How all Nations Sought the River from the Sea and how they Found it
Search for Gold--Economic Effects--Early Extension of Exploration
Westward--Cortez--Magellan--Aguilar--Fables of the Sea--Shakspere and
Swift--Maps--Great Wars of the Seventeenth Century and Downfall of
Spain--Long Delay--Resumption of Exploration--Spanish Settlement of
California--Russia and
Behring--Perez--Heceta--Cook--Fur-trade--Gathering of Nations--The
Yankees--Gray and Kendrick--Meares and Vancouver--The Complete
Discovery--Strife between England and the United States.
The period of the Renaissance is one, which by reason of splendid
achievements in literature, in art, in science, and in discovery, can
hardly be duplicated. We are here especially concerned with the
discoverers. A mingling of motives impelled those dauntless spirits
onward, and among the most potent was the greed for gold. Much American
history is bound up with the mad rush for the precious metals, and the
spread of exploration from the West Indies and Mexico, the first centres
of Spanish power, was one of its results. Only eight years after the
landing of Columbus on San Salvador, the Portuguese Gaspar Cortereal had
conceived the idea of a north-west passage, which in some unexplained
manner became known as the Strait of Anian. In 1543, the Spaniards
Cabrillo and Ferrelo coasted along the shores of California, and the
latter was doubtless the first white man to look upon the coast of Oregon.
In 1577, England appeared in the person of that boldest and most
picturesque of the half-discoverers, half-pirates, of that time, Francis
Drake. In that year he set forth on the wonderful voyage in which he
plundered the treasures of the Spanish Main, cut the golden girdle of
Manila, queen of the Spanish Orient, skirted along the coast of California
and Oregon, and at last circumnavigated the globe. Brilliant as were
Drake's exploits, they did not result in the discovery of our Great River.
In 1592, just a century after Columbus, Juan de Fuca, whose name is now
preserved in the strait leading to Puget Sound, is said to have made that
voyage which is regarded by most historians as a myth, but which affords
so fascinating a bit of narration that it ought to be true. Two hundred
years later John Meares, the English navigator, attached the name of the
stout old Greek pilot to that inlet now familiar to ships of all nations.
With the passage of a few years more, explorations upon the western shore
of America began to assume a more definite form. In 1602 the best equipped
squadron thus far sent out left Acapulco under command of Vizcaino, with
the aim of carrying out Monterey's great purpose for the northward
extension of Spanish power. The fleet being scattered by storm, the
_fragata_ in command of Martin Aguilar ran up the coast as far as latitude
43 degrees. There they found a cape to which they attached the name still
held, Cape Blanco. From that point, following the north-westerly trending
of the coast, they soon came abreast of a "rapid and abundant river, with
ash trees, willows, and brambles, and other trees of Castile upon its
banks." This they endeavoured to enter, but from the strength of the
current could not. "And seeing that they had already reached a higher
latitude than had been ordered by the viceroy and that the number of the
sick was great, they decided to return to Acapulco." Torquemada, the
historian, from whom the account is taken, goes on to say:
It is supposed that this river is one leading to a great city, which
was discovered by the Dutch when they were driven thither by storms,
and that it is the Strait of Anian, through which the vessels passed
in sailing from the North Sea to the South Sea; and that the city
called Quivera is in those parts; and that this is the region referred
to in the account which His Majesty read, and which induced him to
order this expedition.
The interesting question arises, Was the river the Columbia? It is the
only large river on the Oregon coast, though the Umpqua, if at flood
stage, might have given the impression of size. The latitude is not right,
either, though the Spanish narrator does not say how far north of Cape
Blanco they went. But whether or not Aguilar really went so far north as
the Columbia, his voyage was one of much interest. It gave Spain a warrant
to claim the western coast of America; it still further strengthened the
idea of the Strait of Anian; it seemed to confirm the romantic conception
of a great city or group of cities with civilised inhabitants along that
passage way, and it gave the first name to the river, the Rio de Aguilar.
Thenceforth the navigators of all nations accepted as the primary object
of their search some great river of the West. Hidden in the fogs of fancy,
as it lay shrouded in truth in the mists of the ocean, the supposed Rio
de Aguilar yet held the spell of enchantment over many an "ancient
mariner" of many a land. Whatsoever nation could actually find the river
and establish a definite claim to first discovery, would have, by the
generally accepted usage of nations, the right of occupation and
ownership.
