Life at Puget Sound: With Sketches of Travel in Washington Territory, British Columbia, Oregon and California Part 3

Capt. Grey, who reached the place shortly after, with keener observation and deeper in-sight, saw the indications of a great river there, and after lying outside for nine days, waiting a favorable opportunity to enter, succeeded in doing so on the 11th of May, 1792, being the first to accomplish that feat, and explored the lower portion of it. He gave to the river and to the southern point the names they now bear.

Vancouver failed in the same way to discover the Fraser, the great river of British Columbia, although he actually entered the delta of the river, and sailed about among the sand-banks, naming one of them Sturgeon Bank; while the Spanish explorers, who were there about the same time, recognized the fact of its existence far out at sea, in the irregular currents, the sand-banks, the drift of trees and logs, and also in the depression in the Cascade Mountains, which marks its channel.

In 1805 Lewis and Clarke, who reached the mouth of the Columbia that year, found that the Indians called the river "_Shocatilc.u.m_" (friendly water).

Tourists have not yet discovered what a wonderful country this is for sight-seeing, fortunately for us. On our pa.s.sage up the Columbia, after leaving Portland, we sat for two or three days, almost alone, on the deck of the steamer, with nothing to break the silence but the deep breathing of the boat, which seemed like its own appreciation of it; and sailed past the great promontories, some of them a thousand feet high, and watched the slender silver streams that fall from the rocks, and felt that we were in a new world,--new to us, but older and grander than any thing we had ever seen.

We were shown a high, isolated rock, rising far above the water, on which was a scaffolding, where, for many generations, the Indians had deposited their dead. They were wrapped in skins, tied with cords of gra.s.s and bark, and laid on mats. Their most precious possessions were placed beside them, first made unserviceable for the living, to secure their remaining undisturbed. The bodies were always laid with the head toward the west, because the _memaloose illahie_ (land of the dead) lay that way.

In the instincts of children and of uncivilized people, there seems something to trust. This idea of Heaven's lying toward the west appears to have been held by the New-England Indians also, and is expressed in Whittier's lines,--

"O mighty Sowanna!

Thy gateways unfold, From thy wigwam of sunset Lift curtains of gold!

Take home the poor spirit whose journey is o'er-- _Mat wonck kunna-monee!_ We see thee no more!"

The Chinese have also the "peaceful land in the west," lying far beyond the visible universe.

Farther up the river, we pa.s.sed some abandoned diggings, where little colonies of patient, toilsome Chinamen had established themselves, and were was.h.i.+ng and sifting the earth discarded by previous miners; making, we were told, on the average, two or three cents to the pan. The Chinaman regularly pays, as a foreigner (and is almost the only foreigner who does so), his mining-license tax to the State. He never seeks to interfere with rich claims, and patiently submits to being driven away from any neglected spot he may have chosen if a white man takes a fancy to it.

We stopped one night at Umatilla City, a cheerless little settlement at the junction of the Umatilla River with the Columbia, in the midst of a bleak, dreary waste of sand and sage-brush, without a sign of a tree in any direction, a perfect whirlwind blowing all the time. What could induce people to live there, I could not imagine.

We stopped a day or two at Walla Walla, where one of the early forts was established; the post having been transferred from Wallula, where it was called Fort "Nez Perces," from the Indians in that vicinity, who wore in their noses a small white sh.e.l.l, like the fluke of an anchor.

The journey from Walla Walla to Fort Colville occupied eleven days and nights, during which time we did not take a meal in a house, nor sleep in a bed. It was cold, rainy, and windy, a good deal of the time, but we enjoyed it notwithstanding. To wake up in the clear air, with the bright sky above us, when it was pleasant; and to reach at night the little oases of willows and birches and running streams where we camped,--was enough to repay us for a good deal of discomfort. At one of the camping-grounds,--Cow Creek,--a beautiful bird sang all night; it sounded like bubbling water.

For several days we saw only great sleepy-looking hills, stretching in endless succession, as far as the horizon extended, from morning till night, as if a billowy ocean had been suddenly transfixed in the midst of its motion. They have only thin vegetation on them,--not enough to disturb or conceal the beautiful forms, the curves which the waves leave on the hills they deposit. Their colors are very subdued,--pale salmon from the dead gra.s.s, or light green like a thin veil, with the red earth showing dimly through. There is no change in looking at them, but from light to shadow, as the clouds move over them.

