Everything being placed in readiness, we left Portland at 6 o'clock a.m., Friday July 1st, and reached Government Camp at 5 o'clock in the afternoon of the second. From this point, the mountain rises to the north in all its beauty and grandeur, with timber line apparently within a few rods, instead of four miles, the actual distance. Here the wagons were left, and two horses were packed with blankets and provisions, and our journey was resumed as soon as possible. It was necessary to cross two small streams, over both of which the bridges had fallen, so we were compelled to carry logs and fill in until it was possible to get the horses over. About nine o'clock, finding that we could not reach timber line, it was decided to camp on some friendly rocks near at hand. Here we found the trees thickly covered with a long, dry moss, which afforded excitement for the evening, for, no sooner had the inner man's longings been supplied, than lighted matches were applied to the moss, which blazed furiously until it died out in the distance, simply for the want of material. The scene, while it lasted, was indeed brilliant, and accompanied by a roar that seemed but the echo of thunder. Already exhausted, after three hours plodding through snow knee deep, we sank to rest and slept soundly until four o'clock. At five we were on our way, somewhat surprised to see that the snow remained as soft as on the evening before. In addition to the difficulty of sinking each step nearly to our knees, each man was loaded with fifty pounds of blankets, provisions or red fire, while three tugged savagely at a heavily loaded toboggan. At noon we lunched at timber line. It was hardly a sumptuous repast, but answered every requirement, there being canned Boston brown bread and beef tea, mixed with snow and seasoned with smoke. Not a dainty dish, to be sure, but "the best the market afforded." After lunch we dragged our weary way along, among other difficulties encountering a bitter cold wind, blowing directly from the summit with fearful velocity. Slower and slower we moved, until three o'clock, when two men fell in their tracks utterly exhausted. Here was a "pretty kettle of fish." Barely seven thousand feet up, with five thousand feet more above, and only one day in which to climb. It was finally decided to make camp on the nearest rocks, abandon all idea of reaching the summit, then, on the day following, find the best place possible for the illumination. Two thousand feet above timber line we camped on rocks, over which the cold wind swept, penetrating to the very marrow. Of course it was impossible to have a fire, and at night it was necessary to pile large stones on our blankets to keep them from sailing down the mountain. Hats and a few other things were anchored in like manner.
The "Glorious Fourth" was ushered in, clear and cold, while a patriot in the party, not to be outdone by Uncle Sam, saluted the rising sun with a deafening round of fire cracker artillery. At five o'clock we started on our upward march. Every thing was left behind except one hundred pounds of red fire, three overcoats and a few crackers. At 11:30 a.m., bare rocks were found to the west of the summit, in what was considered a good location, and at an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Here our burdens were cast at the foot of the cliff, and all hands, except Keene and myself, returned to Government Camp. By noon the wind had died down entirely, and the day became very pleasant. While waiting at this lonely station for the appointed hour of illumination, a panorama was spread before us, of a scope and magnificence that cannot be appropriately described, but must be seen to be appreciated. Yes, and it remains for those who love the beautiful and grand sufficiently to scale mountains, to toil on day after day, patiently waiting for the time that is sure to come, when the glorious pages of Nature will be unrolled before them. Then,
"It seems by the pain of ascending the height, We had conquered a claim to that wonderful sight."
The scene embraces millions of acres of land in Eastern Oregon, extending from the Cascades to the Blue mountains, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles. The entire range of the Cascades lies before us, showing the foothills of both Eastern and Western Oregon, and the increase in height toward the center. For miles upon miles to the south, cross ranges, running from east to west seem piled one upon the other, and to their tops is added a covering of snow, changing the solemn, otherwise unbroken, dark green, to a variegated picture, not only of grandeur, but beauty. To the left of the centre stands Jefferson, similar to Hood as seen from Portland. Next come the Three Sisters to the left of Jefferson, while still further stands Snow Butte. Almost in front of Jefferson is Washington, while to the right McLaughlin looms up in southern Oregon, two hundred and fifty miles distant. Changing the view to western Oregon, we see Mary's Peak over one hundred miles southwest. The Willamette valley can be seen through its entire extent of many miles, while here and there we catch glimpses of the river flowing on to the lordly Columbia. Along the western horizon extends the Coast Range, while in one little spot the mountains break way and give us a vista of the ocean. In the immediate foreground lies the base of old Hood, white with snow for five thousand feet below us. To witness a scene like this many a man would circle the globe;—and yet, imagine a sunset upon it. At 5:30 p.m. clouds drifted from the north and hung on the points of the range a mile below. Slowly the sun sank to rest, while the clouds hovering over the western horizon became brighter and brighter, until it seemed that the very gates of heaven were thrown wide open, and over a scene of unrivaled grandeur was spread another of marvelous magnificence. As if Nature was not even yet satisfied with such dazzling beauty, suddenly the smoke that had gathered far below us, shutting out the great Columbia, was drawn aside and the waters of that river seemed, through the thin smoke remaining, like a stream of molten gold, visible in an unbroken line, winding from the mountain to the sea a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. Then, too, as we looked, just beneath the setting sun, the Pacific ocean came to view, while the sun was setting in the mouth of the Columbia, reflecting its ruddy glare in the ocean and river at one and the same time. To the right could be seen Cape Disappointment, while to the left Point Adams showed with equal clearness. So closed the day and the night came on.