That was a fruitful time for fables of the sea, and around the Great River
many of them gathered. The original of Baron Munchausen seems to have
existed in the persons of Captain Lorenzo Ferrer de Maldonado and Admiral
Pedro Bartolome de Fonte. The first of these worthies, whose voyage was
said to have been made in 1588, describes in a very circumstantial manner
his passage through the Strait of Anian and his exit upon the Asiatic side
of the continent. This he averred was marked with a very remarkable rocky
eminence which rendered it wonderfully adapted to fortification and
defence, the mountain being so steep, in fact, that a missile dropped from
the summit would fall directly upon a ship in mid-channel. It is thought
by some students that some unchronicled Spanish navigator may have
actually made the inland passage up the Alaskan coast and that some report
of it may have become transformed into Maldonado's story. Fonte's story
seems to have first appeared in a London publication in 1708, though his
voyage was alleged to have been made in 1640. He told a marvellous tale of
a great river which led to a magnificent lake on whose banks stood a great
city. The river he located in latitude 53 degrees, and he named it the Rio
de los Reyes, or River of Kings. This is far north of the Columbia, but
the account persisted in popular idea for a long time. The name became
associated with those of the Rio de Aguilar and the River of the West.
These and other similar tales, the flotsam and jetsam of ocean myths, gave
something of inspiration and suggestion to literature. For even long
before the alleged exploits of Fonte, the fertile mind of Shakspere had
conceived of Caliban and Ariel and other fancies of the age of Western
adventure. And in the next century the prince of political satirists,
Jonathan Swift, had located almost exactly at the mouth of the Rio de
Aguilar, the land of the Brobdingnagians, while the countries into which
the veracious Gulliver was thrown at a later time, Luggnagg and
Blubdubrib, were in the Pacific at a somewhat indefinite distance from the
land of the Giants.
The land of the Oregon was in short, the land of the great unexplored and
of boundless fancy. Some of the old maps illustrating that period are of
much interest. Zaltieri's map of 1566 shows a generally accurate
conception of the eastern part of America and of the western coast of
Mexico and California, but the entire continent above about latitude 60
degrees is occupied with a _mare septentrionale incognito_. Luck's map of
1582 presents a fairly good conception of Florida and Mexico, but is
entirely astray on the western coast. The Wytfliet-Ptolemy map of 1597 has
a singularly indented coast running nearly east and west in the location
of Oregon, while Cape Blanco and a river, the Rio de los Estrachos, in
about latitude 51 degrees, seem to be an attempt to denote Aguilar's cape
of 1543, and to locate the river by still another name, though in a
higher latitude. Maldonado's map of the Strait of Anian of 1609 is
manifestly manufactured to suit the occasion, and is interesting only as
showing how far mendacity and gullibility could travel hand in hand.
But now the first age of discovery on the coast of Oregon drew to a close.
It cannot be said that much of tangible knowledge had been attained.
Puzzling questions had been raised. Labyrinths of conjecture, with no
definite clues for exit, had been entered. Fascinating romances had been
so interwoven with probable fact that no one could untangle them. A
general conception of a great river and a great north-west passage had
been held up with some distinctness as the goal of navigators. Finally,
most important of all, what had been seen was of so enticingly interesting
a nature and seemed to promise results so important, that they furnished a
motive for continued exploration. It certainly looked as though the
nations would continue the search for the Great River of the West. Spain
had the inside track of all, though Drake and Cavendish and Hawkins had
run down many a richly laden treasure galleon and had laid the booty at
the feet of the Virgin Queen, and many an embittered buccaneer of French
or English race had hounded the flag of Spain across the breadth of half
the seas.
But a great change was impending. There was a new shuffle of the cards in
the hands of the Fates and the Furies as the seventeenth century moved on
apace. Spain's time had come. Her cup of iniquity was now full. Her whole
measure of national policy had been the sword for the pagan and the
inquisition for the heretic. The banished Moors of Granada and the
murdered "Beggars" of Holland and the wasted Incas and Montezumas of
America united to call down the vengeance of Nemesis upon the destroyer of
a fair world's peace.
The stupendous struggles engendered by the Reformation, culminating in the
Thirty Years' War, went on almost without pause for over a century. That
strife, ending at Westphalia in 1648, saw Spain prostrate and the
principle of religious toleration triumphant. But almost immediately
another struggle arose, the natural successor of the first, the struggle
against the absolute monarchy of the Bourbons. As may well be seen, the
nations of Europe were so enchained in the strife against Pope and King
that they had little thought for new discoveries. Over a hundred and sixty
years passed after the voyage of Aguilar before there was another serious
movement of discovery on the coast of Oregon.
