In two clumsy Chinook canoes, laden each with fifteen or twenty packages of goods, of ninety pounds weight, we embarked to ascend the strong and rapid Columbia; and, considering the unskilfulness of our party generally in the management of such fickle craft, the undertaking was extremely imprudent; but then, being all of us more or less ambitious, we overlooked, in the prospect of ultimate success, both difficulty and danger. After our canoes were laden, we moved down to the water’s edge—one with a cloak on his arm, another with his umbrella, a third with pamphlets and newspapers for amusement, preparing, as we thought, for a trip of pleasure, or rather all anxious to be relieved from our present harassing and dangerous situation. The wind being fair and strong, we hoisted sail; but had not proceeded to Tongue Point, a small promontory in the river, not three miles distant from Astoria, when the unfriendly wind dashed our canoes, half-filled with water, on the shore; and, as we were not able to double the Point, we made a short passage across the isthmus, and then, being somewhat more sheltered from the wind, proceeded, but had not got many miles before our progress was again arrested by a {104} still worse accident; for, while passing among the islands and shoals, before rounding Oathlamuck Point, at the head of Gray’s Bay, the wind and swell drove us on a sandbank, where we stuck fast—the waves dashing over us, and the tide ebbing rapidly.[[21]] Down came the mast, sail, and rigging about our ears; and, in the hurry and confusion, the canoes got almost full of water, and we were well drenched: here we had to carry the goods and drag the canoes till we reached deep water again, which was no easy task. This disaster occupied us about two hours, and gave us a foretaste of what we might expect during the remainder of the voyage. Cloaks and umbrellas, so gay in the morning, were now thrown aside for the more necessary paddle and carrying strap, and the pamphlets and newspapers went to the bottom. Having, however, got all put to rights again, we hoisted sail once more, passed Puget’s Island, and then the great Whill Wetz village, situated on Oak Point, where the river makes a sudden bend to S.S.E.:[[22]] here, on the south side, the rocks became high and the current strong, and night coming on us before we could reach low ground, we were compelled to encamp on the verge of a precipice, where we passed a gloomy night—drenched with wet, without fire, without supper, and without sleep. During this day’s journey, both sides of the river presented a thick forest down to the water’s edge—the timber being large, particularly the cedars. The sound, from Cape Disappointment {105} to the head of Gray’s Bay, which we passed to-day, is about twenty-five miles in length, and varies from four to seven in breadth.
On the 23rd, after a restless night, we started, stemming a strong and almost irresistible current by daylight. Crossing to the north side, not far from our encampment, we passed a small rocky height, called Coffin Rock, or Mount Coffin, a receptacle for the dead: all over this rock—top, sides, and bottom—were placed canoes of all sorts and sizes, containing relics of the dead, the congregated dust of many ages.
Not far from Mount Coffin, on the same side, was the mouth of a small river, called by the natives Cowlitz, near which was an isolated rock, covered also with canoes and dead bodies. This sepulchral rock has a ghastly appearance, in the middle of the stream, and we rowed by it in silence; then passing Deer’s Island, we encamped at the mouth of the Wallamitte.[[23]] The waters of the Columbia are exceedingly high this year—all the low banks and ordinary water-marks are overflowed, and the island inundated. At the mouth of the Wallamitte, commences the great Columbian valley of Lewis and Clark; but in the present state of flood, surrounded on all sides by woods almost impervious, the prospect is not fascinating. The Indians appeared very numerous in several villages. General course the same as yesterday, S.E.
On the 24th, after a good night’s rest, and having {106} made some trifling presents to a principal chief, named Kiasno,[[24]] we proceeded on our voyage; but had not gone far, when we passed another and larger branch of the Wallamitte—so that this river enters the Columbia by two channels, from the last of which the Columbia makes a gradual bend to the E.N.E.
During this day, we passed the Namowit Village, Bellevue Point, Johnson’s Island, and stayed for the night as Wasough-ally Camp, near Quicksand River, which enters the Columbia on the left.[[25]]
Bellevue Point on the right-hand side of the river, although but low, presents a scene of great beauty, compared to what we had yet seen during the voyage: here the eye is occasionally relieved from the monotonous gloomy aspect of dense woods, by the sight of green spots, clumps of trees, small lakes, and meadows alternately.
On the 25th, early this morning, we arrived at and passed Point Vancouver, so named after the celebrated navigator, and the extreme point of Broughton’s survey of the Columbia.[[26]] From the lower branch of the Wallamitte to Point Vancouver, the banks of the river on both sides are low; but, as we proceeded further on, a chain of huge black rocks rose perpendicularly from the water’s edge: over their tops fell many bold rills of clear water. Hemmed in by these rocky heights, the current assumed double force, so that our paddles proved almost ineffectual; and, to get on, we were obliged to drag ourselves along from point to point, by laying {107} hold of bushes and the branches of overhanging trees, which, although they impeded our progress in one way, aided us in another. After a day of severe toil, we halted for the night. We saw but five Indians all this day; and, for the first time, now came to our camp at night. The ebb and flow of the tide is not felt here. The country, generally, has a wild and savage appearance: course, E.N.E.
On the 26th, it was late this morning before we could muster courage to embark. The burning sun of yesterday, and the difficulty of stemming the rapid current, had so reduced our strength that we made but little headway to-day; and, after being for six hours rowing as many miles, we stopped, tired and rather discouraged: course, N.E.
On the 27th, we were again early at work, making the best of our way against a turbulent and still increasing current: as we advanced, the river became narrower, the hills and rocks approaching nearer and nearer to the river on either side. Here the view was very confined, and by no means cheering.
We, however, continued our toil till late in the evening, when, in place of a uniform smooth and strong current, as usual, the water became confused and ripply, with whirlpools and cross currents, indicating the proximity of some obstruction. At the foot of a rocky cliff, which we named Inshoach Castle,[[27]] we put ashore for the night; nor did we see a single Indian all day. Mr. Thompson encamped on one side {108} of the river, and we on the other. General course, to-day, nearly east.