Oregon and Eldorado; or, Romance of the Rivers

"There is great similarity in the general topographical features of the whole Pacific slope. The Sierra Nevada in California, and the Cascade range in Oregon, form a continuous wall of mountains nearly parallel to the coast, and from one hundred to two hundred miles distant from it. The main crest of this range is rarely elevated less than six thousand feet above the level of the sea, and many of its peaks tower into the region of eternal snow."

Lieut. Abbot thus describes a view of these peaks and of the Columbia River: —

"At an elevation of five thousand feet above the sea, we stood upon the summit of the pass. For days we had been struggling blindly through dense forests; but now the surrounding country lay spread out before us for more than a hundred miles. The five grand snow-peaks, Mount St. Helens, Mount Ranier, Mount Adams, Mount Hood, and Mount Jefferson, rose majestically above a rolling sea of dark fir-covered ridges, some of which the approaching winter had already begun to mark with white. On every side, as far as the eye could reach, terrific convulsions of Nature had recorded their fury; and not even a thread of blue smoke from the camp-fire of a wandering savage disturbed the solitude of the scene."

The Columbia River. – "The Columbia River forces its way through the Cascade range by a pass, which, for wild and sublime natural scenery, equals the celebrated passage of the Hudson through the Highlands. For a distance of about fifty miles, mountains covered with clinging spruces, firs, and pines, where not too precipitous to afford even these a foothold, rise abruptly from the water's edge to heights varying from one thousand to three thousand feet. Vertical precipices of columnar basalt are occasionally seen, rising from fifty to a hundred feet above the river level. In other places, the long mountain-walls of the river are divided by lateral cañons (pronounced canyons), containing small tributaries, and occasionally little open spots of good land, liable to be overflowed at high water."

Cañons. – The plains east of the Cascade Mountains, through the whole extent of Oregon and California, are covered with a volcanic deposit composed of trap, basalt, and other rocks of the same class. This deposit is cleft by chasms often more than a thousand feet deep, at the bottom of which there usually flows a stream of clear, cold water. This is sometimes the only water to be procured for the distance of many miles; and the traveller may be perishing with thirst while he sees far below him a sparkling stream, from which he is separated by precipices of enormous height and perpendicular descent. To chasms of this nature the name of cañons has been applied, borrowed from the Spaniards of Mexico. We quote Lieut. Abbot's description of the cañon of Des Chutes River, a tributary of the Columbia: —

"Sept. 30. – As it was highly desirable to determine accurately the position and character of the cañon of Des Chutes River, I started this morning with one man to follow down the creek to its mouth, leaving the rest of the party in camp. Having yesterday experienced the inconveniences of travelling in the bottom of a cañon, I concluded to try to-day the northern bluff. It was a dry, barren plain, gravelly, and sometimes sandy, with a few bunches of grass scattered here and there. Tracks of antelopes or deer were numerous. After crossing one small ravine, and riding about five miles from camp, we found ourselves on the edge of the vast cañon of the river, which, far below us, was rushing through a narrow trough of basalt, resembling the Dalles of the Columbia. We estimated the depth of the cañon at a thousand feet. On each side, the precipices were very steep, and marked in many places by horizontal lines of vertical, basaltic columns, fifty or sixty feet in height. The man who was with me rolled a large rock, shaped like a grindstone, and weighing about two hundred pounds, from the summit. It thundered down for at least a quarter of a mile, – now over a vertical precipice, now over a steep mass of detritus, until at length it plunged into the river with a hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed through the gorge for miles. By ascending a slight hill, I obtained a fine view of the surrounding country. The generally level character of the great basaltic table-land around us was very manifest from this point. Bounded on the west by the Cascade Mountains, the plain extends far towards the south, – a sterile, treeless waste."

The Cascades. – "About forty miles below the Dalles, all navigation is suspended by a series of rapids called the Cascades. The wild grandeur of this place surpasses description. The river rushes furiously over a narrow bed filled with bowlders, and bordered by mountains which echo back the roar of the waters. The descent at the principal rapids is thirty-four feet; and the total fall at the Cascades, sixty-one feet. Salmon pass up the river in great numbers; and the Cascades, at certain seasons of the year, are a favorite fishing resort with the Indians, who build slight stagings over the water's edge, and spear the fish, or catch them in rude dip-nets, as they slowly force their way up against the current."

We now return to our travellers.