This new movement of Pacific exploration, destined to continue with no
cessation to our own day, was ushered in by Spain. There was even yet much
vitality in the fallen mistress of the world. Impelled by both religious
zeal and hope of material gain, the immigration of 1769 went forth from La
Paz to San Diego and Monterey. That inaugurated the singular and poetic,
in some aspects even beautiful, history of Spanish California, an era
which has provided so much of romance and poetry for literature in the
California of our own times. The march of events had made it plain to the
Spanish Government that, if it was to retain a hold on the Pacific Coast,
it must bestir itself. Russia, England, and France, released in a measure
from the pressure of European struggles, were fitting out expeditions to
resume the arrested efforts of the sixteenth century. It seemed plain also
that colonial America was going to be an active rival on the seas. And
well may it have so seemed, for, in the sign of the Yankee sailor, the
conquest was to be made.
But just at that important juncture a most favouring condition arose for
Spain. The government of England precipitated the struggle of the American
Revolution. France soon joined to strike her island rival a deadly blow by
assisting in the liberation of the colonies. For the time, Spain had
nearly a clear field for Pacific discovery, so far as England and France
were concerned. As for Russia, the danger was more imminent. Russia had,
indeed, begun to look in the direction of Pacific expansion a long time
prior to the Spanish immigration to California. That vast monarchy,
transformed by the genius of Peter the Great, had stretched its arms from
the Baltic to the Aleutian Archipelago, and had looked from the frozen
seas of Siberia to the open Pacific as a fairer field for expansion. Many
years elapsed, however, before Peter's great designs could be fulfilled.
Not till 1741 did Vitus Behring thread the thousand islands of Sitka and
gaze upon the glaciated crest of Mt. St. Elias. And it was not till thirty
years later that it became understood that the Bay of Avatcha was
connected by the open sea with China. In 1771 the first cargo of furs was
shipped directly from Avatcha to Canton. Then first the vastness of the
Pacific Ocean was comprehended. Then first it was understood that the same
waters which lashed the frozen ramparts of Kamchatka encircled the coral
islands of the South Sea and roared against the stormy barriers of Cape
Horn.
The Russians had not found the Great River, though it appears that Behring
in 1771 had gone as far south as latitude 46 degrees, just the parallel of
the mouth of the Columbia. But he was so far off the coast as not to see
it.
Three Spanish voyages followed in rapid succession: that of Perez in 1774,
of Heceta in 1775, and of Bodega in 1779. The only notable things in
connection with the voyage of Perez were his discovery of Queen
Charlotte's Island, with the sea-otter furs traded by the natives, the
first sight of that superb group of mountains which we now call the
Olympic, but which the Spaniards named the Sierra de Santa Rosalia, and
finally the fine harbour of Nootka on Vancouver Island, named by Perez
Port San Lorenzo, for years the centre of the fur-trade and the general
rendezvous of ships of all nations. But no river was found.
With another year a still completer expedition was fitted out, Bruno
Heceta being commander and Francisco de la Bodega y Quadra, second in
command. This voyage was the most important and interesting thus far in
the history of the Columbia River exploration. For Heceta actually found
the Great River, so long sought and so constantly eluding discovery. On
June 10, 1775, Heceta passed Cape Mendocino, and entered a small bay just
northward. There he entered into friendly relations with the natives and
took solemn possession of the country in the name of His Catholic Majesty
of Spain. Sailing thence northward, he again touched land just south of
the Straits of Fuca, but there he met disaster at the ill-omened point
subsequently named Destruction Island. For there his boat landing for
exploration was set upon by the savage inhabitants, and the entire
boat-load murdered. Moving southward again, on August 15th, in latitude 46
degrees 10 minutes, Heceta found himself abreast of some great river.
Deciding that this must be indeed the mysterious Strait of Fuca, or the
long concealed river of the other ancient navigators, he made two efforts
to enter, but the powerful current and uncertain depths deterred him, and
he at last gave up the effort and bore away for Monterey. Three additional
names were bestowed upon the River at this time. Thinking the entrance a
bay, Heceta named it, in honour of the day, Ensenada de Asuncion. Later it
was more commonly known as Ensenada de Heceta, while the Spanish charts
designated the river as Rio de San Roque. The name of Cabo de Frondoso
(Leafy Cape) was bestowed upon the low promontory on the south, now known
as Point Adams, while upon the picturesque headland on the north which we
now designate as Cape Hancock, the devout Spaniards conferred the name of
Cabo de San Roque, August 16th being the day sacred to that saint.
