In many places,
they were so numerous, that we had to pick our way with our
canoe as through a forest. The water is so clear, that I had an
opportunity of examining their position down to their spreading
roots, and found them in the same condition as when standing in
their native forest. It is evident that there has been an
uncommon subsidence of a tract of land, more than twenty miles
in length, and more than a mile in width. That the trees are
not wholly decayed down to low-water mark, proves that the
subsidence is comparatively of recent date; and their
undisturbed natural position proves that it took place in a
tranquil manner, not by any tremendous convulsion of Nature."
THE RIVER WIDENS.--THEY MEET THE TIDE.
Nov. 2, 1805.--Longitude about 122 deg. At this point the first tidewater
commences, and the river widens to nearly a mile in extent. The low
grounds, too, become wider; and they, as well as the mountains on each
side, are covered with pine, spruce, cotton-wood, a species of ash, and
some alder. After being so long accustomed to the dreary nakedness of
the country above, the change is as grateful to the eye as it is useful
in supplying us with fuel.
The ponds in the low grounds on each side of the river are resorted to
by vast quantities of fowls, such as swans, geese, brants, cranes,
storks, white gulls, cormorants, and plover. The river is wide, and
contains a great number of sea-otters. In the evening, the hunters
brought in game for a sumptuous supper, which we shared with the
Indians, great numbers of whom spent the night with us. During the
night, the tide rose eighteen inches near our camp.
A LARGE VILLAGE.--COLUMBIA VALLEY.
Nov. 4.--Next day, we landed on the left bank of the river, at a village
of twenty-five houses. All of these were thatched with straw, and built
of bark, except one, which was about fifty feet long, built of boards,
in the form of those higher up the river; from which it differed,
however, in being completely above ground, and covered with broad split
boards. This village contains about two hundred men of the Skilloot
nation, who seem well provided with canoes, of which there were
fifty-two (some of them very large) drawn up in front of the village.
On landing, we found an Indian from up the river, who had been with us
some days ago, and now invited us into a house, of which he appeared to
own a part. Here he treated us with a root, round in shape, about the
size of a small Irish potato, which they call _wappatoo_. It is the
common arrowhead, or sagittifolia, so much esteemed by the Chinese,
and, when roasted in the embers till it becomes soft, has an agreeable
taste, and is a very good substitute for bread.
Here the ridge of low mountains running north-west and south-east
crosses the river, and forms the western boundary of the plain through
which we have just passed.[3] This great plain, or valley, is about
sixty miles wide in a straight line; while on the right and left it
extends to a great distance. It is a fertile and delightful country,
shaded by thick groves of tall timber, watered by small ponds, and lying
on both sides of the river. The soil is rich, and capable of any species
of culture; but, in the present condition of the Indians, its chief
production is the wappatoo-root, which grows spontaneously and
exclusively in this region. Sheltered as it is on both sides, the
temperature is much milder than that of the surrounding country. Through
its whole extent, it is inhabited by numerous tribes of Indians, who
either reside in it permanently, or visit its waters in quest of fish
and wappatoo-roots. We gave it the name of the Columbia Valley.
COFFIN ROCK.
Among some interesting islands of basalt, there is one called Coffin
Rock, situated in the middle of the river, rising ten or fifteen feet
above high-freshet water. It is almost entirely covered with canoes, in
which the dead are deposited, which gives it its name. In the section of
country from Wappatoo Island to the Pacific Ocean, the Indians, instead
of committing their dead to the earth, deposit them in canoes; and these
are placed in such situations as are most secure from beasts of prey,
upon such precipices as this island, upon branches of trees, or upon
scaffolds made for the purpose. The bodies of the dead are covered with
mats, and split planks are placed over them. The head of the canoe is a
little raised, and at the foot there is a hole made for water to escape.
THEY REACH THE OCEAN.