INDIAN MODE OF PACKING SALMON

Near our camp are five large huts of Indians engaged in drying fish, and preparing it for market. The manner of doing this is by first opening the fish, and exposing it to the sun on scaffolds. When it is sufficiently dried, it is pounded between two stones till it is pulverized, and is then placed in a basket, about two feet long and one in diameter, neatly made of grass and rushes, and lined with the skin of the salmon, stretched and dried for the purpose. Here they are pressed down as hard as possible, and the top covered with skins of fish, which are secured by cords through the holes of the basket. These baskets are then placed in some dry situation, the corded part upwards; seven being usually placed as close as they can be together, and five on the top of them. The whole is then wrapped up in mats, and made fast by cords. Twelve of these baskets, each of which contains from ninety to a hundred pounds, form a stack, which is now left exposed till it is sent to market. The fish thus preserved are kept sound and sweet for several years; and great quantities of it, they inform us, are sent to the Indians who live lower down the river, whence it finds its way to the whites who visit the mouth of the Columbia. We observe, both near the lodges and on the rocks in the river, great numbers of stacks of these pounded fish.

Beside the salmon, there are great quantities of salmon-trout, and another smaller species of trout, which they save in another way. A hole of any size being dug, the sides and bottom are lined with straw, over which skins are laid. On these the fish, after being well dried, is laid, covered with other skins, and the hole closed with a layer of earth, twelve or fifteen inches deep. These supplies are for their winter food.

The stock of fish, dried and pounded, was so abundant, that Capt. Clarke counted one hundred and seven stacks of them, making more than ten thousand pounds.

THE INDIAN BOATMEN

The canoes used by these people are built of white cedar or pine, very light, wide in the middle, and tapering towards the ends; the bow being raised, and ornamented with carvings of the heads of animals. As the canoe is the vehicle of transportation, the Indians have acquired great dexterity in the management of it, and guide it safely over the roughest waves.

We had an opportunity to-day of seeing the boldness of the Indians. One of our men shot a goose, which fell into the river, and was floating rapidly towards the great shoot, when an Indian, observing it, plunged in after it. The whole mass of the waters of the Columbia, just preparing to descend its narrow channel, carried the bird down with great rapidity. The Indian followed it fearlessly to within a hundred and fifty feet of the rocks, where, had he arrived, he would inevitably have been dashed to pieces; but, seizing his prey, he turned round, and swam ashore with great composure. We very willingly relinquished our right to the bird in favor of the Indian, who had thus secured it at the hazard of his life. He immediately set to work, and picked off about half the feathers, and then, without opening it, ran a stick through it, and carried it off to roast.

INDIAN HOUSES

While the canoes were coming on, impeded by the difficulties of the navigation, Capt. Clarke, with two men, walked down the river-shore, and came to a village belonging to a tribe called Echeloots. The village consisted of twenty-one houses, scattered promiscuously over an elevated position. The houses were nearly equal in size, and of similar construction. A large hole, twenty feet wide and thirty in length, is dug to the depth of six feet. The sides are lined with split pieces of timber in an erect position, rising a short distance above the surface of the ground. These timbers are secured in their position by a pole, stretched along the side of the building, near the eaves, supported by a post at each corner. The timbers at the gable-ends rise higher, the middle pieces being the tallest. Supported by these, there is a ridge-pole running the whole length of the house, forming the top of the roof. From this ridge-pole to the eaves of the house are placed a number of small poles, or rafters, secured at each end by fibres of the cedar. On these poles is laid a covering of white cedar or arbor-vitæ, kept on by strands of cedar-fibres. A small distance along the whole length of the ridge-pole is left uncovered for the admission of light, and to permit the smoke to escape. The entrance is by a small door at the gable-end, thirty inches high, and fourteen broad. Before this hole is hung a mat; and on pushing it aside, and crawling through, the descent is by a wooden ladder, made in the form of those used among us.

One-half of the inside is used as a place of deposit for their dried fish, and baskets of berries: the other half, nearest the door, remains for the accommodation of the family. On each side are arranged, near the walls, beds of mats, placed on platforms or bedsteads, raised about two feet from the ground. In the middle of the vacant space is the fire, or sometimes two or three fires, when, as is usually the case, the house contains several families.

The inhabitants received us with great kindness, and invited us to their houses. On entering one of them, we saw figures of men, birds, and different animals, cut and painted on the boards which form the sides of the room, the figures uncouth, and the workmanship rough; but doubtless they were as much esteemed by the Indians as our finest domestic adornments are by us. The chief had several articles, such as scarlet and blue cloth, a sword, a jacket, and hat, which must have been procured from the whites. On one side of the room were two wide split boards, placed together so as to make space for a rude figure of a man, cut and painted on them. On pointing to this, and asking what it meant, he said something, of which all we understood was "good," and then stepped to the image, and brought out his bow and quiver, which, with some other warlike implements, were kept behind it. The chief then directed his wife to hand him his Medicine-bag, from which he brought out fourteen fore-fingers, which he told us had once belonged to the same number of his enemies. They were shown with great exultation; and after an harangue, which we were left to presume was in praise of his exploits, the fingers were carefully replaced among the valuable contents of the red Medicine-bag. This bag is an object of religious regard, and it is a species of sacrilege for any one but its owner to touch it.