We travelled, for a long distance, over sage-brush and alkali plains. In this part of the country, sage-brush is a synonym for any thing that is worthless. We found the little woody twigs of it available for our camping-fires; but its amazing toughness reminded me of a story told by Mr. Boller, in his book "Among the Indians." He was taking a band of mustang half-breeds from California to Montana, when, to his surprise, one of the mares presented him with a foal. Supposing it would be impossible for it to keep up with the party, he took out his revolver to shoot it. Twice he raised it, but the little fellow trotted along so cheerily that his heart failed him, and he returned it to the holster.

The colt swam creeks breast-high for the horses, and travelled on with sublime indifference to every thing but the gratification of its keen little appet.i.te. He resolved to take it through, thinking it would never do to destroy an animal of so much pluck, and named it "Sage-brush." It swam every stream, flinched from nothing, and arrived in good order in Montana, a distance of three hundred miles, having travelled every day from the time it was half an hour old. Its name was most appropriate, as an ill.u.s.tration of the character of the plant.

Intermixed with the wastes of sage-brush were patches of bunch-gra.s.s.

The horses sniffed it with delight as luxuriant pasturage. It is curious to see how nature here acts in the interest of civilization. The old settlers told us that many acres formerly covered with sage-brush were now all bunch-gra.s.s. It is a peculiarity of the sage-brush, that fire will not spread in it. The bush which is fired will burn to the ground, but the next will not catch from it. The gra.s.s steals in among the sage-brush; and, when that is burned, it carries the fire from one bush to another. Although the gra.s.s itself is consumed, the roots strike deep; and it springs up anew, overrunning the dead sage-brush.

Then we came to the most barren country I ever saw,--nothing but broken, rusty, worm-eaten looking rocks, where the rattlesnakes live. But here grew the most beautiful flower, peach-blossom color. It just thrust its head out of the earth, and the long pink buds stretched themselves out over the dingy bits of rock; and that was all there was of it. We took some of the roots, which are bulbous, and shall try to furnish them with sufficient hards.h.i.+ps to make them grow.

One night, while in this region, we camped on a hill where the cayotes came up and cried round us, which made it seem quite wild.

Wherever there was any soil, there was another little plant that was very pretty to notice, both for itself, and because of its adaptation to the climate in the dry season. It was coated with a delicate fur; and long after the hot sun was up, and when every thing else was dry, great diamonds of dew glistened in its soft hair. We saw a great many plants of the lupine family, in every variety of shade, from crimson, blue, and purple, to white.

On the last days we had all the time before us dark mountains, with snow on their summits, and troops of trees on their sides, and ravines with sun-lighted mists travelling through them. It was like getting into an inhabited country, to reach the trees again: they were almost like human beings, after what we had seen. The Spokane River divides the great treeless plain on the south from the timbered mountainous country to the north.

During this journey, we came upon various little bands of Indians, of different tribes. We noticed the superiority of the "stick" Indians (those who live in the woods) over those who live by the sea. The former have herds of horses, and hunt for their living. The Indians who live by fis.h.i.+ng are of tamer natures, poor and degraded, compared to those of the interior.

We saw at Walla Walla some of the Klickatats, from the mountains. They were very bright and animated in their appearance, and wore fringed dresses and ornamented leggings, and moccasins of buffalo-skin. They were mounted upon fancy-colored and spotted horses, which they prize above all others. They presented such a striking contrast to the lazy Clalams on the Sound,--who used to say to us in reply to our inquiries as to their occupations and designs, "_Cultus nannitsh, cultus mitlight_" (look about and do nothing), as if that were their whole business all day long,--that I was reminded of what some of the early explorers said, that no two nations of Europe differed more widely from each other than the different tribes of Indians.

One day we met an Spokane Indian, of very striking appearance, with a face like Dante's, but with a happier expression. He was most becomingly clothed in white blankets, compactly folded about him, with two or three narrow red stripes across his bonnet of the same material, which had a red peaked border, completely encircling the face, like an Irishwoman's night-cap, or rather day-cap, but much more picturesque. He was scouring the hills and plains between the Snake and Spokane Rivers, mounted on a gay little pony, in search of stolen horses. Upon being questioned as to his abiding-place, he informed us that he did not live anywhere.