Next day we passed the mouth of a large river, a hundred and fifty yards
wide, called by the Indians Cowalitz. A beautiful, extensive plain now
presented itself; but, at the distance of a few miles, the hills again
closed in upon the river, so that we could not for several miles find a
place sufficiently level to fix our camp upon for the night.
Thursday, Nov. 7.--The morning was rainy, and the fog so thick, that we
could not see across the river. We proceeded down the river, with an
Indian for our pilot, till, after making about twenty miles, the fog
cleared off, and we enjoyed the delightful prospect of the
OCEAN, the object of all our labors, the reward of all our
endurance. This cheering view exhilarated the spirits of all the party,
who listened with delight to the distant roar of the breakers.
For ten days after our arrival at the coast, we were harassed by almost
incessant rain. On the 12th, a violent gale of wind arose, accompanied
with thunder, lightning, and hail. The waves were driven with fury
against the rocks and trees, which had till then afforded us a partial
defence. Cold and wet; our clothes and bedding rotten as well as wet;
the canoes, our only means of escape from the place, at the mercy of the
waves,--we were, however, fortunate enough to enjoy good health.
Saturday, Nov. 16.--The morning was clear and beautiful. We put out our
baggage to dry, and sent several of the party to hunt. The camp was in
full view of the ocean. The wind was strong from the south-west, and
the waves very high; yet the Indians were passing up and down the bay in
canoes, and several of them encamped near us. The hunters brought in two
deer, a crane, some geese and ducks, and several brant. The tide rises
at this place eight feet six inches, and rolls over the beach in great
waves.
AN EXCURSION DOWN THE BAY.
Capt. Clarke started on Monday, 18th November, on an excursion by land
down the bay, accompanied by eleven men. The country is low, open, and
marshy, partially covered with high pine and a thick undergrowth. At the
distance of about fifteen miles they reached the cape, which forms the
northern boundary of the river's mouth, called Cape Disappointment, so
named by Capt. Meares, after a fruitless search for the river. It is an
elevated circular knob, rising with a steep ascent a hundred and fifty
feet or more above the water, covered with thick timber on the inner
side, but open and grassy in the exposure next the sea. The opposite
point of the bay is a very low ground, about ten miles distant, called,
by Capt. Gray, Point Adams.
The water for a great distance off the mouth of the river appears very
shallow; and within the mouth, nearest to Point Adams, there is a large
sand-bar, almost covered at high tide. We could not ascertain the
direction of the deepest channel; for the waves break with tremendous
force across the bay.
Mr. Parker speaks more fully of this peculiarity of the river:--
"A difficulty of such a nature as is not easily overcome exists
in regard to the navigation of this river; which is, the
sand-bar at its entrance. It is about five miles, across the
bar, from Cape Disappointment out to sea. In no part of that
distance is the water upon the bar over eight fathoms deep, and
in one place only five, and the channel only about half a mile
in width. So wide and open is the ocean, that there is always a
heavy swell: and, when the wind is above a gentle breeze, there
are breakers quite across the bar; so that there is no passing
it, except when the wind and tide are both favorable. Outside
the bar, there is no anchorage; and there have been instances,
in the winter season, of ships lying off and on thirty days,
waiting for an opportunity to pass: and a good pilot is always
needed. High, and in most parts perpendicular, basaltic rocks
line the shores."
The following is Theodore Winthrop's description of the Columbia, taken
from his "Canoe and Saddle:"--
"A wall of terrible breakers marks the mouth of the
Columbia,--Achilles of rivers.
"Other mighty streams may swim feebly away seaward, may sink
into foul marshes, may trickle through the ditches of an oozy
delta, may scatter among sand-bars the currents that once moved
majestic and united; but to this heroic flood was destined a
short life and a glorious one,--a life all one strong,
victorious struggle, from the mountains to the sea. It has no
infancy: two great branches collect its waters up and down the
continent. They join, and the Columbia is born--to full
manhood. It rushes forward jubilant through its magnificent
chasm, and leaps to its death in the Pacific."
FOOTNOTE:
[3] Since called the Coast range.