The original account given by Heceta is so interesting that we insert it
here:
On the 17th day of August I sailed along the coast to the 46th degree,
and observed that from the latitude 47 degrees 4 minutes to that of 46
degrees 10 minutes, it runs in the angle of 18 degrees of the second
quadrant, and from that latitude to 46 degrees 4 minutes, in the angle
of 12 degrees of the same quadrant; the soundings, the shore, the
wooded character of the country, and the little islands, being the
same as on the preceding days.
On the evening of this day I discovered a large bay, to which I gave
the name Assumption Bay, and a plan of which will be found in this
journal. Its latitude and longitude are determined according to the
most exact means afforded by theory and practice. The latitudes of the
two most prominent capes of this bay are calculated from the
observations of this day.
Having arrived opposite this bay at six in the evening, and placed the
ship nearly midway between the two capes, I sounded and found bottom
in four brazas [nearly four fathoms]. The currents and eddies were so
strong that, notwithstanding a press of sail, it was difficult to get
out clear of the northern cape, towards which the current ran, though
its direction was eastward in consequence of the tide being at flood.
These currents and eddies caused me to believe that the place is the
mouth of some great river, or of some passage to another sea. Had I
not been certain of the latitude of this bay, from my observations of
the same day, I might easily have believed it to be the passage
discovered by Juan de Fuca, in 1592, which is placed on the charts
between the 47th and the 48th degrees; where I am certain no such
strait exists; because I anchored on the 14th day of July midway
between these latitudes, and carefully examined everything around.
Notwithstanding the great difference between this bay and the passage
mentioned by De Fuca, I have little difficulty in conceiving they may
be the same, having observed equal or greater differences in the
latitudes of other capes and ports on this coast, as I will show at
the proper time; and in all cases latitudes thus assigned are higher
than the real ones.
I did not enter and anchor in this port, which in my plan I suppose to
be formed by an island, notwithstanding my strong desire to do so;
because, having consulted with the second captain, Don Juan Perez, and
the pilot Don Christoval Revilla, they insisted I ought not to attempt
it, as, if we let go the anchor, we should not have men enough to get
it up, and to attend to the other operations which would be thereby
necessary. Considering this, and also, that in order to reach the
anchorage, I should be obliged to lower my long boat (the only boat I
had) and to man it with at least fourteen of the crew, as I could not
manage with fewer, and also as it was then late in the day, I resolved
to put out; and at the distance of three leagues I lay to. In the
course of that night, I experienced heavy currents to the south-west,
which made it impossible to enter the bay on the following morning, as
I was far to leeward. These currents, however, convinced me that a
great quantity of water rushed from this bay on the ebb of the tide.
The two capes which I name in my plan, Cape San Roque and Cape
Frondoso, lie in the angle of 10 degrees of the third quadrant. They
are both faced with red earth and are of little elevation.
On the 18th I observed Cape Frondoso, with another cape, to which I
gave the name of Cape Falcon, situated in the latitude of 45 degrees
43 minutes, and they lay at an angle of 22 degrees of the third
quadrant, and from the last mentioned cape I traced the coast running
in the angle of 5 degrees of the second quadrant. This land is
mountainous, but not very high, nor so well wooded as that lying
between the latitudes of 48 degrees 30 minutes, and 46 degrees. On
sounding I found great differences: at a distance of seven leagues I
got bottom at 84 brazas; and nearer the coast I sometimes found no
bottom; from which I am inclined to believe there are reefs or shoals
on these coasts, which is also shown by the colour of the water. In
some places the coast presents a beach, in others, it is rocky.
A flat-topped mountain, which I named the Table, will enable any
navigator to know the position of Cape Falcon without observing it; as
it is in the latitude of 45 degrees 28 minutes, and may be seen at a
great distance, being somewhat elevated.
It may be added that the Cape Falcon of Heceta was the bold elevation
fronting the sea, known now as Tillamook Head, while the Table Mountain
was doubtless what we now call Nekahni Mountain, both points especially
the scenes of Indian myth.
Such was the actual discovery of the Columbia River, and as such the
Spaniards justly laid claim to Oregon. Their treaty with the United States
in 1819 was the formal conveyance of their claims to us. Nevertheless
Heceta only half discovered the River. It seems very strange that with the
all-important object of two centuries' search before him, he should so
readily have succumbed to the fear of the powerful outstanding current.
But the Spaniards were not in general the patient and persistent students
of the shores that the English and Americans were. Their charts were in
general worthless. Nevertheless Spain came nearest "making good" of any of
the European powers. In 1779 Bodega and Arteaga sailed far north and
sighted a vast snow peak "higher than Orizaba," which was doubtless St.