In all the houses are images of men, of different shapes, and placed as ornaments in the parts of the house where they are most likely to be seen.

A SUBMERGED FOREST

Oct. 30. – The river is now about three-quarters of a mile wide, with a current so gentle, that it does not exceed a mile and a half an hour; but its course is obstructed by large rocks, which seem to have fallen from the mountains. What is, however, most singular, is, that there are stumps of pine-trees scattered to some distance in the river, which has the appearance of having been dammed below, and forced to encroach on the shore.

NOTE. Rev. S. Parker says, "We noticed a remarkable phenomenon, – trees standing in their natural position in the river, where the water is twenty feet deep. In many places, they were so numerous, that we had to pick our way with our canoe as through a forest. The water is so clear, that I had an opportunity of examining their position down to their spreading roots, and found them in the same condition as when standing in their native forest. It is evident that there has been an uncommon subsidence of a tract of land, more than twenty miles in length, and more than a mile in width. That the trees are not wholly decayed down to low-water mark, proves that the subsidence is comparatively of recent date; and their undisturbed natural position proves that it took place in a tranquil manner, not by any tremendous convulsion of Nature."

THE RIVER WIDENS. – THEY MEET THE TIDE

Nov. 2, 1805. – Longitude about 122°. At this point the first tidewater commences, and the river widens to nearly a mile in extent. The low grounds, too, become wider; and they, as well as the mountains on each side, are covered with pine, spruce, cotton-wood, a species of ash, and some alder. After being so long accustomed to the dreary nakedness of the country above, the change is as grateful to the eye as it is useful in supplying us with fuel.

The ponds in the low grounds on each side of the river are resorted to by vast quantities of fowls, such as swans, geese, brants, cranes, storks, white gulls, cormorants, and plover. The river is wide, and contains a great number of sea-otters. In the evening, the hunters brought in game for a sumptuous supper, which we shared with the Indians, great numbers of whom spent the night with us. During the night, the tide rose eighteen inches near our camp.

A LARGE VILLAGE. – COLUMBIA VALLEY

Nov. 4. – Next day, we landed on the left bank of the river, at a village of twenty-five houses. All of these were thatched with straw, and built of bark, except one, which was about fifty feet long, built of boards, in the form of those higher up the river; from which it differed, however, in being completely above ground, and covered with broad split boards. This village contains about two hundred men of the Skilloot nation, who seem well provided with canoes, of which there were fifty-two (some of them very large) drawn up in front of the village.

On landing, we found an Indian from up the river, who had been with us some days ago, and now invited us into a house, of which he appeared to own a part. Here he treated us with a root, round in shape, about the size of a small Irish potato, which they call wappatoo. It is the common arrowhead, or sagittifolia, so much esteemed by the Chinese, and, when roasted in the embers till it becomes soft, has an agreeable taste, and is a very good substitute for bread.

Here the ridge of low mountains running north-west and south-east crosses the river, and forms the western boundary of the plain through which we have just passed.[3 - Since called the Coast range.] This great plain, or valley, is about sixty miles wide in a straight line; while on the right and left it extends to a great distance. It is a fertile and delightful country, shaded by thick groves of tall timber, watered by small ponds, and lying on both sides of the river. The soil is rich, and capable of any species of culture; but, in the present condition of the Indians, its chief production is the wappatoo-root, which grows spontaneously and exclusively in this region. Sheltered as it is on both sides, the temperature is much milder than that of the surrounding country. Through its whole extent, it is inhabited by numerous tribes of Indians, who either reside in it permanently, or visit its waters in quest of fish and wappatoo-roots. We gave it the name of the Columbia Valley.

COFFIN ROCK

Among some interesting islands of basalt, there is one called Coffin Rock, situated in the middle of the river, rising ten or fifteen feet above high-freshet water. It is almost entirely covered with canoes, in which the dead are deposited, which gives it its name. In the section of country from Wappatoo Island to the Pacific Ocean, the Indians, instead of committing their dead to the earth, deposit them in canoes; and these are placed in such situations as are most secure from beasts of prey, upon such precipices as this island, upon branches of trees, or upon scaffolds made for the purpose. The bodies of the dead are covered with mats, and split planks are placed over them. The head of the canoe is a little raised, and at the foot there is a hole made for water to escape.

THEY REACH THE OCEAN

Next day we passed the mouth of a large river, a hundred and fifty yards wide, called by the Indians Cowalitz. A beautiful, extensive plain now presented itself; but, at the distance of a few miles, the hills again closed in upon the river, so that we could not for several miles find a place sufficiently level to fix our camp upon for the night.

