It was about ten o'clock on a morning in the beginning of May, that our good steamer crossed the bar at the mouth of the Columbia river,—from its shifting shoals the most dangerous navigation on the whole Pacific coast. Our passage of six days from San Francisco had been remarkably stormy, and probably there were none on board more delighted than myself at the prospect of once more standing on terra firma. "Life on the ocean wave," has some very pretty poetical ideas connected with it, but I prefer to have got through with all my rocking in my babyhood, and now sympathize with the Conservative party in wishing all things to be firm and stable. I am unfortunately one of those
"Whose soul does sicken o'er the heaving wave."
At noon we reached the village of Astoria, rendered classical ground by Washington Irving. An old trapper still living, who belonged to Mr. Astor's first party, says, he has often seen one thousand Indian canoes at a time collected on the beach in front of the fort. When the Hudson Bay Company took charge of it, they removed their establishment up the river to Vancouver, and allowed the fort to fall into decay, till not a vestige of it now remains. A few houses, like the beginning of a village, are scattered along the banks which slope down to the river, wooded to the edge with pines. Opposite to this we anchored for a few hours to land freight, and then continuing our course up the river, night found us still "on our winding way."
At daylight I was awakened by the ceasing of the monotonous stroke of the engine and found we were opposite to Fort Vancouver. The sun was just rising when I came on deck, so that I had the whole scene before me. Near the river are low meadow grounds, on which stands the post of the Hudson Bay Company,—a picketed enclosure of about three hundred yards square, composed of roughly split pine logs. Within this are the buildings of the establishment, where once much of its immense fur trade was carried on. From these head-quarters, their companies of trappers, hunters and voyageurs, generally Canadians, were sent out to thread the rivers in pursuit of the beaver. Alone they traversed the vast plains, or passed months in the heart of the mountains, far north to the Russian possessions, or south to the borders of California, returning in one or two years with the furs to barter at the Fort. Then came generally a short time of the wildest revelry, until everything was dissipated or perhaps gambled away, when with a new outfit they set forth on another expedition. From Vancouver the Company sent their cargoes of furs and peltries to England, and thence they received by sea their yearly supplies. They possessed an influence over the Indians which was wonderful and which the perfect system of their operations enabled them for years to maintain. But the transfer of the country to the Americans and the progress of civilization around them, driving off the Indians and beaver, have forced them to remove much of their business to other posts.
Some distance back the ground rises, and on this ridge stand the buildings of Fort Vancouver, one of the frontier posts of the United States Army, marked by the American flag waving on the parade ground in front. Far in the distance, like a cone of silver, on which the first rays of the sun were glancing, rose the snow-capped points of Mount Hood.
Among our passengers were one hundred and fifty recruits for the 4th Infantry, in charge of Captain Augur, with whom I landed about six o'clock, and was soon at the hospitable quarters of Captain Wallen.
Fort Vancouver was at this time under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Bonneville, whose "Adventures" for three years in the adjoining Indian country will always live and be read in the fascinating pages of Irving. Two companies of the 4th Infantry and one of the 3d Artillery were stationed there. Altogether, it is probably the most pleasant of our posts on the Pacific coast. The place is healthy, the scenery around beautiful, furnishing opportunities of fishing, hunting and riding, while its nearness to Portland and Oregon City, prevents the young officers from being, as at many other Western posts, deprived of the refining influence of female society. Many are the occasions on which they find it necessary to drop down to these places. Deserters are supposed to be lurking there, garrison stores are to be provided, or some other of Uncle Sam's interests are to be looked after. Then, these visits must be returned, for the inhabitants of these places have an equal care for the welfare of their neighbors at the fort. Numerous, therefore, are the parties of pleasure which come from these towns to enliven the solitude of the garrison. On these occasions they are welcomed by balls, and night after night the fine music of the Regimental Band is heard floating over the waters of the Columbia river and the brilliant glare of lights from the Fort shows that tattoo is not the signal for all within its walls to retire.
Here, a few days passed pleasantly, in the way garrison life always does. In such places there is but little change. "One day telleth another." Guard mounting—the morning ride—the drill—the long talk over the dinner table—the evening parade—the still longer talk at night, with reminiscences of West Point days—and then to bed. At this time, Lieutenant Hodges (4th Infantry) was ordered to the post at the Dalles, about ninety miles distant, to conduct thither a company of recruits, and I, having no very definite object in view, except to see as much of the country as possible, determined to accompany him.
We left Vancouver about six A.M. in a little steamer, the Belle, which runs up Columbia river about fifty miles, as far as the Cascades. The scenery of the river is in all parts beautiful, but very varied in its character. The pine forests stretch down to the banks, enlivened here and there by the cultivated spot which some settler has cleared, whose axe awakened new and strange echoes as it rang through the primeval woods. On the margin of the shore, and particularly on one of the islands, we noticed the dead-houses of the Indians, rudely constructed of logs. Within, the bodies of the deceased are placed for a time, attired in their best array, until the building becomes filled. Then, the oldest occupants are removed and placed on the shore, till the tide launches them off on their last voyage and they are swept down to the ocean, which to the "untutored savage," as to his more cultivated brethren, symbolizes Eternity.
About noon, after a morning of almost incessant rain, we reached the Cascades, the head of navigation. Here, a portage has to be made, as the river for more than two miles flows over the rocks, whirling and boiling in a succession of rapids, similar to those in the river St. Lawrence. This is the great salmon fishery of the Columbia river, the season for which commences in this month, when the fish descend[[1]] the river in incredible numbers. The banks are inhabited by the remains of some of the Indian tribes, who display their skill in catching the salmon, which they dry for exportation. As we passed up, we found them scattered along the shore employed in this work. Little bridges are thrown out over the rocks, on which the Indians post themselves, with nets on hoops, to which long handles are attached. With these they scoop up the fish and throw them on the shore. They are then pounded fine between two stones, cured, and tightly packed in bales of grass matting lined with dried fish skin, in which state they will keep for years. The process is precisely the same as it was when described by Lewis and Clarke. The aboriginal village of Wish-ram, at the head of the narrows, which they mention as being the place of resort for the tribes from the interior to barter for fish, is yet in existence. We still notice, too, the difference which the early explorers observed, between these Indians and those of the plains. The latter, living on horseback, are finely developed, and look like warriors; the former, engaged only in their canoes or stooping over the banks, are low in stature and seem to have been dwarfed out of all manhood. In everything noble they are many degrees below the wild tribes on the plains.