Elias. In the same year Martinez and De Haro established themselves at
Nootka. Subsequent voyages of Bodega, Valdez, and Galiano, and their first
circumnavigation of Vancouver Island (named by them Quadra's Island, but,
by mutual courtesy and good-will of the British and Spanish rivals,
designated Vancouver's and Quadra's Island), gave them a clear title to
the Pacific Coast of North America from latitude 60 degrees to Mexico.
But "that is another story." What of the Great River? In the very year of
the declaration of American independence, the most elaborate expedition
yet fitted out for western discovery, set forth from England in command of
that Columbus of the eighteenth century, Captain James Cook. After nearly
two years of important movements in the Southern Hemisphere and among the
Pacific Islands, Cook turned to that goal of all nations, the coast of
Oregon. But the same singular fatality which had baffled many of the
explorers thus far, attended this most skilful navigator and best equipped
squadron thus far seen on Pacific waters. For Cook passed and repassed the
near vicinity of both the Straits of Fuca and the Columbia River, but
without finding either. Killed by the treacherous natives of Hawaii in
1778, Cook left a great name, a more intelligent conception of world
geography than was known before, and greatly strengthened claims by Great
Britain to the ownership of pivotal points of the Pacific. Of all the
great English navigators, Cook is perhaps best entitled to join the grand
chorus that sings the _Songs of Seven Seas_. But he did not see the Great
River of the West. What had become of it? After the fleeting vision which
it accorded to Heceta, it seemed to have gone into hiding.
But a new set of motives came into play immediately after Cook's voyage.
The two ships, the _Resolution_ and _Discovery_, took with them to China a
quantity of furs from Nootka. A few years earlier, as previously stated,
the Russian fur-trade from Avatcha to China had been inaugurated. A great
demand for peltries sprang up at once. A new regime dawned in Chinese and
East India trade. Gold, silver, and jewels had not thus far rewarded the
search of explorers. They were reserved for our later days of need. But
the fur-trade was as good as gold. The North Pacific Coast, already
interesting, assumed a new importance in the eyes of Europeans. The
"struggle for possession" was on. The ships of all nations converged upon
the fabled Strait and River of Oregon. English, Dutch, French, Portuguese,
Spanish, Americans, began in the decade of the eighties to crowd to the
land where the sea-otter, beaver, seal, and many other of the most
profitable furs could be obtained for a trifle. The dangers of trading and
the chances of the sea were great, but the profits of success were yet
greater.
The fur-trade began to take the place of the gold hunt as a matter of
international strife. The manner in which our own country, weak and
discordant as its different members were when just emerging from the
Revolutionary War, entered the lists, and by the marvellous allotment of
Fortune or the design of Providence, slipped in between the greater
nations and secured the prize of Oregon, is one of the epics of history,
one which ought to have some native Tasso or Calderon to celebrate its
triumph.
Following quickly upon the conclusion of the American War, came a series
of British, French, and Russian voyages, which gradually centred more
particularly about Vancouver Island and Nootka Sound. The British exceeded
the others in numbers and enterprise. Among them we find names now
preserved at many conspicuous points on the northern coast: as Portlock,
Hanna, Dixon, Duncan, and Barclay. The most notable of the French was La
Perouse, who was best equipped for scientific research of any one. A
number of Russian names appear at that period, most of which may yet be
found upon the maps of Alaska, as Schelikoff, Ismyloff, Betschareff,
Resanoff, Krustenstern, and Baranoff.
But none of them set eyes on the River, and it seemed more mythical than
ever. As a result, however, of their various expeditions, incomplete
though they were, each nation followed the usual practice of claiming
everything in sight, either in sight of the eye or the imagination, and
demanded the whole coast by priority of discovery.
Never did a geographical entity seem so to play the _ignis fatuus_ with
the world as did the River. Thirteen years elapsed from the discovery of
the Rio San Roque by Heceta before any one of the dozens who had meanwhile
passed up and down the coast, looked in again between the Cabo de Frondoso
and the Cabo de San Roque. Then there came on one negative and two
positive discoveries, and the elusive stream was really found never to be
lost again.
The negative discovery was that of Captain John Meares in 1788. Since
England afterwards endeavoured to make the voyages of Meares an important
link in her chain of proof to the ownership of Oregon, it is worthy of
some special attention. It happened on this wise. Meares came first to the
coast of Oregon in 1786, in command of the _Nootka_ to trade for furs for
the East India Company. With the _Nootka_ was the _Sea-Otter_, in command
of Captain Walter Tipping. Both seem to have been brave and capable
seamen. But disaster followed on their track. For having sailed far up the
coast, they followed the Aleutian Archipelago eastward to Prince William's
Sound. Separated on the journey, the _Nootka_ reached a safe haven, but
her consort never arrived, nor was she ever heard of more. The _Nootka_,
after an Arctic winter of distress and after losing a large part of the
crew through the ravages of scurvy, abandoned the trade and returned to
China. Discouraged by the outcome, the East India Company abandoned the
American trade and confined themselves henceforth to India.