We saw some representatives of another tribe of Indians, the Snakes.

They call themselves Shoshones, which means only "inland Indians." The white people called them Snakes, probably because of their marvellous power of eluding pursuit, by crawling off in the long gra.s.s, or diving in the water. They seemed more wild and agile than any we had seen. The Snakes were a very numerous tribe when the traders first came among them. When questioned as to their number, by the agents of "The Great White Chief," they said, "It is the same as the stars in the sky." They were a proud, independent people, living mostly on the plains, hunting the buffalo. They kept no canoes; depending only on temporary rafts of bulrushes or willows, if not convenient to ford or swim across the streams. They were the only Indians of this part of the country who had any knowledge of working in clay,--their necessities obliging them to make rude jugs in which to carry water across the bare plains. The mountain Snakes were outlaws, enemies to all other tribes. They lived in bands, in rocky caverns; and were said to have a wonderful power of imitating all sounds of nature, from the singing of birds to the howling of wolves,--by this means diverting attention from themselves, and escaping detection in their roving, predatory expeditions.

When we reached the ferry on the Snake River, we saw some Indians swimming their horses across. They were a bunting-party of Spokanes and Nez Perces. Strapped on to one of the horses, with a roll of blankets, was a Nez Perces baby. This infant, though apparently not over a year and a half old, sat erect, grasping the reins, with as spirited and fearless a look as an old warrior's.

At one of the portages, we saw some graves of chiefs; the bodies carefully laid in east-and-west lines, and the opening of the lodge built over them was toward the sunrise. On a frame near the lodge were stretched the hides of their horses, sacrificed to accompany them to another world. The missionaries congratulate themselves that these barbarous ceremonies are no longer observed, that the Indian is weaned from his idea of the happy hunting-ground, and the sacrilegious thought of ever meeting his horse again is eradicated from his mind. I thought with satisfaction that the missionary really knows no more about the future than the Indian, who seems ill adapted to the conventional idea of heaven. For my part, I prefer to think of him, in the unknown future, as retaining something of his earthly wildness and freedom, rather than as a white-robed saint, singing psalms, and playing on a harp.

Between the Snake and the Spokane are several beautiful lakes. We met a hunter coming from one of them, who had shot a white swan. He said he found it circling round and round its dead mate, in so much distress that he thought it was a kindness to kill it.

We pa.s.sed two great smoking mounds, and, on alighting to investigate, found that we were in the midst of a kamas-field, where a great many Indian women and children were busy digging the root, and roasting it in the earth.

Some of the old women wore the fringed skirt, made of cloth spun and woven from the soft inner bark of the young cedar, which they used to wear before blankets were introduced.

The Indians eat other roots beside the kamas, but that is the one on which they chiefly depend. As soon as the snow is off the ground, they begin to search for a little bulbous root they call the _pohpoh_. It looks like a small onion, and has a dry, spicy taste. In May they get the _spatlam_, or bitter-root. This is a delicate white root, that dissolves in boiling, and forms a bitter jelly. The Bitter Root River and Mountains get their name from this plant. In June comes the kamas.

It looks like a little hyacinth-bulb, and when roasted is as nice as a chestnut. We have seen it in blossom, when its pale-blue flowers covered the fields so closely that, at a little distance, we took it for a lake. One of the women, seeing our curiosity as we watched them, drew some of the bulbs out of the earth ovens, and handed them to us. As we tasted them, they explained that they were not ready to eat; that it would take two or three days to roast them sufficiently. This they live upon for two or three months; with the salmon, it is their chief article of food. The women stop at the kamas-grounds, while the men go to the fis.h.i.+ng-stations.

In August they gather the choke-berry and service-berry, to dry for the winter. When they are reduced to great extremity for food, they sometimes boil and eat the moss and lichens on the trees, which the deer eats. Most of the work of digging the roots, and picking the berries, falls upon the women. On this account, a Spokane man in marrying joins the tribe of his wife, instead of her joining his tribe; thinking, if he takes her away from the places where she has been accustomed to find her roots and berries, she may not succeed, in a new place, in discovering them.

