Chapter XII: Astoria and Its Founders

BY the beginning of the 19th century, or, to be more strictly accurate, before the year 1810, a general notion had been obtained of the extent, form, and main physical features of North America. The journeys of Pike, Lewis and Clarke in the southern half of the vast continent, with those of Hearne and Mackenzie from Hudson’s Bay, were now followed up by a series of expeditions, working either under the orders or with the sanction of the American Government, by which the regions south of the Missouri, those bordering on the Upper Mississippi, and the fertile provinces now known as British Columbia, Washington, and Oregon, were thoroughly explored.

The first man to take up the work begun by the heroes we have been noticing was John Jacob Astor, who, after long negotiations with the various companies struggling for the monopoly of the fur-trade of the North, succeeded in founding yet another association, under the name of the Pacific Fur Company. This new confederation, having won the co-operation of many of the best agents of its rivals, found itself in a position to compete with them on more than equal terms, and, as early as 1810, a thoroughly well-organized expedition, divided into two parts――one going by land, the other by sea――started for the mouth of the Columbia, where it was proposed to erect a fort as the head-quarters of the new trade to be opened.

After a successful voyage from Montreal _via_ the Sandwich Islands, the _Tonquin_, bearing the advanced guard of traders and emigrants, including Mr. M’Dougal, who represented Mr. Astor, cast anchor off the mouth of the Columbia. Here a landing was at once effected, and M’Dougal and his chief assistant, a man named Stuart, were hospitably entertained by the Chinooks, whose chief aided them in selecting a suitable place for the foundation of their fort, and showed no jealousy of their wish to settle near him.

The town now known as Astoria (N. lat. 46° 11′, W. long. 123° 42′) was quickly built; a factory soon rose beside it; the natives came in with their furs for sale; and all seemed likely to go so well, that the _Tonquin_ was allowed to start on a trading trip up the coast, leaving but a few settlers to await the arrival of the land party. No sooner was the vessel out of reach, however, than rumors began to be circulated of a conspiracy among the neighboring tribes to massacre all the white men; and while preparations were being made to meet this unexpected danger, some wandering Indians from the Straits of Juan de Fuca brought tidings that the _Tonquin_ had been lost with all on board. The truth of this melancholy event was soon confirmed by members of yet another tribe, and gradually the whole story leaked out.

The _Tonquin_ had fallen a victim, not to the usual perils of the deep, but to a quarrel between Thorn, its captain, and some natives of Vancouver’s Island. Steering to the north, with an Indian named Samazee as interpreter in his proposed dealings with the natives, Thorn reached Vancouver’s Island in safety, and cast anchor in the harbor of Neweetee, though Samazee warned him that the people about there were not to be trusted. On the following day the ship was boarded by a number of natives, including two sons of Wicanainsh, the chief of the country round Neweetee, and an old chief named Nookamis, who had long been accustomed to drive bargains with the English.

Suspecting no evil, Captain Thorn prepared for a good day’s business, and made what seemed to him fair offers for the finest of the sea-otter peltries brought by the redskins. Nookamis shook his head; he must have double the prices quoted. His companions followed suit; not a skin could poor Captain Thorn obtain.

Surprised and disgusted at the turn affairs had taken, the English now tried new tactics. They took no further notice of the Indians, but paced up and down the deck with their hands in their pockets. Nookamis, however, looking upon all this as a mere maneuver to try his patience, continued to ply the captain with offers of otter-skins; and finding that nothing he said had any effect, he began to jeer the white man for a stingy fellow. Thorn now lost his temper, and, turning upon his persecutor, he snatched the otter-skins from him, flung them in his face, and kicked him down the ship’s ladder.

The rest of the natives were furious, and hurried after their spokesman, leaving the deck strewn with peltries. A little later, some of the whites who had gone on shore returned to the vessel, and urged the captain to weigh anchor, as they feared a general attack from the natives. In this advice they were seconded by Samazee, who declared that the vengeance for the insult offered to a chief would be terrible. But Thorn’s blood was up. He declined to leave the coast; and when further urged, replied by pointing to his guns, as protection enough against savages.

