The 29th all the fathers celebrated the Holy Sacrifice, wishing to offer a last violence to heaven, and force, as it were, a benediction on our mission. The morning was dark and gloomy: so were our spirits. About 10 o’clock the sky cleared, and allowed us to approach, with caution, the vast and fearful mouth of the {68} Columbia. We soon discovered immense breakers, several miles in extent—the infallible sign of a sand bank. The shoals crossed the river, and seemed to oppose an invincible barrier to our entrance. This sight filled us with consternation. We felt that to attempt a passage would be exposing ourselves to an almost certain death. What was to be done? What become of us? How extricate ourselves from so perilous a situation?
On the 30th our captain, from the topmast, caught the glimpse of a vessel, slowly rounding the Cape, on its way out of the river. This cheering sight was in a moment snatched from our eager view by an intervening rock, under the shade of which it cast anchor, to await a favourable wind. Its appearance, however, led us to conclude that the passage of the river was yet practicable, and we hoped to be directed by its course. About 3 o’clock the captain sent the lieutenant, with three sailors, to sound the breakers, and seek a favorable opening for our entrance on the morrow, which happened to be the 31st July, feast of the great “Loyola.” This auspicious coincidence re-animated our hopes, and roused our drooping courage. Full of confidence in the powerful protection of our {69} glorious founder, we prostrated ourselves, and fervently implored him not to abandon us in our extreme need. This duty accomplished, we hastened on deck, to await the return of the shallop. It was not until 11 o’clock that their little vessel came alongside the “Indefatigable.” No one dared interrogate the sailors, for their dejected countenances foreboded discouraging tidings. However, the lieutenant assured the captain that he had found no obstacle, and that he had passed the bar the preceding night, at 11 o’clock, with five fathoms (30 feet) of water. Immediately were the sails unfurled, and the “Indefatigable” slowly resumed her majestic course, under the favor of a rising breeze. The sky was serene, the sun shone with unwonted brilliancy. For a long time we had not beheld so lovely a day; nothing but the safe entrance into the river was wanting, to render this the most beautiful day of our voyage. As we approached, we re-doubled our prayers. All appeared recollected, and prepared for every event. Presently our wary captain gave orders to sound. A hardy sailor fastened himself to the side of the vessel, and lowered the plummet. Soon was heard the cry, “Seven fathoms.” At intervals the cry was repeated: “Six fathoms,” {70} “Five fathoms.” It may be imagined how our hearts palpitated at each reiteration. But when we heard the thrilling cry of “Three fathoms,” all hope vanished. At one moment it was thought the vessel would be dashed against the reefs. The lieutenant said to the captain, “We are between life and death; but we must advance.” The Lord had not resolved on our destruction, but He wished to test the faith of his servants. In a few moments the tidings of four fathoms roused our sinking spirits: we breathed once more, but the danger yet impended over us; we had still to sail two miles amidst these fearful breakers. A second time is heard the chilling cry of “Three fathoms!” “We have mistaken our route,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “Bah!” exclaimed the captain, “do you not see that the Indefatigable passes over everything? Keep on.” Heaven was for us; otherwise, neither the skill of our captain, nor the sailors’ activity, could have rescued us from inevitable death. We were amidst the southern channel, which no vessel had ever crossed. A few moments after we learned that our escape had been miraculous.
Our vessel had, at first, taken the right course for entering the river, but, not far from its mouth, the Columbia divides into two branches, {71} forming, as it were, two channels. The northern, near Cape Disappointment, is the one we should have followed; the southern is not frequented, owing to the tremendous breakers that obstruct its entrance over which we had passed, the first, and probably the last. We also learned, that the deputy of Fort Astoria, having descried our vessel two days before, hastened, with some savages, to the extremity of the cape, and endeavored, by means of large fires, hoisted flags, and the firing of guns, to warn us of danger. We had, indeed, perceived these signals, but without suspecting they were intended for us. God, no doubt, wished to show us that he is sufficiently powerful to expose us to peril, and to withdraw us from it unharmed. Glory to His holy name! glory, also, to St. Ignatius, who so visibly protected his children on this, his festal day.
About 4½, a canoe approached us: it contained Clatsop Indians, commanded by an American resident of the coast.[172] The whoop of these wild men of the forest much astonished our fathers, and the sisters of Notre Dame. The only word we could distinguish was “Catche,” which they vociferated countless times. Our captain made them a sign to approach, and permitted them to {72} come on board. The American immediately accosted me, and spoke of our perilous situation, saying, that he would have come to our aid, but his Indians refused to brave the danger. The Indians, on their side, endeavored by signs to make us comprehend how great had been their terror, for, at every moment, they expected to see our vessel dashed into a thousand pieces. They had wept for us, convinced, that without the intervention of the “Great Spirit,” we could never have escaped the dangers. Verily, these brave savages were not mistaken. All who know the history of our passage affirm the same; they cease not to congratulate us on so miraculous an escape.