But Meares, finding that the Portuguese had special privileges in the
fur-trade and in the harbour of Nootka, entered into an arrangement with
some Portuguese traders whereby he went nominally as supercargo, but
really as captain of the _Felice_, under the Portuguese flag. With her
sailed the _Iphigenia_ with William Douglas occupying a place similar to
that of Meares. In estimating the subsequent pretensions of Great Britain,
the student of history may well remember that these two mariners, though
Englishmen, were sailing under the flag of Portugal.
Reaching again the coast of Oregon, Meares looked in, June 29, 1788, at
the broad entrance of an extensive strait which he believed to be the
mythical Strait of Juan de Fuca of two centuries earlier, but which he did
not pause to explore. He had resolved to solve the riddle of the Rio San
Roque or the Ensenada de Asuncion or de Heceta, and turned his prow
southward. On July 5th, in latitude 46 degrees 10 minutes, he perceived a
deep bay which he considered at once to be the object of his search.
Essaying to enter, he found the water shoaling with dangerous rapidity and
a prodigious easterly swell breaking on the shore. From the masthead it
seemed that the breakers extended clear across the entrance. With rather
curious timidity for a bold Briton right on the eve of a discovery for
which all nations had been looking, Meares lost courage and hauled out,
attaching the name Deception Bay to the inlet and Cape Disappointment to
the northern promontory, the last a name still officially used.
Meares left as his final conclusion in the matter, the following
memorandum: "We can now assert that there is no such river as that of St.
Roc exists, as laid down in the Spanish charts." In view of this statement
of the case it would certainly seem that he could not be accepted as a
witness for English discovery, even if the Portuguese flag had not been
flying at his masthead.
After bestowing the name of Lookout upon the great headland christened
Cape Falcon by Heceta and known to us as Tillamook Head, Meares squared
away for Nootka, and there he spent a very profitable season in the
fur-trade.
But into the harbour of Nootka that same year of 1788, there sailed the
ship of destiny, the _Columbia Rediviva_, in command of John Kendrick.
With the _Columbia_ came the _Lady Washington_, commanded by Robert Gray.
These were the advance guard of Yankee ships which the energies of our
liberated forefathers were sending forth as an earnest of the coming
conquest of Oregon by the universal Yankee nation.
Gray and Kendrick were engaged in the fur-trade, and their energy and
intelligence made it speedily profitable. It took a long time and a long
arm, sure enough, in that day, to complete the great circuit of the
outfitting, the bartering, the transferring, the return trip, and the
final sale;--three years in all. The ship would be fitted out in Boston or
New York with trinkets, axes, hatchets, and tobacco, and proceed by the
Horn to the coast of Oregon,--six months or sometimes eight. Then up and
down the coast, as far as known, they would trade with natives for the
precious furs, making a profit of a thousand per cent. on the investment.
Gray on one occasion got for an axe a quantity of furs worth $8000. The
fur-barter would take another six or eight months. Then with hold packed
with bales of furs, the ship would square away for Macao or Canton, six or
eight months more. In China, the cargo of furs would go out and a cargo of
nankeens, teas, and silks go in, with a great margin of profit at both
ends. Then away again to Boston, there to sell the proceeds of that three
years' "round-up" of the seas, for probably ten times the entire cost of
outfitting and subsistence. The glory, fascination, and gain of the ocean
were in it, and also its dangers. Of this sufficient witness is found in
vanished ships, murdered crews, storm, scurvy, famine, and war. But it was
a great age. Gray and Kendrick were as good specimens of their keen,
facile, far-sighted countrymen, as Meares and Vancouver were of the
self-opinionated, determined, yet withal manly and thorough Britons.
Among other pressing matters, such as looking out for good fur-trade in
order to recoup the Boston merchants who had put their good money into the
venture, and looking out for the health of their crew, steering clear of
the uncharted reefs and avoiding the treacherous natives, Gray and
Kendrick remembered that they were also good Americans. They must see that
the new Stars and Stripes had their due upon the new coast.
