{152} CHAPTER IX
Anxieties at Astoria—Indians depart—A schooner built—The Dolly’s first trip—Criminal curiosity—The powder keg—The schooner condemned—Mr. Astor’s cargoes—His policy—Remarks on the North-West coast—Unwelcome rumours—Calpo’s statement—Rumours renewed—Hard cases—Joe Lapierre—Kasiascall’s account of the Tonquin—Strange Indian—Kasiascall’s conduct—His character—His design on Astoria—Remarks.
Having in the preceding chapters given a detailed account of our first expedition into the interior, we propose in the present briefly to notice the state of things at Astoria after our departure, and the fate of the Tonquin.
No sooner had we left the establishment in July last, than the natives became more and more hostile and annoying to the whites at Astoria, so that under the impression of danger, all other labour being suspended, the hands and minds of all were employed both day and night in the construction and palisading of a stronghold for self-defence; but after various alarms the savage horde, without making any hostile demonstration more than usual, took their departure {153} from the place, leaving the whites once more in the enjoyment of peace and tranquillity.
In the fall of the year, a schooner, of twenty-five tons, to be named the Dolly, the frame of which had come out in the Tonquin, was built at Astoria. This vessel was intended only for the coast trade; but in the present instance was placed as a guard-ship in front of the infant establishment. She was found, however, to be too small for the coast trade, and even unfit for tripping up and down the river; and from her unwieldiness, not so safe as either open boats or canoes. The people were also awkward and unskilful, as might be expected, having never been accustomed to such duties. In the very first trip up the river, she had well nigh fallen into the hands of the Indians: getting becalmed one day a little above the mouth of the Wallamitte, with only four men on board, curiosity drew a crowd of Indians about her, and once on board it was no easy matter to get them off again. Curiosity led to theft: every one began to help himself, and to take whatever he could lay his hands upon. The pillage was begun, when the interpreter boldly and opportunely called out that he was going instantly to set fire to a keg of powder, and would blow all up into the air, unless they left the ship that moment: the Indians got frightened; those who had canoes jumped into them, made for shore with the hurry of despair; others jumped overboard, and in an instant the vessel was cleared of her troublesome visitors, and let go before {154} the current. It will be recollected that Mr. Aikens, the officer who had come out to take command of the Dolly, was, with several others, unfortunately drowned on the bar. Having made two or three trips up the river, she was condemned, and laid aside altogether as useless.
It is a true saying, that the wisest of us is not always wise. In appointing so small a vessel as the Dolly to a station so dangerous, was manifested a total ignorance of the character of the natives on the coast. Mr. Astor ought to have known that even well appointed large and armed ships often ran great hazards there, some of that class having been taken and pillaged by the hostile savages of that quarter.
The American traders, with their usual spirit of enterprize, had long carried on a lucrative business on the north-west coast; they knew well, and none knew better than Astor himself, what was necessary and suitable for that market; but we had got nothing of this kind. Instead of guns, we got old metal pots and gridirons; instead of beads and trinkets, we got white cotton; and instead of blankets, molasses. In short, all the useless trash and unsaleable trumpery which had been accumulating in his shops and stores for half a century past, were swept together to fill his Columbia ships. That these cargoes were insured need not be told; sink or swim, his profits were sure.
But these we might have overlooked, had we not {155} felt aggrieved in other matters closely connected with the general interest. The articles of agreement entered into, and the promises of promotion held out, when the company was formed, were violated, and that without a blush, by the very man at the head of the concern,—that man who held its destinies in his hand. This perhaps may be rendered a little more intelligent, by stating, that according to the articles of co-partnership made at New York, two of the clerks were to be promoted to an interest in the concern, or, in other words, to become partners, after two years’ service, and on that express condition they joined the enterprize; but what will the reader say, or the world think, when it is told that a young man who had never seen the country was, by a dash of the pen, put over their heads, and this young man was no other than Mr. Astor’s nephew. Although a little out of place, we shall just mention another circumstance which may show how deeply and how sincerely Mr. Astor was interested in the success and prosperity of his Columbia colony. When the war broke out between Great Britain and the United States, the Boston merchants sent out, at a great expense, intelligence of the event to their shipping on the north-west coast, and applied to Astor for his quota of that expense, as he too had people and property there at stake. What was his reply? “Let the United States’ flag protect them.” Need it then be told that we were left to shift for ourselves. So much did Mr. Astor care about our safety.
{156} But from this disagreeable subject we turn to another still more so, and that is the fate of the unfortunate Tonquin, which ship, it will be remembered, left Astoria in June last.
On the 5th of August, Calpo,[[54]] a friendly Chinook Indian, informed M‘Dougall that it was current among the Indians that the Tonquin had been destroyed by the natives along the coast, and this was the first tidings the Astorians had of her fate: the report had spread quickly and widely, although we remained ignorant of the fact; for not many days after we had arrived at Oakinacken, a party of Indians reached that place, on their return from the Great Salt Lake, as they called it, and gave us to understand by signs and gestures that a large ship, with white people in it, had been blown up on the water; and, in order the better to make us comprehend the subject, they threw up their arms in the air, blew with the mouth, and made the wild grimace of despair, to signify the explosion. On our part all was conjecture and suspense, unwilling as we were to believe what we did not wish to be true; but the more we reflected, the more we were disposed to believe the report, from the well-known fact that Mr. Astor’s choice of a captain was most unfortunate: in this instance, he seemed to have wanted his usual sagacity; and this was the first rock on which his grand enterprize had split. A man who could deliberately leave, as we have already seen, nine of his fellow-creatures to perish on the Falkland Islands; {157} who could throw one of his sailors overboard, at the Island of Woahoo; who could offer the Indians at Owhyhee a reward for the head of one of his own officers; who could force from his ship four of his men in a storm, to perish at the mouth of the Columbia; who could witness unmoved, from his own deck, three of his men left to perish on Columbia bar; and, to cap the climax of cruelty, we might, however disagreeable, mention another circumstance. On the 11th of February, 1811, while sailing on the high seas, a man named Joe Lapierre fell from the mainmast-head overboard, the ship at the time going eight knots—a boat was instantly lowered: in the mean time a hen-coop, binnacle, and some boards were thrown into the water, but he failed to get hold of anything, and soon fell a good mile or more astern. When picked up he was in a state of insensibility, and the crew made all possible haste to reach the ship; but, as they were approaching, the captain, in a peremptory tone, ordered them back to pick up the hen-coop, binnacle, and boards, before they came alongside, or put the man on board. The boat obeyed orders, went back again, picked up all, and returned to the ship at the end of fifty-two minutes—yet life was not quite extinct, for, after applying the usual remedies of salt, warm blankets, and friction, Lapierre revived.