Thursday, Nov. 7. – The morning was rainy, and the fog so thick, that we could not see across the river. We proceeded down the river, with an Indian for our pilot, till, after making about twenty miles, the fog cleared off, and we enjoyed the delightful prospect of the Ocean, the object of all our labors, the reward of all our endurance. This cheering view exhilarated the spirits of all the party, who listened with delight to the distant roar of the breakers.

For ten days after our arrival at the coast, we were harassed by almost incessant rain. On the 12th, a violent gale of wind arose, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and hail. The waves were driven with fury against the rocks and trees, which had till then afforded us a partial defence. Cold and wet; our clothes and bedding rotten as well as wet; the canoes, our only means of escape from the place, at the mercy of the waves, – we were, however, fortunate enough to enjoy good health.

Saturday, Nov. 16. – The morning was clear and beautiful. We put out our baggage to dry, and sent several of the party to hunt. The camp was in full view of the ocean. The wind was strong from the south-west, and the waves very high; yet the Indians were passing up and down the bay in canoes, and several of them encamped near us. The hunters brought in two deer, a crane, some geese and ducks, and several brant. The tide rises at this place eight feet six inches, and rolls over the beach in great waves.

AN EXCURSION DOWN THE BAY

Capt. Clarke started on Monday, 18th November, on an excursion by land down the bay, accompanied by eleven men. The country is low, open, and marshy, partially covered with high pine and a thick undergrowth. At the distance of about fifteen miles they reached the cape, which forms the northern boundary of the river's mouth, called Cape Disappointment, so named by Capt. Meares, after a fruitless search for the river. It is an elevated circular knob, rising with a steep ascent a hundred and fifty feet or more above the water, covered with thick timber on the inner side, but open and grassy in the exposure next the sea. The opposite point of the bay is a very low ground, about ten miles distant, called, by Capt. Gray, Point Adams.

The water for a great distance off the mouth of the river appears very shallow; and within the mouth, nearest to Point Adams, there is a large sand-bar, almost covered at high tide. We could not ascertain the direction of the deepest channel; for the waves break with tremendous force across the bay.

Mr. Parker speaks more fully of this peculiarity of the river: —

"A difficulty of such a nature as is not easily overcome exists in regard to the navigation of this river; which is, the sand-bar at its entrance. It is about five miles, across the bar, from Cape Disappointment out to sea. In no part of that distance is the water upon the bar over eight fathoms deep, and in one place only five, and the channel only about half a mile in width. So wide and open is the ocean, that there is always a heavy swell: and, when the wind is above a gentle breeze, there are breakers quite across the bar; so that there is no passing it, except when the wind and tide are both favorable. Outside the bar, there is no anchorage; and there have been instances, in the winter season, of ships lying off and on thirty days, waiting for an opportunity to pass: and a good pilot is always needed. High, and in most parts perpendicular, basaltic rocks line the shores."

The following is Theodore Winthrop's description of the Columbia, taken from his "Canoe and Saddle: " —

"A wall of terrible breakers marks the mouth of the Columbia, – Achilles of rivers.

"Other mighty streams may swim feebly away seaward, may sink into foul marshes, may trickle through the ditches of an oozy delta, may scatter among sand-bars the currents that once moved majestic and united; but to this heroic flood was destined a short life and a glorious one, – a life all one strong, victorious struggle, from the mountains to the sea. It has no infancy: two great branches collect its waters up and down the continent. They join, and the Columbia is born – to full manhood. It rushes forward jubilant through its magnificent chasm, and leaps to its death in the Pacific."

CHAPTER XIII.

WINTER-QUARTERS

November, 1805. – Having now examined the coast, it becomes necessary to decide on the spot for our winter-quarters. We must rely chiefly for subsistence upon our arms, and be guided in the choice of our residence by the supply of game which any particular spot may offer. The Indians say that the country on the opposite side of the river is better supplied with elk, – an animal much larger, and more easily killed, than the deer, with flesh more nutritive, and a skin better fitted for clothing. The neighborhood of the sea is, moreover, recommended by the facility of supplying ourselves with salt, and the hope of meeting some of the trading-vessels, which are expected about three months hence, from which we may procure a fresh supply of trinkets for our journey homewards. These considerations induced us to determine on visiting the opposite side of the bay; and, if there was an appearance of plenty of game, to establish ourselves there for the winter.

Monday, 25th November, we set out; but, as the wind was too high to suffer us to cross the river, we kept near the shore, watching for a favorable change. On leaving our camp, seven Clatsops in a canoe accompanied us, but, after going a few miles, left us, and steered straight across through immense, high waves, leaving us in admiration at the dexterity with which they threw aside each wave as it threatened to come over their canoe.

Next day, with a more favorable wind, we began to cross the river. We passed between some low, marshy islands, and reached the south side of the Columbia, and landed at a village of nine large houses. Soon after we landed, three Indians came down from the village with wappatoo-roots, which we purchased with fish-hooks.