The first voyage of the two Yankee skippers was ended and they set forth
for another round in 1791, but with ships exchanged, Gray commanding the
_Columbia_ on this second voyage. The year 1792 was now come, and it was a
great year in the annals of Oregon, three hundred years from Columbus,
two hundred from Juan de Fuca. The struggle between England and Spain over
conflicting rights at Nootka, which at one time threatened war, had been
settled with a measure of amicability. As a commissioner to represent
Great Britain, Captain George Vancouver was sent out, while Bodega y
Quadra was empowered to act in like capacity for Spain. Spaniards and
Britons alike realised that, whatever the Nootka treaty may have been,
possession was nine points of the law, and both redoubled their efforts to
push discovery, and especially to make the first complete exploration of
the Straits of Fuca and the supposed Great River. There were great names
among the Spaniards in that year, some of which still commemorate some of
the most interesting geographical points, as Quimper, Malaspina, Fidalgo,
Caamano, Elisa, Bustamente, Valdez, and Galiano. A list of British names
now applied to many points, as Vancouver, Puget, Georgia, Baker, Hood,
Rainier, St. Helens, Whidby, Vashon, Townsend, and others, attests the
name-bestowing care of the British commander.
In going to Nootka as British commissioner, Vancouver was under
instructions to make the most careful examination of the coast, especially
of the rivers or any interoceanic channels, and thereby clear up the many
conundrums of the ocean on that shore. With the best ship, the war sloop
_Discovery_, accompanied by the armed tender _Chatham_, in command of
Lieutenant W. R. Broughton, and with the best crew and best general
equipment yet seen on the coast, it would have been expected that the
doughty Briton would have found all the important places yet unfound.
That the Americans beat him in finding the River and that the Spaniards
beat him in the race through the Straits and around Vancouver Island, may
be regarded as due partly to a little British obstinacy at a critical
time, but mainly due to the appointment of the Fates.
On April 27, 1792, Vancouver passed a "conspicuous point of land composed
of a cluster of hummocks, moderately high and projecting into the sea."
This cape was in latitude 46 degrees 19 minutes, and Vancouver decided
that here were doubtless the Cape Disappointment and Deception Bay of
Meares. In spite of the significant fact that the sea here changed its
colour, the British commander was so prepossessed with the idea that
Meares must have decided correctly the nature of the entrance (for how was
it possible for an English sailor to be wrong and a Spaniard right?) that
he decided that the opening was not worthy of more attention and passed on
up the coast. So the English lost their second great chance of being first
to enter the River.
Two days later the lookout reported a sail, and as the ships drew
together, the newcomer was seen to be flying the Stars and Stripes. It was
the _Columbia Rediviva_, Captain Robert Gray, of Boston. In response to
Vancouver's rather patronising queries, the Yankee skipper gave a summary
of his log for some months past. Among other things he stated that he had
passed what seemed to be a powerful river in latitude 46 degrees 10
minutes, which for nine days he had tried in vain to enter, being repelled
by the strength of the current. He now proposed returning to that point
and renewing his effort. Vancouver declined to reconsider his previous
decision that there could be no large river, and passed on to make his
very elaborate exploration of the Straits of Fuca and their connected
waters, and to discover to his great chagrin, that the Spaniards had
forestalled him in point of time.
The vessels parted. Gray sailed south and on May 10, 1792, paused abreast
of the same reflex of water where before for nine days he had tried vainly
to enter. The morning of the 11th dawned clear and favourable, light wind,
gentle sea, a broad, clear channel, plainly of sufficient depth. The time
was now come. The man and the occasion met. Gray seems from the first to
have been ready to take some chances for the sake of some great success.
He always hugged the shore closely enough to be on intimate terms with it.
And he was ready boldly to seize and use favouring circumstances. So, as
laconically stated in his log-book, he ran in with all sail set, and at
ten o'clock found himself in a large river of fresh water, at a point
about twenty miles from the ocean.
The geographical Sphinx was answered. Gray was its Oedipus, though unlike
the ancient Theban myth there was no need that either the Sphinx of the
Oregon coast or its discoverer perish. The River recognised and welcomed
its master.
The next day the _Columbia_ moved fifteen miles up the stream. Finding
that he was out of the channel, Gray stopped further progress and turned
again seaward. Natives, apparently friendly disposed, thronged in canoes
round the ship, and a large quantity of furs was secured.
The River already bore many names, but Gray added another, and it was the
one that has remained, the name of his good ship _Columbia_. Upon the
southern cape he bestowed the name of Adams, and upon the northern, the
name Hancock. These also remain.
The great exploit was completed. The long sought River of the West was
found, and by an American. The path of destiny for the new Republic of the
West was made secure. Without Oregon we probably would not have acquired
California, and without a Pacific Coast, the United States would
inevitably have been but a second-class power, the prey to European
intrigue. The vast importance of the issue then becomes clear. Gray's
happy voyage, that Yankee foresight and confidence in his seamanship and
intuitive suiting of times and conditions to results which marks the vital
turning points of history, differentiate Gray's discovery from all others
upon our north-west coast.