Early the next morning, when the crew of the _Tonquin_ were still in their hammocks, a canoe full of Indians came alongside. Were these the prophesied avengers? Surely not! They were unarmed, and held up otter-skins in token of friendly intentions. They were allowed to climb on board, and so were a second party of twenty, who arrived immediately afterward.

A brisk trade was now begun; but as the officers turned over the skins offered to them, other canoes put off from the shore. The _Tonquin_ was soon surrounded by them; its single ladder was quickly crowded with dusky warriors, who, pouring upon the deck in a steady stream, also produced skins, offering to trade with the captain on his own terms now, and implying, though not expressing, regret at the obstinacy of their representatives the day before. The chief things the natives wanted instead of their costly peltries were knives; and with an almost foolhardy recklessness, Thorn allowed them to appropriate a large number, in spite of the repeated warnings of his officers and the interpreter that treachery was intended. The only precaution taken was the telling-off of sailors to weigh anchor and make sail, the captain imagining that this would not be noticed, and that, having obtained his cargo of peltries, he could escape before the Indians had time to carry out any evil designs.

Never was a more terrible mistake made. The signal from the captain for the deck to be cleared was also that for the onslaught to be given. The knives just obtained, and the war-clubs already provided, were brandished on every side, and before they could defend themselves, many of the white men fell beneath the well-aimed blows.

The ship’s clerk was one of the first to fall, and among the next victims was a man named M’Kay, who was flung backward into one of the waiting canoes, and there hacked to pieces by the squaws, who were watching the affray with eager delight. Very brave was the defense made by Thorn himself, and at one time he seemed likely to escape. He had fought his way nearly to the cabin, where he had left his firearms, when loss of blood compelled him to lean for support upon the tiller wheel. He was instantly surrounded, flung upon the deck, and stabbed to death with his own knives.

All but four of the crew shared the fate of the officers. These four, who had been aloft making sail when the conflict began, succeeded in reaching the cabin, where they made a hasty defense. The firearms, which now came into play, soon cleared the deck, and an hour after the fatal admission of the redskins on board, not a sign of them was to be seen.

The interpreter, to whom we owe this narrative, had wisely taken no part in the struggle, and retired with the natives. He tells further how the night was passed on shore among them, and how, though they were still eager for further revenge, they were deterred from approaching the vessel by their dread of the firearms. Early the next morning, a canoe, bearing the interpreter among others, ventured cautiously to paddle within hail. A man presently appeared on deck, and made signs to the redskins to come on board. They hesitated, but, curiosity prevailing over fear, several of them climbed up the ladder. They were allowed to wander about unmolested. The white man they had seen had disappeared; and one by one other canoes crept from the shore, till, as on the day before, the sea was covered with them.

The savages who had first arrived called to their comrades to come on, for there was no danger and plenty of plunder. They were obeyed by all, even by the hitherto cautious interpreter. Eagerly were the bales of merchandise now plundered; wild were the gestures of delight at the strange articles found among them――But what was that? Was the ship moving, or what? An instant’s pause of expectation, and then the vessel blew up with a loud noise; the air was darkened with the bodies of the unhappy savages which fell in every direction, torn to a thousand fragments.

The interpreter again escaped as by a miracle. He was clinging to the main chains when the explosion took place, fell into the water, and swam to one of the canoes, in which he made his way back to the land, where crowds had already assembled, and met him with eager inquiries as to the cause of the terrible scene. He was still the center of an eager group when four white men were brought as prisoners into the village, who told how they had escaped from the _Tonquin_ when Lewis, the man who had decoyed the natives on board, decided to blow up the ship. They had hoped to find their way to their comrades at Astoria, but they had been unable to get out of the bay; their boat was cast on shore, and they were soon seized by natives.

They were put to death with all the refinements of cruelty in which the Indians have ever been adepts; and not, as we have seen, until the interpreter managed to pay a visit to Astoria was the whole melancholy story known.

If the position of the Astorians was painful when it was supposed that the absence of the _Tonquin_ would not be long protracted, we can imagine what it became now. The savage tribes around them, encouraged by the first success of their brothers of the North, and enraged at the terrible vengeance taken upon them, were more determined than ever to root out the hated white men from their land, and it appeared likely that they would accomplish their purpose, when M’Dougal hit upon a stratagem.

