As we neared the landing, I could see the chief trader of the Hudson’s Bay Company, conspicuously white amidst a group of redskins, waiting to receive us. The boat grated on the shingle some distance from the beach, white with spray. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to go ashore like a seal?’ I appealingly enquired of the captain. Before he had time to reply, four powerful savages, up to their waists in water, fisted me out of the boat; and two taking my heels, and two my shoulders, they bore me safely to the shore.

Having handed my letters of introduction from his Excellency the Governor to the chief trader, I was presented to the chiefs as a Hyas tyee (great chief), one of ‘King George’s’ men. So we shook hands, and I attempted to move towards the fort; it was not to be done. To use the mildest term, I was ‘mobbed;’ old savages and young savages, old squaws and young squaws, even to boy and girl savage, rushed and scrambled to shake hands with me. Had I been a ‘pump’ on a desert, surrounded by thirst-famished Indians, and each arm a handle, they could not have been more vigorously plied. Being rescued at last by the combined efforts of trader and captain, I was marched into the fort, the gates shut with a heavy clang, and most thankful was I to be safe from any further demonstrations of friendship. The evening passed rapidly and pleasantly; mine host was a thorough sportsman, full of anecdote, and hospitable to a fault.

Awaking early, I wandered out, and up into the bastion of the fort. The sun was creeping from behind the ragged peaks of the Cascade Mountains, tinting with rosy light their snow-clad summits; the wind had lulled, or gone off to sea on some boisterous errand; the harbour, quite smooth, looked like burnished silver. There was a wild grandeur about the scene, that awoke feelings of awe rather than admiration; everywhere vast piles of craggy mountains, clad from the snow-line to the sea with dense pine-forests; not an open grassy spot, or even a naked mass of rock, peeped out to break the fearful monotony of these interminable hills.

The trading-post is a square, enclosed by immense trees, one end sunk in the ground; the trees are lashed together. A platform, about the height of an ordinary man from the top of these pickets, is carried along the sides of this square, so as to enable anyone to peep over without being in danger from an arrow or bullet. The entrance is closed by two massive gates, an inner and outer; all the houses—the chief trader’s, employés’, trading-house, fur-room, and stores—are within the square. The trade-room is cleverly contrived so as to prevent a sudden rush of Indians; the approach, from outside the pickets, is by a long narrow passage, bent at an acute angle near the window of the trade-room, and only of a sufficient width to admit one savage at a time. (This precaution is necessary, inasmuch as, were the passage straight, they would inevitably shoot the trader.)

At the angles nearest the Indian village are two bastions, octagonal in shape, and of a very doubtful style of architecture. Four embrasures in each bastion would lead the uninitiated to believe in the existence of as many formidable cannon, with rammers, sponges, neat piles of round-shot and grape, magazines of powder, and ready hands to load and fire—and, at the slightest symptom of hostility, to work havoc and destruction, on any red-skinned rebels daring to dispute the supremacy of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Imagine my surprise, on entering this fortress, to discover all this a pleasant fiction, two small rusty carronades, buried in the accumulated dust and rubbish of years, that no human power could load, were the sole occupants of the mouldy old turrets.

The bell for breakfast recalling me, I jokingly inquired of the trader if he had ever been obliged to use this cannon for defensive purposes. He laughed as he replied, ‘There is a tradition that, at some remote period, the guns were actually fired, not at the rebellious natives, but ; instead of being terror-stricken at the white man’s thunder, away they all scampered in pursuit of the ball, found it, and, marching in triumph back to the fort-gate offered to trade it, that it might be fired again!’

Breakfast finished, the trader, captain, and myself started for the village. Clear of the gates, we scrambled down a rocky path, crossed a mountain-burn, dividing the Indians from the fort, and entered ‘the city of the redskins;’ which consists of a long row of huts, each but nearly square, the exterior fantastically frescoed in hieroglyphic patterns, in white, red, and blue; having however a symbolical meaning or heraldic value, like the totum of the Indians east of the Rocky Mountains; four immense trees, barked and worked smooth, support each corner; the tops are carved to resemble some horrible monster: the hut is constructed of cedar-plank, chipped from the solid tree with chisels and hatchets made of stone: many hands combine to accomplish this; hence a hut becomes the joint property of several families. Five tribes live in this village:—

The entire population, even to the dogs, turned out on our advent; it was puzzling to imagine where they all came from. We soon formed the centre of the vilest assemblage man ever beheld. The object of our visit made known, a ring was immediately formed by chiefs and braves, the squaws and children being outside. Had any charming princess, captive in an enchanted castle, been guarded by such a collection of painted ragamuffins as now surrounded us, he would have been a valorous knight that dared venture to release her.

The first question discussed being the price, a much larger sum was asked than we felt disposed to pay. Although the slave belonged solely to one Indian, the power to sell resting with him only, still every one had their say. Men gurgled and spluttered strange unintelligible noises, women chattered and screamed like furies, whilst children engaged in small battles outside the ring.