We saw, in the vicinity of the Pelouse River, some remarkable basaltic rocks, that looked like buildings with columns and turrets and bastions. Some of them were like my idea of the great kings' tombs of the Egyptians. The colors on them were often very Egyptian-like,--bright sulphur-yellow, and brown, and sometimes orange and dark red,--incrustations of lichen and weather-staining. We saw, also, walls of pentagonal columns of rock, packed closely together. Where the Pelouse enters the Snake River, are immense ledges of square blocks.

When we camped there, and I lay down beneath them at night, "Swedish _trappa_, a stair," from the geological text-book, was always running in my mind,--this black trap-rock made such great steps that led up towards the sky.

We have seen here a splendid specimen of gold, which is to be sent to the Exposition at Paris. It is granulated, and sparkles as I never saw gold before. Some one suggests that a thin film of quartz may be crystallized over it.

Next week we hope to go up within sight of the whirlpools of Death's Rapids, a long distance above here, on the Columbia River. These rapids are so named on account of the number of persons who have been lost in attempting to navigate them. Their names are cut into the rocks at the side of the pa.s.sage; their bodies have never been found.

IV.

Two Hundred Miles on the Upper Columbia.--Steamer "Forty-Nine."--Navigation in a Canon.--Pend d'Oreille River and Lake.--Rock Paintings.--Tributaries of the Upper Columbia.--Arrow Lakes.--Kettle Falls.--Salmon-Catching.--Salmon-Dance.--Goose-Dance.

FORT COLVILLE, July 20, 1866.

We have just returned from a trip on the Columbia River, extending two hundred miles north into British Columbia, on the little steamer built in this vicinity for the purpose of carrying pa.s.sengers and supplies to the Big Bend and other mines in the upper country. We did not get to the "Rapids of the Dead." The boat, this time, did not complete her ordinary trip. Some of the pa.s.sengers came to the conclusion that the river was never intended to be navigated in places she attempted to run through.

It is a very adventurous boat, called the "Forty-nine," being the first to cross that parallel,--the line separating Was.h.i.+ngton Territory from British Columbia. The more opposition she meets with, and the more predictions there are against her success, the more resolute she is to go through; on which account, we were kept three weeks on the way, the ordinary length of the pa.s.sage being four days. I was surprised, when we came to the first of what was called the "bad water," to see the boat aim directly for it. It was much better, the captain said, to go "head on," than to run the risk of being carried in by an eddy. I never saw any river with such a tendency to whirl and fling itself about as the Upper Columbia has. It is all eddies, in places where there is the least shadow of a reason for it, and even where there is not; influenced, I suppose, by the adjoining waters. Some of these whirl-pits are ten or fifteen feet deep, measured by the trees that are sucked down into them.

The most remarkable part of the river is where it is compressed to one-sixth of its width, in pa.s.sing through a mountain gorge three-quarters of a mile long. The current is so strong there, that it takes from four to six hours for the steamer to struggle up against it, and only one minute to come down. The men who have pa.s.sed down through it, in small boats, say that it is as if they were shot from the mouth of a cannon.

When we reached this canon, our real difficulties began. We attempted to enter it in the afternoon, but met with an accident which delayed us until the next morning. Meanwhile the river began to rise. It goes up very rapidly, fifty, sixty, I believe even seventy, feet, sometimes. We waited twelve days in the woods for it to subside. The captain cut us a trail with his axe; and we sat and looked at the great snow-fields up on the mountains, so brilliant that the whitest clouds looked dark beside them. The magnificence of the scenery made every one an artist, from the captain to the cook, who produced a very beautiful drawing of three snow-covered peaks, which he called "The Three Sisters."

Everybody grew very impatient; and at length, one night, the captain said he would try it the next morning, although he had never before been up when the water was so high. A heavy rain came on, lasting all night, so that it seemed rather desperate to attempt going through, if the river was too high the night before; and I could hardly believe it, when I heard the engineer getting up the steam to start. The wildest weather prevailed at this time, and on all important occasions. As soon as we went on board the boat, in first starting, a violent thunder-storm came on, lightning, hail, and rain; and a great pine-tree came cras.h.i.+ng down, and fell across the bow of the boat. A similar storm came again the first time we tried to enter the canon; and the drift it brought down so interfered with the steering, that it led to the accident before mentioned. On this last morning, there were most evident signs of disapproval all about us,--the sky perfect gloom, and the river continually replenis.h.i.+ng its resources from the pouring rain, and strengthening itself against us. But we steamed up to the entrance of the canon. Then the boat was fastened by three lines to the sh.o.r.e, and the men took out a cable six hundred feet in length, which they carried along the steep, slippery rocks, and fastened to a great tree. One of them rolled down fifty feet into the water, but was caught by his companions before he was whirled away. They then returned to the boat, let on all the steam, and began to wind up the cable on the capstan.