A few years previously, smallpox had ravaged the coast north and south of the Columbia; whole tribes had succumbed to it, and the mere mention of it was enough to cow the spirit of the most dauntless brave. None knew whence it came, but it was supposed to be sent by the Great Spirit to correct his children for their sins, and many connected it with the first coming of the white man.

M’Dougal, reminded by some trifling incident of the latter superstition, invited the leaders of the conspiracy against the infant colony to come and take council with him. They obeyed, wondering, doubtless, in their simple minds whether their designs had been discovered. When all were seated, and expectant silence reigned on every side, the white man stood in the midst and began his harangue.

“Your countrymen have destroyed our vessel,” he said, “and I am resolved on vengeance. The white men among you are few in number, it is true, but they are mighty in medicine. See here,” he went on, producing a small bottle; “in this bottle I hold the smallpox safely corked up. I have but to draw the cork and let loose the pestilence, to sweep man, woman and child from the face of the earth.”

Great was the horror and alarm at this announcement. The chiefs, forgetting their dignity, gathered round the white man, imploring him to stay his hand; and after affecting to be unmoved for some little time, M’Dougal at last declared that, so long as the white people were unmolested, the phial of wrath should be unopened, but――――

The remainder of the scene may be imagined. Eternal amity was finally sworn, and M’Dougal, henceforth to be known as the Great Smallpox Chief, was able to attend without interruption to the internal affairs of the colony.

While the Astorians were thus struggling with their difficulties, the land party were working their way across the country to their assistance. At the head of this second expedition was William Hunt, with whom was associated Donald Mackenzie, both men of tact and experience in dealing with the Indians.

The start was made early in July, 1810, from Montreal, which we have visited under so many different auspices, and, on the 22d, Mackinaw, on the junction of Lakes Huron and Michigan, was reached. This town, first an Indian village and then a French trading post, was now the center of a numerous and mixed population. Here traders bound for Lake Superior, for the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Arkansas, or other rivers, met on their way to their several outlying posts. Here they returned laden with the spoils of the far West.

A long halt was made at Mackinaw to collect recruits, who were not easily met with. It was no joke, urged the redskins, to travel with these white men; they wanted you to go through wildernesses full of savage tribes, with whom they would have to fight, and if any of them escaped death at the hands of their fellow-countrymen, it would only be to starve in those desolate tracts on the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Why should our white man be so anxious to reach the Salt Lake (the sea)? or why, if his anxiety was so very great, would he not give his poor brothers their pay in advance, that the squaws and little ones at home might not pine away in hunger?

Not until the 12th August was the actual start made, and even then, instead of being able to strike across country at once for the mouth of the Columbia, the expedition had to make a voyage down the Mississippi to St. Louis, in order to settle certain difficulties, into which we need not enter here, with the numerous rival companies already alluded to. The starting point of so many expeditions was reached in September, and on the 21st November three canoes, bearing the new body of adventurers, embarked on the Missouri. Even now, progress was extremely slow. Hunt was more than once compelled to return to St. Louis to settle disputes with his rivals; and, as the boats crept cautiously along, rumors of a very discouraging character again and again reached the navigators. There was war among the native tribes, and a party of Sioux Indians were awaiting the arrival of the white men in the wilds of Nebraska, intending to massacre them all.

At the mouth of the Nebraska, signs appeared that the rumors of danger from savages were founded on facts. A frame of a skin canoe was found, in which the warriors had evidently crossed the river, and at night the sky was red with the reflection of huge fires, showing that the prairies had been set on fire by the combatants. Ignoring as much as possible all these terrible omens, Hunt, fresh from his last run back to St. Louis, carefully examined the face of the country on either side of the Nebraska; the naturalists of the party made their notes on the flora and fauna of the new districts; and on the 10th May, the village of Omaha, about eight hundred and thirty miles above the mouth of the Missouri, was reached in safety.

Hospitably received by the little remnant of the once powerful Omaha tribe, who had been in the habit of considering themselves superior to all other created beings till the smallpox had swept half of them away, Hunt rested here awhile before commencing his great journey westward, which rivals in its terrors, and the courage with which they were met, some of the more famous African expeditions.