The second visit we received, was from some Tchinouks, a small tribe, inhabiting the immense forests of the northern shore. The Clatsops, whose number amounts to not more than one hundred and fifty men, occupy the southern shore. The Tchinouks inhabit three villages beyond the forest. The men wrap themselves in blankets when they appear before the “whites,” and are excessively vain of their collars and ear-rings. Their disposition is extremely sociable, and we found it necessary to be on the reserve, to prevent their too great familiarity. {73} They are content, provided they be not driven away, and they require no further attention paid them. They are of a peaceable temper, and, as their wants are easily supplied, they lead an inactive and indolent life. Fishing and the chase form their sole occupation. Game abounds in their forests, and their rivers are teeming with salmon. After providing for their daily wants, they spend entire hours motionless, basking in the sun; it is needless to add, they live in the most profound ignorance of religion. These are the Indians who have the custom of flattening their children’s heads.
The following morning we perceived a small skiff making its way towards us. It belonged to Mr. Burney, the gentleman who, in our recent danger, had acted so friendly a part.[173] He accosted us with the utmost kindness, and invited us to return with him to Fort Astoria, of which he is the Superintendant, that his wife and children might have the pleasure of seeing us. Persuaded, that after so tedious a voyage, the visit would be agreeable to all parties, I readily consented. Whilst this hospitable family were preparing dinner we made a little excursion into the neighboring forest. We were in admiration of the immense height and prodigious {74} bulk of the fir trees, many of which were two hundred feet high, and four and a half in diameter. We beheld one which measured forty-two feet in circumference.
After a ramble of two hours, Mr. Burney re-conducted us to the fort.
In a second promenade several of our company greatly admired the tombs of the savage. The deceased is placed in a sort of canoe, or hollow trunk of a tree; the body is then covered with mats or skins; and the savage entombing consists in thus suspending the corpse to the branches of trees, or exposing it on the banks of the river. In one place we saw about twelve of these sepulchres; they are ordinarily found in places of difficult access, the better to secure them from the rapine of wild beasts.[174] Not far from this cemetery one of our fathers, more curious than the others, wandered a little distance into the woods; he speedily hastened back, apparently in a panic, saying that he had seen the muzzle of a bear, which did not look very tame.
I set out for Fort Vancouver the 2d August, wishing to reach there before my companions, that I might inform the Rev. Mr. Blanchet of our happy arrival. As to our fathers, the remainder {75} of their voyage may be summed up in few words. On the 3d and 4th their vessel was almost stationary, for want of a favorable wind. At a glance, their three days’ voyage might be measured. Towards evening a gentle breeze sprung up, and thus permitted them to pursue their course. In a few hours they passed the rocks, extending the distance of six leagues. They were then enabled to keep the centre of the river, where the numerous windings of the stream compelled them to make continual manœuvres.
In this place the river is most magnificent: the smooth polished surface of the waters—the rapid current, almost concealed from view by the contraction of its rocky bed—the sullen roaring of the waterfalls and cascades—produce upon the mind an effect of sublimity and grandeur not to be described. One is never weary admiring the richness, beauty, and variety of these solitary regions. The shores on either side are bordered by lofty forests, and crowned with thickly-wooded forests. It is more especially in the forest that the grand, the picturesque, the sublime, the beautiful, form the most singular and fantastic combinations. From the loftiest giants of the forest down to the humblest {76} shrubs, all excite the spectator’s astonishment. The parasites form a characteristic feature of these woodlands. They cling to the tree, climb it to a certain height, and then, letting their tops fall to the earth, again take root—again shoot up—push from branch to branch—from tree to tree, in every direction—until tangled, twisted, and knotted in every possible form, they festoon the whole forest with drapery in which a ground-work of the richest verdure is diversified with garlands of the most varied and many-colored flowers. In ascending the Columbia we meet, from time to time, with bays of considerable extent, interspersed with handsome little islands, which, thrown, as it were, like groups of flowers and verdure, present a charming spectacle. Here the painter should go to study his art—here would he find the loveliest scenery, the most varied and brilliant coloring. At every step the scene becomes more ravishing; the perspective more noble and majestic. In no other part of the world is nature so great a coquette as here.