With the utmost power of the men and steam, it was sometimes impossible to see any progress. Finally, however, that line was wound up; and the boat was again secured to the bank, and the cable put out the second time. This part of the pa.s.sage was still more difficult; and, after the line was arranged, two men were left on sh.o.r.e with grappling-irons to keep it off the rocks,--a great, fine-looking one, who appeared equal to any emergency, and a little, common one, with sandy hair and a lobster-colored face and neck. We watched them intently; and, as we drew near, we saw that the line had caught on something beneath the surface of the water, so that they could not extricate it. The little man toiled vigorously at it, standing in the water nearly up to his head; but appeared to be feebly seconded, by the big one, who remained on the rocks. It seemed as if the line would part from the strain, or the boat strike the next moment. The mate shouted and gesticulated to them; but no voice could be heard above the raging water, and they either could not understand his motions, or could not do as they were directed. The boat bore directly down upon them. Presently it seemed evident to us that the little man must sacrifice himself for the steamer; but I did not know how it looked to him,--people are all so precious to themselves. He stopped a second, then flung back his cap and pole, and threw himself under the boiling water. Up came the rope to the surface, but the man was gone. Instantly after, he scrambled up the bank; and the great magnificent man did nothing but clutch him on the back when he was safely out.

We had then wound up about two-thirds of the cable. Immediately after, this remarkable occurrence took place: The great heavy line came wholly up out of the water. A bolt flew out of the capstan, which was a signal for the men who were at work on it to spring out of the way. The captain shouted, "Cut the rope!" but that instant the iron capstan was torn out of the deck, and jumped overboard, with the cable attached to it. I felt thankful for it, for I knew it was the only thing that could put an end to our presumptuous attempt. I had felt that this rope would be a great snare to us in case of accident. Three of our four rudders were broken; but the remaining one enabled us to get into an eddy that carried us to a little cove, where we stopped to repair damages sufficiently to come down the river.

All day, the rain had never ceased; and the river had seemed to me like some of those Greek streams that Homer tells of, which had so much personal feeling against individuals. I felt as if we were going to be punished for an audacious attempt, instead of rewarded for what might otherwise have been considered a brave one. When the capstan disappeared, it was just as if some great river-G.o.d, with a whiff of his breath, or a snap of his fingers, had tossed it contemptuously aside. So we turned back defeated. But there was a great deal to enjoy, when we came to think of it afterwards, and were safely out of it. We had seen nothing so bold and rugged before. An old Scotchman, who knows more about it than any one else here, had said to us before we started, "That British Columbia is such a terrible country, very little can ever be known of it." But there was a great deal that was beautiful too. I was particularly struck with the manner in which the Pend d'Oreille springs into the Columbia. Glen Ellis Fall, gliding down in its swiftness, always seemed to me more beautiful than almost any thing else I ever saw. But this river is more demonstrative. It springs up, and falls again in showers of spray, and comes with great leaps out of the canon, in a way that I cannot describe. There is in it more freedom and strength and delight than in any thing else I ever saw. Far to the south-east, this stream widens into Lake Pend d'Oreille. On this lake are the wonderful painted rocks, rising far above the water, upon which, at the height of several hundred feet, are the figures of men and animals, which the Indians say are the work of a race that preceded them. They are afraid to approach the rocks, lest the waters should rise in anger, and ingulf them. There are also hieroglyphic figures far up on the rocks of Lake Chelan, which is supposed to have once been an arm of the Columbia. These paintings or picture-writings must have been made when the water was so high in the lakes that they could be done by men in boats.

Most of the tributaries of the Upper Columbia are similar in character to the main stream,--wild, unnavigable rivers, flowing through deep canons, and full of torrents and rapids. With Nature so vigorous and unsubdued about us, all conventionalities seemed swept away; and something fresh and strong awoke in us, as if it had long slumbered until the presence of its kindred in these mountain streams called it to consciousness,--something of the force and freedom of these wild, tireless t.i.tans, that poured down their white floods to the sea.