At Omaha, the fame of the great chief Blackbird, who has figured in so many romances, still lived, and Hunt and his party were among the last white men to look upon the sacred mound beneath which his body reposes, with its ghastly trophies of scalps still displayed on its summit, suspended upon the staff of the hero’s banner. The mound itself is still pointed out to the modern traveler, but the scalps, with so many other relics of the olden time, are gone.

A little below the Great Bend of the Missouri, the first encounter took place with the Indians. A scout was seen galloping wildly to and fro on the opposite bank as the traders were at breakfast, and at once divining the meaning of his appearance, the canoes were brought out, and ready for all contingencies, the white men pulled boldly up the stream. Their suspense did not last long. An hour’s row brought them suddenly face to face with the enemy. An island intervening had at first hidden them from sight, but, as the canoes shot past it, the banks beyond were revealed, crowded with warriors painted and decorated for battle.

To advance appeared certain death, to retreat scarcely less perilous, as the savages could easily have followed the canoes down the river. To pull into mid-stream appeared at first a feasible compromise, but it was found that the current was too strong. A momentary pause, a few hurried questions of each other, and the white men resolved to fight. The boats were pulled to the shore opposite the Sioux; the guns were examined, and fire was opened on the enemy.

The effect was marvelous. As the reports rang out, the dusky warriors faltered. It was something new in Indian warfare for those for whom the ambush had been prepared to take the initiative! The guns were now reloaded, and the Canadians prepared to row across the Missouri, intending to fire again when within easy range of their adversaries. As the white men rose to take aim, however, there was cry of “Stop!” from their interpreter. The savages were holding their buffalo robes above their heads; it was their signal of a desire for peace, and a bloody struggle might yet be averted.

The guns were lowered; the Canadians resumed their seats. A dozen of the Sioux approached the banks, lighted a fire, seated themselves about it, and, holding up the calumet made signs to the white men to land. Seeing that no alternative was left them between trusting to these friendly overtures and fighting against terrible odds, Hunt and the other leaders of the party accepted the invitation, and were soon seated in the circle, smoking the pipe of peace in silence, as the inevitable preliminary of a treaty to be made.

This opening ceremony over, Hunt now explained the real object of his journey to be trade, only trade which was to bring about great results for the natives; and, as an earnest of his good intentions, he ordered a quantity of tobacco and corn to be brought from the boats and presented to the chiefs as a free gift.

Hunt’s ready tact was rewarded as it deserved. The chief of the chiefs responded in his turn, saying that he had thought his white brothers were carrying arms to his enemies the Minatarees and Mandans, hence his hostility. Convinced that no supplies of weapons were among the stores on the way to the fastnesses of the hostile tribes, he would offer no further opposition to the expedition, which had better, however, keep to the other side of the river, as some hot-headed young fellows among his followers were not to be trusted.

So ended an incident that had threatened the very existence of the whole party. Hands were shaken all round――to shake hands was one of the first things taught by the white men to the red――and the traders re-embarked, taking care to follow the hint given by the now friendly chief.

The next day, June 1st, the Great Bend of the Missouri, first visited by Lewis and Clarke, was reached, a little beyond which the explorers met a large party of Mandan and Minataree warriors, by whom they were, very much to their surprise, received with great enthusiasm, and carried off to the camp in the wilderness for the night.

Glad to have won friends on both sides among the hostile Indians, Hunt now pushed rapidly on up the Missouri, halting here and there to trade with the natives, and on the 18th July reached the most northerly point on his voyage, an Aricara village, from which he proposed striking across country to the Black Mountains on the west.

Now began the most arduous part of this great journey. The vast prairies to be crossed were practically unknown to the white man, though they had probably been scoured by many an adventurous hunter, of whose experience no record exists. On one side dwelt the Cheyenne, on the other the Blackfeet Indians――at war with each other, as most Indian tribes appear to have been at this time. It was doubtful whether either or both would care for the white men to pass through their territory.

On the second day’s march, some of the leader’s anxieties were allayed by his cordial reception in a Cheyenne camp, the owners――cleanly, civil, decorous fellows――placing all they had at his disposal, and eagerly purchasing the trinkets offered to them for sale. On the 6th August, the friendly Cheyennes were left behind and the Crow country entered, where a subtle danger awaited the travelers, of which Hunt received warning just in time.