Far above the few clouds that lurked beneath us, threatening the success of our experiment, the atmosphere was so perfectly clear that we thought its equal had never been seen. Promptly with the departing day the full moon arose in all its beauty, changing the day's brilliance to a subdued halo of glory. About seven o'clock the wind blew furiously, almost carrying us from the rocks to the snow beneath. Although clad for a land of wintry blasts, it was necessary to pace back and forth, swinging our arms and jumping to keep warm. At eight o'clock the wind died down, and we became comfortable without exercise. Our spirits were low, however, for it seemed that the entire country was covered with a thick veil of smoke, and our labor was to be in vain. Suddenly at 9:30 we saw a red light in the direction of Portland. It was the signal for a complete revolution in our feelings. We danced for joy. Yes, we screamed and halloed until we were hoarse. Did all sorts of silly things, for now we knew our fire would be seen. Following the first light came another, and still others, and in our mad excitement we took a handful of red fire and burned it on a rock. "Thereby hangs a tale."
The members of our party at Government camp were gathered around a cheerful fire telling bear stories and waiting patiently for the appointed time, when they were startled by a brilliant light from the mountain, showing through the trees in front of them. Instantly they scattered, every member forgetting his companions in a wild scramble for a good view. In this sudden stampede, one member, who is hard of hearing, climbed a tree, where he remained until the others began to assemble. As one of the drivers, a hardy son of Erin, passed the tree and heard a rustling in the branches, he glanced up, saw a large, dark object, took it for a bear and gave the alarm. Instantly all hands gathered around the tree, every one armed with a club, which he swung like the arms of a windmill, at the same time shouting for some one else to get a gun. The man up a tree, not understanding why the commotion should extend so long after the burning of red fire, started to go down, but, was met with such a lively rain of clubs that he beat a precipitate retreat. At this point, a gun arrived and every fellow wanted to shoot the bear. Bruin, at last comprehending the situation, chimed in with: "You fellows let up with your durned foolishness, will you."
Soon after the red fire and rockets at Portland were noticed, others were seen at Prineville, seventy-five miles to the southeast, and also at Vancouver, W. T. These were watched with the most intense interest, until the time arrived to make our own novel show. The red fire was placed in a narrow ridge about ten feet long, and at right angles with Portland. Holding my watch before me, promptly at 11:30 we applied the match with the result as shown by the following account in the Oregonian of the next day:
"The celebration closed with the illumination of Mount Hood, the grandest and most unique event of the day. Precisely at 11:30, the time appointed, just as the fireworks display was over, a bright red light shone away up in the clouds above the eastern horizon, which was greeted with cheers from the thousands congregated on the bridge, wharves, roofs, boats on the river and on the hills back of town, and with vigorous and long-continued whistling from every steamboat on the river.
"The mountain had been plainly visible all day, but toward evening a curtain of mist and smoke shut off the view at the base, and as twilight fell, the curtain rose higher till at last only the very peak could be seen, and as night came on, even that disappeared from view. Many gave up all hope of seeing any sign from the mountain. But many thought that the obstructions to a view of the summit were very slight, and if the party had reached the peak, the light from one hundred pounds of red fire would be able to pierce through them, and so it proved. It lasted exactly fifty-eight seconds. This was the most novel and the highest illumination ever made, and was seen the farthest and formed a fitting close to the celebration of 1887."
Immediately after the illumination we started down the mountain, following our previous trail in the snow. Just after midnight, while lunging through the snow, we suddenly lost our footing and were no little astonished to find that we had fallen into a crevasse. It proved narrow and shallow, however, and all things considered, we extricated ourselves with remarkable celerity and passed on down the mountain side, only to get lost in the timber below, and wander around until daylight, when we found camp and soon after were homeward bound.