As we view the matter now, a century and more later, we can see that our
national destiny, and especially the vast part that we now seem at the
point of taking in world interests through the commerce of the Pacific,
hung in the balance to a certain extent upon the stubborn adherence by
Vancouver, the Briton, to the preconceived opinion that there was no
important river at the point designated by his Spanish predecessor, and
the contrasted readiness of the American Gray to embrace boldly the
chances of some great discovery. It is true that the "Oregon Question" was
not to be settled for several decades. Much diplomacy and contention,
almost to the verge of war, were yet to come, but Gray's fortunate dash,
"with all sail set, in between the breakers to a large river of fresh
water," gave our nation a lead in the ultimate adjustment of the case,
which we never lost.
We have said that there was one negative discovery--that of Meares--and
two positive ones. Gray's was one of the two, and that of Broughton, in
command of the _Chatham_ accompanying Vancouver, was the other.
On the 20th of May, the _Columbia Rediviva_--a most auspicious name--bade
adieu to the scene of her glory, and with the Stars and Stripes floating
in triumph at her mizzen-mast, turned northward. Again the American
captain encountered Vancouver and narrated to him his discovery of the
Columbia. With deep chagrin at his own failure in the two most important
objects of discovery in his voyage, the British commander directed
Broughton to return to latitude 46 degrees 10 minutes, enter the river,
and proceed as far up as time allowed.
Accordingly, on October 21st, the companion ships parted at the mouth of
the River, the _Discovery_ proceeding to Monterey, while the _Chatham_
crossed the bar, described by Broughton as very bad, and endeavoured to
ascend the bay that stretched out beautiful and broad before them. But
finding the channel intricate and soundings variable, the lieutenant
deemed it advisable to leave the ship at a point which must have been
about twenty miles from the ocean, and to proceed thence in the cutter.
There is one thing observable in Vancouver's account of this expedition of
Broughton, and that is extreme solicitude to establish these two
propositions:--first, that the lower part of the Columbia is a bay and
that its true mouth is at a point above that reached by Gray; and second,
that the River is much smaller than it really is. It is hard to reconcile
the language used in Broughton's report as given by Vancouver with the
supposition of candour and honesty. For while it is true that the lower
part of the River is of bay-like expanse from four to nine miles in width,
yet it is entirely fresh and has all river characteristics. One of the
points especially made by Gray was that he filled his casks with fresh
water. Moreover, the bar is entirely at the ocean limit. So completely
does the River debouch into the Ocean, in fact, that in the great flood of
1894 the clams were killed on the ocean beaches for a distance of several
miles on either side of the outer headlands through the freshening of the
sea.
As to the size of the River, Broughton gives its width repeatedly as half
a mile or a quarter of a mile, whereas it is at almost no point below the
Cascades less than a mile in width, and a mile and a half is more usual.
Broughton expresses the conviction that it can never be used for
navigation by vessels of any size. In view of the vast commerce now
constantly passing in and out, the absurdity of that idea is and has been
for years sufficiently exhibited. The animus of the British explorers is
obvious. By showing that the mouth of the River was really an inlet of the
sea, they hoped to lay a claim to British occupancy as against Gray's
discovery, and by belittling the size of the River they hoped to save
their own credit with the British Admiralty for having lost so great a
chance for first occupation.
Broughton ascended the River to a point near the modern town of Washougal.
He bestowed British names after the general fashion, as Mt. Hood, Cape
George, Vancouver Point, Puget's Island, Young's Bay, Menzies' Island,
and Whidby's River. With true British assurance, he felt that he had
"every reason to believe that the subjects of no other civilised nation or
state had ever entered this river before; in this opinion he was confirmed
by Mr. Gray's sketch, in which it does not appear that Mr. Gray either saw
or was ever within five leagues of its entrance." Therefore he "took
possession of the river, and the country in its vicinity, in His Britannic
Majesty's name."
In view of all the circumstances of Gray's discovery, and his impartation
of it to the British, this language of Vancouver has a coolness, as John
Fiske remarks, which would be very refreshing on a hot day.
On November 10th, the _Chatham_ crossed the bar outward bound for Monterey
to join the _Discovery_.
Such, in rapid view, were the essential facts in the long and curiously
complicated finding of our River. We see that various nations bore each a
part. We see the foundation of the subsequent contention between Great
Britain and the United States.