A short time previously, a man named Edward Rose had been engaged as interpreter for the passage of the Crow districts, he having been known to have spent many years among its wild inhabitants. That he had married a Crow woman, and identified himself with the interests of her tribe, was not known until afterward; but on the eve of the entry into his adopted country, Rose was overheard proposing to some of Hunt’s followers that they should desert to the Crow camp with all the horses they could carry off, where he (Rose) would join them, and show them how to entice other unsuspecting travelers from the right way to the coast.

Sending for Rose to his own tent, Hunt, showing no knowledge of his nefarious schemes, informed him that he should not require his services beyond the Crow country, but that, in consideration of his faithfulness, he should have a horse, three beaver traps and other valuable accessories to a hunter’s equipment, when the Canadians were safely through the passes of the Black Mountains.

Surprised at this liberality, which made it really scarcely worth his while to play traitor, Rose resolved to undo what he had begun. A message was conveyed to his allies, the Crows, instructing them to treat his white friends courteously; it was resolved in council by the chieftains that no harm should be done to the pale faces; and Hunt, still showing no sign of knowledge of the by-play, entered the mountain fastnesses without fear.

The Black Hills, forming the dividing line between the waters of the Missouri and those of the Arkansas and Mississippi, were soon reached, and unappalled by the wild tales told of the genii, or thunder spirits, who would resent their intrusion, the Canadians endeavored to cross them. They failed in doing so, and their guide attributed their failure to the obstacles thrown in their way by the invisible “Lords of the Mountain.” Of their interference, however, Hunt has given no record, his account being simply that he had to turn back because of the physical peculiarities of the mountains, their wild ravines and terrible precipices being simply impassable to all but the black-tailed deer, and the strange ahsata or big horns haunting its lonely defiles.

A considerable détour southward had to be made, and a path was finally found along a ridge dividing the tributary waters of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, and on the 22nd August they met the first Crow warrior, who proved to belong to a large band returning from their annual trading trip to the Mandan country.

Rose was now sent on in advance, to hold a parley with his friends, and invite some of them to come to the Canadian camp. This many readily consented to do, and Hunt was agreeably surprised at the manly bearing of some of the young horsemen among his visitors, proving that, but for the timely warning received, it might have gone hardly with his party among them. Old and young, rich and poor among this mountain tribe were mounted on steeds of some description, and managed their horses with unrivaled skill; the very babies, too young to speak, were tied on small colts or ponies, and wielded their whips as if by instinct.

Escorted by some two hundred equestrians, the dreaded passage of the Crow country was made, and the hunting-grounds of the Shoshones reached in safety. Rose and his dusky comrades were dismissed, and their places supplied by Shoshone trappers, who allowed the white men to share in their hunting expeditions, and led them to a commanding height, from which they pointed out three snow-clad mountain peaks, beneath which, they said, rose the Columbia.

Overjoyed at the thought of being almost within sight of the river at the mouth of which their comrades were awaiting them, the little band pressed on with renewed vigor, and on the 24th September they reached the banks of a wide and rapid river――known as the Mad among the natives, on account of its wild and turbulent course――where a consultation was held as to whether it should or should not be followed. It was wide and deep enough to admit the passage of canoes, and it might possibly flow into the Columbia. The Canadians one and all preferred traveling by water to “scrambling over the backs of mountains,” their trips up and down the St. Lawrence and across the Great Lakes having rendered them the most expert of oarsmen. Already they saw themselves shooting from the Mad River into the Columbia, and thence to Astoria.

Embarkation was almost unanimously decided on――although one or two of the older members of the party hinted at the difficulty of return, if, after all, the Mad River did not flow into the Columbia――and a fatal mistake would probably have been made, had not two Snake Indians from the West arrived in the nick of time, with the glad tidings that a trading post, situated on the upper branch of the Columbia, was not far off, and that from it the passage down to the sea was easy.

The programme was changed at once. The encampment was broken up, the Mad River crossed, and a little later the post alluded to was reached. It was deserted, but its log huts afforded an admirable shelter during the construction of canoes for the voyage down the river; and on the 18th of October all was ready for the last stage of the long journey. Fifteen canoes were launched on the Henry River, so called after the owner of the trading post, and a day’s paddle brought the Canadians to its junction with their old friend the Mad River.

The united streams now took the name of the Snake, and turned out, on examination, to be identical with the Lewis fork of the Columbia――a fact which greatly cheered the travelers, though their troubles were by no means yet at an end. The Snake was encumbered with rocks, its bed was seldom level, and again and again the canoes were nearly upset in the rapids. Not a human creature was to be seen on the banks; and as prairie succeeded prairie, and one wilderness of deserted mountains after another was passed, the spirits of the adventurers flagged.

On the 28th October the climax of the difficulties was reached. The Snake River entered a “terrific strait,” its whole volume being compressed into a space less than thirty feet in width, beyond which it flung itself down a precipice, and continued its course, raging and roaring in such a manner that Hunt named the cataract the Lion Caldron, a title which it still bears. In attempting to navigate this awful passage, one of the canoes was completely destroyed, and one man drowned, while his comrades barely escaped with their lives. Further progress by water was evidently impossible. The hope of shooting rapidly down to the sea had again to be abandoned; and, thoroughly disheartened, the travelers prepared to strike across country again, with a view to reaching the banks of the Columbia lower down.

Exploring parties were sent out in different directions to ascertain the best route; all of the baggage which could possibly be spared was buried in _caches_; and early in October the march was begun across a dry and trackless wilderness, tenanted only by a few wretched Shoshones, who fled at the approach of the white men.

Toward the end of November a large encampment of Snakes was reached, where provisions and some really trustworthy information as to the route to the coast were obtained; but it was bitterly cold, and the sufferings of the party between the Indian camp and the Columbia were extreme. Not until the 21st January did the long-sought waters of the great stream of the West come in sight, and the transport of the weary travelers at this happy conclusion of their long wanderings may be imagined.

The spot at which the Columbia had at last been struck was a little below the junction of its two great branches, the Lewis and Clarke, in about N. lat. 46° 8′, W. long. 118° 50′. Its banks were dotted with the miserable huts of a wretched horde of Indians called Akai-chies, who wore nothing but the undressed skins of animals, and lived by fishing, scudding up and down the Columbia in rude canoes of pine logs hollowed out by fire.

From these Akai-chies Hunt received the first tidings of his comrades of the sea expedition; but fortunately, perhaps, for him, the simple savages only knew of the presence of white men at the mouth of their river, and could tell nothing of the disasters which had overtaken them. Eager to join their friends, the traders now pushed on along the Columbia as rapidly as possible; and at a little village somewhat further down, they heard not only of the massacre on board the _Tonquin_, but of a plot for their own destruction. A party of braves said some wandering savages had arranged to attack the camp at night and carry off all the horses. With Hunt, to be forewarned was to be forearmed, and the precautions taken prevented any second tragedy; but it was with a sinking heart that he led his men in the last stage of his awful journey. If the rumor of the massacre on the _Tonquin_ were true, there was of course little hope that the few survivors of Astoria had been able to hold their own against the natives, and the great expedition across the continent might perhaps end in the death of all concerned.

Early in February, after great sufferings from hunger and fatigue, canoes were at last obtained from some Indians, and, embarking on the Lewis fork of the Columbia, the Canadians rapidly shot down the river of so many memories to Astoria, where they arrived in safety, haggard, half-starved, and in rags, after a journey which occupied nearly eighteen months.

That the establishment at Astoria never flourished, as its founder hoped, is a well-known fact; but the heroic efforts made by the members of the two expeditions to carry out their instructions did much to pave the way for the colonization and civilization of the beautiful states of Oregon and Washington; and the numerous journeys, undertaken by Hunt, Mackenzie, and others among the various chains of the Rocky Mountains, though their main object was trade, justly entitle them to rank as pioneers of geographical discovery. To them, too, the United States Government, though scarcely our own, owes a debt of gratitude, their early occupation of Astoria having been a main point in the American claim to the Oregon territory, which at one time seemed likely to have become the property of Great Britain.